Stewart Piper is a Doncaster legend whose father helped set up the club in 1951.
He first turned out for their Under-17s in 1965 and played in the first team for 12 years. He is now the club’s president.
Piper’s team in 1981 was immortalised in one of the great sporting documentaries, ‘Another Bloody Sunday’, which showed them ending a 24-match losing streak with victory over Huyton.
They had previously entered the record books for a 37-game losing streak, which ended in 1977.
If you could relive one day from your career, which would it be?
My professional debut against Widnes on Boxing Day 1970. They had about five internationals, including Ray Dutton. We beat them, and it’s still in my memory how I tackled and covered that day. They were near the top of a 30-team league, and we were close to the bottom. Les Belshaw, our coach, had come to see me on Christmas Eve and said, “Right Piper, you’re playing, so no over-indulging, no alcohol and no sex.” I did two out of three, so I didn’t do too badly.
Your father Isaiah helped set up Doncaster RLFC in 1950.
He was an original shareholder and became Doncaster’s first kitman. I sat on his shoulders and watched the Australians play the Dons at the old greyhound stadium in October 1952. I’d always wanted to be a footballer, but my dad was a bit of a hard case, a miner from Featherstone, who said, “You’re not playing football, you’ll be a Rugby League player!” I met some directors of the club in a hairdressers one day, and they invited me for a trial.
How good a player were you?
One season I was voted the best defensive winger in the country. I was quick. I played against Clive Sullivan a few times, and he became a good friend. One day I scored a try with him trying to tackle me, and he said, “Do that again you little bastard, and you’ll end up in Row Z!”
The first 15 minutes of games tended to be telling your opposite number what you were going to do to him! I had to do a lot of defending playing on the wing for Doncaster. I was 11 or 12 stone, so not big. I could get stuck in, although I did feel nervous at the good teams like Saints, Oldham and Leigh. [Joint coaches] Trevor Lowe and Tommy Smales developed me into a defensive winger who could cut across and help the fullback. I was always fit, and I still play for Toll Bar in the Masters League at 74.
How demoralising was it to play for Doncaster in those infamous losing streaks?
We had no aspirations of winning things. We just wanted to keep Rugby League going in Doncaster. We were the game’s most southerly outpost. We had a hardcore of 200-300 supporters and keeping the enthusiasm and momentum going was very tough.
I organised a past-players reunion recently, and we got 83 players, because there’s an affinity with Doncaster, even if we are remembered for losing. People still shout, “Another Bloody Sunday!” at me, and it’s been 41 years. I am very proud of everything that happened, as are the other players. We go to our table at functions hosted by Rugby League Cares, and ex-players from other clubs are always friendly. A lot of players from Huyton, Blackpool, Bramley and Hunslet feel the same – we kept the flying the flag for Rugby League in our towns, even if we didn’t win much. We have a solid base now at the Keepmoat and I’m the president of the club.
What were the feelings in the changing room when you first heard about the documentary?
We didn’t want it. No way! We knew we’d be a laughing stock. When the producer and filmmaker, Barry Cockcroft, came to us, we thought the Dons would make some money out of it, but we knew we’d be in for a hiding. The documentary was part of Barry’s series called Once in a Lifetime. He did one on the lady who flew around the world, one on a famous Yorkshire painter called Ashley Jackson and one on cockle pickers in Morecambe. I was offered a chance of having a painting done by Ashley, but never took him up on it, which I regret now because they sell for a fortune. Barry was a Rochdale supporter and that’s how he got the idea of doing Rugby League.
How did you all deal with cameras being everywhere?
It was alien to us. I did an interview with Barry, and he sprayed me to make me look sweaty. That was his attention to detail! Before the first game in the documentary, against Rochdale, he asked me how I felt. I said, “It’s just another bloody Sunday.” He said, “I like that. We’ll call it that!”
Two of the central figures were the general manager, Tom Morton, and the prop forward Tony Banham. Can you tell us more about them?
Tommy was amazing. He was so dry. He’s not so well these days – he’s had a brain haemorrhage, and he’s in a home. He’s 83. But I keep in touch with his family. Tony was a fantastic lad. You didn’t mess with him. He was a Cockney – brought up in several children’s homes in London. He didn’t know who his father was.
He was great with handicapped children, and he went around schools, spending time with them. He was a bouncer in a Hull nightclub – you can imagine what that must have been like. I used to do sprint training with him. He was 17 or 18 stone, but he could match me over 15 metres. He was a fantastic player. He knocked opponents down like skittles, but he was never match fit, and it’s why other clubs got rid of him. They couldn’t deal with him, but he loved his time at Doncaster.
He was a great contact for us in Hull and we had several lads from there at one point. Opponents would racially abuse him, but Tony would just laugh. There were no recriminations. In fact, when I had my testimonial season, I put together a team of black players from all over the country like David Barends, Michael Hunte, Bak Diabira and Audley Pennant. We called them the British All Blacks, and they played Doncaster. We had a tremendous day, but I doubt you could get away with that now. Tony played too. He became a pub landlord, but he died in his 50s of a heart attack.
Was Tattersfield as bad as the documentary made it look?
Oh yes, they didn’t exaggerate it. It was overgrown and crumbling! It would have been better for mud wrestling. It’s on a flood bank from the River Don, so it was always boggy. I once lost a boot in May, and it resurfaced in November. When a fast team like Leigh or Swinton came, Tommy would redirect the stream onto the field to slow them down. If the ball was kicked onto the roof of the grandstand, you’d get showered with rust.
My favourite story concerns the big communal bath. The tiles were cracking, so players were getting lacerations on their backsides. The club said they couldn’t afford to fix it because they’d just invested in some high-tech training equipment, which turned out to be three skipping ropes.
Anyway, Peter Naylor, a prop from Bradford, said he could tarmac the bottom of the bath. We couldn’t believe what we were hearing. But we did it. Peter said no one should go in it for a fortnight. Our hot water was heated by coal – remember coal? – and when we tested it a fortnight later, we all had black arses when we got out. It took weeks to get that tar off! My wife – my first wife, I’ve had a few wives – asked how I had a black arse. She didn’t believe my explanation.
What are your memories of that win against Huyton?
I was drunk for the next three days. We went straight into the bar after the game, and Tommy bought us all champagne. It was as though we’d won the Challenge Cup, not beaten Huyton by two points. We stayed in the bar all night and some of us probably slept in it.
You picked up £12 per player in losing pay. Can you remember how you spent it?
We spent it in the bar, so the club got it all back.
Do you remember watching Another Bloody Sunday for the first time?
It wasn’t screened for a year. I watched it on my own because I knew it would be embarrassing. I didn’t even tell my wife it was on. It felt so cringeworthy. People don’t believe you can be successful by losing. It won a very big accolade – the European Documentary of the Year, but I sold my rights to it for £10, which was probably a mistake.
What was the reaction?
Predictably, we became a laughing stock. It was due to be screened on April Fools’ Day in 1981, but it came out a week later after we protested. Our first game after it was screened was at Whitehaven. We stopped in Wakefield to pick up some players. We had the “Doncaster RL” sign on the front of the bus. People were pointing and laughing, but it spurred us on. We played well at Whitehaven, and they only beat us with a late penalty.
Have you changed your mind about Another Bloody Sunday over the years?
I still think it’s bad. It wasn’t a slur, but I try not to associate myself with it. I don’t particularly like talking about it. I’ve done interviews in the past where I know the interviewer was taking the piss a bit. It was popular – I’ve been asked for DVDs from all over the world – places like Papua New Guinea – before someone put it on YouTube. Sport is all about winning. We played rugby knowing we’d never be successful. If someone calls you a loser, it’s a stigma. And it’s a stigma that will always stay with me. Mentally, I have struggled a bit, and the documentary has played its part.
Do you wish it hadn’t happened?
No, I’m glad because it put Doncaster on the map. By the way, not many people know this, but we did star in another film at Doncaster, in 1968. It was an Italian film called The Girl with the Pistol. Anthony Booth, Cherie Blair’s father, was in it. The star was Monica Vitti, who was known as the Queen of Italian cinema. Some filming was done at Tattersfield, and we got £20 a day as extras.
You finished playing in 1982. How did the end come about?
Alan Rhodes, who played for Great Britain, Featherstone and Castleford, had taken over as coach. We didn’t see eye to eye. He didn’t pick me for my own testimonial, and the lads had to persuade him to change his mind. We are good friends now, but we hated each other. It killed my appetite, and 35 was a good age to finish, especially as I’d broken my arm twice. Clive Sullivan took over as coach and wanted me back, but I’d lost the will to play.
Did you have chances to leave Doncaster along the way?
I played one game for Wakefield’s ‘A’ Team with Dave Topliss and the Rayne twins, but I didn’t like it. Trinity didn’t want to know me because I was a winger from Doncaster. I did sign for Halifax once. It was a swap deal, but the other player took one look at Tattersfield and said no way!
*Stewart Piper is available for after-dinner speaking. He can be contacted on 07785 396254.
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