The try that shook the world
THE PICTURES may be monochrome, but the memories pulse in rich technicolour. Thirty years ago Des Barry took the immortal photographs of Munster beating New Zealand in Thomond Park.
That day in Limerick wasn’t the start of it, mind.
“The Wednesday before the match I went down to Fermoy,” recalls Barry. “Munster were training there. It’s been told before that they were training there under car lights, but my big concern was getting the pictures — it was very difficult technically that time, given the cameras we had, because it was so dark.”
On the day the stadium wasn’t a riot of colour either. Given the broad spectrum of reds, blues and whites now visible at Munster games, it’s easy to forget how dark big-game crowds (in all sports) could appear back in the seventies.
“The crowds looked different, certainly — there was no sponsorship in those days, so you didn’t have as much colour. But there was certainly something about the atmosphere that particular day — it was ferocious without being nasty. The crowd was always very knowledgeable up there anyway, but on this occasion there was something special, and you could see it in the players.”
Barry captured the crucial score, a Chris Cantillon try that tipped the initiative Munster’s way, but it was harder than it looked to get the snap.
“It’s easier now. That time we had very short lenses. I got the try that time, but I was at the other end of the field and it would have been easier with a longer lens. Then again, there wasn’t much competition. You had no agencies. There was a photographer from New Zealand. He’d been over for the week and he’d come to Cork and taken a few photographs. I think there was someone there from the Limerick Leader as well.
“But I got (Jimmy) Bowen running in with the ball towards the tryline. I took a series of pictures, but you had to manually focus back then. It’s autofocus now, which makes it a lot easier, but then you had to be sharp to get it.”
For all that, the image that stayed with the photographer came after the final whistle.
“My stand-out memory is of the Munster team coming off the pitch after the game. I was standing up on the railings on the dressing-room side, and the players were mobbed. They just couldn’t get off the field. I remember Moss Keane in particular had people all over him.
“In fairness, the All Blacks were very gracious — there was no sour grapes, they congratulated the Munster players and so on.”
Barry knew Munster coach Tom Kiernan, the man who masterminded the historic win. Kiernan was a distant relation, but their relationship went back to a horrific day 30 years beforehand.
“My father died on the touchline in Thomond Park in 1965,” says Barry. “He was coaching Pres in a schools game that day, and I was up in the stand. I was ten. I saw him collapse on the touchline and Noel Murphy came up into the stand for me. He handed me down into Tom Kiernan’s arms, and he brought me away out of Thomond Park.
“My father would have been friendly with Tom, he’d have coached him with Pres and Cork Constitution. But that was the last time I was in Thomond Park before 1978. So from the sadness of 1965 you had the joy of 1978.
“But I love Thomond Park. I love the history of it, the atmosphere. We’ve had great days there.”
Afterwards Barry waited for his colleague before heading due south. “Dermot (Russell) was stuck doing interviews, and we were under a bit of pressure to get back to Cork, but the deadlines were much later back then. I could have handed in pictures at midnight and they would have still been on time.
“There was no hassle with traffic on the way back either. A lot of fellas would have stayed on in Limerick for a few drinks and then come home later on.”
The relentless media glare that follows the All Blacks now wasn’t quite as bright 30 years ago.
“After the game, that was it. There were no follow-up photographs of the New Zealanders the next day, but we wouldn’t have gone out to Tom Kiernan’s house or anything either.”
Invited to draw parallels between then and now, Barry draws back.
“You’re not comparing like with like. Those lads were amateurs, and most of them were at work the following day. Nowadays it’s totally different, it’s far more physical. I’m still on the touchline and I can see the hits. I can hear them!”
Not only can Barry prove he was one of the select bunch who saw history being made, he knows who should have been there but didn’t make it.
“A great friend of mine, the late Seamus Horgan, was supposed to be going to the game, but he was unable to travel at the last minute. So he was the only person with an intact ticket from the day (that ticket is pictured on page one). He died three years ago, but his family have given that to the Munster branch, for the museum. The only person in the world with his ticket in one piece.”
Coming from a rugby background, Barry couldn’t detach himself totally from the victory.
“I remember the work, I remember being on the touchline, going for certain pictures, but to an extent I got caught up in the occasion at the same time. I could see that history was in the making, and from my father I’d have known that the All Blacks had never been beaten in Ireland and so on.
“I knew that because it was all rugby in my house growing up. From that point of view I’d have loved my father to have been there for the victory, but he wasn’t.”
Three decades on Barry will prowl the touchline again next Tuesday, the only photographer to work both games, unless his Kiwi counterpart makes a return visit.
“I’m looking forward to it. I don’t know what age the New Zealander would be now, probably one hundred. He looked old to me that time! Munster beat Australia since, and so on, but that was the important one. It was the All Blacks, and they were held in the same esteem then that they are now. It was a great day. Phenomenal. I appreciated the history of it.”
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