Jindrich's Story

Through the smoke and the alcoholic stupor the lumbering figure of Jindrich heaved into view. A giant of a man, he moved with the grace of an ex-rugby player, but this being Brno it was more than likely Ice Hockey that had broken his bones and prematurely aged his gait. His greeting would be clichéd if it were not true; he really was a jolly giant, all smiles and backslaps and hearty laughs. I’d been told Jindrich was a legend around these parts; he drank beer like water and was never too far away from a glass of slivovice. The man was a beast.

After about 20 minutes of rambling conversations and random toasts, I noticed a small lapel badge on the collar of his polo shirt. It caught my attention and kept it, it couldn’t be could it? It was, it was a Dunvant RFC crest; my hometown, my team, my rugby club.

‘Where did you get that?’ I asked almost rudely.

But he was too nice to notice my brusqueness, ‘this,’ he laughed fingering the badge. ‘We were given these when we played Dunvant back in 1980.’

‘You played rugby?’ He nodded.

‘You played in Dunvant in 1980?’ 

‘Yes, 1980, tour of Wales, Dunvant, Bonymaen and Seven Sisters.’

‘No way, I’m from Dunvant.’

We chatted a little about it being a small world and coincidences and then he continued to reminisce.

 ‘It was a great tour but Dunvant was our favourite. I remember so well that they were amazed at how much we drank. And the women. Your Welsh women.’ He laughed a dirty laugh that suggested he had sampled the wares on offer. He shifted his body into storytelling position. 

‘We were little Czech boys’ he said, ‘20/ 21. It was communism you remember. The West was an alien world to us and the girls were like predators. 4 of them chose 4 of us and took us to a club in Swansea; a huge place, underground.’

I smiled, he was describing the very club I had misspent my youth in.

‘We danced and drank. At one stage they told the DJ we were Czech rugby players and when he announced it, the whole place gave us a standing ovation. Everyone in the club wanted to say hello, shake our hands, buy us a drink but the  girls wouldn’t leave us alone. I kissed all 4 of them but one, one was special, she was Liz, hmm I liked Liz.’ A glazed look came over his eyes as he remembered a long lost love with genuine fondness. Meanwhile, a distant memory was climbing out of my sub-conscious like a chick hatching from an egg.

‘We stayed in touch for a while and I dreamed of running away but then …’ Jindrich’s voice trailed off with a sense of regret.

I left a respectful silence and took advantage of his reverie to send a text message to see if my hatching memory was real.

When he’d recovered his composure, we talked a little more about rugby and Wales and the greats of the 70’s. Jindrich certainly knew his stuff; Edwards, Bennett, John and Price. I was willing my phone to buzz but it stubbornly remained silent as he recalled his visit to the old Arms Park. It was a lovely conversation, one I’d never thought I’d have in a smoky Czech pub.

Finally my phone buzzed. My sister had come up with the goods. I smiled at the photo she’d sent, he might have been 33 years older but that smile was unmistakable.

‘Jindrich, I might have a surprise for you.’ I said enjoying playing Cilla Black. ‘Look at this.’

He looked at the picture and tears welled in the big man’s eyes.

‘Where did you get this?’ He looked at me like I had managed to burgle his mind.

‘That’s Liz and that’s me.’ He pointed at two of the 8 people in the photo.

‘And that’s my sister I said pointing at Liz. The memory was fully hatched now, my sister had been smitten for about six months by a Czech rugby player. I’d completely forgotten about it and even when he’d started telling the story my brain was slow to work because the boy she ‘loved’ was Henry. But then the penny dropped; Henry was the anglicised version of Jindrich.