Everywhere Rory Barker looked, he saw people fulfilling his ambitions. The unmistakable kit, an extra ounce of swagger in the corridor, the tie stitched with a simple crest, the prestige of being 16 and playing rugby for your county, of proving yourself more than just a big fish in the small pond of schoolboy sport.

His goals were not outlandish; Barker was a robust young prop who carried hard and went to a public school renowned for rugby union, accustomed to its first XV members playing for their county and far beyond. As he moved closer to his target, though, an obstacle appeared; the same message repeated to him until its lasting consequences had taken hold.

“ ‘You want to be a prop, but you’re