I have supported Eastwood Rugby Club ever since I can remember. My maternal grandfather played for them after the war. In fact, he died while watching them play in ABC television’s “match of the day” from his home in Mudgee, NSW.
One of my earliest childhood memories is of running around on the grass in front of the brick club house at TG Milner field as my paternal grandfather made a daisy chain for me from the aluminium pull rings of his empty beer cans.
I remember the general growling murmur of grown men, their hearty laughter, the sweet smell of beer, the warmth of the sun that bathed the field and the players in golden light, and the weeping leaves of the old tree leaning over the fence by the scoreboard.
Heading down to TG Milner field on Saturday to watch “The Woodies” run around was a weekly ritual in my family. It wasn’t just a match of rugby. It was the end of the week. It was Saturday afternoon.
For my parents, I’m sure it was a welcome refuge from the week that was. For my Mum, perhaps it provided a furtive connection to those times she had spent at the ground with her own father.
Each Saturday afternoon had the same familiar liturgy. We would arrive at the ground in time to watch third grade. That way, Mum and Dad had two games of rugby in which to let the worries of the week dissipate before the arrival of 1st grade at 3pm.
Mum would lay the tartan rug on the wooden benches in the grand stand opposite the club house on the half way line. At half time, Dad would stand to stretch his legs and gaze pensively across the field at the blue and white clubhouse.
Mum would instinctively reach for the 1972 green thermos and would somehow instantly produce a cup of tea or coffee for whoever was there.
There were biscuits too (iced vovos, tim tams -the “special biscuits” that we weren’t allowed to touch during the week), or an apple, or a home made cake, all lovingly prepared at home by Mum for the afternoon. Our spot in the grandstand became a regular meeting point for friends and family (and their pets).
They would drop by unannounced to catch up. No need to arrange ahead. We were invariably always there.
I remember the players: Space Housten. Tim Dalton, Tony Carter, Steve Tyneman, Marty Roebuck, Ian Williams, Neil Tyler, the great Daniel Manu, Travis Hall, Scott Fava, Scott Staniforth, Matt Burke, Nathan Grice, Graeme Bond, the freakish skills of the Miller brothers, Tim Donnelly – these magnificent men stride around the field of my memory as superhuman versions of themselves – great, decent, blue and white striped childhood heros.
I can remember the bloody battles with famous foes, most of them with Randwick but more recently, with Sydney University.
Away games at Manly would end in fish and chips on the beach at Dee Why in the April sun; games at Sydney University in complaints at the distance of the grand stand from the actual playing field; at Southern Districts, the distance of the drive home across Tom Ugly’s Bridge was particularly long after a loss; Randwick, the nasty one eyed nature of the supporters; at Parramatta, my mother would lament the lack of opportunity in Sydney’s western suburbs; and at Gordon, the silver tails from Sydney’s prosperous north shore would spark arguments between my parents about why my Dad ever left his well paid job in taxation at an early age to become a minister.
If I close my eyes I can still see Daniel Manu breaking a tackle.
I can hear my grandfather, that great big bear of a man, cackling with his mates as he handed me another aluminium pull ring for the daisy chain. I can smell mum’s coffee and taste those coveted “special biscuits”.
If I close my eyes even tighter, I can see my parents seated in the grandstand, surrounded by their family and friends, smiling their way through another afternoon of rugby.
So much for club rugby.
Pablo
Guest
This has just about brought a lump to my throat. I have been a regular at Millner for nigh on 40 years now, still going now with my own son, who suffers withdrawl symptoms if his is denied a Saturday afternoon up there. I can go there on any match day and expect to meet old playing buddies and school mates and reminisce and drink and drink and reminisce. That roll call of great Woodies has brought back terrific memories. Some of the best that weren't mentioned would include the great men Mick Mathers, Jim Feggins, Ian Robertson, Brett Papworth and Darren Junee. What about Sione Ta'affe, Ken Mccurragh, Scott Gourley, the brothers Reid, Sean Mooney, Dave & Nick Creagh (we could probably use Nick's young bloke, Ben, who has made quite a name for himself in league). Even Peter Fitz-Simons. Then there was the world's biggest five-eigth, Bill Cavibati. Travis Hall and Jim Feggins could be the unluckiest blokes not to have pulled a full Wallaby shirt on; I remember one match when the Woodies were lining up against Wests, whose front row was being heralded by all in the papers during the week, and had been destroying all before them... our front row of Young, Moore and Green simply smashed them all over Millner, and ultimately led to test careers for Billy and Rod. Watching Matt Milller was looking at work of art. And those wonderful teams of more recent memory that at various times could boast Young & Moore, 'Googy' Harrison & Jeremy Paul, Tim Donnelly, Staniforth & Bond, The Truck and The Bus, Dunning, Robinson, the Miller Brothers, Lachie Turner and the great man, Matthew Burke. But Milner is not all about the Woodies, either. What about the famous 'up the jumper' move in a Sydney v Country match. What about the first time I saw these 3 brothers playing for NSW Schools against Japan schools, blessed with such rare skill that before too much longer the name 'Ella' would become famous throughout the known world. What about the great interstate games when we would be packed in like sardines to play host to great men from north of the Tweed... Loane, Shaw, McLean, Horton, Pilecki et al. Much has been written about the parlous state of club rugby, to which I can add no more. But if i can get up to Milner as often as I am permitted, call me a true rugby tragic. I love being able to say 'I think so-and-so can go all the way to the top' or 'I saw him play for Eastwood at Milner before he was famous'. My life has been richer for the experience.
Crashy
Guest
Don't forget the Spooner brothers! They played for a while in 1st grade. Chatswood Oval can be hard to beat on a sunny saturday arvo. A lot of the division 1 and 2 subbies finals days are held at TG and it is a great introduction for a lot of the subbies community to the Shute Shield clubs. Its a great pitch which the ARU?NSWRU should use more for rep games etc, considering Eastwood own it and could do with a dollar.
Once was a Bear
Guest
Great article, I remember going to Eastwood Oval near the railway when I was a wee lad, and later TG Millner, when it was the bees knees. As a lad we followed Norths and the oval also has similar memories for me and my brothers. Eventually over my working life I ended up Sydney University, they have a pretty fair team, I still get to some games, and its still just as much enjoyment. Especially with a beer. cheers
formerflanker
Guest
Thank you jamison for a wonderful article. Your powerful prose stirred many dormant memories of my own, all revolving around Manly rugby. Very much like your family, our extended family and friends would watch grade games and junior rep games with our own set of traditions which all came flodding back as I read your words. Well done. (and now I must duck off to get a tim tam and a Baileys and hot chocolate - some traditions must never die!)
chris
Guest
Did a lot of your club/social Union teams miss out on the Shute Shield 1st team games being on a 3pm.
RickG
Guest
St George and Port Hacking merged in '89 or thereabouts.
Mick Gold Coast QLD
Roar Guru
Well done jamison. That was our ritual too, for the home games every second Saturday. Watching Ian Williams fly (before disappearing to big bucks in Japan as one of the first to do so) Space, Monster, Tim Dalton as tough as they got, that bloody Scott Johnson's profligate booting away of hard won ball, Tony Carter (bumped into him at last year's Bledisloe in Wellington - a gentleman), coach Peter Fenton prowling the fence along the northern end, Gerry flogging programs, Marty's busted leg that gave a young Matthew Burke one of his first rep opportunities and mere spectator Roebuck-on-crutches, at the end of the verandah, beaming and clapping with the rest of us as Burke arrived to go in and get changed at his next home game. There was the dilemma of choosing to freeze in the stand or to look into the sun from the clubhouse; the fortnightly argument with the cranky northern side gatekeeper about how he charged us less last time (not true, but a good stir); Gordon Bray sitting amongst us on that little platform in the stand broadcasting the game on TV; a silent, solitary Phil Wilkins as well, making an occasional note then writing a long detailed report in the Herald on the following Monday or Tuesday. There was spontaneous hatred for those mongrels from Randwick and derision for the woofs from Gordon. It is possible my children were with Older as he "played under the stand to find some coins that had fallen through the cracks so we could race over to the Canteen ... to buy lollies." Binger's "hearing the heavy footsteps of men racing along the sidelines" is very much the case - you could hear everything over on the stand side, it was that close to the sideline. A splendid place to spend your Saturday.
Warren
Guest
Great article. My experiences as youngster in South Africa are similar. Many poms may also agree as to their homeland, as would Kiwis, Scots, Welsh, etc, etc. Well written, well thought out. Thank you.
Midfielder
Guest
jamison Excellent article .... there is something about sitting on wooden beaches squashing in some days and spreading out others.... I to love the Woodies ......ARRRRRRRR the best I ever saw there (remember I moved into Epping in 1984) was Matthew Bourke ... the best runner with the ball from fullback I have ever seen ... many will argue others but by heck every-time he got the ball your heart picked up.. For me park and club rugby have a heart and I connect with them ....I just cannot feel the same towards the Super teams...
Joh4Canberra
Roar Rookie
You're reading far too much into this Mokicat. All the author did was reminisce about *his* own experiences with club rugby during his youth. Nothing more, nothing less. How anyone could legitimately infer from this that the author thought that other sports could not be responsible for similarly happy memories in others is beyond me. Just because someone writes something positive about one thing doesn't mean he thinks negatively of the things he doesn't mention. Silence does not equate to disparagement.
apaway
Guest
Great article, Jamison. My memories of Sydney club rugby are provided by ABC's Saturday afternoon coverage, with commentary by Norman May and Trevor Allan. Got a question - you mentioned Southern Districts, but aren't they relatively recent? I recall that the Sydney comp contained St George and Port Hacking at one point until they merged.
rugbyfuture
Roar Guru
don't get picky, your scratching for trollface
Mokicat
Guest
Unspoken is that terribly rah-rah assumption that it`s the game they play in heaven with ethereal qualities un-attainable by supporters of other sports. Naturally it`s possible to gaze back with fondness on sports experiences that gave us special feelings in our past and attribute that specialness to the game. But its not an exclusive feature of rugby union as the post implies. I venture that ardent fans of soccer netball or tiddlywinks could re-call wonderful camraderie and come over just as warm and fuzzy.
Older
Guest
Some of us are even older. In the real good old days, we use to go to TG Milner after playing at Eastwood Oval , Sommerville Oval , Pennant Hills Oval or Meadowbank Park still in our football gear. The top oval was a swamp and didn’t exist. Whilst the lower grades were on , we played under the stand (which was the weights room ) after crawling under the wire gate hoping to find some coins that had fallen through the cracks so we could race over to the Canteen that was over near the Bowling Club to buy lollies. After the game we would then play outside the clubhouse on the grass or oval and wait until your dad would bring you out a lemon squash. Often you would still be playing in the dark.
LeftArmSpinner
Roar Guru
excellent. my memories are from the days at coogee oval watching the brass, Hawthorne, Smith, Fairfax and catchpole go around and usuall over the top of the woodies!!!!!! LOL
NickF
Guest
I remember being a kid in the '70 playing on TG Milner field. I have no fond memories of that place. It was a really hard pitch, dry as the proverbial dead dingoes, and I don't think we won.
snato
Guest
Outstanding article jamison. I have the same fond memories of TG Milner, being there as a young fella with my old man & his mates, being totally in awe of the giants on the field. I've been lucky enough to play a game or two of subbies on the main field there, and was almost knocked over by the emotion of running out through the gate from the sheds. If rugby is a religion, TG Milner is my cathedral.
bingers
Guest
Jamison Great recollection of nostalgia. Loved it. I remember sitting in the stands, sitting close to the fence and hearing the heavy footsteps of men racing along the sidelines. matt miller especially, with his cheeky darts, then a chip and chase from inside his own half, usually to re-gather, and then sprint 60m for a try. thought matt dunning should get an honorary mention too.
Brett McKay
Guest
great tale Jamison, the simple things in life really are often the best.....
Roscoe
Guest
Mate, great story. Can relate to this exactly except- believe it or not- it was at Sparks Reserve in Melbourne; home of Box Hill Rugby! Having played at TG during the Masters last year I can see the areas- thru bleary eyes- you talk about. Wonderful article.