Memories are curious, fragile, temperamental things. I know I attended this or that match at Twickenham in 2018 or the Ricoh in 2019, but not much of what happened. But I can remember some matches like they were played yesterday, even though nearly 30 years has passed. In part, because they made a huge impression at the time - you knew you were watching something extraordinary - and in part because they live on, in the case of these two matches, in their eternal infamy. They are regularly resurrected and dissected. Just recently, Brian Moore live tweeted his recollections of the first game.
Matches between England and France are still known as Le Crunch. It was over the course of these two matches that they really found their bite as England first baited and then bossed the French. The context was that England, under Geoff Cooke, had been on something of a roll since the end of the 1988 Five Nations campaign, at the beginning of which France had secured their most recent victory over the red rose. In 1989 there was an 11-0 victory at Twickenham, over a French team that went on to win the Five Nations. This was followed up by a 26-7 victory at the Parc des Princes in 1990 when England fell at the final Grandslam hurdle to an inspired Scotland team.
But in 1991 England finally secured their first Grandslam since 1980. France came to Twickenham unbeaten setting up a title decider that they broke wide open early in the game with a try from under their own posts scored by Philip Saint-André, surely still the greatest try in Five/Six Nations. You can see it here. Despite being outscored three tries to one, England held their nerve and came back to win 21-19. Truly it was the roundheads and the cavaliers, with a similar outcome.
Seven months later, England were jointly hosting only the second World Cup with their Five Nations partners and a settled side seemed to have a chance of reaching a final scheduled to take place at Twickenham. An early group defeat against the perennial favorite and defending champion All Blacks, however, left England facing a tricky return bout against France at the Parc des Princes.
October 19th, 1991 - France 10, England 19; Parc des Princes, Paris
And out of the blue, I got a ticket. Our father´s business partner, a great stalwart of Abbey Rugby Club in Reading, had two very late cancellations in his party and offered them to my brother and I. There was no Eurostar in those days, either a trip by plane or the boat train, and the latter it was, overnight and arriving in Paris just in time for an early lunch and a pre-match snifter before heading to the ground.
The Parc des Princes was a magnificent place to watch rugby, probably my favourite venue ever. It was an old crumbling concrete bowl, not dissimilar to the recently abandoned Estadio Vicente Calderón in Madrid, and a with a similarly febrile atmosphere. It was as packed as ever. It was well known at the time that a couple of hundred francs to the guy on the turnstile could get you in and so those without tickets sat wherever they could find space. It was a health and safety officer´s nightmare.
But the noise. The noise was incredible as the band played, Sweet Chariot sounded and the French bayed for blood.
The game started at a frenetic pace, and every tackle seemed to be late and hard. It exploded into life early, as England sent a garryowen deep into the French 22 and winger Nigel Heslop, head determindedly down, slammed British Rail late into the legendary Serge Blanco. The full back didn´t take it well. Blanco swung an ineffective left hand, clipping Heslop, but got a second shot and decked the winger with a full blooded right. Eric Champ, never a model of self-restraint, managed to get three shots of his own in. But Blanco´s right had done the damage. Heslop dropped to the deck.
In 2020 the incident would have resulted in a yellow for Heslop for the late hit - only yellow, because Blanco was on his feet - but would not have returned as there´s no way he´d pass a Head Injury Assessment. Champ and Blanco likely would get reds.
As it was, nothing. The referee reversed his original penalty against England and full back Jonathan Webb, with whom I once practiced kicking on the front pitch at Taunton School, knocked over the penalty. 3-0 to England. The French were seething, and it continued to bubble over.
Not long after it was 6-0. As England attacked the French flew out of their line with a succession of high shoulder hits, until eventually number eight Marc Cecillon - more of him later - was penalised and Webb converted.
France kicked back with a penalty but then England scored the game´s first try. From first phase, the ball was quickly spread wide to Jeremy Guscott whose speed and guile took him through the line. As he hit the last man he off-loaded to Rory Underwood, still today England´s leading try scorer, who touched down. 10-3.
At this point in the game the combination of beer, excitement and the steepness of the Parc bowl overcame me. I overbalanced and fell through three rows of supporters onto my back. Under normal circumstances I might have expected an All Black back row style shoeing. As it was, I was lucky in my destination. The gentleman at whose feet I had landed returned me to my feet before offering me a swig from his hip flask.
The game´s defining moment is the last one I remember with any clarity. It remains an iconic moment in English sport, even 29 years on. The second half started with England 10-6 ahead but pinned down deep in their own 22 and under a lot of pressure. While England boasted great players in their back division - Guscott and Underwood have claims to all-time-XV status, Andrew was a terrific game manager and Carling a much-underrated player - the strength was up front: Jeff Probyn was a tremendous prop heading to the end of a great career and Jason Leonard at the other end of a similarly storied journey. Between them was Brian Moore, the Pit Bull, baiter-in-chief and snarling embodiment of the team´s aggression and resilience. Wade Dooley and Paul Ackford were giants of the second row. And in the back row, a selection that seemed built for the day. Peter Winterbottom might be England´s finest open side, and while neither Iron Mike Teague nor Mick the Munch Skinner were in that league, they were the right players for the right day.
And from the back of the scrum, three metres out, with the match poised on a knife edge and England under the cosh, Skinner delivered. Cecillon picked from his own feet and charged at Skinner who lifted him up and drove him (and Champ) five metres back. The ball went forward and the pressure was relieved. It was an incredible moment. There were no replays in stadia in those days and so it was only through a recording days later could I confirm exactly what I´d seen. There´s a great video here.
The rest is a bit of a blur. France scored a tried through Jean-Baptiste Lafond to draw level before Webb kicked a goal with five minutes to go to edge England into aa 13-10 point lead. England, in the end, controlled a tense finale and in the game´s dying moments, Carling wrestled the ball out of the hands of Lafond in the in-goal area and touched down to give the scoreline some padding.
England fell one game short of winning a first World Cup two weeks later at Twickenham, and as a result the quarter final will always likely be their most celebrated game of the tournament: a fierce, emotional, violent and passionate encounter.
February 1st, 1992 - France 13, England 31; Parc des Princes, Paris
And then just a few short months later, an encounter that, if anything, was even more fierce, emotional, violent and passionate. And I was there again.
I appreciate this blog makes it seem like I was back and forth to Paris for rugby on a regular basis. This was an entirely opportunistic visit, given the opportunity to crash on the floor of my cousin Caleb and get a cheap flight from Bristol. I didn´t go back until 1999 (for a terrible match at the soulless Stade de France) and not since.
Memories of this match are very very hazy. We bought tickets from touts. We drank quite a bit. There was a match. Brian Moore wound up the French prior to the game and they absolutely lost the plot. Two front row forwards - Gregoire Lascube and Vincent Moscato - were sent off. England thrashed France and went on to win consecutive Grandslams. All I can truthfully say about all of that was that I was there.
After that there was a bar. There was Guinness. There were two lovely Irish girls, at least one of whom finished the evening with Guinness all over her very lovely white Arran sweater (see what I mean about the things you remember?). There was a grand building with steps we sat on in the cold. And there may have been the briefest of romances, but what goes in Paris stays in Paris. And the following morning there was a hungover walking tour of the City and absolutely first class falafel. For those more interested in the match, there´s a video.
And that was that. France didn´t beat England again until 1996, and England don´t feature in these memoires again until 2002/3. The early 90s were a golden era that matches even the 2003 RWC winners.