“Are you England in disguise?” they sang, as – on the big screen – Belgium appeared to lose their nerves and will to resist, deploying an old taunt the English use to insult the opposition, but with reference to Scotland. But it was not the Belgians against whom the tease was directed, nor was this the valleys nor mountains of Wales on Friday night – this was the Victorian red-bricked London Welsh Centre at the heart of the beast, capital of the country dumped out by humble Iceland, as the Red Dragons breathe further fire into heady, uncharted terrain, disposing of Fifa’s No2 seed.
The lovely vestibule on Gray’s Inn Road, with its gold-leaf lettering on oak panels, is unaccustomed to this kind of delirium; the main hall on the ground floor is a place for drama in Welsh and the mellifluous flow of harp strings, on Friday night an echo chamber of noise, beer, sweat, nerves and euphoria. Of late, the Cwmni Pendraw theatre company staged a piece about a minor 18th Century Squire on Anglesey – but now it’s time for a playful round of “Three-one to the sheep-shaggers, Three-one …”, in jubilant, defiant mockery of the mockery.
Although, of course, says the LWC’s chief executive, Jac Davies from west Wales: “We do get the usual rugby crowd. But these championships have been a way to get to know a whole different world of the Welsh in London. We’ve students and working people here who’ve had to scrape the money for a ticket, and bankers earning a fortune; it’s wonderful, we’re a focal point for the whole crazy thing. Usually, this is a place for the promotion of culture, music and language, but we’re quite a lazy nation when it comes to identity, so that sport is important, and this has been pretty amazing.”
The evening began early and busily for Ceri and Mirain behind the reception table, set upon the carpet; the hall was packed an hour before kick-off – seats taken, standing at the back and sides with Brains SA bitter and WreXhaM Export lager in wholesome portions. There was another space and screen under the vaults upstairs – 500 people in all, chock-a-block.
These are famously the only football fans who sing with perfect pitch and even sometimes in harmony, though the pre-match warm-up was ‘Sweet Caroline’ by Status Quo, rather than any folklore. Then it gets going in earnest, for Tom Jones’ ‘Delilah’, Land of My Fathers, and shivers down the spine. A surge of cheers greets that famous footage of the Welsh team celebrating England’s demise. “I didn’t sleep a wink last night, so nervous,” says Rowan Jenkins, a plumber. “It’s a break from all the politics,” sighs teacher Katie Morgan.
Belgium’s opening goal felt like a cold-shower reality check, but once the equaliser was secured, the centre was a wall of sound. At half-time, a birthday cake appears, invoking a chorus of Happy Birthday in Welsh although, disappointingly, once the match restarts, they don’t know the words to Men of Harlech – it’s all “daa-di-der-di-da-da”, rather than “loose the folds asunder! Flag we conquer under!The placid sky now bright on high shall launch its bolts of thunder” – though that is exactly what the night felt like.
It went in waves of breathlessness and outpouring. Goal No2 brought wild embracing, red dragon shirts lost in the mayhem as men went barechested, much of the bitter and lager found its way towards the floor.
After the third, it was flying through the air: I have never seen such incredulously happy people in my life. “What the fuck is going on!” gasped Michael Wyn James, a student of economics. And the singing hits another gear, real singing: two of the bare-topped lads launch a rousing Guide Me Oh Thou Great Redeemer with full harmonic lines, Land of My Fathers over and over, and on the final whistle, of course: “Are you watching, Eng-er-land?”, for the benefit of any passers-by on the street outside, the doors now open, and fingers stuck up at an inaudible Gary Lineker when his turn comes to react to this football Bread of Heaven with his panel.
After the whistle, by the bar for post-match analysis, a bearded man in elegant tweed remarks: “It’s a bit like being on LSD – the good stuff it’s too long ago to remember.” Ceri has now transferred from the welcome table to serve the Brains and WreXhaM Export, and describes it as “the best night of my life”. Dewi, a lawyer, says: “Things are not all good for Wales at the moment, and enough said about the insane vote on Europe. This is huge, this is really huge for Wales.”
Jac Davies allows himself a seat for a stolen moment. “I didn’t see it all, I was so busy,” he confides, “but it is one of the greatest nights not just for Welsh sport, but for the country. It’s part of an important underdog thing that’s going on. And look how important it is to these people.”
There’s a mass adjournment to a pub across the road, while it’s open, just to make a point to planet England in the world outside. “But they’ll be back,” says Nicola from the centre, watching from the steps to catch a cigarette and her breath. “What a night, oh my God, what a night for Wales. I’m amazed at us, I love it.”
