Having battened down the hatches and over indulged on sumptuous food during Christmas I was definitely in need of exercise and fresh air. Luckily the wind and rain disappeared and Boxing Day arrived in glorious sunshine. By eleven o’clock I was taking advantage of the beautiful weather and enjoying the majestic vistas offered from the top of the Pentyr.
I’d climbed easily enough up the hillside to the summit and was soon standing in a thin layer of snow looking west down the valley to the mirror splendour of Llangors Lake, and upwards to the snow line stretching across towards Brecon.
The Beacons spread before my eyes and acted as the boundary between a blue heaven and the green earth. How beautiful it all was - what a homely yet spectacular place.
Eventually we moved on strolling across the white plateau. The Pentyr had obviously been blessed with an excellent drainage system. There was no surface water, no lakes and no knee deep mud. The delights of puddles and sludge are only for the mugs who walk at lower levels.
As we strolled along we chatted about this and that, easily putting the world to rights, and eventually my companions and I concluded that this could be best arranged by going to the local rugby match between Newport and Cardiff, or to put it in local terms, the “Dragons” versus the “Blues.”
After a couple of hours of plateau height we slid our way down, first passing through the tree line and then paddling across the water filled meadow to the home village of Cwmdu and lunch.
After a turkey sandwich and more delicious Christmas cake I was feeling remarkably rejuvenated and I soon found myself in the car en route to Newport. Wet and windy Wales was still having a day off as we crossed the bridge into the Town centre. Rodney Parade was easy to locate. We simply allowed ourselves to be submerged by the streams of blue and red scarfed supporters heading to the game. Inside the ground we found the practice pitch covered in youngsters playing touch rugby. The young dragons were going through their paces.
There were numerous stalls selling food and drink but they were not for us. We sought the last vestiges of warmth in the club bar. The bar was packed with every shape of man and woman kind. Blue and red chatted and mingled, all friends. It seemed anybody and everybody was at home and welcome. Integrated humanity first, rugby club supporters second. Soccer really has a lot to learn from their rugby cousins. Emerging from the bar we walked to the far end of the ground to take our seats behind the goal posts. I looked around. The stands were almost full and patchy with noise. Night was closing in and the surroundings began to look dark and murky. I could barely see the other end of the pitch. I asked when they would put on the rest of the floodlights. The reply was simple. “No such luck they are already at maximum lumens.”
Well I hope the players can see the ball. From my position I would definitely have some difficulty following the play.
Both sets of players were out on the pitch limbering up getting ready for the fray. I felt old and tired just watching their warm–up exercises. Legs pounded, arms circled and stutter runs stuttered. Oh to be young again! A TV camera boom oscillated in front of me. The pictures from its 120 degree arc undoubtedly complementing the 4 other cameras lodged in the roof of the main stand at the half way line. Crikey, the match must be live on TV. What am I doing here?
As kick off time approached the supporters of each team turned up the volume on their chants and songs, each choir trying to out sing the other. Yes they’re still singing in Wales. Stewards came and went after having placed wooden boxes in the centre of the pitch. The outside air temperature was dropping. It was definitely 5 degrees colder than when we arrived. The players then disappeared from the pitch only to reappear a few minutes later as the boxes of fireworks exploded to illuminate the night sky. Well, let’s hope the rugby is of a similar brilliance.
To my surprise I noticed one team was wearing white shirts and shorts and the other red and black hoop shirts.
“Who’s who?” I asked.
“The white shirts are the “Blues” and the red and black are the “Dragons,” offered a voice behind me.
I turned to thank my neighbour. Who continued by saying... “Don’t worry boyo. It’s all to do with the merchandising see. The Blues have 4 different first team shirts on offer in their shop.”
I thanked my new found friend and for the next ninety minutes enjoyed his and his companions singsong match commentary in Welsh.
The Blues, sorry I mean the Whites, built an early lead but the Newport Gwent Dragons gradually clawed their way back into the game. They were only 3 points down at half time.
When it arrived I was somewhat relieved to stand up and re-establish some circulation in my backside. I looked around searching for some protective insulation. Luckily I found a couple of match programs which I could sit on during the second half. I noticed that large quantities of beer, four pints per cardboard hand basket, was much in evidence. After all the supporters had to wet their whistles and lubricate their singing voices. Suitably refreshed the Dragon supporters took to their singing again and got their team truly motivated. As a result the red and blacks put on a match winning second half display and ran out easy winners.
The journey home back to Cwmdu was a period of quiet reflection. Obviously although we had failed to put the world to rights we were very content with our lot. We had seen and shared simple and yet special moments with eight thousand fellow men and women. Thank you Wales. Your welcome is still as warm and generous as it ever was.
Oh, and by the way it started to rain again as we pulled in to the drive way.
