I was still getting used to life in Germany when I was asked
to go to Brussels. The civilian rugby
team I played for in the UK, Wymondham, were coming over to play Brussels Barbarians,
which was a collection of British civil servants and ex pats who worked in
Brussels. I was asked to come down to
Brussels and play for Wymondham. Gary Palmer
decided that he would accompany me and made sure that everyone in the rugby
club understood that this now gave me ‘International’ status.
The match was on a Saturday so Gary and I travelled to Brussels
on a Friday afternoon. The team were
booked in to stay at the Hotel Van Belle, so I asked a taxi driver to take us
there. As we began to travel across the city
I asked the driver what the Hotel Van Belle was like. I would
relay the information to Gary who could speak German but not French. The taxi driver told me that the Hotel Van
Belle was very expensive so I asked him if he knew of a cheaper hotel we could
use. Of course he did.
We went into the Arab quarter of the city and I promise you
the only thing missing were camels and a pyramid or two. We pulled up at a small hotel and the driver
indicated that we should get out. You
would think that after my Venice experience I would have learned my lesson and
booked a room before travelling but no.
As luck would have it there were plenty of rooms available so Gary and I
booked in to a double room, which was more like a single room with two beds squeezed
in.
We freshened up and went downstairs. It was early evening so we asked the chap at
reception if there was any local entertainment available. He pointed to a door. “Give me your passport,” he said, adding that
there was a private club in the basement but as we were guests of the hotel we
could enter for free. Both Gary and I
handed over our passports and went through the door. In Germany if the bars on camp were closed
and you wanted a late drink you would go to the local brothel. I didn’t actually know that I was in a
brothel the first time I went for a late drink.
It was a dimly lit bar and a group of fellows sat around drinking.
I think it was a similar sort of set up in the basement of
the hotel. We went to the bar and tried
hard not to look about. The barmaid was
wearing a pair of thigh high, leather boots and a tiny pair of knickers,
nothing else. All the women in the club
were in their knickers, they wore nothing else.
It was difficult trying to work out how to behave in such a place. We bought two beers and sat at the bar desperately
trying not to look stupid or stare at anything.
Now and again one of the girls would get dressed and get on to a sort of
mini stage and perform a striptease.
Occasionally one would come over and drape herself across you
and enquire if you would like to buy her a drink. We weren’t even buying ourselves drinks so
the women had no chance. Gary and I had
two suitcases full of duty free booze up in our room which we knew the rugby
guys would appreciate so we were nipping off to our room and charging our glasses
with a fine single malt. All we got from
the bar was ice.
It was a very strange experience and I have to say that after
a couple of whiskeys I didn’t care how stupid I looked and was able to
relax. I’m still not sure if it was a brothel
or not, I don’t think I was propositioned so perhaps it wasn’t. The following morning we actually got breakfast
in bed. The food was so greasy they
should have nailed it to the plate.
Despite this I wolfed it down as I knew I had a serious game of rugby
that afternoon and would need the energy.
It would also help soften my hangover that sat like a damp echo in my
head.
We checked out of the hotel and went over to the Hotel Van
Belle. With a beer each we waited for the team to arrive. Many of you will have seen sporting teams
arriving by coach. All the players will
step off usually all dressed in a similar, neat, fashion. This was not the state these guys were
in. As they came in to the hotel both Gary
and I were fined for not wearing odd socks.
Someone was wearing a toilet seat around his neck and most of the guys
were quite squiffy.
It was decided that everyone would retire to their rooms and
rest, which I think was a euphemism for less booze more black coffee. It was nice to see some old friends like Tim
Lort, John Clancy and Jon Hampson. Gary
and I remained in the foyer dishing out bottles of duty free whiskey. After about an hour we went back to one of
the rooms the team had booked. Tim was
looking for someone and when he came across a locked door he simply put his
shoulder to it and took it off its hinges.
After a while we all climbed on to the coach and went off to face
Brussels Barbarians. They did have quite
a plush set up and were quite formidable opponents. I remember the pitch was about four inches deep
with mud, which drained the energy out of you, and the game has to be the
roughest game I have ever played in my life.
It was a stand up punch up from the word go. I can’t remember who actually won the match,
all I knew was that I had managed to finish the match and be alive.
Normally after any rugby match anything that happened on the
pitch would be forgotten about and all concerned would have a beer or two and a
laugh but I can remember that the atmosphere was quite tense because the match
had been so violent. In fact John Clancy
was concussed during the match and had to be carted off the pitch. If it wasn’t bad enough getting concussed poor
old John was court martialled on the boat back to the UK for allowing himself
to get into such a condition.
I believe most of the passengers enjoyed watching his court martial. It was just as well that they were watching
John getting court martialled, for they would not have seen Tim, who was pulling
himself along the giant flag pole that extended over the rear of the ship to steal
the flag. I don’t know what it was with
Tim and flags but in Brussels he saw a flag flying and decided that he should have
it. The flag was fluttering above a police
station, well; to the side of the station in a secure compound, and was guarded
by two Doberman Pinschers. Tim climbed
over the fence and began to approach the flag pole. The two dogs raced towards Tim who simply
turned to face them and growled at them.
We couldn’t believe the dogs actually stopped, turned and ran away.
Tim even demanded that I take him over to the hotel we had
stayed at so that he could experience this private club for himself. He had come across a set of pan pipes, from
where I know not, and was enjoying teaching himself how to play them amongst all
the naked women. He didn’t buy anyone a
drink either. It was some party that
night and the next day Gary and I waved wearily at the team as they departed on the
coach. I was worn out but the guys on
the coach were full of life and singing their heads off. We made our way over to the train station to
return to Germany and I began to feel the lumps and bruises I had accrued from
the match the previous day. I wasn’t
very happy, not because it had been a rough match, it was because I had seen
the fixture list for Wildenrath and I knew I would have to come back and play
them again.
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