The 2015 Rugby World Cup has come and gone, won by the all-powerful All Blacks of New Zealand, and it’s back to watching the ponderous North American offspring of the game. But the memories — and calories — live on for the thousands of fans who travelled from the ends of the earth to cheer on their favourite teams in England and Wales.
For the several hundred Canadian fans, including myself and my Scottish/Canadian buddy Gordon, we didn’t pay $150 per ticket in the hope our teams would win it all, or even a game. Although Scotland is a Top 10 team, the 18th-ranked Maple Leafs are among the sport’s “minnows.” They are expected to put up a valiant fight but get eaten — and they did, in often heart-crushing fashion. No, we came for the beer, the meat pies, the fellowship of rugby union fans, and did I mention bittersweet, hand-pumped cask ales?
As always, it’s the journey that made the destination worthwhile, on more than 20 trains, five flights, three ferries, a couple of buses and a Toyota Yaris, all brilliantly organized by Gordy with the Scottish precision that built this country. Here’s a concise version of our rugby odyssey:
Bristol: You know your vacation is off to a good start when the first pub you enter has a glass of beer with your name on it — literally. The Kings Head (circa 1750) poured Harveys Best Bitter in glasses inscribed with the Sussex brewer’s name. It was also the first time I had ventured into an English pub in more than 20 years. The sights of hand pumps, sounds of accented chatter and, never to be forgotten, the pungent odour of pub toilets came flooding back. Aside from its pubs, Bristol, a city of 450,000 in southwest England, had much to offer as hub for two of our rugby games. It has a wonderful dock area on the River Avon dating back several centuries, and now boasting restaurants, condos and an aquarium. On my only rainy day in two weeks of travel, I visited the SS Great Britain, billed as the world’s first luxury liner when it was launched in 1843. After countless voyages, it was finally scuttled in the Falkland Islands as a worn out hulk. Decades later, it was raised, placed on a barge and hauled back thousands of kilometres to the shipyard where it was built in Bristol. Today, in a dry dock drained of water, the rusted and cracked hull is sealed and surrounded by a glass roof. Inside, the Great Britain has been fully restored. Wandering through the garden shed-sized cabins — and those were the first-class berths — I marvelled at the courage of passengers taking these vessels through stormy seas to new beginnings elsewhere. I would be puking my guts out the whole way.
The preserved hull of the restored SS Great Britain sits in a drained dry dock under glass at a dockside museum in Bristol, England. With no rugby match, it was an off day to explore Bristol’s historic charms.
Cardiff: Our first match, Canada versus European champs Ireland was in the rugby-mad Welsh capital at Millennium Stadium. We got an inkling of things to come when we saw several Irish fans in our Bristol hotel’s breakfast room. More green shirts were lining up at Temple Meads station and packing the train for the short trip to the match. Still more Irish poured out of the station next to the stadium and flooded the downtown. Canadian fans were a drop of red in a sea of green fans who made the short trip from Ireland and elsewhere in the U.K. Of the announced attendance of 68,500, only 500 were likely Canadian supporters. The buzz among the normally introverted Irish was so loud that we could barely hear O Canada as I mumbled through the national anthem. On the pitch, Canada began well and moved the ball, but the wheels came off when our captain took a 10-minute trip to the sin bin. Ireland scored three quick tries and it was over, 50-7. Now I know how fans of Italy’s hockey team (also ranked 18th) feel when Canada thumps their squad. Fortunately, Cardiff has a few pubs in which to drown your sorrows, receive a few commiserating pats on the back, and maybe sing a few coal-mining songs. Our chosen venue was the Yard Bar and Kitchen. Canada didn’t have a good day, but elsewhere it was the revenge of the minnows, a sushi minnow. In the biggest upset in world cup history, Japan beat two-time champs South Africa on a last-second try (the equivalent of a touchdown) — at which point a leaping Ireland fan inexplicably dressed in a full bear costume nearly knocked my pint out of me hands. That’s not cricket.
Rugby fans Gordon McClymont and Paul Harvey await Canada’s opening match of the 2015 Rugby World Cup in Cardiff, Wales. Despite being outnumbered by Ireland fans 68,000 to 500, it was an unforgettable experience.
Bath: The day before our next match, I took a 20-minute train ride to Bath to recover from the onslaught of the Irish. When in this stunningly preserved Georgian city, I did as the Romans did. I headed to the spa. For about $200, I was bathed, pummelled, steamed and fed at the Thermae Bath Spa, which opened in 2006 on Britain’s only natural hot mineral springs. Finally, I floated in the rooftop heated pool, three storeys high, with glorious views of Bath’s skyline. All that relaxing makes one thirsty, so I tracked down the city’s oldest pub, according to my Good Pub Guide app. The Old Green Tree dates back to the 1600s, and the whole place was smaller than most Calgarians’ rec rooms — but with much better beer. You could only imagine the conversations of patrons, dripping pint glasses in hands, through the years, decades and centuries. They would have debated the loss of the American colonies; cheered Napoleon’s defeat; wept over Scott’s failed South Pole expedition; stood resolute in the face of the Second World War’s Blitz, and argued a lot about “football.”
The Pulteney Bridge, completed in 1774, crosses the Avon River in the stunningly preserved Georgian town of Bath. It was a day of pampering at the spa before the next rugby match.
Gloucester: This city of 125,000 was the site our second match, Scotland versus the upstart Japanese team, still basking in the glow of its upset victory. The city organizers went out of their way to make rugby fans welcome. At every intersection, volunteers handed out greetings and city maps. I arrived early and headed to Gloucester Cathedral. Although, of course, it has a deep and long history, it’s now best known for its cloisters, which were the setting for several Harry Potter films. The cloisters were indeed intricate masterpieces, but what I remember most is being politely chased out of the worship area in preparation for a funeral. I was reminded that these monuments of religious history (mere tourist attractions for overseas visitors) are still alive today for local parishioners. I learned later from the publican at The Comfy Pew — where I sat with my new tradition, a morning latte — that one of Gloucester’s leading matriarchs had died. With Gordy due to rendezvous soon, I scouted out pubs for our pre-game pint. Cafe Rene, which had a patio next to a church graveyard, seemed like our best bet. But when we headed inside, we discovered a fascinating mix of French and English bistro/pub decor, and hand-pumped ales. We never did make it to the graveyard, but we made it to the city’s charming stadium, where Scotland did win, with a convincing 45-10 thumping of Japan’s albeit tired Brave Blossoms.
The cloisters at Gloucester Cathedral were used in several Harry Potter films. It was culture before rugby with Scotland’s first world cup match in Gloucester against the upstart Japanese to come later.
London: You know your return to London is off to a good start when you find a French pastry shop with your name on it. I discovered Paul Bakery in the shadow of St. Paul’s Cathedral, and my almond chocolate croissant and latte were tres magnifique. Later I discovered Paul’s Walk. Enough about my namesakes. I had been to London several times but not since 1993, so on this trip I wanted to see a few things that hadn’t existed back then. I headed straight for Millennium Bridge and crossed over the Thames to the reconstructed Shakespeare’s Globe theatre. A Nell Gwyn-type character led our tour group through the 1,500-seat replica, saucily revealing various details about the construction (first thatch roof in London since the Great Fire of 1666) and day-in-the-life tidbits from a typical performance in 1600 (a bucket was passed around for patrons who couldn’t hold their beer). Next door, I made a quick tour of the somewhat underwhelming Tate Modern, before sitting down for lunch at the Founder’s Arms on the south bank of the Thames. Across the river, I could see the dome of St. Paul’s, but toward the east on both sides were numerous office towers in ultra-modern style with nicknames like the Cheesegrater, the Walkie-Talkie, the Gherkin and the Shard. You can never tire of London.
All the world’s a stage at Shakespeare’s Globe in London. In a break between rugby matches, a quick tour of the replica theatre provided a morning’s entertainment.
Leeds/Preston: Next up, Canada vs. Italy at Elland Road stadium. There’s not much to say about Leeds, especially around the train station. It’s a modern-looking city of nearly 800,000 that could have passed for Edmonton, with its handful of glass towers. Somehow, though, every Canadian in the city managed to congregate at the Black Prince pub before the game. Dozens and dozens of red jerseys, Mountie costumes and even a Flames sweater filled the place. The city’s residents seemed to tolerate the match rather than revel in it. I asked a security guard as we boarded a shuttle if we were headed to Elland Road. He replied somewhat arrogantly that we were destined for the “mecca of football.” When we got there, it was obvious the nearly 100-year-old shrine had seen better days, as had the local soccer team. Suddenly McMahon Stadium didn’t seem so bad. In any case, we watched Canada nearly upset the much higher-ranked Italy on the Saturday, and I upset an English fan’s meat pie behind me as I jumped for joy when Canada took a short-lived lead at one point. Keep your eyes on the pie, mate. Next day, Scotland pounded the U.S. Aside from the two games, the highlight was visiting Gordy’s old rugby teammate, his wife and their two Rhodesian ridgebacks at their 18th-century country home outside Preston in Lancashire. It was our base for a couple of nights, but it was like staying at the ultimate B&B: fine food and drink, roaring fire, country lane walks, local pub, a pond of geese and unforgettable hospitality. And that was it for our live games: Canada 0-2 and Scotland 2-0. Phase 2 was a trip to the Hebrides and Highlands.
From the blood and guts of rugby to the bucolic world of the Lancashire countryside, near Preston. A weekend at a friend’s country house was the perfect break from Leeds.
Mull/Iona/Calgary Bay/Tobermory/Loch Ness/Glencoe: It always amazes me how fast you can escape to the remote ends of Britain. After a couple hours’ drive from Gordy’s home in Glasgow, we ferried from Oban to Mull, an island of just 2,800 residents in the Inner Hebrides. As the sinking sun was setting fire to the sky (as Robbie Burns might have described it) over Loch Scridain, we raced toward Bunessan for our B&B and a hotel pub before the kitchen closed. Hindering our mercy mission were a half-dozen deer leaping several times across the single-lane road in front of us. In the morning, as we were about to tackle the biggest Scottish breakfast I’d ever seen, the friendly hostess at Ardness House considerately asked us if the rutting stags had disturbed our sleep. We hadn’t noticed. Then we were back on another ferry for the tiny island of Iona, two kilometres by four kilometres, and home to less than 200. Although human habitation dates back at least to the Iron Age, Iona became the centre of Christianity in the northwest after the monk Columba landed from Ireland to set up a monastery in 563. Over the centuries, its reputation for peace, tranquillity and contemplation grew. Even the marauding Vikings eventually gave up their bloodthirsty ways to settle nearby. Walking through ancient Iona Abbey, I could understand how pilgrims even today would seek out its soul-calming charms. Back on Mull, playing chicken on the single-tracked roads (thankfully, Gordy was doing his best Jackie Stewart impression), we traced our way around the edges of mountainous Mull, with stunning views of sea, sky and rock at every turn. After a quick pint/coffee near sandy Calgary Bay, we stayed the night overlooking the harbour at Tobermory. Next day we were on another ferry for the mainland. In rapid succession we knocked off Ardnamurchan Point (almost the westernmost part of mainland U.K.), Sanna Beach (Gordy’s all-time favourite beach), the Glenfinnan Monument, the Jacobite Steam Train crossing the Glenfinnan viaduct (as seen in Harry Potter films), Neptune’s Staircase, Fort William, Fort Augustus (southernmost point of Loch Ness), before winding up at Glencoe for haggis, neeps and tatties at Boots Bar in the Clachaig Inn. Over three days, we travelled nearly 900 kilometres before returning to Glasgow.
The serenity of Iona Abbey has been a draw for travellers for centuries. It was a short ferry ride from the Isle of Mull, which was a longer ferry ride from mainland Scotland. A quick trip around the Hebrides and western Highlands was in order after the excitement of four Rugby World Cup matches.
Glasgow: Compared to its aristocratic sister, Edinburgh, the much bigger Glasgow, with more than a million people in the city and suburbs, comes off at first as the homely big brother. But scratch the surface of this sandstone brute, and you’ll be rewarded. Just walking around the downtown streets among the Victorian buildings, you can begin to feel the entrepreneurial drive and spirit that helped build the British Empire, Canada included. Aside from trade, which made many Glaswegian families infinitely wealthy in their day, especially the Tobacco Lords, the city was best known for its shipbuilding along the River Clyde. Tens of thousands of workers built thousands of ships over the years, as the clever Riverside Museum of transportation points out. By some estimates half the world’s ships were built along the Clyde at its peak. Now it’s all gone. Only some giant cranes remain. But Glasgow has made great strides in recent years. Opened in 2011, the Riverside, one of nine museums in the city, boasts a comprehensive collection of trains, buses, automobiles, motorcycles, bicycles (including possibly the world’s oldest) and ship models. It’s just one example of recent development along the Clyde. All that history makes one thirsty, so it was off to the Bon Accord pub, and its hundreds of single malt scotches. It was right next to Glasgow’s Harley-Davidson dealer but the bikers outside had little interest in tasting the nectar of the Scottish gods.
What could be the world’s oldest bicycle (circa 1840) is on display at Glasgow’s Riverside Museum, which has a comprehensive collection of various methods of transportation.
Edinburgh: Auld Reekie has a bit of a bloodthirsty past, with a history of warfare, treachery, body snatchers and surgery. On my last day of touring, I jumped on the train for a quick return to Scotland’s splendid capital. Avoiding the usual tourists spots, I decided to examine the recently renovated Surgeons’ Hall Museums, which includes three separate exhibitions featuring surgery, pathology and dentistry. With a 300-year-old collection of tumours, growths, cancers and hundreds of preserved body parts, it’s not for the squeamish. There’s also a 17th-century anatomy theatre with a virtual dissection. Edinburgh was a key centre in the early history of medicine and surgery, especially after the surgeons ended their association with barbers. The stories of antiseptic, anesthesia and a medical lecturer who was the inspiration for Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes are well told here. But there was a dark side too. During a shortage of good cadavers in the early 19th century, an enterprising anatomy lecturer accepted bodies from two Irish immigrants, no questions asked, for a cut-rate fee. Burke and Hare managed to kill and sell 16 victims before they were caught. Hare testified against Burke, who was convicted, publicly hanged and later publicly dissected. It was time for lunch. I headed down the Royal Mile in the Old Town but was disappointed by the sheer number of tourist traps/shops. I hate to be reminded I’m a tourist, so the antidote was a detour to the Grassmarket area, in the shadow of Edinburgh Castle, but famous for its formerly unsavoury reputation as the site of public hangings and other nasty activities. A meat pie at the city’s oldest pub, or so it claims, at the White Hart Inn (Robbie Burns slept here) brought back good feelings about the city.
After a trip to the Surgeons’ Hall Museums and its massive collection of body parts (no photography allowed), a walk among the biospheres of the Royal Botanic Garden in Edinburgh was just the tonic.
——-
And that was my Rugby World Cup 2015. I’d like to thank former Calgarians Gordon, his wife Judith and their sons Jamie and Cameron, who sacrificed his room to a weary traveller. On to Japan in 2019. Population estimates are from Wikipedia. Trust them at your peril.
Top 10 pubs on our tour
The Old Fish Market, Bristol: Beautiful oak furnished pub, excellent food;
Kings Head, Bristol: Serves Harveys best bitter. Enough said;
The Old Green Tree, Bath: Ancient and cosy;
Cafe Rene, Gloucester: Next to graveyard, subterranean bistro feel;
The Old Bank of England, London: Opulent, former Law Courts of B of E;
Argyll Arms Hotel, Bunessan: Good advice on single malts;
Mishnish Hotel, Tobermory: With a name like that, how can you miss?;
Coopers, Glasgow: Bagpiper plays before rugby telecasts;
Bon Accord, Glasgow: Good real ale choices, hundreds of single malts;
The White Hart, Edinburgh: “Probably” city’s oldest pub.
Top five international rugby tips
Plan your pre- and post-game refreshment centres, preferably among fellow rugby fans of your nationality;
Drink the local brew, or the best available cask ales. Guinness also acceptable;
Wear your team’s colours. Unlike soccer, you won’t get mugged, at least not physically;
Carry a map of the match town for locating the stadium and train station;
Don’t bring haggis back to Canada. It’s a banned meat product.