Southern Comfort

INTRODUCTION

JONI MITCHELL had it right. Sometimes you don't know what you've got till it's gone. Year in, year out, those of us who were born and grew up in the Central Belt used to take it for granted that, while football was the number one sport in Scotland, there would always be a part of our country where a volunteer army of Stakhanovite souls could be relied upon to expend countless hours of energy into developing excellence in rugby union.

That place was the Scottish Borders and their part in the story of the oval ball has been immense. Indeed, without the tireless endeavours of generations of players and coaches, officials and supporters, there would probably have been no Grand Slam in 1984 or 1990, because the contribution of those who emerged from the likes of Melrose and Hawick, Gala and Jed-Forest, Selkirk and Kelso was crucial to the eventual triumphs of Jim Aitken and David Sole's teams. And when one casts one's gaze over the litany of world-class performers who have emerged from those little communities in the South - where no town has a population of more than 20,000 - and examines the influence on the global game of individuals such as Jim Telfer, Derrick Grant, Hugh McLeod, Bill McLaren and Ned Haig, allied to the status of such maestri as John Rutherford, Colin Deans, Gary Armstrong, John Jeffrey, Jim Renwick, Roy Laidlaw, Alan Tait, Keith Robertson, Craig Chalmers, Alan Tomes, Doddie Weir and, continuing into the present day with the most-capped Scot to have played the game, Chris Paterson, it should be evident that those who have been the catalysts for sustained success in Borders rugby, whether in the limelight or toiling assiduously behind the scenes, deserve to have their exploits from the last 140-plus years celebrated with gratitude from the outside world.

In recent seasons, the sport throughout Scotland has been buffeted by negative headlines, protracted internecine warfare, endless club versus district arguments and howls of anguish from many traditional rugby aficionados about what they perceive to be the pernicious consequences of professionalism during the last 15 years. Indeed, just a few weeks before these words were written, the SRU chief executive, Gordon McKie, exited his post at Murrayfield, amid reports of committee unrest, and accusations that he was a bean-counter with more interest in balancing the books than drafting a vision for the future. To many of us, who feel as if we have been inescapably caught up in the sporting equivalent of a war zone, these stramashes, which have usually been conducted by people without the courage to stick their heads above the parapet, have been deeply damaging to the Scottish game. And while it would be pleasant to imagine that common sense might finally break out, once the majority of people realise that the sport has been drinking in the last-chance saloon for far too long, that is probably about as likely as Brian Moore doing an entire commentary shift with a smile on his face and a song in his heart.

In which light, it seemed like the right time to highlight one of the truly uplifting stories in Scottish rugby and nowhere merits richer plaudits than the Borders, whether in the region's radical creation of the Border League, or their invention of Sevens (which will shortly be included in the Olympic Games, and which has recently surged in popularity among countries in Africa, Europe and Australasia), or the astonishing exploits of clubs such as Hawick and Melrose, both of which have punched far above their weights in the sport, with a giddying spirit of enterprise and energy.

On my regular visits to these two locales during the last 20 years, the qualities which have constantly shone like beacons have been the dedication, selfless commitment and sheer unfettered enthusiasm of those who live and breathe to spread the rugby gospel. Some people still maintain that the sport has suffered since the arrival of professionalism, with too much attention focused on a small, elite band of players, while Scotland's clubs have plummeted into steep decline. But anybody who tried to convey that message to the thousands of fans who roared their approval when Melrose surged to victory in the Premiership, the Border League and their own Sevens this spring would have received a pretty sharp retort to the suggestion that their pursuit was in the doldrums.

Instead, they were part of an ongoing tale which encompasses local heroes, stalwart servants who seek neither recognition nor riches, but remain happy to work tirelessly behind the scenes; and the exertions of this volunteer army have been the catalyst for the development of a gifted ensemble of virtuoso players, many of whom shone for the South, then with Scotland and the British and Irish Lions, without ever forgetting about their roots. This book is a tribute to them and also a commemoration of one or two special individuals, men such as Bill McLaren, whose voice first left me enthralled by the whole pageantry of rugby in the 1970s, and Jim Telfer, whose gruff tones have occasionally reduced towering hulks to quivering jellyfish, but whose contribution, as a player and a coach - but, sadly, not an administrator - have been invaluable in nurturing generations of youngsters in his native Borders and spreading the game's gospel from such hamlets as Earlston and Melrose to the rugby enclaves of the southern hemisphere.

The publication of this work would not have been possible without contributions from many of the most illustrious names in Scotland's history and I am grateful for the input of such childhood heroes of mine as Jim Telfer, Colin Deans, Alan Tomes, Jim Renwick, John Rutherford, Ian Barnes, Norman Pender, Keith Robertson and George Fairbairn. From a more contemporary vintage, I was privileged to speak to an array of such estimable characters as Craig Chalmers, John Jeffrey, Iain Paxton, Doddie Weir, Gary Armstrong, Rowen Shepherd, Alan Tait, Ross Ford, Craig Redpath and Chris Paterson. The latter man, in my opinion, encapsulates the qualities which have been shared by many of his illustrious predecessors: an unstinting effort and consummate team ethic in every performance, allied to an unfailing modesty in dealing with his celebrity. I am probably not the only person to believe that if Scotland could send out 15 Patersons on to the pitch, we would win many more international matches than we would lose.

The Borders' consistent exploits have depended, of course, on a string of other dedicated club men and women, whose labours have ensured Border League success for their own communities and these people have been the heart and the pulse of the sport in the South of Scotland. I talked to many of these individuals and would particularly like to thank Gala's John Gray and Colin Playfair, Melrose's Jack Dun, Langholm's John Smith, Kelso's Ewan Brewis and Norman Anderson, Hawick's John Thorburn, Jed-Forest's Heather Smith, Peebles' Jim Currie and Selkirk's Donald Macleod and Ross Thomson. I am also grateful for the insight of the Scotland Rugby League historian, Gavin Willacy, and the RFL's Tony Collins. In terms of analysing the Borders professional structure, and why it suffered so grievously at the hands of the SRU, I am also appreciative of the background information provided by the former Scotland centre, Alastair Cranston, and two other officials, who requested anonymity. It would have been a merciful release if I had been able to avoid the tristesse-laden saga of the Border Reivers during that professional organisation's troubled incarnations, but the failure of Scotland to respond to professionalism is central to what has gone wrong in the country's rugby since the high points of the Grand Slam in 1990 and World Cup semi-final appearance in 1991 and I felt that it was necessary to explore the reasons why the issue became so problematic.

I was keen to gather as many reminiscences as possible and this task has been made easier by the assistance of a number of my journalistic colleagues. Thanks are due (in no particular order) to Alasdair Reid, William Paul, David Ferguson, Bill Lothian, Kevin Ferrie, Bill Johnstone, Peter Donald, John Dawson, Alex Gordon and John Beattie. Others who have made my task easier include the always-illuminating secretary of Glasgow Hawks, Hugh Barrow, the SRU's Dominic McKay and Graham Law, and the historian and journalist Laing Speirs, while the insightful rugby columnist and proud Souter, Allan Massie, obviously shares the same reverence for the aforementioned Rutherford as myself. I am also indebted to the fashion in which the late Walter Thomson and Sandy Thorburn covered the earlier chapters of Scotland's rugby development, while the staff at Airyhall Library in Aberdeen were exemplars of patience in dealing with the reams of material which I printed out during a storm-tossed winter.

As usual, I would like to thank my agent, Mark Stanton, and Peter Burns, the sports editor at Birlinn, while, yet again, paying tribute to my wife, Dianne, who was a tower of strength (and technical know-how), whether driving me to and from the Borders or instructing me in such essential tools of the trade as cutting and pasting!

It has all added up to a cherishable experience and I have made the acquaintance of a rich array of characters, whose names may be unknown outside the Borders, but whose devotion to rugby was - and is - compelling. Very few of us can ever hope to dazzle in the style of John Rutherford and Keith Robertson or scare the life out of opposition packs in the fashion of Colin Deans and Alan Tomes, but the sport in the South of Scotland also depends on such unheralded stalwarts as Jim Currie, the Peebles farmer whose labours have been...