If you’ve seen The King’s Man, you’ll remember Ralph Fiennes‘ moving recital of Wilfred Owen‘s The Old Lie.
The poem’s title refers to the Latin phrase dulce et decorum est pro patria mori – “It is fitting and proper to die for one’s country.”
I’ve always had a soft spot for this kind of thing. I’m a bit of an English nerd, as Spoed Smith often reminds me on Rugby on 216. He calls me an “old soul”. I don’t mind. Let’s see him run a 100m race. Then we’ll see who the real “old soul” is.
Owen wrote in a time when young men went off to war. These days, thankfully, the battles are fought between white lines on a rugby field. But this week, Owen’s words were on my mind.
Recently, I was at the barnstorming Johannesburg derby between King Edward VII School (KES) and Jeppe. I said on Rugby on 216 that it was one of the most thrilling schoolboy matches I’ve seen live.
Jeppe’s comeback was electric. KES’s drop-kick for glory was the stuff of dreams. And Jeppe’s charge down and final try? A brutal, fairytale-crushing twist.
After the final whistle, I had to present the King of the Match award to Jeppe’s number six, Kuhle Shitlhangu – the man behind that final play.
He was rushed toward us, probably before even shaking hands with his opponents. As I congratulated him, I could see he was trembling with emotion. Then, suddenly, he embraced me – a total stranger – before his father appeared and became the rightful outlet for that surge of feeling.
In that brief moment, I understood something: school rugby derbies aren’t just games. For many, they are the climax of a 12-year journey. To represent your school in a first-team jersey, in that match, that moment, after that comeback? It’s enormous.
If Shitlhangu is a modern-day warrior, giving everything for his school, then maybe Owen’s message still carries weight.
And perhaps it was never more relevant than in KES’s 0-102 loss to Paarl Gimnasium at the NMI Toyota Noord-Suid Tournament.
Much has been said about that scoreline – and rightly so. It was historic. But it doesn’t define the people or the schools involved.
I speak about school rugby every week on Rugby on 216. I see how professional it is, how scrutinised it’s become. But sometimes, we need to take a big step back.
The pressure these boys face is immense. Their sense of duty to their schools is real. But is it fitting and proper for that pressure to consume them?
For 70 minutes, yes. Beyond that? No.
Most schoolboy rugby players never make their school’s First XV. Grey College, school rugby royalty, had no old boy selected as a Springbok for a decade until last year. Many Craven Week stars never play again after school. Some ‘Boks, including Pieter Rossouw – who founded Noord-Suid – never even cracked their school’s first side.
The pride, the passion, like Shitlhangu’s, is what makes school rugby special. It’s why we say World Cups are won 10 years before they’re played.
Old boys, parents, and boys disillusioned by results like this must remember: schools don’t exist to win rugby matches. Rugby is not – and should never be – the beginning and end of a boy’s education, nor the yardstick by which a great school is measured.
We hear plenty about Grey College’s rugby. What we hear less of is that they also provide one of the finest educations for boys in the Free State. And that has nothing to do with the oval ball.
For KES, eventually, the result will be relegated to the history books. What will matter is who those boys grow into, the kind of men they become when no one’s watching. Not the scoreboard, not the season’s record, not even the strength of a rugby programme – but the strength of character forged in its shadow. That is what we must remember.
So, dulce et decorum est pro patria mori?
There’s a reason Owen called it a lie.
These views are the views of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinion of SuperSport Schools.
My name is Alex, and I am a rugby referee.