But sandwiched in between was an equally famous victory that saw Wales 13-12. Three kicks, three lucky bounces, three tries! It was the day that lady luck shone on Claude Davey’s side and turned them into legends.
In the thick of the action was one of two Cambridge University undergraduates in the Welsh back division, Wilf Wooller. He played a huge part in the scoring action and wrote about the game in 1967 in a book called, ‘I was there’, which was a compilation of 19 eye-witness accounts of great sporting events written by writers form the Daily and Sunday Telegraph.
For those not familiar with the wonderful Wooller, he won 18 caps, captained his country in 1938-39, captained Glamorgan to their first County Championship title in 1948, played squash for Wales and also turned out for Cardiff City. One of Wales’ greatest sporting all-rounders, he is on the Welsh Sports Hall of Fame’s ‘Roll of Honour’.
Wales had triumphed 3-0 in 1905, but the All Blacks had levelled things up emphatically in 1924 with a 19-0 triumph in Swansea.
DING, DING . . . ROUND THREE! WILF WOOLLER RECALLS THE GREAT DAY
Wilf Wooller
The third game in 1935 was, therefore, of some importance; not only father and son, but mother and daughter also, for rugby is meat and drink at a Welsh table, were alert to the possibilities. The Welsh selectors, feeling their way after an indifferent season, had chosen four new caps for the first international of the season. Eddie Watkins, the burly Cardiff forward, Harry Payne, a Swansea man framed in teak, Don Tarr, the Royal Navy hooker, and Haydn Tanner, a scrum half not yet 18 years of age.
The superb partnership of Tanner and Willie Davies, the Gowerton schoolboys who had laid a basis for the only defeat of the All Blacks at Swansea, was split. The brilliant attacking Cambridge out-half, Cliff Jones, was included and at centre, alongside Claude Davey, that Immaculate footballer Idwal Rees. I was selected on the wing for only the second time in any class of football.
It began as it finished, in a sensational way. Mike Gilbert kicked off deep into Welsh territory towards the River Taff end. Vivian Jenkins caught it on the try line. He turned and on the frozen surface slipped.
The ball shot out of his hands like soap in a bath tub. He recovered and dived to get his hands on the ball under the very noses of two New Zealand forwards. The game had begun with a vengeance.
We were nearing half-time when Claude Davey brought me into the centre. He had, some years previously, steered my entry into first-class rugby for Sale. Idwal Rees moved out to the wing.
It now seemed that the Welsh pack had got the measure of the fast-moving New Zealand forwards and that we should reach half-time without a score. Joey Sadler, collecting the ball from a scrum on the Welsh 25, thought otherwise.
Moving to the blind side he quickly fed Jack Griffiths, who after a short but effective burst of speed slipped the ball on to Nelson Ball. There seemed no possible room for the wing to get in, but score he did in the corner, taking the tackle of Viv Jenkins in with him.
At the half-time interval we felt more sure of ourselves. Arthur Rees was confident his pack could hold their forwards. We had done enough probing in the backs to feel sure we could find gaps in their three-quarter defences. Claude Davey ordered the ball to be moved out into the back line, and the three-quarter line to run and handle. The dour hard battle forward of the first-half gave way immediately to a sparkle of movement behind the scrummage.
Jim Lang hacks on against the All Blacks
Within six minutes of the resumption, Wales had scored 10 points. Two minutes after the re-start Wales heeled cleanly from a scrum on the half-way line. Cliff Jones, moving at top speed right, punted ahead, a short kick clearing the centres but dropping short of the full-back Gilbert. Claude Davey was first up on the ball and, steering it on with his foot, he collected an inviting bounce, beat Mike Gilbert on the inside and scored near the posts. The crowd exploded in noise, quietened for the kick, then broke the sound barrier as the easy kick, in distance not tension, was put between the posts by the imperturbable Viv Jenkins.
Four minutes later came another quick heel. Haydn Tanner to Cliff Jones, whose half out-swerve gave me more room on the outside of my man. We were moving at top speed and I found myself clear 40 yards from the line. I looked for Geoff Rees-Jones on the right wing, but couldn’t find him. Sensing a covering player was stopping a break in field I kicked ahead slightly in field into the gap. I reached the ball just ahead of Mike Gilbert and tapped it on with my boot. I saw it cross the line and bounce awkwardly on the hard surface sharply to the right.
I skidded past at breakneck speed and was hitting the straw behind the dead-ball line when I heard again that unmistakable explosion of triumphant crowd roar. I turned as I picked myself up to see Geoff Rees-Jones, who had been scurrying along somewhere behind, lying on the ball. Wales had scored again. Viv Jenkins, from a little inside midway to the posts, put the ball between the uprights – 10 points, and seven ahead or two major scores.
Whatever we thought there was to be a rude awakening which created nightmares in the memory for years to come. A lovely screw-kick by Cliff Jones just missed touch near the half-way line and Mike Gilbert took it gratefully. He moved up-field a few yards then dropped for goal. The ball flew low but straight. I didn’t think it was going to carry at first, but carry it did. New Zealand moved to seven points, a mere try away from Wales. It was a nail of some magnitude in the Welsh coffin, but there was worse to follow.
Mike Gilbert tried again for a long drop but sliced the ball badly away to his left. Claude Davey and Geoff Rees-Jones had ample time to field. Like a bolt from the blue that splendid opportunist, Norman Ball, swept between them, kicking on, gathering, and then racing to the Welsh posts with a finger touching him. The crowd were horror-struck and then Mike Gilbert converted.
Here we were, after the game was as good as won, 12-10 down and a bare 10 minutes or so to go.
The scrummaging had been fiercely tough throughout and after a furious forward rush had taken the ball to the New Zealand line, another one formed and collapsed. Don Tarr, the Welsh hooker, was left stretched and twitching on the turf. This was something above the ordinary run of injury. Cyril Gadney, the referee, saved Tarr’s life when he refused to have him touched by anyone but a doctor and a stretcher party. We learned a few hours later that his neck was broken and, in due course, after months in hospital, he recovered and lived to tell the tale of the victory he never saw.
When the game re-started, Arthur Rees called for every last ounce of strength his six other forwards had got. At this moment the Welsh crowd really sensed the need of their 14 players for support and it came in a long sustained roar. Never before and never again was I to feel so conscious of the power of the magnificent Welsh crowd. We felt the uplift and then a surge of new energy.
There were four minutes to play when the Welsh forwards heeled cleanly from a scrum a few yards inside Welsh territory. Haydn Tanner’s bullet like pass sent Cliff Jones off at top speed and he slipped the ball on to me. I was about to slip it on to Claude Davey on an inside burst, but I saw his opponent turn in ready for him. I ran around him and into a gap. Once again I was hurtling up the touch line looking for Geoff Rees-Jones, although this time more in desperation than exhilaration.
I found myself boxed-in and there was nothing I could do but kick and pray. I kicked a short one over Mike Gilbert’s head and as it dropped I arrived. It came back straight over my head. I jumped, but it had bounced too high. It was a sickening moment. I finished up in the straw again and, as I crash landed, I heard a roar the like of which I doubted I would even hear again.
As I picked myself up there were hats and sticks and God knows what going up in the air. The ground had gone mad. Geoff Rees-Jones, following up like a faithful spaniel, was there – apparently, for I never saw it – to catch the ball as it came down, wrong-footing Mike Gilbert. He scored in the corner and it was 13-12.
The last three minutes were a century of anxiety. From the All Black boot came three high probing kicks. Idwal Rees took two of them and Viv Jenkins another. The final whistle came and with it complete and utter pandemonium, as the pent-up emotions of 80 minutes tension broke the flood gates of human control.
In the chaos of excitement, worn out with his tremendous effort, came the sincere and generous congratulations of the New Zealand captain, Jack Manchester – “A great game. It did not matter who won it”.
Nor did it!
Wales: Viv Jenkins (London Welsh); Geoff Rees-Jones (Oxford University), Idwal Rees (Swansea & Edinburgh Wanderers), Claude Davey (Swansea, captain), Wilf Wooller (Cambridge Univeristy)’ Cliff Jones (Cambridge University), Haydn Tanner (Swansea); Tom Rees (Newport), Don Tarr (Swansea), Harry Payne (Swansea), Trevor Williams (Cross Keys), Eddie Watkins (Cardiff), Glyn Prosser (Neath), Jim Lang (Llanelli), Arthur Rees (London Welsh)
New Zealand: Mike Gilbert; George Hart, Brushy Mitchell, Charlie Oliver, Norman Ball; Jack Griffiths, Joey Sadler; Artie Lambourn, Bill Hadley, Doug Dalton, Tori Reid, Ron King, Jack Manchester (captain), Hugh McLean, Tonk Mahoney
Referee: Cyril Gadney (England)
