Rugby Spirit Read online

  DEDICATION

  Friends are everything – I dedicate this to Martin McAllister for being the best you could have.

  Contents

  Title Page

  DEDICATION

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Other Books

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thanks to Dad, Mam, Kieran Hickey and Martin Coonan for encouraging me to write; thanks to Harry, Deryck, Sharon and Andrew for their help and advice; thanks to Jack, Lucy and Billy for being my front row; and thanks to Martha – for everything.

  CHAPTER 1

  The pain in Eoin Madden’s stomach grew worse as his dad drove up the driveway. Maybe it was the tall trees leaning in on the narrow avenue; maybe it was the grey stone building that rose at the end of the road, but Eoin’s first impression of his new school was ruined by that horrible knot in his belly.

  ‘There’s the rugby pitch,’ said his dad, ‘Grandad was a bit of a star there in his day.’

  ‘But you weren’t much good at sport, Dad, were you?’ joked Eoin.

  ‘No, but I got my head into the books and don’t you forget that’s the main reason you’re in school,’ his Dad shot back, with a wide grin on his face.

  Mr Madden parked the car on the end of a line of big cars that all had registration dates from the previous year or two. Eoin felt mildly embarrassed that his dad hadn’t changed his car in almost a decade, but he understood that there wasn’t much money in a small farm in County Tipperary.

  They had left Ormondstown at 6am, stopping only for a barely-nibbled snack on the way. The pair chatted on the journey up to Dublin, going over the weekend’s sports results and recalling the best days of the long, warm summer.

  But that was all a far-off memory for Eoin when he stepped out of the car and looked up at the front of the school and the enormous crest in a language he could only guess was Latin.

  ‘Victoria Concordia Crescit,’ boomed a loud voice from somewhere just behind Eoin. ‘Victory comes from harmony!’

  Eoin turned to see a small, bald man walking towards him with his arm outstretched.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Madden. And you, my lad, must be Master Madden.’

  Eoin looked the man up and down. They didn’t shake hands at his old school. He realised his mouth was wide open.

  ‘I’m Mr McCaffrey, and I don’t bite,’ smiled the teacher, as Eoin eventually stuck out his right hand. ‘I’m the headmaster of Castlerock College. You’re very welcome to the school. I taught your father, and I hope you will be as good a pupil as he was …’

  His dad’s ears turned bright pink.

  ‘… and as good a rugby player as your grandfather. I was a first-year pupil the year he almost single-handedly won the Senior Cup for the school. It was one of the most amazing performances ever seen at Lansdowne Road. We were all sure he’d play for Ireland one day, but of course …’ he trailed away.

  ‘How is your father?’ he asked Mr Madden.

  ‘He’s not so good,’ Eoin’s dad replied, ‘his health has been poor, he doesn’t get out much at all nowadays.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Mr McCaffrey, ‘please give him my best. Now Master Madden, we’ll have to get you settled. Do come inside.’

  Eoin walked through the dark wooden doors, glancing up at the motto once more, ‘Victory comes from harmony,’ he said to himself, ‘hope I get a bit of harmony anyway.’

  Inside, Mr McCaffrey scurried across the highly-polished floor to his office.

  ‘This is my office, I presume you won’t be visiting me here too often,’ he joked.

  Eoin forced his mouth into a smile.

  ‘Now, let’s see what we have in store for you,’ he said as he opened a thin brown cardboard file. ‘You’re now twelve years old, which means we won’t be starting you in the senior school until next year. You will be a member of the Sixth Form and I trust a starring member of the Under 13 school team. What position do you play exactly?’

  ‘Eh, I play centrefield,’ replied Eoin.

  ‘Centrefield … what’s centrefield?’ puzzled Mr McCaffrey.

  ‘In gaelic…’

  ‘Ah, I understand, you play GAA football,’ said the headmaster, curling up his nose as if a herd of cattle had just passed his window. ‘Well, we don’t play that sport. It’s all rugby here. But you’re a strapping lad, I’m sure you’ll fit in well. We have three teams in each year so you can learn the ropes.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Eoin. ‘I’m looking forward to that.’

  But, really, he wasn’t looking forward to it at all. Rugby was a mystery to him. Sure, he knew all about Brian O’Driscoll and Paul O’Connell, and had cheered to the rafters when Ireland won the Triple Crown the year before. But he hadn’t a clue about these positions with their strange names like ‘hooker’ and ‘flanker’, and was never sure what each of them was supposed to be doing at any given time.

  He had heard that his grandad had been a bit of a star, but he never wanted to talk about it whenever Eoin asked. Grandad was funny like that: he was a very kind, generous and friendly man, but was reluctant to talk about himself and always changed the subject when rugby came up.

  Then, one day earlier in the year, after they watched Munster win a thrilling Heineken Cup game on TV, he asked Eoin if he had any interest in playing the game; when he said he did, his grandad said he would see what he could do.

  The next thing Eoin knew, his father and mother were telling him that he’d been accepted for a place in Castlerock College up in Dublin, and that he would be starting in September.

  The summer went with a blur, and after a few hard goodbyes to his pals, here he was in this strange – slightly scary – school a hundred miles from home.

  ‘I’ll be fine, Dad,’ said Eoin, when they got outside. The boy drew himself up to his full height as he looked his father in the eye. ‘I’ll work hard, I promise,’ he said, breaking into a grin after half a second.

  ‘OK, well, don’t forget to ring your mother when you get a chance. Have you enough money?’

  ‘I do, Dad, please stop worrying.’

  His father looked down at the ground. ‘Well, look after yourself and I’ll see you next weekend.’

  As his dad drove away, Eoin bit his lip, but quickly shook himself and turned to look once again at the grey facade.

  ‘Off you go, Master Madden,’ he said to himself, ‘this is what you’re going to have to call home for the next seven years.’

  He found his dormitory without difficulty, as it was the first room inside the door on the top storey of the main building. Inside he found six beds with lumpy pillows and ugly green duvets. There were suitcases and kitbags on each bed except the one in the far corner, which he headed for.

  As he walked along the row, he noticed a strange scuffling noise, which he realised was coming from under one of the beds. He stooped and peered into the
dark space, where he spied a scruffy, blond head topped with a red woolly cap.

  ‘Come out Mighty, pleeeeease,’ cried the figure.

  ‘Eh, who’s Mighty?’ asked Eoin.

  ‘Oh, gosh, I’m sorry,’ said the boy. ‘Mighty’s my mouse. And he’s missing.’

  ‘I gathered that,’ said Eoin. ‘Where did he go?’

  ‘He jumped down off my locker and scarpered. I think he’s underneath your bed.’

  ‘That’s all I need,’ thought Eoin, as he got down on his hands and knees to help his new room-mate.

  Eoin spotted the little brown creature and moved slowly but surely towards him. He looked the mouse in the eye, transfixing him, before he pounced, snapping his hands down like an overturned cup and trapping the pet.

  ‘Wow, that’s some trick,’ said the boy, ‘where did you learn that?’

  ‘Down home,’ shrugged Eoin, ‘it’s what we farm boys do.’

  ‘Thanks, that was really cool,’ said the boy, as he retrieved his pet from Eoin’s upturned hands.

  ‘No problem. By the way, I’m Eoin Madden. I’ve just arrived.’

  ‘Oh, sorry, I’m Alan Handy,’ said the boy, ‘we heard there was a new boy coming. Alvaro used to sleep there, but he had to go home to Portugal when his dad got sick.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that,’ said Eoin, ‘what was he like?’

  ‘He was OK, but he cried a lot at night – I hope you won’t be like that,’ he grinned.

  ‘I hope not,’ laughed Eoin. ‘I suppose I’ll miss home, but I doubt it’ll be enough to make me cry.’

  He lifted his suitcase and sports bag onto the bed.

  ‘I’m starving. I suppose there’s no room service up here?’ he joked.

  ‘Eh, no, but I’ve a Bounty bar if you want to share,’ said his room-mate.

  The pair sat on their beds munching the chocolate as Eoin took in his surroundings.

  ‘Have you been here long?’ he asked.

  ‘Four years now,’ said Alan. ‘It’s not too bad if you get in with a nice bunch. There’s a few lads you’ll need to avoid, but if you do that you’ll enjoy it. Do you play rugby?’

  ‘Not yet,’ admitted Eoin. ‘I don’t mind giving it a go, but I’ve never even seen a real ball up close before. It seems to be a big thing here, is it?’

  ‘Bigger than anything,’ said Alan. ‘The teachers are all obsessed with it. The school has been pretty successful over the years, but we haven’t won the cups for eight or nine years now. We’ve had some pretty good players, but always seem to blow it.’

  ‘Yeah, I got the impression Mr McCaffrey was more interested in what position I played than whether I could read and write!’

  Alan laughed. ‘Well, I suppose with your pedigree he must have great hopes …’

  Eoin stopped and turned to stare at his room-mate.

  ‘What do you mean – how do you know about my pedigree?’

  Alan was embarrassed, ‘Sorry, I only realised it a minute ago. The head told us that the grandson of Dixie Madden was coming to join our year so I worked out that must be you.’

  ‘Dixie Madden. You know my grandad too?’

  ‘No, I’ve never met the man. But it’s been hard to avoid Dixie Madden for the last four years. Did you not see the sign?’

  Eoin turned and looked as Alan pointed to the entrance to the room. A polished wooden plaque hung on the door bearing the words ‘The Dixie Madden Dormitory.’

  CHAPTER 2

  Eoin stared at his grandfather’s name and marvelled at how Dixie was so obviously revered up in Dublin when his rugby days were never mentioned at home in Ormondstown. He smiled as he thought of how kind his grandad was to him and nice it was that he was so respected by these people. But he frowned as he remembered how little he knew about Dixie’s rugby career.

  ‘Did you not know about that?’ asked Alan.

  ‘No, Grandad never really talks about himself,’ replied Eoin.

  ‘Well, you’ll hear all about him here; he’s one of the names the old teachers always bring up.’

  Eoin didn’t know what to say, he was a bit embarrassed that this virtual stranger knew more about his grandfather than he did. He changed the subject.

  ‘When do we start playing rugby?’

  ‘After school tomorrow, I expect,’ replied Alan, ‘We usually train two days a week and have matches on Wednesday afternoons and Saturday mornings. I’m not really that good, so I expect they’ll start me on the Cs. I suppose you’ll start there too, Dixie or no Dixie!’

  Eoin smiled.

  ‘Yeah, to be honest I’m a bit nervous abut it. Like I said, I’ve never even handled a ball. I watched a few big games on the TV, but I’m totally confused by all the positions. Can you help me out there?’

  ‘No problem,’ grinned Alan, grabbing a copybook from his locker.

  ‘OK, you do know it’s fifteen-a-side? Well, the team is divided into seven backs and eight forwards. The forwards are called ‘the pack’ and when they have a scrum the team lines up like this.’

  Alan drew a basic plan with numbers and letters:

  ‘Simple!’ laughed Alan, as he saw Eoin’s puzzled expression.

  ‘I’m glad you think so. I’m more confused than ever,’ Eoin replied.

  ‘It’s easy,’ said Alan. ‘Each of the positions has a number, just like in GAA. It’s not like soccer where fellas wear No.23 or No.14 or whatever. If you’re a forward you have a number from 1 to 8 on your back, if you’re a back it’s 9 to 15. And whatever number you have will decide what job you have to do on the field.’

  Eoin nodded, the numbers starting to make sense.

  ‘The last line there is the front row, 1-2-3. The props stand on each side of the hooker.’

  Alan interlocked the middle three fingers on each hand to show how the front rows met.

  ‘The tight head prop – THP – is the one whose head has an opponent on either side. The loose head has one side of his head free. When the ball goes into the scrum the hooker’s job is to hook the ball back with his heel, hence the name. You don’t want to be in the front row, it’s a rough place for beginners. They usually put the small, heavier lads there so you should be all right.

  ‘Behind them are 4 and 5, the locks. They’re the biggest, strongest lads. Their job is just to push as hard as they can to drive the scrum forward. They also do most of the jumping in the line-out.

  ‘The back row has 6-7-8, or actually 6-8-7.’

  ‘Yeah, I was wondering about that,’ said Eoin. ‘You don’t have any letters beside the number eight.’

  ‘Genius,’ said Alan. ‘The number eight is actually called the Number Eight. For some reason they haven’t given him a name. He’s another big lad who helps drive the scrum. He’ll also be good at handling the ball – Jamie Heaslip does that for Ireland and Leinster. He’s my favourite player.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s pretty good,’ lied Eoin, making a mental note to do some serious homework on the Irish team.

  ‘The other two are the wing-forwards, also called the flankers. They are different roles, there’s a blind-side – see, he’s the BSF – who lines up nearest the touchline: on the pro teams he’ll be big and a strong tackler, the open-side has more chance to go on the attack so he’ll be smaller and faster.

  ‘Why have they got two names, wing-forward and flankers?’ asked Eoin.

  ‘Haven’t a clue,’ said Alan. ‘We had this coach from New Zealand for a few weeks last year. He kept going on about ‘breakaways.’ When he introduced us to the ‘fly-half’ and ‘first five-eighths’ we hadn’t a clue what he was on about. Just call them ‘flankers’ for the moment, with a bit of luck you won’t be asked to play there.

  ‘Our coach will be Bandy Carey, and he’ll probably put you in the backs. We’ll have a chat about them after practice tomorrow if you like?’

  ‘Yeah, thanks,’ said Eoin, ‘that’d be great. So, what do boys do for crack around here on a Sunday afternoon?’

  ‘Eh, usually
watch rugby on TV,’ replied Alan.

  ‘Oh dear, I really hope I get to like this game,’ sighed Eoin.

  The dormitory door swung open and in streamed four boys.

  ‘Hi, Alan,’ they all called out, before catching sight of Eoin.

  ‘Oh, you’re new,’ said a small boy with curly red hair. ‘I’m Rory.’

  ‘I’m Eoin, nice to meet you all. I’ve taken the last bed there, I hope that’s OK?’

  With a chorus of ‘No problem,’ the other three introduced themselves as Kevin, Anton and Fiachra before they began unpacking their bags.

  ‘They all seem grand,’ Eoin muttered to Alan.

  ‘Yeah, they’re sound,’ replied Alan, ‘Now let’s go off and find some of this “crack” you’re looking for.’

  Alan led the way downstairs to a large room where boys of all shapes and sizes were to be seen. Some were watching a soccer match on TV, but most were sitting in groups chatting over the summer gone by and the school year ahead.

  This is the junior common room, the JCR. Our form is allowed to use it this year – actually this is my first time in here, too – and the rest of the guys are from classes up to Junior Cert. The SCR is just for the Leaving Cert guys. They say there’s a full bar in there and they all drink beer and smoke cigarettes, but I’ve never met anyone who’s been inside it.’

  Eoin looked around the walls at dozens of photographs of school rugby teams. He supposed Dixie Madden would be here somewhere. What year would he have been here? He must ask Mr McCaffrey.

  ‘Hi, Handy!’ roared one boy across the room, ‘that’s some stupid hat you’re wearing.’

  ‘Hmmph. Hello, Richie,’ replied Alan.

  ‘Who’s your new buddy then?’ Richie asked.

  Rather than conduct a long-distance conversation, Alan walked across to the armchair in the corner where Richie Duffy, wearing a Chelsea shirt, was surrounded by a gang of grinning boys.

  ‘This is Eoin, he’s new. He comes from Tipperary.’

  ‘Wow, a real-life bogger,’ laughed Richie. ‘We don’t get too many carrot-crunchers in this school.’