There was this attractive redheaded maid working at the Esplanade so Wilf Wooller and I thought we'd better get more acquainted, so one evening we went to the servants quarters, that house on the hill opposite the hotel entrance. All the lower doors were locked, but a half opened window upstairs looked promising.
There just happened to be a ladder lying on the ground, so we propped it up against the wall, but it could not stand the strain of our combined weight and we crashed, luckily feet first, through the cucumber frames below. No injury and we both played against Cardiff next day and won. Not so on another Saturday; Cardiff moved a wing, A. H. Jones, to fly half and he dropped a goal minutes before to make Cardiff the first club to beat the Baa-Baas on the Easter Tour for some time.
It must have been after this match, back at the Esplanade, that I was leaning on a high-backed chair talking to the "Alikadoos", Some of the Cardiff players were there too, including Eddie Watkins, Cardiff and Wales 2nd row forward. He pushed me and I caught my lip on the top of the chair. Blood everywhere. Luckily Hughie Hughes was still about, though how he threaded the needle to stitch me up I'll never know, but he did, perfectly, and all Eddie said was "We couldn't do you on the field, Peter, so I've done you now!"
When I used to go to Twickenham after I'd finished playing, the first person I used to see sitting at the bar in the International Room was Eddie Watkins. Lots of beer and no recriminations.