Saturday was a day of cunning theatrics, from the flashing lights of Danny’s dance-floor decor to the dashing flights of Ed’s escapist endeavours. Through the opening months of the season, we have watched Northolt build flashes of individual excellence towards the consistent team interplay that makes reliable rugby, and it seems appropriate that we spent the weekend of Hallowe’en in coming together to see off the ghosts and demons of our early endeavours.

League reshuffles looked set at first to hinder our progress, and huge thanks are owed to Chris Moore for finding us opponents willing to travel for a friendly in Hayes, who came through in strong form, if only in three bodies. Further, begrudging thanks are due to Ali Slaughter for not telling anyone how slim an opposition was expected. He has promised not to do it again, this year at least, but in the end his subterfuge was vindicated by the spirit, quality, and variety of rugby we played in our secretly intra-club match.

Ali and Jay between them picked sides in secret, hidden in a half-back huddle in the corner of the club-house, and before too long the home and away kits were being donned in the opposite changing rooms with as much zeal as any league fixture could hope to bring out. The forwards, indeed, seemed almost to be looking forward to hitting each other rather than strangers: ours is not to reason why, though.

Lining up for kick-off, we saw the heavy-hitting pack of the Blues outflanked by the Whites’ more mobile units: in regrettable Northolt style, we had abandoned any thought of structure in our joyful rush toward the ever-enticing ball, and a streaking early try ensued. Andis’ reassurances that there was plenty of time left and Ali’s reminder that defending in a line does tend to work best cemented the knowledge that, whatever the pretender Whites may claim, the Blues were the most truly Northolt team on the pitch that day.

The well-drilled pods of the White pack, with Jay’s familiar hand on the tiller, continued to do damage: Luke’s family looks unlikely to be growing soon, if the impacts sustained to certain critical areas are anything to go by. On the other side of the line, we scrambled to match the forward offensive, and the pace of play got the better of us once or twice before we came together to string some phases of our own together.

Under tremendous pressure from a hungry defence, we saw some somewhat desperate offloads somehow fail to find the hands of their intended recipients, and our back-line was asked to put in more work than perhaps they might have liked in clearing up and covering interceptions and turnovers: more White tries would follow. This, though, would never dampen the spirits of the True Blue Northolt, and as our consistency across multiple phases improved, we made significant inroads through both forward and back play, and before too long there were points on both sides of the board.

At half time, we had shown the differences in our teams: though both sides were dangerous with ball in hand, skipper Dylan reaching more rucks than anyone has any right to reach and JB the flying prop contesting with accustomed ferocity, the Whites’ forward mobility was wreaking havoc, Ed’s ferocious step onto the inside shoulder especially, and their speed in reaching the ruck was pressuring our offensive game. The Blues’ back-line, however, was looking well-structured and confident, and despite the addition of a formidably fleet-footed flyer from Hayes, the White backs were perhaps seeming a touch tentative without the talismanic Ali. With renewed determination, therefore, we set about our second halves with intent, and Dylan and Andis immediately ushered the White kick-off catcher into touch with such efficiency that I couldn’t tell you who it was.

In a more evenly-matched second half, we saw confident advances over multiple phases from both teams: in stark contrast with the impatient desperation of the individualist Northolt we had been, we saw trust and communication improve our off-the-ball play and the execution of role-playing moments ensue that allowed the Northolt we are becoming, in sync with itself, to work at the weaknesses in opposition strategy and break through the gaps to score. No sooner would Ed or Scott burst through on a well-judged attacking line in one direction than Gracie or Cameron would be sent through in the other in response. When Phillip or Ian would suddenly appear on a break, Kirk or Jesus would fly into their paths, and before long be seen in mirror image, challenging the defence of their erstwhile attackers at the other end of the field.

Higgsy suffered a head injury in one of the innumerable try-saving tackles he spent his afternoon putting in, and play paused while A.D. patched him up with no little finesse: Jay, polite to a fault, took himself off the field to even up the numbers, rather than ask any of his team-mates to abandon the White effort. Commitment was much in evidence right to the end of the game: Rob and Reece attacked relentlessly, and Eamonn in his turn, having once set up a maul, proceeded to disappear down the blindside and set up a new one ten yards further downfield.

In the end, it must be admitted, the Blues did graciously allow the Whites to win the day, and an appropriately deafening tunnel followed as Northolt saw Northolt off the field. Then came the festivities: Scotland playing Australia brought some entertainment with tea, and before too long we were out to the patio for coronations. Having put in stellar performances both, the half-back captains Ali and Jay were named Men of the Match, and having respectively offloaded the ball injudiciously and his lunch incontinently, Cameron and Ed found themselves Dicks of the Day.

The formalities dispensed with, costumes donned, and lights dimmed, the Hallowe’en Social swung in. Danny, dressed as the God of Beer, must be praised for his efforts behind the bar in concocting cocktails and shooters more potent than any witch’s brew, and Ian and A.D., in various company, proceeded to put away enough of the available refreshments to put any greedy ghoul or goblin to shame. Dylan’s turn as a superbly mulleted Ziggy Stardust and Jesus and Monica’s as Mr and Mrs Christ deserve special mention.

On a personal note, it was wonderful to see, on comparatively short notice, so many members from successive generations of players, families, friends, and loved-ones in attendance at various points across the day and night. From the not-so-distant days of six-man training sessions, Northolt has refound its feet both as one of the local clubs most obviously thriving on the field and as a shared space of connection for members of all stripes and all who come to us with them.

From the bustle of week-to-week rugby, we were provided on Saturday an opportunity to observe and reflect upon our developments as players, as a team, and as a club, and I am delighted to report that Northolt is, in this writer’s opinion, looking remarkably positive on all counts.