Blair ‘Paddy’ Mayne

A founding member of the SAS; Britain’s most decorated war hero; and described by some as ‘completely mad’. Once, dressed in black tie, he shot a springbok and delivered it to his Presbyterian minister room-mate. As British & Irish Lions tourists go, Blair ‘Paddy’ Mayne might just be the greatest ever.

Two events happened during the 1938 British Lions of South Africa which help to explain why Robert Blair ‘Paddy’ Mayne is without doubt the most extraordinary character to represent the Lions. 

The first occurred just over midway through the tour at a hotel in Pietermaritzburg. The management of the British Lions – or British Isles Touring Team as they were known – had become exasperated by the off-the-field behaviour from their first-choice lock. So they decided that Blair should share a room with his Irish compatriot and fly-half George Cromey.

Blair and George knew each other from playing on the same rugby team at Queen’s University, Belfast. However, that wasn’t the reason for putting them together. George was ordained as a Presbyterian minister on that tour and it was hoped that he could act as a calming influence on Blair. It didn’t quite work .

When they weren’t playing or travelling, the team would be invited to receptions, dinners and parties held by South African dignitaries and members of high society. Winger Jimmy Unwin had casually mentioned that the problem with the tour was that they hadn’t eaten enough fresh meat. Blair decided to take Jimmy’s throwaway comment way too literally. 

Trying to tell an accurate story about the life of Blair Mayne necessitates trying to separate fact from fiction. So, there are conflicting versions of what happened next, although we have an entry from George’s diary to help us.

Anyway, during one of these dinners, Blair went to one of the hotel’s bars and started chatting with two Afrikaners. They were both carrying guns while Blair was kitted out in full black-tie attire. They told him they were about to go ‘lamping’, which meant heading out into the bush, shining a lamp and firing at any sets of eyes that caught the light. Blair thought it would be fun to join in. 

What they didn’t know was that Blair had a lot of experience when it came to hunting and shooting, and took out an antelope – or springbok, as they say in South Africa – with his first shot. Then he remembered what Jimmy had said and took the dead animal back to the hotel. Exactly when he returned depends on which version you choose to believe. It could have been anywhere between the dead of the night or early morning. What we do know is that at approximately 9am he returned to the hotel room and to George, who later wrote this in his diary:

Blair Mayne, supposed to sleep with me, but came in, let me see, a bit under the weather. And did not come in until about 9 a.m. when he brought in a buck which he had shot. After breakfast, some of the chaps went out and had a picnic.

Blair then walked along the hotel corridor with the antelope in tow, smashed open the door to Jimmy’s room, threw the dead animal on his bed, cutting Jimmy’s leg on the antelope’s horns in the process.

Blair wasn’t finished yet. The South African coach was in the same hotel and so the antelope was hung outside his room, with a note posted on it saying, ‘A gift of fresh meat from the British Isles touring team’.

The many versions of this incident have helped cement an image of Blair as rugby’s ultimate party animal. But another event happened three weeks later, when he put in the performance of his life, inspiring the tourists to beat South Africa 21-16 in the final match of the three-Test series. To put into context what Blair and the rest of the Lions team achieved that day, in the previous year South Africa had become the first team to win a Test series in New Zealand.

Blair was among the Lions’ standout performers in the first Test in 1938 but the hosts were simply too good and won 26-12 at Ellis Park, Johannesburg. That was followed by what became known as ‘The Tropical Test’ played in 93-degree heat. Not surprisingly, the tourists couldn’t cope with the conditions in Port Elizabeth and lost 19-3. By the time of their third encounter at Newlands, Cape Town, the Lions were battered and bruised, or worse, from more than two months of touring, with eight players sidelined through injury. Even so, the team refused to compromise on its commitment to playing attractive rugby.

At half-time, South Africa led 13-3 and a series whitewash seemed all but a formality. Springbok captain Danie Craven had used the wind to his advantage in that first half and had been told by the groundsman, wrongly as it transpired, that it would die down after the break. Instead, with the wind in their sails so to speak, Blair was joined in the second row by captain Sam Walker who normally played at prop. The two Irishmen became the driving forces behind a stirring fightback, which included a contentious drop goal, as nobody was entirely sure if the ball had actually gone between the posts, but South Africa didn’t contest it.

With time running out, South Africa thought they had scored a try through winger Dai Williams, only for the referee to rule it out for a forward pass. The 21-16 scoreline was the highest points total that a Lions team had recorded in all of their 36 matches, and only the third time South Africa had lost at Newlands in 47 years. This was also the last time the Lions would play in blue. 

This was such an unexpected result that a news agency in London assumed the scoreline was a misprint and the Springboks must surely have won. For Sam, it was the ultimate triumph, although he later wrote “...the things that matter most to any touring captain are not the great moments on the field of play but the friendship and mutual respect of the members of the team”.

Reflecting on his team’s performance, Sam told the Cape Argus newspaper, “I am overjoyed our lads were able to pull it off which I think delighted the crowd and which I’ve already been told will be remembered as one of the most exciting international games that has been played in this country.”

Blair then received a letter from an admiring South African who commended him on his ‘speed, agility and strength  in taking down the opposition’ but went on to say, ‘however, the next time that you’re playing the match, Blair, would you please be so kindly as to smile?’.

The letter forms part of the Blair Mayne collection, a fascinating trove of artefacts and memorabilia painstakingly curated by David McCallion, founder of the War Years Remembered Museum, which he started thirty years ago, and which is based in Blair’s hometown of Newtownards.

Of course, Blair is far better known as one of the founding members of Special Air Service, or SAS to you and me, and is a central character in the BBC1 drama SAS Rogue Heroes, which is about to return for a second series. His service in the SAS has become mythologised but also misinterpreted (much like his time with the Lions) to create a picture of a man who was a loose cannon and a heavy drinker, whose outlook on life was to try to do the opposite of what he was told. All of which was true to varying degrees, but Blair  was also a brilliant all-round athlete, thoughtful, intelligent, disciplined, bookish, strategic, empathetic, troubled, self-destructive, and, yes, flawed. Or, as David puts it, ‘some stuff has been put out there to create publicity and sell books’.

Blair first started playing rugby at Regent House Grammar School in Newtownards, County Down, ten miles east of Belfast. His leadership qualities were recognised when, aged just eighteen, he was appointed as captain of Ards RFC. He also excelled in pretty much every sport he played. Measuring 6ft 2.5in and described as having “hands like spades”, the first time he got in a boxing ring, Blair knocked out his sparring partner. He became the Irish Universities Heavyweight Champion in August 1936 and then reached the final of the British Universities Heavyweight Championship, only to lose on points.

The following year he became a member of the Queen’s University rugby team while studying to become a lawyer. Since the first Lions tour of 1888, 24 Queen’s alumni have been selected, including five in South Africa 1938. “It says something that he got called up for the Lions after winning just three caps,” notes David.

The squad that sailed out to South Africa was also notable for those who didn’t make the trip. Welsh duo Cliff Jones and Wilf Wooller would have been automatic first choices but neither travelled due to injury.

Every South African team carried a reputation for being physical. Yet, astonishingly, Blair featured in twenty of the 24 matches on the tour, more than any other player. He was one of the standout tourists in a 17-9 victory against North Transvaal despite clearly nursing an injury, and limped off the pitch after the final whistle. While he gained plaudits for his performances, he also had a tendency to ‘go rogue’ between matches. David speaks about another infamous moment that took place in Johannesburg. “Convicts were building the stands at Ellis Park for the people to sit in,” he explains. “At night time, they were chained up. Blair saw this and, after a few drinks, released a convict known as Rooster (he had been chained up for stealing chickens).

“Being the gentleman that he was, Blair gave him his jacket, and inside the pocket of that jacket was a ticket with Blair’s name on it. So, when Rooster was captured, Blair subsequently had to go AWOL.”

However, it wasn’t long before he was brought back into the fold, although according to one account, Lions team manager Major Hartley threatened to send him home following the antelope incident. Sam persuaded him to keep Blair, stressing his importance to the team, and was vindicated in that final Test.

Earlier in the tour, Sam has been knocked out by an overly aggressive tackle. As he came to his senses, Sam saw the stretcher-bearers running on to the pitch and naturally assumed they were coming for him. He shouted, ‘It’s alright, I’m fine,’ only for the two men to run past and tend to the now-prone player who had seconds earlier flattened him. Blair then ran over to Sam, kneeled down, and said, ‘Don’t worry Sammy, it’s sorted’.

Following that tour Blair would gain three more caps for Ireland and was a key member of a team that looked on course to win the Triple Crown for the first time in forty years, only to be denied by Wales in the final game. A few months later, he signed up to join the army as a reservist.

One of the myths about Blair is that he was invited to join the SAS by its creator, David Stirling, while sitting in prison awaiting a court martial for attacking his commanding officer. There are no records of Blair in prison and, in the interests of accuracy, it was the second in command, Charles Napier, that he attacked. 

Napier didn’t want any dogs in the barracks and decided the best way to achieve that was to shoot them. This infuriated Blair who made his feelings known on the subject. His fearlessness and willingness to take matters into his own hands ticked the right boxes for the SAS. 

Blair joined Stirling’s new unit in July 1941. A year later, they were stationed at a military base in Kabrit, Egypt. It was at this point that Malcolm Pleydell became the first doctor to join the SAS. He kept diaries about his experiences with this unconventional military group and was especially fascinated by Blair, who was second in command. ‘Fighting was in Mayne’s blood. For him, there were no rules’, he wrote. He also described Blair as ‘completely mad’ having witnessed first-hand a man willing to do whatever it took the defeat the enemy. They became good friends and Malcolm said Blair was ‘well read and erudite’. They shared a passion for rugby and Blair even set up an SAS team.

When Stirling was captured by the Germans in 1943, Blair took on the role of leader. Whether he really wanted that responsibility is a moot point but when the war finished he was Britain’s most decorated war hero. Inevitably, as Blair’s name has become familiar to a new audience, so people want to delve more into his personal life and why he never had a long-term relationship.

Speculation about his private life began eighteen months after he died with the publication of Stirling’s autobiography. Blair didn’t want women in the SAS and preferred to have single men in the unit but according to David McCallion, the reasons were purely pragmatic. He felt women could create a distraction in the Mess, especially if the men had a few drinks inside them. 

The SAS went on high-risk missions, going deep behind enemy lines and sometimes crossing boundaries of conventional warfare. There would inevitably be casualties and having married, rather than single, men carried the added burden of responsibility of knowing wives could lose their husbands and children could grow up without a father. There were also the mental scars of war.

“There’s a letter here that I found, and it’s one I want to follow up on,” says David. “It was obviously written during the war, and it reads, ‘Dear Blair, Could you please release my husband? The last time he was home on leave, he wasn’t right in his head’.”

Blair wrote letters to the families of everyone who died fighting with him in the SAS, which also took its toll. 

By the time the war ended, he was still only thirty but had sustained a back injury during the war that forced him to wear a cast. It was too physically painful to so much as go and watch Ireland play rugby. “It was torturing him,” says David. “But he kept it hidden from everybody else. One time he got so annoyed that he took out a set of garden shears to cut off the cast.” 

He also abandoned a plan to set up a school for wayward children. Instead, he became secretary to the Law Society of Northern Ireland and, by all accounts, excelled in the role along with being a fine mentor to young, aspiring lawyers. Away from the routine and discipline of work, he could often be found drinking heavily in the pubs around Newtownards. “Look, he didn’t suffer fools,” says David. “And a lot of people obviously knew stories of this man, Blair Mayne. So, you’d get these guys come along from Belfast and go into the pubs in Ards that he frequented and they would try to goad him. Let’s put it this way, he never started a fight, but he always finished it.”

Blair also had to contend with personal tragedies including the death of his brother which was reported as a shooting accident, but some speculated that it may have been suicide. 

David also talks about when a psychiatrist was asked to look at Blair’s war record and whether he would have suffered from PTSD. Going on one of those missions would have been enough to leave its mark. To do it again and again meant that Blair almost certainly had chronic PTSD.

None of this has in any way diminished his legacy. “Every time we do an exhibition or go out and do a talk, you hear another story, or another person claiming to be a relative, even though there is a limited number of relatives in the Mayne family tree.” The remaining members of Blair’s family have worked with David to compile his collection of memorabilia.

Blair died on 14th December 1955, fourteen years to the day after he had taken part in his first raid with the SAS. “He was attending a Masonic lodge meeting. He drove to Bangor, also went to a servicemen’s club, met some friends, played cards, had a few more drinks. At 4 o’clock in the morning, not 500 yards from his home, he hit a lorry parked on the side of the road. His car spun across the road, hit a telegraph pole and he broke his neck.

“He was driving a Riley Roadster, which had very low seat. I spoke to many doctors and they all said he would have snapped his neck completely.”

He was buried just two days later, but people turned up from far and wide to honour his life, paying tribute to an extraordinary individual.

SAS Rogue Heroes will fuel more interest in Blair’s story and, in turn, The War Years Remembered Museum, which is raising funds to reopen having been forced to shut down during the pandemic. The museum is an incredible labour of love. “I thought somebody needs to tell these stories and preserve this history,” says David. “And it’s not just about the Navy, Air Force, or Merchant Navy, but also the women that fought in the war and, very importantly, the ones that were never really talked about – the women that were left behind, working in the factories, building bombers, or working in the land army.”

But Blair’s story is the one that tends to capture the imagination whenever he gives talks, does presentations or goes into schools. Every so often his family will hand over more artefacts to David, that help to build a more accurate picture of his life, as well as the lives of those who served under him, while also dispelling some of the more speculative stories. “The only way forward in this world is education,” reasons David. “We’re not here to glorify war. We’re here to educate people on the horrors of it.” 

Indeed. We live in an age when facts are easily distorted and misinformation swiftly amplified, although this has always been true during times of conflict.

As David concludes, “At the end of the war, the SAS was about to disband. They decided to put together what we call the FCS war diary. All men put in photographs, newspaper clippings, top secret orders, maps, and it was all put into a book bound in leather they had liberated from Germany . 

“Stirling had been released by that point but out of everybody, it was entrusted to the hands of Blair Mayne, which says something about the regard in which those men held him. And this was to ensure that in the future the heroic deeds of the men of the SAS will never be forgotten.”

Next year will mark seventy years since Blair died and he is arguably as famous now as ever. Gone, but most definitely not forgotten.

Story by Ryan Herman

Pictures by Legacy + Art

This extract was taken from issue 28 of Rugby.
To order the print journal, click here.