At the risk of viewing the world through Scarlet-tinted spectacles, I think the future beckoning my old club in playing terms could be just as spectacular as the past. In any era, rugby clubs are really all about two things; you need players and you need fans. Exciting players bring in excited fans. The more good players you have, the more fans you can attract – and I include backers, benefactors and sponsors in my definition of fans – meaning, in turn, you can bring in more good players. Some will come through the ranks if a club invests in a sound youth and schools policy. Others will have to be attracted to join from outside.
Llanelli have always produced talented players. The catchment area is huge and so is the interest in the game among youngsters. The club have also always had an ability to garner some additional recruits from outside. At present, the current squad is strong – good enough, I reckon, to have another two or three bids at conquering Europe before it will need to be broken up. The players have ability and pride in their inheritance, and they normally strive to remain loyal to the style demanded by the great Carwyn James.
If you are going to emulate the past, and hopefully build on it, then you need links with those years gone by. In the current Llanelli side there is no more obvious link with the team of the seventies than in Scott Quinnell and his father Derek.
I was in the same class as Derek at Coleshill Secondary Modern. We played together for Wales Schools and Wales Youth and then joined Llanelli at about the same time. I then spent ten seasons playing alongside him for the club, as well as for Wales and the Lions, so I feel well qualified to make a judgement on Derek. In my view, he was an outstanding natural talent – good and versatile enough to play in any position in the second or back row. He was as effective at the front of the line-out as he was at No. 8 and if anything, his adaptability probably obscured just how great a player he was.
Derek had great skills for a big man and was extremely mobile around the field. He also had great heart and courage. Three Lions tours between 1971 and 1980 says it all, especially when you consider he didn’t go with the 1974 Lions. Durability and versatility were his stock-in-trade. Training sessions, however, were not. His nickname was ‘Sloppy’ and that perfectly covered his attitude to turning up on time for training as well as his dress code. Derek had a variety of skives, those most commonly used being work commitments and niggling injuries. But even if you hadn’t seen him train for a week you could guarantee that when the big games came calling Derek would pull out a big performance.
When he first arrived at Llanelli Derek was quite slight and had to be put on a diet of milk and steaks to build him up. Once he put on that extra muscle there was no stopping him – in matches, at least. One week he hardly showed up for training at all, even though we had a major Cup game coming up against Cardiff. I was captain and had grown accustomed to his methods, but two days before the match, in a selection meeting, the other selectors wanted to drop him. I dug my heels in and refused to allow it but I made sure that the issue reached Derek’s ears. On cue he had a magnificent match and from that time on most people in Llanelli allowed him to work his own little system when it came to training.
There was something of Barry John’s character in Derek. He was passionate about the game, but not obsessed by it and there were aspects he had little time for. Both he and Barry would yawn their way through team meetings. When Derek did train, he trained hard, but I always felt he had one eye on the clock and the chance of a gin and tonic and cigarette in the clubhouse.
In my opinion, Derek’s son Scott was the one true world class player Wales had throughout 2001 and into 2002 before his decision to step down from international rugby – the only contender who could seriously expect to make any kind of World 15. Yet I feel Scott shares so many of his father’s characteristics and they were all apparent from an early age. For a few years after I had retired in 1982, I continued to train with the Scarlets, just to keep fit. Scott was a young boy of tremendous potential and made a massive impact in youth rugby, but when he began training with the senior squad it was case of Derek revisited. I can remember one session where fitness coach Peter Herbert told everyone to do a sequence of ten sprints, with very short rests in between. ‘Ten!’ yelled Scott. ‘Why can’t we do six?’ Talk about a chip off the old block. But just like his father, I could see he had enormous raw talent. I had admired Scott’s progress through the ranks. More than anything I was impressed with the way he had handled all the kids who had seen the name ‘Quinnell’ on the opposition team sheet and tried to knock Scott’s head off. It was the kind of thing my own boys, Steven and James, had to cope with throughout their school days.
Scott broke into the Wales team and his reputation, not to mention his value, soared after he scored that magnificent individual try against France in 1994. He looked the image of his father as he brushed past French tackles to plant the ball down in the corner. The image, though, was reflected in other ways. Scott was not as fit as he could have been but shared his father’s view that it was not what you did on a Tuesday or Thursday night that mattered, but how you performed on a Saturday. That try of his changed his life because soon afterwards he was made an offer he couldn’t refuse by Wigan and he went to play rugby league. I was told they didn’t think Scott was anywhere near as fit as he could be, but they planned to work on their investment. They were true to their word. His body shape changed as he lost his puppy fat and became toned and muscular. His stamina also shot up and he rapidly became an excellent rugby athlete. In rugby league there is no room for shirkers.
I’m a big armchair fan of rugby league and the progress Scott made week by week was impressive. But financial problems led to Scott being sold back to rugby union when the game went professional and he found himself in England with Richmond. His recall to the Wales team was inevitable, although there were some contractual rows to sort out before he pulled on the jersey. Since then, his influence for Wales and, in recent years, for Llanelli has been difficult to overstate.
The truth is that both Wales and Llanelli became far too reliant on Scott Quinnell. He was the only ball-carrier, the only player battering a way forward – minute after minute, match after match. He’s paid an obvious price for that. His body is now wrecked. His knees are so bad that some mornings he struggles to get out of bed. Llanelli have become fully aware of this and it’s rather ironic that the way they cope is hardly to train him during the week. In the early days they tried everything they could to get Derek to train; now they are just as determined to make sure he doesn’t. Like his old man, he has become the ultimate big-game player – coaxed and cajoled from week to week and then taken out of cotton wool for the matches that really matter. Sometimes when Scott goes down injured I have to laugh because I know he’s looking for a breather, or for time to let an ache or pain subside. I’ve seen it all before with Derek. But like Derek, there is a bravery and a courage that shines through Scott’s performances. They have both been willing to take the bootings, shoeings, rakings and punches, each refusing to hide away from the heat of the battle.
What worries me is that Scott will be forced to retire in a couple of seasons, not much beyond his thirtieth birthday. He will probably have a painful old age to look forward to and the game is doing very little to ensure that the next generation of players do not go the same way.
Scott has matured a lot through captaining both Llanelli and Wales. He is more open and honest, and less defensive than he used to be. His wife and children have given perspective to his life, and it’s remarkable to think that after going off to earn his living in Lancashire, and then London, the best years of his professional career have been spent in the town where he grew up. I can best sum up Derek and Scott as players by saying that when it really mattered they both delivered – for Llanelli, for Wales and for the Lions. Derek was probably the more naturally skilled rugby player, but Scott has shown he has more application and determination to make himself an even more formidable player than his father.
You know you are getting on in years when you recall not only the current players’ fathers but their grandfathers too. I was thrilled to be in South Africa in the summer of 2002 to see Dwayne Peel play scrum-half for Wales. Dwayne is a lovely kid who has looked very impressive since breaking into the Llanelli side. His grandfather, Bert Peel, would have been very proud of him. Bert was a legend at Stradey Park when I played. He was our trainer, the original rub-a-dub man. A miner from near Tumble, he was a strong man with firm opinions but a wonderful warmth. I’ll always owe him a debt of gratitude, for he delivered me from the new training method that was taking off in the seventies – weight training. I worked in the steel works and thankfully that was good enough for Bert. Whenever someone suggested I get down to the gym, Bert would look up from pummelling my body on the massage table and say, ‘Weights are for poofs. Real men get strong through a proper day’s work.’ Miners, steelworkers, farmers and labourers were okay by Bert. Anyone else was viewed with suspicion and as for gaining strength through a gym, well, that was very odd behaviour. Maybe the scientific approach to rugby we see nowadays would have left Bert behind, but there was a skill and an expertise to his work that you struggle to find nowadays.
Bert would give massages to the players at the baths of the colliery in Cwmgwili near Tumble. There were no machines or equipment – just Bert and his hands. A session would consist of a huge miners’ cooked breakfast with a mug of tea, a rub from Bert, and a hot shower. Whatever injury I might have suffered on the previous weekend Bert could get rid of it. When I left there, I would feel like a new man. Bert was also used by Glamorgan cricketers, and later became Viv Richards’ regular fishing partner.
Dwayne must have inherited Bert’s magical hands because he has just about the fastest pass in the game right now. To see Dwayne form an all-Llanelli half-back partnership for Wales with Stephen Jones has been very satisfying. Stephen is fast becoming one of the better-known faces in European rugby. His performances – and especially his goal-kicking – for Llanelli against Leicester and Bath during the 2001–02 season were exceptional. I think Steve could become the natural successor to Neil Jenkins for Wales, although I also have a suspicion that inside centre could still prove to be an occasional option.
Stephen is not the typical Welsh outside-half, but then neither was Neil. They share many attributes – accuracy with the boot, tactical awareness, a great temperament under pressure and a willingness to work hard in order to succeed. I talk occasionally to Steve and he is a good listener who is keen to take advice on board. Not so long ago we discussed his kicking out of hand. I’d noticed he was kicking the ball too high and sacrificing his distance. Now he’s put that right. We’ve also been working on his speed off the mark. Stephen doesn’t have great natural speed, but if he can improve his footwork then he can make that up.
Whenever former players are asked to give help and advice to current ones there can sometimes be a sense of awkwardness, a feeling that normally stems from suspicion and misunderstanding. But I must say that working with Stephen has been an absolute delight. The only thing that I see holding him back at the moment is the way both Llanelli and Wales tend to use him. He is playing far too flat, too close to the opposition. It means he is taking the option of carrying the ball himself into the tackles instead of passing or running for space. Both Gareth Jenkins and the Wales coach Steve Hansen need to use Stephen standing deeper if they are going to get the best out of him. Those two coaches will probably tell you that the game has changed, that No. 10s now need to carry the ball themselves into the contact areas. I don’t agree. Space has become so restricted that it makes more sense for the outside-half to stand deeper and avoid early physical confrontation. Jonny Wilkinson does not stand that flat for England. If Stephen can improve his speed off the mark, just as Wilkinson has done, then the sky is the limit. There’s no doubt that he could become one of the very best. He’s got huge strength of character and I’m delighted with his obvious determination to do his utmost for the Llanelli cause. But his coaches must encourage him to take charge on the field, and you do that by being alert and on your toes, not by being trampled on at the bottom of a ruck.
If Stephen makes those adjustments to his game then I think he will not only take over from Jenkins as the Wales No. 10 for years to come but will also take over the captaincy. In fact, I can see a Wales–England fixture in a couple of years’ time when both Stephen and Wilkinson are not only calling the shots but are both captaining their country; a situation that could continue for a long time to come.
To see Dwayne Peel and Stephen Jones dictating the game for Wales against the Springboks in South Africa reminded me of just how many quality international players Llanelli has provided over the past decade or so. Phil Davies, Nigel Davies, Wayne Proctor, Gwyn Jones, Neil Boobyer, Emyr Lewis, Robin McBryde … they have all served the club with distinction. But the player who stood out throughout the nineties was Ieuan Evans, who was a constant source of pride to everyone at Stradey.
Ieuan’s image was always that of the ultimate professional who looked after himself and prepared well. But when he first came to the club it was a very different story. He was quick, but he had a little beer belly on him and after two or three surges down the wing he would be knackered for the next 20 minutes. You could see the potential, but it was all going to waste. Gradually, he improved his attitude and commitment, and he became one of the world’s great players. For a long time during the mid-nineties he was the only true world-class player Wales had. As a finisher, he was in the same class as JJ Williams, and I can pay him no higher compliment because I know from playing alongside him just how good JJ was.
Ieuan never lost sight of his roots with the club and gave Llanelli his best years before going on to Bath. His career just caught the era of professionalism and I was glad that someone who stayed loyal to club and country managed to make a few quid from the game before he retired.
At the same time that Ieuan became a fixture at Llanelli, so too did Rupert Moon. In truth, Rupert was an average player but I’ve never seen anyone make as much from the cards he was dealt. Determination and enthusiasm carried Moony a long, long way. He captained the team with pride and distinction and was a major component of the side that won the Double in 1993 and also beat the then world champions Australia. He may have been an outsider from the Midlands, but I have nothing but admiration for the way Rupert threw himself into the community and became such a firm advocate of the club’s history and traditions. In a small place like Llanelli there will always be those who turn their backs against outsiders, but Rupert won over so many people he became something of a folk hero. His influence on the side was huge. He took innumerable physical batterings, but he was so resilient he always bounced back, playing on with injuries that would have had lesser players carried off. I would never describe Rupert as one of the most gifted players to play for Llanelli, but I would say he was an outstanding servant. Along with team-mates like Phil May, Lawrence Delaney and Nigel Davies, he gave great service to the club for many years.
All those players were characters – some extrovert like Moony, others more introverted like Nigel. But they all shared a loyalty to Llanelli that saw them play hundreds of matches and develop a wonderful rapport with the supporters. That’s the thing about Llanelli. The supporters cherish both the club and the players who wear the jersey. They expect high standards and success, but so long as there is passion, desire and some panache they will always back you.
One player perhaps sums up that special relationship between the players, supporters and town. He was a team-mate of mine for both Llanelli and Wales in the seventies and he is now club president. He’s Ray Gravell or just ‘Grav’ to everyone who knows him. If ever you wanted someone to express what the passion of playing for and supporting both Wales and Llanelli is all about, then you would turn to Grav. If there was some way of wiring him up to a generator then the electrical charge that seems to run through him whenever he talks about Llanelli could keep the whole town alight for days.
I had been with Llanelli for two or three years when I first bumped into Ray. Or rather, he bumped into me. It was a training session, and as I tried to make a break this lump of a boy battered into me and I fell in a heap. ‘Sorry, Mr Bennett,’ he said and he looked genuinely concerned as he picked me up. I asked someone who this nutcase was that was trying to injure me and I was told his name was Ray Gravell, my biggest fan. Mind you, he was the biggest fan of every other Llanelli player in the side, too!
He soon made the team and I don’t think I was the only one who was a bit unnerved by this young man who used to enter the dressing room with a wild look in his eye. The passion and nervous energy he brought to the room would leave me feeling tired out even before we had taken the field. There was a certain Welsh humour to his routines. He would rubbish the opposition one moment and then, in the next sentence, be seeking reassurance that he was up to the job. I think underneath all his bubbling enthusiasm and bravado there was a nervous player trying to find a way of dealing with his own anxieties. He fascinated and wore me out in equal measure.
His father, a miner, had died when Ray was a boy. The circumstances were peculiar and it was only years later that Ray admitted his father had, in fact, committed suicide. A proud miner, his father suffered ill health and had been given a job above ground. His inability to continue to work alongside his mates down the mine led to problems with depression and one awful, bleak night he went missing. A search party went out into the night and there among the mountains near his home it was Ray, aged 14 at the time, who discovered that his father had taken his own life. The emotional impact was something that Grav had to carry with him, and I think he found a release for all that emotion within rugby, and, in particular, through playing for his father’s beloved Scarlets.
Grav would be laughing, screaming, shouting and crying, all within the build-up to a game. One minute he would have the rest of us in stitches, the next he would be driving us all nuts. He would breeze in late and then occupy the toilet for the 20 minutes before kick-off, reading the match programme with the door wide open, singing the songs of Dafydd Iwan – a Welsh folk-singing hero of Grav’s – at the top of his voice.
Delme Thomas, the most respected Llanelli player of the era, became Grav’s father-figure and if Grav wasn’t allowed to get changed alongside his hero he would go into a strop. Delme found it all a bit baffling and could sometimes be embarrassed. Once, in a tight Cup match, Delme was taking a pounding as a fight broke out among the forwards. Delme was 6ft 3inches of solid muscle and had the streetwise know-how that comes from three Lions tours. We all waited as he was about to put one of these upstarts in their place. But before Delme had time to size up who had hit him, Grav was pushing past me and had run 30 yards to the aid of his hero. Fists were flying everywhere with Grav in the middle of it. Delme looked astounded. The referee eventually calmed things down and the incident ended with Delme glaring at Grav – a look that simply suggested neither he nor any other Llanelli forward needed a little centre to fight their battles. Grav looked heartbroken.
Not that Grav was small in any way. He and Roy Bergiers were two rocks that I came to rely on alongside me. Roy was lovely player, full of intelligence and subtlety and a privilege to play with. Grav was a big, powerful centre who caused no end of problems to the opposition. He was the original crash-ball man. No one has run as hard, as straight and as forcefully, taking the ball directly up the middle of the field, as Grav. Yet he could also be a bit of a softie. He was forever complaining about injuries, worrying that a twinge in his shoulder or his back was about to end his career. JJ Williams vowed never to share a room with him again after one night spent with Grav at the Angel Hotel before a Cardiff international. Grav had woken up sniffing at 6 a.m. on the morning of the game, and shaken JJ awake to ask him if he thought he had bronchitis. ‘Don’t ever put me in a room with that lunatic, again,’ JJ demanded the management.
When he got on the field for Llanelli or Wales though, Grav could be immense. Big forwards were knocked to the ground and he would smash through the opposition line time and again. He actually became a better player as he got older, adding more subtlety to his game. Yet before a match he would continually be asking, ‘Hey, Phil. These are no good are they? Because I’ve heard they’re strong, and quick, too. What do you think? Can I handle them?’ He had this constant need to be reassured even though he was normally one of the players the other team would fear. Once, when we were playing Bridgend, Grav was up against Steve Fenwick, also a Welsh international centre. I put Grav into space with a pass and he rounded Steve and left him for dead before putting JJ over for a try in the corner. It was obviously a moment of great pride for Grav who didn’t seem to notice that JJ had badly injured himself in the act of scoring. As JJ writhed in agony and told Grav he thought he’d broken his foot, Grav said, ‘Never mind that. Did you see that break I just made? Did you see that pass? Fenwick, was nowhere. I left him behind, didn’t I? Who’s still the best centre in Wales?’ Even on one leg, J J had to be forcefully restrained from whacking Grav before he was helped towards the dressing room.
He may have wanted reassurance but Grav knew his own mind. When John MacLean became Llanelli coach in the 1978–79 season, Grav was rebuked for arriving late for a team meeting before a game. John was not the greatest coach in the world, but he was a good organiser and thorough in his preparation. One of his innovations was a tactics board with magnetic discs to represent players on the field. John was quietly explaining some or other ploy and illustrating it by moving the discs on the board when Grav burst into the dressing room with a loud greeting of ‘Shw Mae’ (Welsh for ‘How’s things?’) to all the boys. ‘You’re late, Grav,’ said John. ‘Sit down and listen!’ Instead, an angry Grav kicked the board into the air, scattering small coloured discs across the dressing room. ‘It’s men we’re playing against out there, not f***ing discs on a board,’ said Grav. John’s team talk had come to an abrupt end.
I travelled the world with Grav and there was never a dull moment. He was the proudest Welshman I’ve ever met and Llanelli summed up everything he felt was close to his heart. Others went north but he wouldn’t have lasted a week in rugby league. He’d have got homesick after two days. But he served Llanelli with distinction as a player, just as he does now as club president. A great player, a real character, it was a privilege to have played with him. If the club can attract the same loyalty, passion and commitment from the next generation of players, then the future of Llanelli is in safe hands.