who were showing some reluctance to enlist, proclaiming ‘this is not the time to play games’.
This quotation was later emblazoned on a recruitment poster featuring a rugby player in his team colours and in military uniform. The message got through, and soon dozens of sportsmen enlisted,the ranks of the military swelling with athletes, footballers, rugby players and cricketers.
In England, the 17th and 23rd Middlesex recruited dozens of footballers, and the 13th Rifle Brigade included a number of golfers. The 16th Royal Scots, which became known as McCrae’s Battalion, included leading players from Heart of Midlothian. During the Great War sport remained an important facet of life for those involved in front-line action. Inter-regimental games and contests were organised, leading sportsmen were encouraged to take part, and the resulting rivalry was often intense. It was an opportunity to keep fit and relax for a few hours away from the horrors of battle. In April 1915, safely away from the front line, the legendary Irish rugby international Basil Maclear, whose story is told in this book, refereed a game between soldiers. The match featured top internationals from Scotland, Ireland and England, and understandably created a lot of interest amongst the troops.
On a number of memorable occasions in December 1914, Allied soldiers engaged the Germans during the much documented football matches that were part of the unofficial Christmas truce. They were extraordinary moments of human kindness, and became an enduring image of the Great War.
At the Battle of Loos in 1915, members of the London Irish Rifles played football as they advanced on German lines. In 1916 at the Battle of the Somme, soldiers from the East Surrey Regiment kicked footballs towards enemy lines. One of the footballs bore the inscription ‘The Great European Cup-Tie Final: East Surrey v Bavarians’.
Seeing the war effort as one big sporting contest was a theme the British military hierarchy were keen to exploit. One poster printed in Dublin with the intention of recruiting hundreds of Irishmen billed the war as a ‘Grand International Match’. The advertisement stated that, ‘Irishmen wishing to play in this – the greatest match the world has ever seen – should enter their names at once at the nearest Recruiting Office so that they may be thoroughly trained for the Great Day. Medals will be presented after the Match.’
Many of those whose stories appear here were decorated with medals for bravery, and a large number showed enormous courage and disregard for their own safety in the most appalling conditions. They showed the same leadership on the battlefield that they had first exhibited on the playing fields of Belfast, Dublin and Cork. They were family members, sportsmen and soldiers, and like the thousands of other Irishmen killed in the Great War they were denied the lives that once promised so much.
A century ago, Ireland lost a generation of sporting heroes.
This is their story.
Prologue
30 APRIL 1915
In the Dublin sunlight the men marched out of their barracks accompanied by the band of 12th Lancers and pipers from the Officers’ Training Corps of Trinity College. With their straight shoulders and swinging arms they moved in perfect step, weighed down by their kitbags and heavy packs.
Family members and well-wishers lined the route, shouting encouragement and applauding as they all marched by.
At the Four Courts, where the day’s proceedings had ended, barristers, some still dressed in their gowns, spotted familiar faces and roared approval. A large crowd gathered at O’Connell Bridge, and as the procession went by, hats, handkerchiefs and scarves were thrown into the air. Occasionally, women stepped away from the pavements and thrust sweets, cigarettes and rosaries into the hands of the soldiers. There was an air of celebration, but it was tinged with a feeling of finality.
For many men of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers, this was their last glimpse of the city of their birth. It was emotional as they passed the offices where they had once worked, and as they marched they acknowledged the cheers. A number of soldiers tied Union Flags and the Irish Harp Flags on their bayonets, and as they raised their standards the crowd responded.
For the ‘Pals Battalion’, this was the final goodbye. It was a last chance for Dubliners to acknowledge their own. A year later it would all be very different, the streets echoing the sounds of armed rebellion.
The march ended at North Wall, where a passenger steamer was docked, ready to take the men to Holyhead in Wales. After they boarded and prepared for the journey, there was one last important act before they set sail.
Frank Browning, the President of the Irish Rugby Football Union, who had been the inspiration behind their formation, was on the quayside to meet the men. They had played rugby and socialised with him, and as their friend and mentor he had recruited many into the ranks. Before they left Ireland he wanted to wish them well. It would be the last time they would ever see him. Within a year, Browning would be dead, shot during the Easter Rising of April 1916.
As the light began to disappear, Frank Browning boarded the ship, and after dozens of handshakes he said his goodbyes and wished his friends good luck. He was the last to leave the vessel, and watched as the Dubliners set sail. Within weeks they would be the target of Turkish snipers on the beaches of Gallipoli. The 7th Battalion of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers contained doctors, architects, lawyers and other men, from across the city and beyond.
In peacetime many played rugby matches together, and through the camaraderie of sport became friends. When war was declared, they enlisted together and regularly practised their drills on the turf of Lansdowne Road.
Once they were teammates, but now they were comrades, heading off to war.
1An Officer and a Gentleman
‘THE GREATEST DISCOVERY IN MODERN TIMES.’
– The Yorkshire Post on Basil Maclear, Irish Rugby International, 1905.
As the light faded on a fine November day in Belfast in 1906, Basil Maclear was about to secure his place in Irish rugby history.
From a distance, the 25-year-old was easy to spot. He was muscular, nearly six feet tall, with a handlebar moustache, and as usual was wearing distinctive white gloves. Over the last year he had become a crowd favourite, which had begun when he scored on his debut against England and helped Ireland to secure a famous victory in Cork. That night, after the 17–3 victory, he had been the toast of Munster. Now it was Ulster’s turn to see if the Maclear magic could be repeated.
As kick-off approached, around 15,000 spectators were crammed into the Balmoral Showgrounds to watch Ireland play host to South Africa. The bumper crowd had generated takings of £800, which was a record for a rugby match in Belfast. With spectators packed behind the touchlines and squeezed together under the covered stand, every vantage point was taken. Naturally they had come to cheer on the home side, but many had travelled out of curiosity to see what these giants from the Southern Hemisphere had to offer. It was the first time anyone in Ireland had seen the visitors in action, and their inaugural trip to the British Isles and France had captured the public’s imagination. The Irish match was the eighteenth game of the South Africans’ tour, and they had only been beaten once. A week earlier, on a rain-sodden pitch, Scotland triumphed by 6 points to nil in Glasgow.
Such results would prove to be rare, and by the time they returned home to Cape Town they
