Rugby Warrior (4 page)

N
ext day the first years had Mr Lawson for history. At the end of the class he told them that, at Mr Finn’s suggestion, they were going to enter the Young Historian of the Year competition for the first time. This was a very prestigious award scheme that included a generous prize for both the school and the winning pupil, including a trip for a class group to a historic site anywhere in Europe.

‘Mr Finn tells me you have some excellent young
historians
among you,’ said Mr Lawson, ‘but I want
everyone
to have a go at this. Have a think about what you’d like to write about and we’ll start tying ideas down at our next class.’

‘Yawn,’ said Alan as the boys wandered off to do their after-school work.

‘I don’t know,’ said Eoin, ‘I like history. It could be a bit of crack. It’ll give us an excuse to get some extra time on the computer.’

After they finished their homework they kicked a ball back and forth a few dozen times before Eoin called a halt to the game.

‘I’m going to go to the library. I want to check out if they have a book. Want to come?’

‘No, I’m whacked,’ said Alan. ‘I’m going to crash out on my bed.’

Eoin jogged over to the main building, and slipped into the school library, which was on the ground floor beside Mr McCaffrey’s office.

Besides the librarian, a retired English teacher called Mr McDonagh, he was alone.

‘Can I help you?’ the librarian asked.

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Eoin. ‘I’m looking for a book called
The Complete Rugby Footballer
. It’s by an old guy who played for New Zealand. I can’t remember his name, sorry.’

‘Hmmm, that’s interesting. We have a lot of books about rugby, but I’m not sure I’ve heard of that one. Let me check the catalogue.’

The grey-haired man thumbed his way through a big box full of small white cards. After some minutes, he
pulled one out.

‘Yes, here it is.
The Complete Rugby Footballer
by D. Gallaher and W.J. Stead. Gosh, published in 1906! I hope it’s not too fragile to read,’ he murmured. ‘Follow me …’

The librarian took off towards the far corner of the library, where a dusty cabinet with a glass-panelled front stood. He selected a small key from an enormous bunch and opened the door with a creak. He reached inside and carefully lifted down a thick, brown book which he handed to Eoin.

‘Take good care of that, young man, I doubt it has been looked at in a hundred years. It is not available to borrow, I’m afraid, so you will have to read it here. And as I’m closing up in ten minutes you had better be quick.’

Eoin sat down at a desk and examined the cover of the book. The title and names of the authors were picked out in gold and Eoin had to wipe a layer of dust off the spine before he opened it.

He examined a photograph on the first page, a side shot of a grinning rugby player holding a ball. Opposite was the title again, and above it a message written neatly in ink. Eoin read it, and suddenly shivered as if
someone
had opened a window and an icy blast of wind had blown through the old room.

There, in the top corner, were written the words ‘B.F. Hanrahan, from Charlie, Christmas 1927’.

Eoin stared wide-eyed at the page, and looked up to where the librarian was busy tidying away some volumes.

‘Brian …’ he started, ‘But how …’

‘I was wondering that myself,’ came a whisper behind him.

Eoin turned quickly, and there leaning against a
bookcase
was a pale young man dressed in black, red and yellow hooped rugby kit.

‘Brian!’ he gasped, at which the librarian looked up.

‘Are you all right, young man?’ he asked. ‘You must keep quiet, even if there are no other readers about.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Eoin. ‘I just got a bit of a surprise.’

‘
Surprise
? Huh, it didn’t seem like that sort of book,’ grumped the librarian.

Eoin put his head down, and whispered out of the side of his mouth, ‘How did you get here? Where have you been?’

‘I’m not sure how I got here,’ said Brian. ‘It must have been that book. Maybe it works like Aladdin’s lamp? I got that book from my brother on the last Christmas Day I was alive.

‘I was really interested in the All Blacks and the way they changed the game. I had seen them play Ireland in
Lansdowne Road a year or two before and they were very impressive.

‘I remember after I died that my brothers packed up all my belongings and sold off what they didn’t want as keepsakes. They raised enough to buy a trophy which they donated to the club for best young player, or
something
of that order. Someone in the school must have bought that book and it ended up here after that …’

‘Time’s up!’ came the call from the librarian. ‘I’m open again tomorrow after school if you need to consult the book again. I’ll keep it here under the counter for you.’

Eoin stood and turned to say goodbye to Brian, but the ghost had already departed.

T
he Under-14 trials were very well attended – even some of the boys who hadn’t played rugby the year before turned out, eager to sample this sport that had so enthralled Castlerock at the Aviva Stadium the previous year.

Mr Carey was there too, and organised the dividing up of the players into four teams, but Mr McRae took the two best teams and led them up to the senior pitch to play a twenty-minute-a-side game. The A selection to play the Bs consisted of the starting fifteen from the Fr Geoghegan Cup final, so Eoin slotted in at inside centre, Richie Duffy at out-half and Rory was scrum-half.

As a new boy, Dylan couldn’t have expected any better than to be put on the C team to take on the Ds, but even so he was a bit miffed.

Most of the players were a bit rusty, but Eoin’s summer spent playing Gaelic stood to him and he made a couple of good breaks and one glorious sidestepping run that resulted in a try under the posts.

‘Nice work, Madden,’ called Mr McRae, ‘take your kick over here by the touchline. It’s too easy under the posts.’

Eoin was a bit irked that his good work to get under the post was being disregarded, but he didn’t complain, and walked over to where Mr McRae was standing. He placed the ball carefully, and with a short run and effortless kick, hoisted the ball high over the bar, neatly bisecting the white timbers.

‘Wow, I like your style,’ said Mr McRae. ‘You must practise that a lot.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Eoin replied. ‘I kept it up over the summer down home.’

‘Great, that’s serious application. Now back to your position.’

Both games were being played simultaneously, so when half-time came, Mr Carey strolled over to talk to Mr McRae.

‘That kid from Limerick is a pretty good scrum-half,’ he said, quietly. ‘It might be worth giving him a half on the Bs – David Vincent is no great shakes and Coonan
could definitely challenge Rory Grehan for a place.’

‘OK,’ replied Mr McRae, ‘I agree with you about Vincent, but I think Grehan shows a bit of guts.’

Mr Carey sent Dylan up to the senior pitch, and the new boy arrived with a grin as wide as the River Shannon.

‘Howya, lads,’ he said as he took his place. ‘I’m Dylan and I’m pretty good at this. Just make sure I get lots of ball.’

The B team stared at this brash newcomer, whose cockiness seemed even more comical because he was barely up to shoulder height on any of them.

Rory looked across at Eoin as he prepared to restart the second half. He wasn’t at all happy.

In the next break in play Eoin put his hand on Rory’s shoulder. ‘Relax, Rory, you’re the man in possession. We all know what you can do and you have a Geoghegan Cup medal to prove it.’

‘Thanks, Eoin, but that doesn’t mean much when the coach was on the other side of the world when we won it,’ he replied, glumly.

The A team found their form in the second half, and thanks to some quick passing by Rory to Richie Duffy, who made some good kicks into their opponents’
corners
, they recorded an easy win.

After the games were over, Mr McRae called the four teams around him.

‘Right, gentlemen, that was a very impressive bit of rugby for so early in the new season. I’m seriously impressed with how well organised you guys are, and I’m very confident we can continue our winning ways over the winter. I’ve been concentrating on the top end of the talent pool, but I am going to take a keen and close interest in how all the teams get on.

‘I put great store in having the right men in the right jobs on the team, so I will be talking to a few of you about maybe changing positions. But right now I just want to announce that I have selected a boy to be
captain
this year, and that I believe he has the ability and leadership qualities to be a great skipper. I want you all to row in behind him, and give him your support because it’s never an easy job. I’d like him to come up here and say a few words about what sort of captain he wants to be. Come on up, Eoin Madden!’

Eoin stopped, and his mouth opened, soundlessly. He tried hard not to look across where Richie was
standing
, but he just couldn’t resist it and was rewarded with a thunderous glare.

He stepped up beside Mr McRae, who shook his hand and pointed out at the seventy boys who were
watching events closely.

‘Tell them, Eoin. You’re in charge,’ he said.

‘Em, em, well …’ Eoin didn’t know what to say. He looked down at Alan, Dylan and Rory, who had huge grins on their faces.

‘Well, thank you, sir, for giving me this big job. I’m very honoured to get it, and well, I hope I can live up to what you want from us. I hope you all enjoy playing for the school this year and work really hard in training. We have some great players here and lots of competition so I hope the Bs and Cs work hard too. I started last year on the Cs so anyone can do it.’

He stopped speaking and walked back to where his friends stood.

‘Thanks, Eoin,’ said Mr McRae, ‘And now we’ll have each of the teams breaking up and working on fitness …’

W
hen training was over, Rory and Alan sought out Eoin and walked towards the changing rooms together.

‘That’s amazing, Eoin,’ said Alan.

‘Yeah,’ said Rory, ‘it’s great news. I suppose my place will be safe on the first team now!’

Eoin stopped and looked at Rory. ‘Sorry, Rory, you can’t presume that. The coach will pick the team, but although I’ll probably have a say, I just can’t show you any favours. We have to pick the best team.’

Rory bit his lip and glowered, before jogging ahead of the other pair.

‘I knew that was going to be trouble,’ sighed Eoin. ‘Dylan wasn’t bad today, but I’d definitely stick with Rory for the moment. I hope Mr McRae agrees with me.’

At that moment, Dylan caught up with them. ‘Well, skipper, what did you think? I’m pretty good, amn’t I?’ he asked, buzzing around the pair like an oversized wasp.

‘Yeah, you’re really good,’ admitted Eoin, ‘but like I told Rory, I won’t be picking the teams. Everyone’s just got to work hard in training and I’m sure Mr McRae will be fair.’

‘OK, I can handle that,’ said Dylan. ‘Rory’s a nice guy but I’m definitely better and I haven’t played for more than a year. A bit more practice and I’ll be ready to take him.’

‘Well, if that’s what you think,’ muttered Eoin, ‘but keep me out of it. I have to live with the two of you.’

Alan piped up, ‘Don’t worry, Eoin, I certainly won’t be pressuring you for a place on the first-fifteen. I dropped the ball every time it came to me on the Ds. I’ll be lucky if they ask me back to training …’

‘It takes all sorts, Alan, and the crack is good down on the Cs and Ds,’ said Eoin, consoling his pal. ‘You never know when a dose of the measles might break out and you’ll find yourself on the Junior Cup team.’

Alan went white. ‘Oh no, you don’t think that’s possible, do you?’

‘It’s possible,’ said Eoin, ‘but there’s about a hundred and fifty lads who’d need to be sick before they’d have
to call on you!’

Eoin ducked as Alan aimed a playful slap at his head, and dodged into the dressing room before the wounded winger could try again.

Later, after tea, Eoin and Alan wandered down to the common room to watch a soccer match on TV.

‘Mr Lawson says he’s more of a soccer man – do you think he was talking about starting a team?’ asked Alan. ‘I reckon I’d be a lot better at that than rugby.’

‘Well, why don’t you ask him?’ said Eoin. ‘But I’d say McCaffrey and the rest of them wouldn’t be too keen on anything that might distract from rugby.’

‘Still, there’s a load of guys interested in football, and if they can’t get on any of the three league and cup teams, it wouldn’t cut across,’ argued Alan. ‘I’m going to ask Mr Lawson in the morning.’

‘OK,’ said Eoin, ‘but I won’t have time to play that AND rugby––’

‘Who asked you to?’ butted in Alan. ‘We’d need to have a hundred and fifty guys down with the measles before you’d be selected for the Castlerock United FC first eleven!’

‘Aha, you got me there,’ laughed Eoin, ‘got me good.’

N
ext morning, Mr Lawson was in a very good mood when he walked into the First Year
classroom
.

‘Right, boys,’ he beamed, ‘today is the day we decide on our projects for the Young Historian competition. I presume you have all decided what your subject is going to be?’

He was greeted by five rows of faces that each started blank, then turned pink, before ending with expressions which told of various degrees of panic.

‘Ah, I understand. OK, well let’s work out a few ideas and we’ll have you all sorted before the class is over. Who prefers Irish history?’

A handful of hands went up, and after Mr Lawson made a few suggestions the boys agreed on the
individual
subjects for their projects.

He worked his way around the class, eventually
ensuring
all the boys had a topic to work on. The last name on the list was Eoin’s and Mr Lawson stood by his desk.

‘Right, Madden, what’s it going to be? You haven’t shown any interest in any of the characters or events we talked about up to this.’

Eoin stared back at the teacher. He had missed most of the class daydreaming – his new responsibility and the return of Brian had distracted him from the lesson.

‘Well, is there anyone in history that you’d like to research?’ asked Mr Lawson.

‘Yes, sir,’ said Eoin, thinking quickly. ‘I was reading about this famous Irishman who was killed during the First World War and I thought he might be interesting.’

‘Hmmm, that can be a very good period to research,’ replied the teacher. ‘What’s your character’s name?’

‘Dave Gallaher,’ said Eoin, ‘He played rugby for New Zea—’

‘I know exactly who he is,’ interrupted Mr Lawson, ‘And I agree he was a very interesting man. But whether he is a suitable case for study I’m not so sure. It’s not a sports-essay competition.’

‘I’ve already dug out his book in the library,’ said Eoin, hoping his apparent enthusiasm might encourage the teacher.

‘Really? All right, but keep the rugby part of this to
the minimum,’ he said. ‘It’s not a sports-writing class we’re doing. Stick to his life story and his time as a
soldier
.’

‘I will, sir. When is the project due?’

Mr Lawson returned to the top of the class.

‘Now, young men, your attention please. You have all agreed on the subjects you are going to research. You will have five weeks from today to compile your
information
, and then we will spend two weeks writing up your essays. The closing date for the competition is just after the Halloween break, so I want you to kick into this as soon as possible. I’m delighted to see that at least one of you has already started his work,’ as he turned towards Eoin and beamed.

Richie Duffy snorted as the rest of the class stared at Eoin, who blushed.

‘Crawler,’ hissed Ollie Flanagan.

‘All right, enough of that,’ said the teacher. ‘There’s nothing wrong with a bit of enthusiasm for the subject. Now, we’ve only got five minutes left, so does anyone have any questions?’

‘Sir, sir,’ said Alan, sticking his hand in the air. ‘Do you remember in your first class when you said you might do something about us not having a soccer team in Castlerock? Well, are you going to?’

‘We-e-e-ll,’ hesitated Mr Lawson, ‘I’d have to ask the headmaster about that first. Are many of you interested in football?’

Almost all the hands went up.

‘OK, well I don’t want it to get too big. Maybe we’ll just start it for the guys who don’t play rugby. Leave it with me.’