England beat Scotland in the rugby union Calcutta Cup.

England beat Scotland in the rugby union Calcutta Cup.

Forget the Battle of Bannockburn or the Battle of Culloden. This was the real thing, the genuine article, England against Scotland in the battle for the Calcutta Cup, a blood and thunder contest where no quarter is either given nor taken. But yesterday was quite definitely different. It was rugby union played in incessant, torrential rain, wild, stormy weather and ferocious gale force winds. Storm Ciara was battering and pounding the rooftops of Edinburgh with a relentless intensity the like of which Scotland may not have seen for some time.

From as far as the eye could see there were massed ranks of both Scottish and English supporters huddled together in plastic rain coats, hoods on heads and rain dripping from heads while all around them there was an air of resignation, a sense that things simply couldn't get any worse even if they tried to do so. Scotland is used to this kind of inclement weather since the country is more or less ready and waiting for its wintry tempests, its blustery, flag stiffening winds that tug away at everything that stands in their way and those cloud bursting, monsoon type conditions that drench every Scottish soul.

Once again the Scottish weather behaved in such a way that most of us felt that we'd witnessed the same kind of experience that had always been this way at this time of the year. This was very much typical rugby union weather, navy blue Scotland shirts clashing with the red rose white England shirt in swirling, gusting winds that suggested chaos and pandemonium but then blew themselves out when England finally confirmed their dominance.

This was never the most attractive or crowd pleasing of Calcutta Cup matches, a game that seemed to be sucked into some meaningless rut of mediocrity as the ball seemed to slip out of players hands like a bar of soap. Now they failed to achieve any of the flow and fluency that would have converted it into a mini epic. Whenever England kicked into touch for obvious advantage the ball seemed to have a mind of its own, the ball floating and flopping into areas which were neither damaging or significant.

England, still smarting from their opening Six Nations defeat to France in Paris and possibly hurting from World Cup Final defeat to South Africa approached their match against the Auld Enemy Scotland with a slightly wounded air about them but confident nonetheless that this time they had the measure of the opposition and would never roll over and just capitulate. Over and over again England props and flankers would drive the Scots back into their own half, navy shirt after navy shirt rumbling into attack only to be pinned to the ground near the goal posts. Never could this be regarded as easy on the eye, more of a gritty, scrappy, gutsy and no holds barred, attritional match that kept stopping and starting.

For much of the 80 minutes Murrayfield was subjected to a gruelling and gruesome England- Scotland battle royal where little in the way of hand to hand passing ever really broke out. Instead we were restricted to a dull succession of kicking competitions where the ball was haphazardly kicked high into the darkening Scottish skies with a mind blowing and tedious frequency.

Then the game descended into some strategic and ploddingly methodical no man's land where neither side could ram home their technical superiority. The collective prop power of Mako Vunipola and Kyle Sinckler was squeezed into submission by a Scotland side merely content to push England further and further back towards their own goal. The hustling and bustling and creative play making of flanker Tom Curry was powerfully supported by wing Jonny May, always a threat while Sam Underhill burrowed forward as England's most influential flanker.

Meanwhile hooker Jamie George was full of heart, industry and endeavour invariably breaking up the Scottish attack and Willi Heinz was always on hand at scrum half to tidy up and busy himself in tight rucks and mauls. With the magnificent Mako Vunipola always prominent with his muscular presence and Maro Itoje beavering and snapping away at every navy blue Scottish shirt, England looked full of burning, bristling menace, running at the Scottish defence purposefully and directly at every opportunity.

When England captain Owen Farrell kicked over for a penalty after a sustained burst of pressure and accurate kicking, Scotland, with the likes of Stuart Hogg, Adam Hastings, Rory Sutherland, Huw Jones, Stuart Cummings and Fraser Brown, slowly ran out of useful ideas and constructive counter attacks. Their rugby was severely blunted by some classic England pushing and shoving. Slowly but surely the Scottish pack was being nullified and rendered non existent.

And yet Scotland did level the game shortly into the second half when Alex Hastings, picking up the ball quickly from a scrum literally on England's post, struck a penalty to give a touch of spice to proceedings. Briefly England were rattled and for a while Eddie Jones looked a worried man, constantly communicating through his ear piece. England were both wayward and slovenly with their passing, dropping important kicks and struggling to establish any kind of coherent rhythm.

Now it was that England were awarded another penalty duly converted and England were back in charge. Finally England would score the game's one and only decisive try, the result of intensive scrums and driving phase play that would eat its way towards the Scottish line. In front of the Scottish posts a mass of bodies formed and before you could blink an eye, there was much heaving and hoeing, grabbing, shoving, shoulder charging, ear pulling, locked arms and shoulders trying desperately to make sense of it all. It was rugby union doing what it does best.

Suddenly, out of the most confusing collision of bodies England's Ellis Genge barrelled his way through a mass of white shirted torsos. Genge, body now trapped seemingly inextricably in a body sandwich, somehow crawled over the try line and touched the ball down for the winning English try. Owen Farrell once again floated over another penalty and one of the great British sporting rivalries had once again been decided against a backdrop of British wintry weather. You could have hardly expected anything else.