Jason Leonard: The Autobiography

As I was spending so much time at Barking, education, school work and exams that had never meant much to me anyway, mattered less and less. I had never worked very hard or concentrated particularly when I was at school so I never troubled the masters in the top group. This meant the school lost interest in me academically and I was encouraged more in my sport than with my books, to the extent that I abandoned all interest in school work and devoted all my time to the sports field. Not that I was alone in this, for I can remember when they gave us the option of playing sport on Wednesday afternoon, which meant you had time off lessons. You’ve never seen such a rush for the door – there were all these kids who’d never touched a ball before suddenly rushing out of classes like they’d been selected to play for England.

As I was working through the age groups at Barking, I was continuing to be less than impressive at school. My rugby got better while my school work got worse and I left just before my sixteenth birthday, which was as early as I could. My parents tried to persuade me to stay at school and get qualifications that would help me later on, but at 15 I didn’t worry too much about ‘later on’ – I was only interested in the ‘here and now’. What really turned me on was rugby. By that stage I had decided that I wanted to play for England and never tired of telling people that one day I would.

My parents eventually gave up trying to persuade me to stay at school and I began training as a carpenter alongside my dad for the first six months of my working life. I remember on my first day in the job, the guy running the site said, ‘Look, son. I’ll give you fifty pence for each sheet of plaster-board you can carry up the stairs,’ because they needed materials to be taken to the top floor. They thought they were being very clever and that it would take me all day to shift them, so they’d only owe me a few quid at the end of it. Unfortunately for them, I was stronger than they’d given me credit for. I lifted a couple of the boards onto my shoulder and ran up the stairs, stuck at it all day and was quids in. In addition, I’d spent the whole day weight training, so I was happy.

I used to turn every occasion into a training session so that even walking the dog became serious exercise. On one occasion I took Sadie, our Staffordshire bull terrier, out with me. She loved going for walks but I don’t think she was quite prepared to be put through a training session. By the time I’d been jogging and sprinting round the track for hours, she was absolutely exhausted. I turned round to stretch off and she ran home as fast as she could. Dad says he was working in the garage when the dog came running in, whimpering, and hid under the work bench, cowering and hoping that I wouldn’t see her. She wouldn’t go out with me again!

I remember the kids that I’d been at school with saying, ‘Aren’t you worried about having no exam qualifications?’ and I’d say: ‘Why would I be? I’m working now – what do I need exams for?’ With hindsight, I realize that I should have worked harder at school, done the exams and kept my options open. However, I got a trade, so that was good, but I would rather have had the chance to go to college or university. Of course, if I’d done that I might not have broken into the England set-up quite so quickly because I just know that the appeal of the social system would have been too great for me, and they’d have probably taken me out of the students’ union in a body bag!

My first year in the U19s was fantastic because we won the Essex Cup for the first time ever. It was amazing – you’d have thought we’d won the World Cup from the reaction we got locally. We were playing Harlow, a strong side that had won for the previous five years – the equivalent of Manchester United maybe playing Charlton. We beat them against all the odds and the clubhouse was turned into a party venue for the night – I don’t think I made it home for the best part of a week.

The clubhouse at Barking Rugby Club was a fairly basic place in those days. It was a real old shack, with men’s and women’s toilets – but no one distinguished between them, and men would walk out of both. The walls inside were painted light green, so it didn’t matter a bit if anyone was sick or threw beer all over them. There was no carpet – just plastic lino on the floor – so that every morning they would simply sweep out through the front door everything that had been deposited the night before. I always pitied the poor guy who had that job.

In addition to the main bar, there was also a little snug which was tiny and was members only – I don’t think anyone under the age of 80 ever went in there, but those guys were some of the funniest I’ve ever met. There were two old fellows down there who reminded me of Statler & Waldorf – the grumpy puppets on The Muppets who start the programme off every week on a balcony. I always laugh when I go in there now, and even though Barking has acquired a new clubhouse, they’re still sitting there in the snug. I’m not sure that they ever move. They look about 80, but then they looked about 80 when I was a kid. I always go in and say, ‘Ain’t you dead yet? I’m sure I sent flowers to your funeral. Are you sure you’re not dead? They’re not digging you up and propping you up against the bar are they?’

Just after I’d played in the Colts’ memorable and much-celebrated victory over Harlow, I got my break in the senior team because they were a prop short and they thought I might want to play. I was warned that I was under age and uninsured, but that the captain and coaches all believed that I could handle the step up in intensity. I jumped at the chance and when they warned me about how tough adult props could be, I told them not to worry, I’d be OK.

We played Braintree in that match – my first adult game – and coaches from Barking stood at the touchline, worried to death about what might happen to me. They knew that they’d be shot if I got into trouble or if the RFU found out that I was being played under age. When the first scrum went down they must have been hoping and praying that I’d come out in one piece. They were all staring, waiting to see how I’d cope when the front rows first came into contact, but five seconds later all their fears were allayed as the prop opposite me shot up into the air – I’d lifted him right off the ground. They all relaxed then and enjoyed the rest of the game and a few pints. I loved playing at that level and went back to play senior rugby as soon as I could, but first I had to finish the season with the Colts because I was their captain.

We had a new boy in the Colts side, a lad called Glyn Llewellyn, whom our coach, Lawrence Consiglio, had spotted. Glyn had been watching us play East London because he was at East London Poly at the time and fancied watching a match. When Lawrence saw this 6′6″ bloke with a Welsh accent standing there he rushed over and asked him if he fancied playing. Glyn said that he did and we began the process of signing him up to the club. The problem was that before you could play for Barking in those days, you had to go for a formal interview with members of the committee, so Glyn went along and sat before a few committee men who asked him about his rugby. ‘I’ve played for Neath and Welsh Schools,’ he said. One of the committee men couldn’t believe it and kept nudging the one next to him and saying, ‘Sign him up, sign him up.’ But the others continued with their routine. ‘And do you have any social references?’ Social references? Can you believe it – social references? This was Barking Rugby Club, for God’s sake. Give him a shirt before he gets away.

Glyn eventually managed to provide them with the references they required and took his place in the team. He was a No.8 at the time and was absolutely brilliant. He took the place apart and used to scare the life out of the opposition because Welsh rugby was a lot tougher than anything played in England at the time. We didn’t have any touch judges in Colts games so you couldn’t get sent off unless you were seen by the referee. Glyn would make maximum use of this and, knowing the referee couldn’t see everything, would blatantly punch his opposite number in the first line-out and say, ‘That’s how we play in Wales.’ Glyn and I have stayed good mates over the years and his first cap for Wales coincided with my first Five Nations game in 1991.

Both Glyn and I were recognized by selectors in the regional and area set-up, and began moving slowly through the system that would result in me running out for England and Glyn for Wales. The first stage was Essex trials, which didn’t seem particularly difficult to me since I’d been playing a tough level of rugby since I was 17. After that it was to Eastern Counties, where I started to feel challenged and realized that I was now at a higher level. But I still felt as though I had the upper hand in the scrums and knew my way around the park. I was fit, streetwise and willing to try anything.

Those characteristics eventually came to the attention of the England U19 selectors and I was called up for the U19 game against Italy at New Brighton in 1986. I played with guys like Paddy Dunston, Paul Manley, Howard Lamb, Rupert Moon and Paul Hull. It was a great honour and we were a good side. The only match we lost that season was against France and even that game was close. When we played Wales, the young tight head was John Davies – a few years later he told me that he remembered me from that match as he only weighed about 14 stone in those days, so wasn’t too hard to toss around.

The England Colts experience taught me discipline, but I relied on the Barking first team for my lessons in ‘street rugby’ and how to stay strong. After finishing my year in the Colts, I slipped back into the first team at Barking and immediately took up my position in the front row. Along with playing in the first team came various rituals, including the tradition of throwing new boys out of the bus on the way back when they made their first away trip – you then had to walk back to the clubhouse naked. I was thrown off the bus with this other guy who was also making his debut. We were a mile from the clubhouse, completely naked and in about four inches of snow. The two of us tumbled out of the bus and ran to hide behind a tree. I shouted to the guys on the bus to at least let me have my shoes – I wasn’t bothered about the fact that I was stark naked, but was just worried about having to run through the snow barefoot. Our teammates on the bus were naturally having none of it and they turned and drove off, waving to us as we cowered behind the tree, covering ourselves with our hands.

I asked the guy who was with me what he was going to do. He said that he only lived a mile to the south of the point where we’d been dropped off, so he would run back home, get changed and meet me at the club. I lived miles away and decided I’d better head for the clubhouse which was about a mile to the north of us, so off we both went in opposite directions. I was running between parked cars, hiding behind them until it was clear, then running to the next car, hoping that no one would see me. I thought I was doing quite well until a police car pulled up alongside me, an officer got out, covered me with his jacket and told me to get into the back of the car. Once I was inside, he told me that a little old lady had rung 999 when she saw a naked man running past her window. The copper then radioed back to the station and told them that I’d been picked up, whereupon he looked at me and said, ‘You’re fit, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m quite fit. I play a lot of rugby.’

‘What position?’ asked the copper.

‘Prop,’ I replied.

‘Blimey, you’re fit for a prop. Bloody fit,’ he added, looking impressed. Then he looked at his watch. ‘You were spotted in Barking Park Road five minutes ago. That’s a mile away. You’ve just run a five-minute mile with no clothes on, no shoes and in four inches of snow.’

It was at this point that I realized that the little old lady had seen the other guy who’d gone running in the opposite direction. It was a shame to have to tell the copper as he was so impressed with my fitness, but I did tell him in the end. He laughed, swung the car round and we went off to the police station. By the time we got back there, they’d picked up the other guy and took us both back to the club. They marched us into the club and said, ‘Does anyone know where these boys’ clothes are?’ All the guys in the clubhouse just looked up at the ceiling. The police prodded the ceiling with their truncheons, one of the tiles shifted and down fell all our clothes, so we got dressed and bought the coppers a beer.

The fun side of rugby still appeals to me and although the sport has become more professional while I’ve been involved, I still think that the social side of the game is important – rugby won’t be rugby the day that opponents don’t go out for a drink with one another after playing. The sport will have changed for the worse when guys who battle like hell on the pitch can’t socialize off it. It’s different when you’re playing for the Lions or England so it’s important to keep in touch with the club game. At least it is for me. And I know I’d be a poorer person without the guys at Barking.

CHAPTER TWO A Step Up

Barking was a great club for me to start my rugby career in. It gave me everything I wanted, and more. But in the end, by the time I was 19 years old and had experienced two hard years in the first team, both I, and all my mates at Barking, knew that it was time for me to move on.

The guys at Barking were very good about helping me to find the best move after it became clear that it was time for me to leave, just as they had protected me the year previously and had urged me not to leave too soon.

I think that many people at the club were concerned about me leaving too soon and being put in the U21s, where I’d be likely to learn less about the real world of adult propping than I would at Barking where at least I was gaining invaluable experience against old, wizened, wily, gnarled props. Playing in the first team at Barking gave me a streetwise edge which would help me to cope later, when I came up against experienced internationals.

So I was 19 before I decided that it was time to move on. I’d already played a couple of U21 games for Saracens on an invitation basis, and I liked the club. They were in the second rather than the first, but I still liked the atmosphere and the people down there. The only other club that I had thought about joining was Wasps, but the England props Jeff Probyn and Paul Rendall were well established there, so I wouldn’t have a chance of getting into the first team until they retired.

I liked Saracens because there was a good chance of me making it into the first team quickly and, although it was more serious than Barking, there was still an element of fun about the club which appealed to me. It was then a small club with lots of people who’d been around for years, so there was a great community spirit and a friendliness about the place which reminded me of Barking. I loved it and everything it stood for. It was a good, honest club full of hard-working people. There was nothing glamorous about it but there was a lovely atmosphere down there, and a feeling of everyone pulling in the same direction and working towards the same goals. Bramley Road was a great little stadium – even though the locals used to walk their dogs across the pitch during the day, so you’d be knee deep in dog shit during training sessions.

Saracens first approached me when they saw me playing county rugby and they invited me along. After the introductory couple of matches for the U21s, I took them up on the offer of a place and headed down to Bramley Road. The timing of my arrival was extremely lucky for me, but not for the regular prop, a guy called Richie Andrews, who went off to get married to Di – and I stepped in to fill in for him in his absence.

While he was saying ‘I do’, I sneaked in and stole his place; while he was on honeymoon, I perfected the role; and by the time he got back, I was a permanent fixture in the team. Luckily, we’re the best of mates now, but he can’t have been too pleased at the time.

In my first game for Sarries firsts, against Bridgend, Tony Robinson, known as Robbo, was playing tight head and was completely mauled by his opposite number. I remember afterwards, Tony Russ, the coach, said to him, ‘You useless lump, you were beaten by a complete nobody.’ Robbo was really embarrassed at the time, but was relieved later to discover that the ‘nobody’ turned out to be Mike Griffiths who was selected to tour with the Lions at the end of the season. Robbo took great pride in reminding Tony of his words when the Lions squad was announced.

When Richie Andrews came back from his honeymoon, he played tight head and I kept the loose-head spot. It had been a quick progression from playing casually at Barking to running out for Saracens, and I knew I was extremely young to be a Division Two prop, but I was ready – I had always been big, had always played a few years above my age and I’d had a couple of years of playing full-on adult rugby so I knew what to expect and what I would have to cope with.

While I was at Saracens, I carried on working on building sites – helping out, doing the lifting, slowly learning a trade and earning enough money to allow me to train whenever I could. I know that a lot of people thought we were getting paid by clubs at the time, but we weren’t – we got our beer and kit paid for and there was transport to training, but that was it.

When I wasn’t on site, I would be either fitness training in the gym or on the track, or rugby training. It all meant that I was extremely fit and quite lightweight for a prop (16 stone), so I tore around the pitch, causing as much trouble for the opposition as I could. That season we won all the games in the Second Division and were promoted to the First Division. Our results must have caught the eye of the selectors, because in 1988/89 I made it onto the bench for England U21 v Romania U21.

I had a great time at Saracens. I remember once when we were on the bus driving back from a match and Tony Russ fell asleep. We always had a rule that there was no sleeping allowed on an away trip so we decided to punish him. He had these enormous, bushy Dennis Healey eyebrows so it seemed obvious that the best punishment was to shave one of them off. Unfortunately, it was decided that I was the best person to perform this task, so I crept up on Tony slowly, clutching a razor. I had got to within an inch of his face when he opened the eye I was about to shave above and said, ‘I wouldn’t, Leonard. I really wouldn’t. Not if you ever want to play for Saracens again.’ Needless to say I didn’t.

Getting into the First Division at a London club also meant I was a contender for a place in the London divisional squad. I played in only one London game, when we took on the South-West at Imber Court. I ended up in the team because Judge was unwell. As soon as I heard about his illness and the fact that they needed a replacement, I raced across town to make it for the start of the game. It was well known that England were looking for a successor to Paul Rendall at the time and that they had tried to find a successor in 1989 without any luck.

Paul was the best prop around and England knew that they would need a good replacement for him, or risk the huge advantage they had in the forwards – with the likes of Paul Ackford, Wade Dooley, Mike Teague, Peter Winterbottom and Dean Richards. They knew that they couldn’t afford to let the front row weaken or they’d weaken the whole scrum and the line-out – the platform of the English game. They had to find a good replacement.

I watched Judge carefully, trying to set myself up as a possible replacement for him. He was a great scrummager and the best line-out supporter (these were the days where you didn’t lift, you ‘supported’). The difference between supporting and lifting was very subtle – it was basically all in the shape of the hands. The easiest way to lift was to grab handfuls of your second row’s shorts and hoist him into the air. Therefore, to prevent this, referees insisted that you had an open hand at all times. If a ref caught you with your fists clenched you’d be pulled for lifting.

Judge realized this early on and had developed the very impressive skill of lifting with an open hand. It was very effective and Judge was the best at it in the world. The crafty old sod wouldn’t teach me what to do, so I had to watch him carefully. Because we were in direct competition for places, he didn’t want to give me too much information about the task. I’d ask him ‘Am I doing this right?’ and he’d say ‘Yes’ although I knew I wasn’t. As soon as I was established in the side, and when I was in the World Cup squad, he started helping me a lot more, explaining that you could get away with lifting by catching the jumper under his last rib and his chest side on, and just support him under the rib cage, so you could do it open-handed and therefore not be officially lifting.

It used to be funny during games. The second row would be in mid-air, and the referee would know that there was lifting going on. He’d think ‘I can see that bugger’s lifting, but his hand’s open so there’s nothing I can do.’

This was the sort of stuff you had to pick up along the way from the experienced guys. After London and a brief flirt with England U21 came England B. I was selected to play for them against Fiji, at Headingley. Geoff Cooke, the England manager, was keen to try out younger props, so Mark Linnett and Andy Mullins played for the first team, while Jeff Probyn and I propped against Fiji B. The match went well and it was good to play alongside Jeff. When Cooke called me up and said that I was down for the next representative game – England B v France B, away – I knew that I was in the reckoning and that one day they might take a chance on me in the first team.

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