It wasn’t helped by the usual “banter” from Billy the B**f-supporting coach driver, who took great pleasure in predicting the double of wins for his boys down the road and the Shededs at Castle Grim. But we comforted ourselves in the knowledge that only once had we failed to compete in a league match all season. So Billy bade us farewell – “be back on the coach by 7.30, so I’ve got plenty of time to gloat.” And we stepped out into the unknown.

It’s like a step back in time entering the gates of Kingsholm. They only needed a brass band from Lydney to entertain us, but by 1.30 there was already a healthy crowd. Word was that we were set to offer a show of strength with the Chiropractor in for Marko. A tactical switch by Hilly said the man for the Beeb, but it transpired that we had managed to keep Marko’s twisted ankle quiet since the middle of the week. Oh, the joys of subterfuge. So KO time came round, their PA man greeted Glos as “the top team in the West” and we were under way – except they were off a lot quicker than we were. Less than 2 minutes on the board, Sinbad under the posts after ghosting through a huge gap in our midfield and we were looking at a depressing afternoon ahead. A Ludo penalty added to our woes, but we came into the game little by little, held firm in defence and were quietly satisfied to go in at half time only 10-3 down, especially with Ronnie in the bin (anyone see why?)

Half time talk was philosophical – to take a point out of this might be the best we could hope for. But the team were up for it from the restart, regular forays into the Glos 22, astute kicking from Chippy, Lee and Vaughn and the dread-locked one’s bravery under the regular high ball saw our toehold become a firm footed stride and suddenly we’re driving towards the line for phase on phase and Pez darts left. I can’t say I saw him go over, we in the Terrace were jumping up and down so much, but Mr. Barnes’ raised arm signalled the score, nailed home by a fine touchline conversion from the Chipmeister. A pen shortly after and we began to dream. 13-10 up with the last quarter beckoning. But in the back of your mind, you always thought that Gloucester’s backs had some class. 3 phases of attacking play, one of which included a clear forward pass right in front of Mr. Goodliffe built the pressure and when a super-quick passing move left put Foster in the corner, our confidence took a dent. The Glos fans behind me took great pleasure in tapping my hairless pate in appreciation of their side’s rally, but Ludo missed a tricky conversion and it was still there for the taking.  

The final quarter display was nothing short of heroic. Ron took a Sigley boot to the throat in front of a distraught Shed and his red meant uncontested scrums. Talking to Hilts afterwards, our domination in the set-piece had already been established and the 3 Musketeers would have been only too happy to take on their 8 and drive them to oblivion. The replacements – Sambu, Roy, Saul and Shorty – all made an impact almost as monumental as the gash on the back of Salt’s head. But we remained calm as the game see-sawed from one end to the other and as we drove the maul toward half way, Brian Lima appeared in front of us waving frantically for Jason to kick ahead. Now Chippy’s taken some stick for his kicking from hand, but this was delivered inch-perfect, Brian hacked on and once again we had to rely on the ref’s arm to heaven to confirm something we could not see ourselves. Naturally I took great pleasure in turning to the assembled cherry-backers to confirm that we had indeed scored. With the simplest of conversions it was 15-20, barely 5 minutes left and quite possibly the most nerve-wracking period of my rugby-watching life to come. We pressed, they broke down the left, but not for the first time they chose to kick ahead and a perfectly timed Perry sweep and superb hoof up the touchline was frankly the only truly worrying moment, but we were glued to the clock as each second seemed to stretch and stretch. 2 minutes left and we had a rolling maul heading trywards. A clear collapse, penalty awarded. We could have kicked for goal and denied them a bonus point, we could have kicked for the corner for the catch and drive, but in a moment of perfect clarity the option was for an uncontested scrum where we couldn’t fail to win the ball. The clock ticked down to 00.00, Pez picked up at the base and hoofed it into the mass of Shed red and we went quite naturally mad.

One of the very best days. The coach schedule meant a couple of extra hours in the bar to bask in the win, the conquering heroes joined us shortly before leaving for home and we still had time to grab a pie and chips (only the best diet for Bris fans) and a pint in the Kingsholm, everything done with the broadest grins on our faces.
And the look on Billy’s face as each and every one of us boarded the coach to remind him of the day’s results was a picture. Now just one more win and we can really start to celebrate…………….

Pictures © Gary Bray