Shivering in the September drizzle, 120 or so 11-year-old boys, in pristine maroon sports jerseys, congregated along the touchline of the Campion School First XV pitch. It was 1975, and this was to be our introduction to rugby.

A short, track-suited man walked purposefully onto the turf and turned to face us. John Davies, known to everyone as ‘JD’, was the head sports-master and a former scrum-half in the legendary London Welsh side of the 1960s. Wily, determined and tough, he spoke in terse, clipped sentences, in a beguiling Welsh accent. Though small in stature, he had a commanding presence.

‘Take a look at this pitch, boys. This is a field of dreams, an arena for titans, a place where heroes are forged. Beautiful, isn’t it?’

He paused for a moment.

‘You can look at this pitch, but you cannot step on it. You have to earn the right to play for the Campion First XV.’

JD then pointed at a mysterious red puddle at his feet.

‘You see this? Can you guess what it is?… It’s blood. Blood that has been spilt for this team – making a stand, holding the line, defending the lead. Ask yourself: Have I got what it takes? Am I prepared to make the sacrifice? Am I willing to shed blood - for this team, this school, this sport?’

At which JD turned away and marched back to the school building, leaving us all in silence - awe-struck, terrified, thrilled.

John Davies (the shorter man in a white headband) was part of the great 1960s London Welsh side, which included seven Lions

And so we set about learning to tackle, bind, ruck and maul; to line-out, hand-off, and drop-kick. We ran figures of eight round the playing fields, launched ourselves into tackle bags, and pushed scrum machines up inclines. We trained in all weathers, toiled in thick mud, washed in cold showers.

And all this time, JD’s words were ringing in our ears. We wanted to win this man’s approval, to live up to his high standards, to make the required sacrifice.

Looking back, I’ve no idea what liquid was actually in that red puddle. Was it paint, or line-marker perhaps? In any case, it certainly did the trick.

Leadership in the world of work nowadays is characterised by soft speech, gentle engagement and a light touch. We rightly celebrate listening and empathy. But there is still a place for the visionary address, for passionate words that ‘stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.’ Because well-judged rhetoric focuses the mind, fortifies the spirit and unifies the team. It raises performance levels, builds commitment, and sustains colleagues through good times and bad.

My Campion First XV jersey sits in a drawer upstairs. Its cotton is surprisingly heavy, its red and black stripes understandably faded. I can’t fit into it now. If you look close enough, you can still see a dark, rust-coloured stain: the blood I shed - for that team, that school, that sport, and for that man.

'I was on the outside when you said, you said you needed me.
I was looking at myself, I was blind, I could not see.
A boy tries hard to be a man,
His mother takes him by his hand.
If he stops to think he starts to cry, oh, why?
If you walk away, walk away,
I walk away, walk away, I will follow.
If you walk away, walk away
I walk away, walk away, I will follow.’

U2, ‘I Will Follow’ (P D Hewson / A Clayton / L Mullen / D Evans)

No. 545