Wild Flower Walks of Upper Teesdale - Christopher and Gayle Lowe
Price:£7.95
A secret weapon against the French
Oct 23, 2007
THE French forwards joined arms in circle. Their captain, Alphonse-RayFrigerateur,
spoke in hissed tones to them all.
"Tenez, mes braves; to the ramparts, let us repel les rosbifs, allons nous ecraser les tetes des intrus.
"Let us send them across La Manche avec leurs queues entre leurs pattes."
Then, with a roar of concerted energy, their eyes glaring at the hated English who led by five points, they approached the final scrummage of the game.
Never had there been such tension in a game. Anything could happen and probably would. The din of the crowd was temporarily silenced; the scrum half stooped to put the ball into this fateful, deciding episode.
The hookers' legs flew, the ball came back on the French side, as planned. With a mighty heave the scrum inched forward. It seemed that at last the French were gaining the decisive edge.
The crowd roared ‘heave' or whatever ‘heave' is in French (peut-etre ‘poussez') and anxiety flickered on the faces of the many thousands of English supporters. Centimetre by centimetre the English retreated, then, quite suddenly the French struck.
The ball flashed out from the rear of the scrum. The centres brushed off flailing tackles; the flankers galloped to join in. Down the line the ball sped.
The Stade de France was a seething cauldron of noise. "Allez, allez," screamed them all, on and on ran the flying winger.
Only one man stood between La Republique and victory - the English full back.
Which way would the winger go? Right, left or smash through his opponent? He chose left, infield. It was the correct decision.
Smashing the full back in the face with the fierecest hand-off seen in many a day, he slipped through the tackle and galloped onwards, on to victory.
The crowd knew victory was theirs and stood to acclaim Henri Oignon's skill and flair.
As Einstein said, time slowed down the more closely it was examined; the winger launched himself to fly horizontally over the try line to score in real style.
With ball tucked firmly under arm, he took off, appearing to float in slow motion, his other fist clenched aloft to salute the crowd and claim the victor's laurels which were so truly his.
He was understandably surprised when, in mid-flight, he was struck a firm blow in the ribs and deposited into touch by an 81-year-old lady driving a mobility scooter.
She had been out ‘doing a bit of shopping' at Morrisons and taken the scenic route home.
Being a little short-sighted, she did not notice the collision, merely trundling on, running over the recumbent M.Oignon as he lay semi-conscious on the touchline.
Her tyre tracks across his blue rugby shirt made a particularly effective design motif.
As her rear wheels left his chest she grumbled to herself that ‘the perishing council should do something about the state of these pavements' before exiting the stadium being wildly cheered by the English fans.
The French team surrounded Sean O'Mahoney the Irish referee and demanded that he take immediate action to right their wrongs.
He referred the matter to the video referee who, along with the crowd via the huge TV screens in the stadium, watched the replays of the incident in stop frame motion from six different angles.
It was agreed by most impartial observers that the blow struck by Elsie Lard, the lady driver, had been executed to perfection and might well find itself included in future rugby union training manuals.
O'Mahoney concluded that since Mrs Lard was (a) not offside and (b) not included in the English side declared before the game, he could neither give a penalty to France nor send Mrs Lard off.
Mrs Lard was unaware of any of this until she arrived home 48 hours later via Eurotunnel, another phenomenon.
She was said to be ‘worried that her batteries were gettin' flat.'
Her advisers decided at this point that she should go to ground for a while to escape irate French fans.
Through subterfuge and sheer skill I managed to obtain an interview with her at a mountain hideaway.
She emerged from behind the sofa to tell me that her decision to have her mobility scooter re-designed as an ice cream van had been made many months ago and had nothing whatsoever to do with the present, somewhat embarrassing circumstances.
First published in the Mercury, October 17, 2007