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9
ULSTER
RUGBY
he’d elegantly, forensically, wielded an oval ball or surgical
scalpel. To say that he was loved in Chingola is too small a
commentary on the status and affection he enjoyed in the 34
years he lived there until he retired in his mid-70s in 2000.
He was not known there as Ireland’s Greatest Player – as a
2002 IRFU poll decided – but as the man of medicine who
not only healed but bound a whole community. Yes, he did
pioneering work in the hospital he helped get built and staff,
but he and his young family were members of that community,
one reliant economically on the copper mines but a melting pot
of native Africans and other ‘blow ins’ which generated a very
special sense of belonging.
Jack Kyle encouraged that, he was pivotal in creating that,
and his legacy to, and in, Zambia lives vividly on, and on his
last visit in 2007 he was embraced literally and metaphorically
as the ‘father’ of that community. Yes, he faced challenging
illnesses in initially spartan conditions, but every man, woman
or child, of whatever hue, entrusted themselves to someone of
huge spiritual wealth and a simple humanity which was only
enhanced by his reputation as an outstanding clinician.
Of course, Irish rugby has lost its greatest ambassador and its
finest player, but such was his talent, his reputation and legend
will live on as vividly as it did in life. At Belfast Royal Academy
he first showed the wizardry which was to enchant and
dazzle the sport, and it is
appropriate that one of his
most important influences
had himself been a
teenage prodigy, and an
international while still a
schoolboy at Portora.
Dickie Lloyd saw in Kyle
the spontaneity, the guile
and the commitment which
had made him a uniquely
gifted sportsman. Lloyd
captured the imagination
of the early part of the 20th
Century, and Jack would
eclipse even his immortal
status. Kyle’s standing
in rugby never withered
after his relatively early
retirement, as he moved
seamlessly into what he
considered the most important phase of his life as a doctor.
But a Grand Slam, followed quickly by two Triple Crowns, a
personally triumphant progress through New Zealand and
Australia with the Lions of 1950, assured him of his place in the
folklore of rugby.
Alongside him so often for North of Ireland, Ulster and Ireland
was the man-mountain centre who was Noel Henderson,
another giant figure in the game. They were the firmest of
friends and then the closest of brothers-in-law, after Noel
married another international in the Kyle brood, hockey-playing
Betty.
The images are caught tantalisingly briefly on film of the
wily, crafty Kyle carving through the tightest of defences,
the ‘minder’ Henderson on his shoulder, a three-quarter of
great gifts himself. Together, ‘the little and large’ of the Ulster
and Irish game, provided club, Province and country with a
remarkable balance and set of skills in midfield.
For Jack Kyle an adventurous spirit flowed through his veins,
and of course it was publicly demonstrated in his rugby. In the
days when defences were allowed within feet of the opposition
instinct, courage and an alert eye and twinkling feet saw him
mesmerise foes from all corners of the planet.
He loved the game for what it freed in his mind and in his body,
but he was no slave to it, and friendships made and places
visited were the bonuses for which he was so grateful. It’s
astonishing in these days of international sides playing perhaps
a dozen Tests each year that Jack retired his green jersey in
1958 with a world record 46 ‘caps’.
In the professional game, of which he was an avowed student
and of whose best players he was so gracious with his praise
and his advice, he would have been a centurion.
Tales abound of his exploits on and off the pitch with Jimmy
Nelson, Bill McKay, Tony O’Reilly, Karl Mullen and so many
more great ‘names’, but they were of a generation in which
great sacrifice in terms of time and careers were made, happily.
Inquiring minds were exercised through the game at which they
excelled, and none was more inquisitive than Kyle.
He read prodigiously throughout his life, and would quote
the great Irish writers often. He adored Yeats, smiled with
Wilde, and Rudyard Kipling – perhaps unsurprisingly for a
man who would ply his professional trade in a colonial age
– was sprinkled through many of the conversations he never
appeared to want to end.
Of the more recent vintage of players Brian O’Driscoll was
a favourite, but he saw much of himself and his attacking,
ambitious approach to rugby in David Humphreys, and before
that in the stupendous Mike Gibson. They would become
devotees of the great man, he regarded them as friends with
values he shared and as superlative players.
Back in Ireland he settled in the foothills of the Mournes, a
handy mid-iron from his beloved Royal County Down, and
for the last fourteen years, and despite the real challenges of
illness, he played nine
holes, dressed as nattily as
always.
His celebrity baffled him,
but he loved still to be
associated with rugby. To
the Queen’s University
club, where his half-back
partnership with Ernie
Strathdee was first forged,
he willingly gave his time
and his endorsement, and
a bursary bearing his name
is a coveted prize for the
youngsters of today.
Famously he was in the
Millennium Stadium – his
son Caleb having secured
his father safe passage
and a seat – as Ireland
bridged that 61-year-old gap with a Grand Slam in 2009.
“It’s one of the most iconic images in rugby as Brian O’Driscoll,
captain against Wales that day, ran over to embrace Kyle,”
remembers Humphreys. ‘It says so much about the man that he
was so happy that the new generation of players had emulated
the achievements of the 1948 side.
“I was privileged to get to know Jack Kyle outside of the game,
and his thirst for knowledge, his sheer delight in the world
around him, was truly affecting.”
Humphreys was to break Kyle’s record of Irish ‘caps’ at out-half,
and the warm congratulations of someone who was such a
legend of rugby remains a vivid, unforgettable memory.
Willie John McBride, who has a wealth of stories about the
public and private Kyle, said last week that it took just two
words to define “a gentleman: Jack Kyle”
His four score years and eight were golden in so many ways,
but he confronted deep personal concerns with a dignity
and decency which will surprise no-one. He was devoted
to the welfare of his daughter Justine and to Caleb, and to
their children, to his sisters Betty, Brenda and Beatrice, and
the wider family circle which held this elfin figure in such
affectionate regard.
Life really cannot afford to lose – and certainly it cannot forget
– people who by word or deed touch the very soul. Jack Kyle
would have been embarrassed by the eulogies paid over these
last eight days, but they were sincere and they were honest.
Just like Jack Kyle.