In Twickenham, at the weekend, the crowd was a sea of red and white.
England’s colours were everywhere – plastered on sweatshirts and painted over faces, fluttering from flags – and the mood was unmistakably joyful. For this was of course the Women’s Rugby World Cup final, not some ominous “raise the colours” rally: a chance to remember that the St George’s cross doesn’t belong to people who daub it on roundabouts to frighten the neighbours, that there is still a kind of Englishness that inspires hope, not fear. Rugby’s Red Roses, like football’s Lionesses and Gareth Southgate’s young male England squad before them, embody a consciously inclusive form of patriotism: a message that their victories are for everyone, male or female, black or white, gay or straight.
