To the right of the masthead of the February 1961 edition of Rugby, the official publication of the French federation, was a box in which the bons mots changed monthly. On this occasion, it read (in French): “The referee should be on the field neither to control nor to punish, but simply to direct the game.”
It is possible the editor felt compelled to convey that message because of the fixture ten days before publication. On February 18, France welcomed South Africa to Colombes for an unofficial world final. Dubbed “the game of the century”, it was an exercise in revenge for the Springboks, who had lost 9-5 at Ellis Park three years earlier. It lived up to the billing and is regarded as a classic — despite ending 0-0.
Captained by Avril Malan, the Fifth Springboks — it was their fifth tour to the northern hemisphere — had been in Europe since October and, in 33 matches, the only blemishes were a defeat by the Barbarians and a draw with Midland Counties. Willie John McBride called them a team “that represented so very well the great philosophy of successive South African sides, ‘subdue and penetrate’ ”. The Barbarians overcame them by discarding their attacking ethos, and Haydn Mainwaring’s shoulder-charge into a rampaging Malan, knocking him into touch and possibly out cold, was a rare instance of the Bokke being battered.
Bill McLaren described them as “monsters” by rugby’s size standards of that time. “They also had a kind of camaraderie about them that was impressive,” he wrote. “Like many South African teams, as a squad they were very together. I think perhaps they felt that the world was agin them. And I suppose in some ways they were right.” Physical prowess and an us-against-the-world mentality; some things never change.
France were in the midst of a legendary age. In 1958, they went to South Africa and won the series 1-0. They were outright Five Nations champions for the first time in 1959, and didn’t lose a game in the 1960 or 1961 editions. Bookending the era were two accounts by Denis Lalanne: Le Grand Combat du XV de France, the epic of the South Africa tour, and La Mêlée Fantastique, encompassing the 1961 Test and the tour to New Zealand later in the year.
As a unification bout between the champions of north and south, it sprung to mind this month when France hosted the Springboks at Stade de France. Like in 1961, the fixture had a revenge narrative: the first meeting since South Africa triumphed in the 2023 World Cup quarter-final at the same ground.
Gwynne Walters, the Welsh referee, blows his whistle in Colombes where France wore white for the benefit of viewers in one of the first televised rugby matches
OFFSIDE / LEQUIPE
Lalanne likened the buzz of 1961 to a Brigitte Bardot film, and said people were offloading tickets for Édith Piaf’s comeback recital to snaffle some to Colombes. The players felt the pressure too. Amédée Domenech slept with a photo of Pieter Stephanus “Piet” du Toit, the prop and grandfather of Pieter-Steph du Toit, by his bed. Lalanne quoted the anguish of François Moncla, the France captain: “There are times when I’d like to live in a void and be alone with myself. It’s impossible. I’m not alone even when I’m asleep, because my cares haunt my dreams.
“I went down to Bordeaux to see the first [Springboks] match. I almost died with excitement. During the whole game between the South Africans and the South West of France, I didn’t stop shivering. [‘Frightened?’] No, not frightened of the Springboks. Far from it. As I’ve told you, I feel capable of doing anything when playing against the Springboks. No, I was afraid when I thought of history marching on, of the past and of remaining worthy of the past.”
These were the early years of televised rugby. The players were individually introduced and shown, pre-recorded, walking into view of the camera (how ahead of its time), and France wore white for the benefit of TV viewers. South Africa stood in a line for their anthem, as is custom today, but France were spread out in their half. The spectators, those on camera at least, did not sing La Marseillaise, merely observed it.
There were opportunities to score. Dick Lockyear missed penalties and Pierre Albaladejo three drop-goal attempts (one up-and-under did travel between the posts). Michel Crauste had a charge-down that beat his dive to the dead-ball line. Henri Rancoule had a kick bounce away from him, and Guy Boniface was unable to find him with a pass for a late winner.
Malan leads out the South Africa team before their hotly anticipated meeting with France in Colombes
OFFSIDE / LEQUIPE
By modern standards, the game is an unwatchable mélange of haphazard kicking and lineouts. However, despite the absence of points, no one found it dull and spectators lapped up the intensity. France celebrated heartily at the end, having deprived the Springboks of an international clean sweep.
That the game finished was not certain. The first scrum comprised 50 seconds of faffing and shoving. After the second scrap, the referee had a 20-second conflab with Moncla and Malan. “We shall always remember this second scrum,” Lalanne wrote, translated by EJ Boyd Wilson. “It was an explosion, an earthquake. The whole stadium burst into flames. It was a fantastic scrum, of all colours, a green scrum, a blue-white-red scrum, a scrum of all the gods and all the devils, such as Colombes had never seen and never will see again. Into it they hurled months of exasperated waiting, months of suppressed dreaming, of forces held in check. Into it they hurled the past, the present and the future.”
The third was a mess too and Gwynne Walters, the man in the middle, intervened once more with Moncla and Malan. His message: sort out the violence or the game’s off. “Diminutive in his flaming scarlet shirt, he was nevertheless a tower of authority,” The Times wrote. The Daily Mirror opted for the headline: “The little Napoleon stopped a riot.”
Walters took to refereeing as a teenager, rather than in retirement. He hailed from Gowerton and was a keen cricketer, playing alongside the future Glamorgan star Don Shepherd. In his day job with Forward Trust, he rubbed shoulders with Barry John and Dai Watkins. In John’s story of how a young clerk curtsied to him — a symbol of how his fame had estranged him — he was walking into work with Walters.
Small, with the voice of an accomplished tenor, Walters oversaw 23 Tests and many Varsity matches, as well as Newport’s win over the All Blacks in 1963. He stood out not just for his stature and tailoring — often in a blazer, sweater or woollen pullover — but his feel for the game. He might overlook a forward pass if it would interrupt a sweeping attack, and used advantage laws liberally, favouring enjoyment and spectacle over rubric.
“He represented the best kind of rugby referee, believing that the laws of the game are there for the guidance of wise men rather than the strict adherence of fools,” The Times recorded upon his death, aged 59, in 1988.
The French team who kept the rampaging South Africa at bay: back row, from left: Jean De Gregorio, Pierre Lacroix, Amedee Domenech, Michel Crauste, François Moncia, Michel Selaya, Gerrard Bouguyon, Jean Pierre Saux. Front row: Henri Rancoule, Guy Boniface, Alfred Roques, Michel Vannier, Pierre Albaladejo, Jacques Bouquet and Jean Dupuy
AP:ASSOCIATED PRESS
“The referee’s job these days is becoming impossible,” Walters told Rugby World in 1969. “There are such a lot of things for him to look out for, with the laws being changed so often that if he whistled up for every offence in the book, there would be no games at all. Yet if he ignores an offence, in order to keep the game moving, there are “big brothers” from the referees’ societies, watching him from the stand, who put a big black mark down against him.”
This was one of two 0-0s in the first half of the decade (Scotland’s scoreless draw with the All Blacks in 1964 is their best result in that clash). Truly a different, less watchable age. Yet some rhythms remain the same. The north-south thrill that has informed the Nations Championship. The mindset and physicality of Springboks. The damnation that awaits referees if they are too officious or too lax.
Reliving 1961 reminded me that, for all the moaning, rugby in 2025 is pretty good. If there are lessons to consider, they are these: refereeing is an art not a science to be examined on second viewing; and nothing whets the appetite, or wets the whistle, like scarcity and a long wait for revenge.