England beat the Republic of Ireland in strolling friendly.

 England beat the Republic of Ireland in strolling friendly.

After one of the most challenging weeks for English football the national team rid itself of repellent smells, strolling and almost trotting at times across the hallowed acres of Wembley Stadium rather like a family on a picnic who simply want to engage in some gentle exercise across the rich pastures of the English countryside. At times you were never quite sure what to make of this friendly because it did  live up to its pre-match billing with both England and Republic of Ireland shaking hands with each other politely and that was very much that. 

For almost the entire match, England and the Republic of Ireland gave us the most sedate exhibition of football you were ever likely to see. In fact so laid back and relaxed were both teams that you felt compelled to admire the civility and decorum displayed by two teams who didn't seem to be particularly bothered who had won. Suffice it to say that at the end small knots of men wearing yet another set of masks walked over to each other and just acknowledged each other's existence. It was almost an exercise in mutual appreciation and there was a sense that both were just happy to share each other's company. 

The English have always been apologetic and remorseful when it looks as though they may have done something terribly wrong. But on a mild Thursday evening at Wembley England did bulldoze through a very limp and submissive Eire defence and the Irish had more or less accepted their fate after an hour. England were knocking the ball around the central areas of the pitch with such a studied nonchalance and casual freedom that you almost felt deeply sorry for the Irish. 

But this was quite clearly a practice match, a leisurely knock about, coats for goalposts, meaningless, flat as a pancake, flaccid international friendly that bore as much relevance as an after-work, leisurely five a side contest where the best team did win and little damage was done when the final whistle went. England will now face their two UEFA Nations League contests with both Belgium and then Iceland with some degree of confidence but acutely aware that this was no litmus test of their current form. 

After their demolition of Wales in their first friendly of the season, England went about their business in much the way the aristocracy used to sip their tea and play croquet when the mood took them. The ball itself seemed to spend most of its time being carefully tapped around with mathematical precision, passes neatly executed and cohesive attacking movements that were a joy to behold. 

Many years ago Brian Clough said that football was designed to be played on grass rather than in the air and here was a classic demonstration of Clough's philosophy. At long last British football has come to its senses, finally recognising that the technical, short passing game is far preferable to the old-fashioned long ball wallop where no end product is forthcoming. England have finally discovered that the ball is no longer an impostor, not some frightening wartime bomb that may suddenly go off quite unexpectedly. 

It is no coincidence that current England manager Gareth Southgate has come to England's salvation, a man wedded to the loftier ideals propagated by the likes of Germany, France and Brazil many years ago. Southgate has introduced his players to a game where trust with the ball in possession has now taken precedence to desperate measures. England may have just missed out in a World Cup semi-final where opponents Croatia simply outclassed them in Russia two years ago but they are not moping. 

Wearing a grey cardigan and a dapper shirt and tie, Southgate reminded you of a bank clerk rigorously checking the day's finances with a shrewd and prudent eye. The memory of that penalty miss which cost Terry Venables England entertainers in a Euro 96 semi-final against Germany may still haunt him but Southgate has now grabbed hold of the baton and taken England into a comfortable environment where the air is pure, the future is potentially bright and successful and another chapter is about to be read. 

Last night England spent long periods, establishing a natural bond and intimate relationship with the ball, hogging possession, pondering, dwelling, thinking ahead rather than being drawn into some predictably irrational mindset where the ball is completely overlooked and the game just peters out into some futile anti-climax. England passed with a careful consideration of every possibility and there seemed to be an almost forensic analysis of what could happen in the bigger picture. England were models of accuracy, architects of their destiny rather than being dependent on statistics and percentages. The ball is a close acquaintance rather than something evil and anathema. 

England manager Gareth Southgate is now revelling in the good fortune of possessing a team who can adopt variations on a theme that are truly considered classical. Last night it looked as if the whole England team had been snatched from a nursery. There were so many young faces on view that you'd have been forgiven for thinking that every player had just finished a hectic game in the school playground. There is much to be said for nurturing, rearing and blooding the kids but this was a very youthful third year production as important exams are about to be taken.

England captain Harry Maguire, who has just endured one of the most troubled periods of his nascent career, spent the whole of the match with the face like thunder, a permanent scowl that led you to believe that the world had caved in on him and nobody would ever befriend him again. Maguire was a constant nuisance and torment to Eire with headers at corners that narrowly missed the target. There was the demanding perfectionist about the Manchester United defender that is singularly commendable. 

But the base of England's defence could well be their strongest suit. Both Michael Keane, Maguire, Tyrone Mings and Reece James were alert, dependable, always prepared to gamble by venturing forward into the opposition's territory and sure of their bearings. In midfield Spurs Harry Winks, Chelsea's Mason Mount, Jadon Sancho and the magnificent Jack Grealish were in perfect tandem, sewing their passes together as if they'd known each other for a lifetime. 

Here the Aston Villa midfield playmaker Jack Grealish served notice of a magical and mercurial talent, a player of extraordinary ball playing gifts, treating the ball as if it had been his closest friend. Grealish is clever, intuitive, a player of vision and awareness, always making the game look both easy and logical. At the moment Grealish can do no wrong running his opponents ragged at every opportunity, tricking, teasing and leading everybody a merry dance. For the time being there is nothing of the Paul Gascoigne about Grealish since dentists chairs and general clowning around are not part of the Aston Villa's man private life. 

It took no time at all before England eventually broke down the Irish defence. A swift and incisive blur of passes across the Wembley pitch found Harry Winks whose nicely weighted cross from a corner landed perfectly onto the head of Everton's Dominic Calvert Lewin and his glancing header was nodded powerfully into the net for England's opening goal. 

From that point onwards England never looked back and there was a complete subsidence in the Republic of Ireland's defensive ranks. It was easy why Eire have only ever beaten England twice in competitive games. Of course the Irish will always have the European Championship in 1988 when Ray Houghton headed home their winner and the much loved Jack Charlton just couldn't stop grinning. They did boast a Brady in their team last night but this was certainly not the cultured Liam of Arsenal renown.

And so it was England took the initiative and established a tight grip, their passing between the lines sending their opponents into a drunken stupor and then imposing complete control. Reece James was now scampering down the flanks with a vigour and vivacity that always took the eye. Mason Mount had the most educated feet on the pitch while Harry Winks was composure itself. Winks drops deep into a defensive attacking midfielder, a model of stability and reassurance, moving the ball easily to colleagues around him. His Spurs predecessor Glen Hoddle can only look on from a distance with a heartfelt admiration. 

In a matter of no time England added to their tally with a richly deserved goal. By now Calvert Lewin was dragging his marker all over Wembley, Grealish was a cunning, conniving nuisance, floating and fluttering around in the middle of the park with that unpredictable spark of magic while Winks and Mount were masterful ball manipulators. 

From another bewitching sequence of quick passes Jadon Sancho, a livewire who the Irish simply couldn't handle, cut inside his defender, assessed his options before deciding to drill a fierce shot low past Darren Randolph. Now the white shirts of Eire disintegrated and never looked like surfacing again. The hammer and bludgeon had been brought down and England were heading for an almost regulation victory over opposition essentially close to home. 

In the second half England relaxed into an easy going tempo that never threatened a cricket score. The football still had its pleasant simplicity about it, a slow, slow, quick quick staccato beat that was effortlessly rhythmical but no longer harmful in its intent. Half-way through the second half England put Eire out of their misery. The Arsenal full back Bukayo Saka, after several gallops on the full-back overlap and then surging thrillingly past his defender and then forcing a trip in the penalty area. Calvert Lewin confidently thumped home the penalty into the middle of the net and England's work was over for the evening.

As the players trooped off at the end you were reminded of the two-minute silence that fell over London last Sunday when fallen and dead soldiers from both World Wars at the beginning of the last century were remembered poignantly and dearly. A football match could never be described as a murderous and tragic conflict but when the final whistle went once again last night, there was a painful sense of loss and sadness that had no redeeming features. The crowd noises did their utmost by way of compensation but this felt like an altogether different product.