My dad was told he'd never play sport then led Great Britain to victory in 1972

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.

Dad was famous for his incredible speed (Picture: Hull Live / MEN Media)

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.

For me, Dad was just that: My dad (Picture: Family of Clive Sullivan)

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.

Hearing what a great man he was makes me prouder than any number of career highlights (Picture: Family of Clive Sullivan)

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.

Dad’s career went from strength to strength (Picture: Family of Clive Sullivan)

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.

I can only imagine how proud and pleased Dad must have been to captain his country in a World Cup (Picture: Brenards/Mirrorpix via Getty Images)

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.

The 1980 Challenge Cup Final was such a big deal for Dad (Picture: Hull Live / MEN Media)

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.

Black History Month

October marks Black History Month, which reflects on the achievements, cultures and contributions of Black people in the UK and across the globe, as well as educating others about the diverse history of those from African and Caribbean descent.

For more information about the events and celebrations that are taking place this year, visit the official Black History Month website.

October is Black History Month (Picture: Metro.co.uk)

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.

What I learned from Dad was: If you’re going to do something, you do it to the best of your ability (Picture: Hull Live / MEN Media)

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.