The queue to enter Margam Crematorium snaked out of the building, along the walkway and into the car park and beyond. In the distance, the furnaces of the steelworks where Billy Mainwaring had worked for 42 years continued to belch out great white clouds of smoke and steam.
Aberavon and Port Talbot turned out in vast numbers to salute the former second row, who made more than 700 appearances for the Wizards and came to embody a town’s toughness and resilience. He passed away last week after a long battle against illness. He was 78.
The tip of the hat came from Welsh rugby as a whole, too, with the bright colours of countless club ties interspersing with the black and charcoal grey that were the day’s dominant hues.
Billy would probably have been taken aback by it all. After all, those who knew him well say he never considered himself anything special. Indeed, during the service a family friend Brian Doyle told how a stranger once came up to the towering Wales international and asked if he ever played rugby. The reply? “I played a bit.”
Well, for 18 seasons he pulled on Aberavon’s famous red and black jersey. There were six caps for Wales, but it is for his service to the Wizards that he became most renowned. It is hard to imagine him, say, in the black of Neath or the white of Swansea.
Frank Keating once said he saw Ray Gravell in Barbarian stripes, “and it seemed sacrilege — he looked like a sheepish, defrocked priest”. It would have been the same for Billy Mainwaring had he sported a kit other than Aberavon’s.
In Port Talbot he fitted the template of a hero: granite-hard but completely approachable, a man of the people who never looked down on anyone and always had time to talk, even to those he may not have known especially well.
On a beautiful spring morning, Gareth Edwards, Phil Bennett, Dai Morris and Allan Martin were there, along with contemporaries such as Mike Nicholas, Max Wiltshire and Baden Evans, with his second-row successor at Aberavon, Adrian Owen, also in attendance.
Martin had travelled from his home in Portugal to pay respects to the man he packed down alongside in the Aberavon second row. “He was great to know,” said Martin.
“I remember when I came into the Aberavon side as a youngster we faced Neath and Brian Thomas was trying it on. Billy said to me that the best way to stop it was by standing up to him. Either I did that or Billy himself would do it for me.
“So I took his advice and things did quieten down.
“On another occasion he came up against Brian over the festive period. Brian asked Billy how his Christmas had gone and Billy said it had been great and lively. By contrast, Brian said he’d had a quiet few days.
“At the next line-out, Billy let Brian have an elbow in the chops, while telling him: ‘There’s something for you to remember this Christmas’.
“It was a different world then and rugby was a different sport that some might find hard to relate to today. But, afterwards, it was a case of shaking hands and getting on with it until the next meeting.”
A famous Welsh rugby town is in mourning after the passing of a legend
Certainly, there are few frills in this part of rugby’s empire. In his book To Hull and Back: On Holiday in Unsung Britain, Tom Chesshyre tells of once going into Taibach rugby club and ordering a pint of lime and soda: “The barman, a young chap with floppy, dark hair, says: ‘What?’ as though it’s the oddest request he’s ever heard. He looks at me again dubiously’. Later, Chesshyre concludes: "I don’t think the barman with floppy hair particularly likes lime-and-soda drinkers.”
It was with Taibach that young Billy started out in rugby and he stayed close to the club. “He used to be a creature of routine,” said Clive Joseph, a long-time supporter of both clubs.
“A few beers at Taibach on a Friday evening, fish and chips and a taxi home.
“I remember one night he got involved in an argument that continued after he’d bought his chips. Billy and this other fella went outside to sort out their differences when Billy’s taxi pulled up. Billy put his chips on top of the taxi, rolled up his sleeves and waded in.
“The taxi driver decided enough was enough and took off with Billy’s chips on the car roof. Billy didn’t know whether to run after the taxi or carry on his dispute.”
The singing at Margam Crematorium was on another level, with Guide Me O Thou Great Redeemer a particular highlight. In a terrific tribute, the pastor Martyn Greenway noted the difference Billy had made to so many lives. Wife Eirwen and family were there to celebrate a life well lived. They had memories no one could take away.
And then it was all done.
Cars edged their way out towards the motorway, the steelworks still billowing away. There were quiet smiles in the afternoon sunshine. A light may have gone out in these parts, but Billy Mainwaring will long be remembered.
“The way he lived his life demanded respect from friend and foe alike,” said former Aberavon captain Chris O’Callaghan.
“He was a legend.”
The man himself would have probably been embarrassed to hear such words.
But in the area where he lived and played his rugby, they are wholly true.
