“Never meet your idols, they’ll only disappoint”… is a well worn phrase, well let me tell you, when I met the great “Gerald of Wales” my hero worshiping increased to a degree that could be measured on the Richter scale.

I was on a flight from Cardiff to Dublin, for the 1988 triple crown decider, between Ireland and Wales. We shook hands and had a chat, where he revealed his friendliness, modesty, and unassuming nature.

Maybe it was due to the gin and tonic I bought him, but I don’t think so.

For those of you unlucky enough not have been around in the 1970’s, Gerald Davies, or “Reames” as he was known by his team mates, was a winger, actually he was “the” winger.

At 5ft 9ins and 11st 7lbs, he would not have the physical attributes to become a “ball boy” in today’s modern game.

To cut a long story short he played 46 times for Wales, and 5 times for the British Lions

I was born in the West Wales village of Kidwelly, and Gerald was born in Llansaint, a stone’s throw away.

Locals would look up to the misty green hills of Llansaint, to see where Gerald was born, with a reverence only otherwise seen on the faces of pilgrims arriving at Santiago de compostela.

Always looking immaculate, both on and off the field, in the scarlet jersey of Wales he had his trade mark turned up collar, and with his neat moustache he looked like a Dickensian “well to do”

Tries, great tries, too many to mention. I’ve lost count of the number times he squeezed in at the “Taff end” at the old Arms Park. The touch in goal flag uprooting like an Exocet missile every time he launched himself into the corner

It was like “groundhog day”  Delme palms, Edwards to John (I can hear BIll McLaren as I write !!) Bergiers, Arthur Lewis, Gerald Davies… what a try !

The one performance that sticks in my mind, is for the British Lions against Hawkes Bay in 1971, the great man scored four tries that day. The black and white TV footage of one try, looks like a keystone cops silent movie, with defenders throwing themselves in all directions as Gerald side steps, shimmies, swerves to score untouched in the corner.

Gerald retired from international rugby in 1988, and has served rugby, and Wales, in various roles with the respect of everyone associated with the game, his integrity shines like a beacon, even in the cut throat world of modern day professional sport.

He also wrote wonderful poetic, evocative articles for The Times newspaper.

The poem “How fast was Gerald Davies Dad ?” written by the immortal bard, Max Boyce, produced a tribute that cannot be matched.

With apologies to Max, for paraphrasing,

Basically, Gerald Davies can turn his bedroom light off, and be in bed before it’s dark, thats how fast my son !

When I started refereeing in 1980, at the tender age of 22, I wrote to Clive, for advice. I sent the letter addressed to “Mr Clive Norling, Referee, Birchgrove, Swansea.

Such was his fame,the letter got to its destination, in two days (and I posted it 2nd class)

Clive kindly wrote back with all the advice and inspiration you would expect, such was the detail, he even advised me which whistle to use (the acme thunderer)

Sadly I have lost the letter, but the one bit of advice I still remember is “the referee is the least important person on the field, the game is for the players” that I think summed up Clive’s philosophy, although you could never accuse him of being anonymous on the pitch, whether it be the tight shorts, the perm, or the huge and somewhat portly frame, sandwiched into that red shirt, with the three feathers bursting to escape from the left pectoral region.

My first match with the Dorset and Wilts society on a Boxing day in Weymouth, came with a request from the home hooker to move the scrum five metres to the right, when I enquired somewhat puzzled  “why” ?, he replied “my hooker has just been sick”

Clive’s letter didn’t cover advice on this kind of situation.

From his first international in 1978, between Ireland and New Zealand, to his last in 1991, he had a real empathy for the game, and funnily enough most of the games he refereed were entertaining to watch, although the light aircraft flour bombing the New Zealand v South Africa match, at which he was officiating was a somewhat added extra.

All I know is that he inspired me to take up the whistle for 10 years with  Dorset/Wilts and briefly the London Society, I even grew a moustache to make me look more like him.

After he hung up his whistle Clive inspired at an even greater level.

He publicised his battle with depression in an effort to help others combat the illness, and to raise awareness of this still somewhat taboo subject.

Perhaps this will be his greatest legacy

We are very lucky in Wales when it comes to our top referees, and Clive’s spirit lives on with the wonderful Nigel Owens, long may it continue.