Animal Holdings’ Lions Tour – A Snapshot

By Hockles
July 7 2005

Irony no, subtle sense of humour no, but I suppose, to salvage something, at least we didn’t have to experience the Kiwis’ typically relaxed attitude to defeat. I have been severally privileged to see entire bars in Twickenham empty of defeated Kiwis after just one drink. Sadly not this time.

Our three hundred dollar tickets (£100) barely kept us under the stand roof at le Stade Jade in Christchurch while, as with the Lions team, the sleet, hail and driving rain easily managed to pierce our defences.  The First Test was actually very gripping but as the television will have shown, only one side was managing to play the conditions, the AB’s coming through 21-3.  Pre-match, the band had played a Lions medley – Bread of Heaven (surely the Lions anthem and not that Gang of Four doggerel), Chariots (unwise because non-English will never sing it now), Dour of Scotland and the Irish anthem – which definitely did not hit any sweet spot. 

We had plenty of time to study the match because for several days hence every bar and every pub showed endless Test Match repeats on their 24/7 rugby channel.  This was made doubly worse by the 70’s era keg beer chilled unseasonably to Australian temperatures approaching down to zero. 

Neither of us had had time to spare more than a week on the tour so we’d got the two tour hoodies made up and arrived, after a very expensive 4 hour cappuccino in Little Italy in Melbourne en route, in Christchurch at 2pm on Big Match Day.

There was the little matter of picking up the tickets from an ex-pat mate who’d got them in the official draw, despite a hiccup where I thought I’d lost his phone number. Our B&B man, Tom, ferried us in.  In town the hordes of identically dressed Gullivers and Mike Burton tourists were everywhere although the driving rain made it too nasty to spill out onto the pavements. 

The recently renamed Jade Stadium reminded me of Ashton Gate but drabber for facilities, but with one new three tier stand on one side.  And the singing was very very disappointing.  You know, I expected every bar to be a mixture of Kiwis, Poms, Taffs, Jocks and Micks to be drinking and singing as one.  But New Zealanders only sing when someone plays a uke or guitar, the jewellery-rattling English had probably never been in a rugby club on a Saturday night, the Welsh form the chairs into a circle and mutter to themselves all night while the only kilts seemed to be Welsh and the Irish were usually out in the sticks sleeping in their vans. 

But you shouldn’t think the trip was a downer.  Far from it.  To have done a bunk for freedom to the other end of the world to see the Lions for the first time was a truly great experience.  We drank with smiling but commiserating Kiwis after the match and got a lift into town.  We happened on the UK pressmen’s hotel, the Holiday Inn, and through my pal’s connections were speaking with Steve Bale and Chris Hewett (of the Independent and Bathford! connections) who were very obviously knowledgeable but regular guys.  The white sharkish Eddie Butler lurked in the distance and likewise Jason Leonard, looking mysterious in long black coat. 

At midnight (when according to the joke Robbo was supposed to turn into a coach), Lord Woodentop’s P.A. zoomed up the grand stairway.  She was followed by a coughing (is that the collective?) of hacks, as if they’d had their own ‘99’ call to pens instead of arms.  Only a few minutes later they returned, a tad dejected and rejected.  The Sultans of Spin had quickly announced the call for the public flogging and hanging of Umaga and when subsequently pressed on the subject of selection, 10 players too many and the many unfit English World Cup winners, Sir Wooden of the Head flounced out pleading ‘no comment’. 

Now that was a fascinating first session on brown beer and numerous dubious liqueurs and what with having to watch the South Africans beating the French with the press boys, it was a staggering and jet-lagering 5.30 am before we got to the B&B to sleep. 

Having taken a leisurely trip on Sunday out to Christchurch’s port, Lyttelton, where they were celebrating Christmas in all the pubs, we were refreshed enough to journey North the Monday at crack of dawn on the wonderful Trans-Coastal train to Picton for the Cook Strait and Ferry connecting South Island with the North and Wellington. 

Despite the ancient and rickety rolling stock the trip was superb and very complementary with the serious socialising we envisaged taking place later.  With tinnies in hand we rattled up the Pacific Coast  with snowy mountains to our left and the ripping Ocean to our right. In the crisp sunshine it was difficult to envisage the weather we’d encountered at the Test. 

On the Ferry, the only singing was thanks to a creditable young Englishman.  Predictably none of the corporate jackets and their Mavises (or is the plural of Mavis Maves?) joined in, especially when he performed ‘hands, shoulders, knees and toes’ in response to the haka. 

Nevertheless the Cook Strait Ferry is a wonderful experience and very uplifting to take us into Wellington and we passed by the ‘Cake Tin’ stadium and venue for the Second Test as we strode to our hotel. 

Wellington is a pretty easy town to get to grips with.  Like all of New Zealand there is little pretension and as a capital city it makes a rather large country town.  Restaurants were pretty good although it puzzled me how Kiwis could afford the prices that approached English proportions.  What also surprised me a little was how expensive the rugby stuff was – All Blacks clothing is no cheaper than back home.  Still, there was the hotel bar and loads of gossip and chit chat about the rugby and a backdrop of the Churchill Cup on in the background.  Made a welcome change from yet more of the First Test I can tell you. 

Wellington to Palmerston North to play Manawatu on the Tuesday in the hire car was blissfully flat and uneventful.  A couple of stops by the Tasman Sea and very shortly we were in Feilding and Palmerston itself.  We had been warned about the Lions welcoming parade in the Square at 2.30 and hurried to get a glimpse of a few Lions and their opponents as promised.  Well there were loads of people lining the road and Square.  Hot Stock Cars spluttered about with folks throwing ‘lollies’ (sweets) to the kids and a replica Queen Elizabeth waved to the crowd.  

Unfortunately in the interests of spin or seriousness or even pique, Baron Clive had pulled his players out, even those not playing, and the locals followed suit.  The Kiwis have unfortunately called all the Lions supporters ‘the Barmy Army’ which doesn’t suit most people but the Manawatu supporters tapped a veritable spring of inventive humour to call their followers the ‘Palmy Army’ and these mixed very pleasantly and easily with our fans. 

Again my unease of the organised big tours surfaced as I spoke to a couple in the Square.  The wife, from Cornwall, stated that they were there for all three Tests (but not the midweek games!?*) and that was all right because HE got his rugby while SHE had had her good times on a beach in Tahiti.  Surely a candidate for a WOAT (waste of a ticket) award and one hopes unrepresentative surely of the masses that come for the rugby experience of a lifetime. 

Well a win’s a win.  And was most welcome – the Palmerston ground was small (15000 at a guess?) and the Lions turned on a carnival of tries.  We even had a streaker and, being New Zealand, once a steward decked the guy with a ferocious tackle the streaker was left to rejoin his mates in the crowd.  Unfortunately the result of the 109-6 landslide was that Shane Williams lulled Woodentops into picking him for a disastrous appearance in the Second Test.  However, Easterby also played himself into the Test team and Hayes confirmed his place as the primo bag carrier of the tour if any more proof were necessary. 

Yes, a four square place Palmerston North, with just enough quality souvenirs for the family at home, although second division Manawatu are going to struggle desperately on their promotion to the first next season. 

There’s little more to say about our New Zealand…it was much as I expected, rugby coursing through the veins, straight up and down people, bars, beers, pool and plenty of ‘fush in chups’ to eat.  The following night (Wednesday) we were back in Wellington, drinking beer and playing pool until 3am when we left for the airport for our 6.00 flight.  And the Wellington International Airport ….was closed.  Until 4 when we got in out of the bitter and damp cold. 

A quick nap and we were in Sydney for our return stopover of 8 hours.  Deluged by a monsoon we had to take a ferry round the harbour (rain) and a quick look and obligatory team photo (rain) at the Opera House.   This was followed by a dash (rain) and a quick half in the Rugby Club of Sydney and lunch at James Wharf with a bunch of Aussie mates indoors from the (rain).  Easy really and after a further sprint (and rain) we were on the subway to the airport.  Why does it always rain in Australia?  I was pleased to be heading back to sunny England I can tell you. 

Despite  a near-death experience for a passenger who had to be let off in Darwin, our touring party arrived back at Heathrow having missed just over five working days and while I hit the office for a quick catch up on Friday, my mate staggered in for charity golf in Newport. 

And now as I wait for Saturday’s Third and Final denouement, I can hardly feel I’ve been away at all.