Clive Sullivan was a rugby legend to the world, but a loving father to me

My dad, Clive Sullivan, was always terrified of heights.

He hated going up ladders to fix the guttering, or anything like that. He really couldn’t bear it.

Then, one day when I was around 10, he mentioned he’d been in the army as a paratrooper. 

‘But Dad… you’re scared of heights!’, I said, bewildered.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘That’s why I joined the paratroopers – to try and cure my fear.’

That sums up exactly who my dad was. He was determined never to let fear get the better of him, or let anything stop him. He was resilient, tough and brave.

My dad wasn’t in the paratroopers for very long – not because of his fear of heights, but because he went on to become a world-class rugby player.

My father, Clive Sullivan, has been described as a ‘Welsh rugby league legend’ and as ‘one of Hull’s greatest sporting heroes’, playing for both Hull FC and Hull Kingston Rovers, as well as internationally.

In 1972, he captained Great Britain – making him the first Black athlete to captain a British national team.

Of course, that’s a phenomenal achievement. But for me, the achievement is in being captain of a rugby team, in and of itself. And not just any rugby team; that year, Britain won the 1972 Rugby League World Cup.

For me, the fact that he was captain of a World Cup-winning team speaks more about him than anything else.

My dad was born in 1943 in Splott, a suburb of Cardiff, and it wasn’t likely from the outset that he’d become a rugby player.

My mother informs me that, as a young boy, he had some form of muscle disease that was never fully diagnosed. He had to spend some time with his legs in plaster and was told that he would never play any sport.

It was uncertain whether he’d even be able to walk too well, let alone run.

But he joined the army in 1961, after he left school.

While he was based with the army in Yorkshire, he was told to play in an army rugby match – my understanding is, they said something along the lines of: Because he was Welsh, he ‘must’ play rugby.

And that was how it all began. He played brilliantly – and he realised that, against the odds, he could play rugby; hopefully professionally.

He went to a trial at Bradford Northern. They said no; but he then had a trial at Hull, who signed him.

After he left the army in 1964, his career went from strength to strength – with him becoming Hull FC’s leading try-scorer and being famous for his incredible speed.

He started playing internationally in 1967 and played three World Cup matches in 1968.

Then, in 1972, he captained Great Britain.

Strangely enough, I don’t remember him speaking too much about that at the time – but then, I would have only been four.

But he was a very proud Welshman. He had such pride in his heritage, and in his country – so I can only imagine how proud and pleased he must have been to captain his country in a World Cup; and then, for his team to go on to win.

He joined Hull Kingston Rovers in 1974, and one particular memory I have is of the 1980 Challenge Cup Final, where Dad played for Hull KR against Hull FC.

I would have been about 11 – it meant so much to me to go to Wembley to watch, not only as a supporter of Hull KR but as Clive Sullivan’s son.

I remember how nervous Dad was in the buildup, and what a big deal it was to him.

He’d always wanted to play the Challenge Cup Final, and he’d started to think he may never do it.

Hull KR won and Dad even went on to play in another Challenge Cup Final in 1982.

It was success after success; but I’ve been told, by his ex-teammates, opponents and people who knew him, that not only was he a great rugby player, he was also a great man. That he had time for people, he was always friendly, and he was a great teammate.

Hearing that makes me prouder than any number of career highlights.

And for me, Dad was just that: My dad.

We used to go and watch him play rugby, but this public character who grew out of his myriad achievements isn’t something I ever really identified with him; at least until recent years, when there’s been increasing recognition of everything he accomplished.

With my dad working full-time, playing rugby on the weekends, we didn’t get to see him that much; and he died when we were relatively young. There’s still so much I don’t know about him.

I do remember, though, that he would never let me win. Whether it was football in the back garden, play wrestling, cards, Monopoly, Scrabble – Dad was very, very competitive. Whether I ever actually won or not, I can’t remember; but I know it was always a struggle to beat him.

And what I learned from that – from him – was: If you’re going to do something, you do it to the best of your ability. And you keep trying until that’s the case.

This idea of striving to do well, and striving to improve, is something I took with me into my own career. I was an international rugby player myself – but my dad never saw me play.

He was diagnosed with cancer in 1985, when I was 16. It was all so sudden – he’d only just stopped playing professionally, and he was still coaching, so he was still relatively fit at the time.

It was such a shock.

The effect both the disease and the treatment had on him, watching him fade before our eyes, is something I’ll never forget.

He passed away just months after his diagnosis, age 42. Looking back, it was like a click of the fingers.

The aftermath of his death was incredibly difficult for me. Not only had I lost my father, but it was all far too public.

I understand people wanted to express their grief, and the level of public interest shows the level of high esteem he was held in by supporters of Hull FC and Hull KR, the rugby league community, and the city of Hull. I don’t have any resentment for that.

But I’m quite shy, and not as social as my father – and I wanted to be left to deal with my grief myself, in my own way. And I just didn’t feel we could do that.

Now, I’m fine with the fact that he didn’t see me play – but I still wish I could have had the chance to have had conversations with him about the experience of playing rugby professionally and internationally.

Growing up, I played soccer and did athletics. It wasn’t until a friend of my father’s asked if I wanted to play rugby, when I was around 15 that I started following in my dad’s footsteps.

I imagine having my father’s name to live up to spurred me on a little. I played at the same club, Hull KR, in the same position – on the wing. So there were always going to be comparisons.

He cast a long shadow – but I was simultaneously glad that, when I played, it made people remember my dad and his abilities. Gradually, my attitude matured from feeling as though I was in a battle with my father’s legacy to being one of acceptance.

I started to think: ‘I’m my own player, and I do my own thing. And if you want to remember the things my dad achieved because I’m on the field, then I’m perfectly happy with that’.

Dad has since been commemorated in so many wonderful ways. The A63 road in Hull was renamed Clive Sullivan Way; and he was one of six inaugural members to be inducted into Hull FC’s Hall of Fame in 1993.

Then, in 2022, he joined the British Rugby League Hall of Fame.

That was such a special evening for me. The history of rugby is within that Hall of Fame. Not only was it a milestone for my father’s legacy; it meant so much to me, as someone who was ‘in’ the rugby world, to be there and witness it. I understood the gravitas of what this honour meant for my dad.

My father left a huge legacy and he was certainly a pioneer.

But nobody who comes up to me, when they speak about my father, mentions the colour of his skin. 

They mention his character, and how he had time for people. They tell me how friendly he was, how he was a wonderful teammate and a great team leader, captaining Great Britain to victory.

Who you are; how you behave; how you act; this is what we should all ultimately hold in esteem.

I believe that being a genuinely good person, and striving to always be that, are examples for all. This is what people always bring up in connection with my father; and if anything is his legacy, it should be that.

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