Thrilling display fails to dispel nagging doubts

England are the rugby lions going into winter now, unquestionably, but however extensive the heroics they perform, and improbably they contrive victories over the world's mightiest teams, it seems they cannot lift the burden on their passionately committed coach Clive Woodward.

It is one hinged unbreakably to the fear that whatever the likes of Jonny Wilkinson and Ben Cohen achieve in the bastion of Twickenham – and on Saturday they did no less than deliver the ultimate one-two of victories over the All Blacks and Australia in seven days – it is glory that will prove to be non-negotiable in the World Cup of next year's southern spring.

Woodward talked of getting out of jail rather than empire-building after Cohen, who a week earlier had made the tackle that denied New Zealand, ran in the second of his two tries which turned back a brilliant eruption by the world champions either side of half-time. The coach suggested that a moment had been saved rather than the future ensured, and with English rugby isn't this always so? Even the best of it – and over the last few days we have seen much of that – there is the haunting question concerning precisely where it will lead.

Woodward spoke of the "awesome" show of character which turned around an apparently fatal deficit of 31-19, and no one who saw it could begin to question such a declaration. But Woodward's expression was more eloquent than any of his words. It was of a coach who had looked into the future and, maybe, winced.

There can be no doubt about Woodward's primary concern. It is that six years into the job, and three years after delivering his offer to be judged on the World Cup of 2003, he remains in danger of a pulverising fate. It is of a coach who has produced a nearly great team.

There is nothing more poignant in any corner of sport than the dividing line between superior performance – and fighting character – and that instinctive belief that in any place, and any circumstances, you can find a way to win. England, yet again, were ablaze with the idea in front of their own people, but too often the team has found the feasting around its own hearth immovable. It was a reality that, if you thought about it at all, insisted on a cautious response to the glowing patriotism that again filled the big old stadium.

This was England's 17th straight win at Twickenham – and no doubt the most unlikely after Elton Flatley had with dismaying ease run in two tries and Stephen Larkham sent in Wendell Sailor with one of those passes which announces the highest levels of class and belief. Any team you could think of would have been hung, drawn and quartered. The English cricketers would have been suing for peace. The footballers would have been been glumly contemplating the freakish good fortune of their conquerors. But however else you draw up the ledger on Woodward's England, there is a huge credit in the matter of fighting on in the most unpromising circumstances. At Twickenham, that is.

Perhaps it is a situation which demands, for everybody's peace of mind, and not least Woodward's, that we take the best and live with the rest. Maybe we should celebrate Twickenham as the Romans did the Colosseum, a place where the gladiators come with the guarantee of a fight to the death, and that whatever happens from time to time at the Stade de France, Murrayfield and Lansdowne Road it is in some ways the story of a fine and robust wine which simply doesn't travel well.

Ultimately on Saturday it knocked the heads off the Australians – and even the magnificently committed captain and scrum-half George Gregan. There were times when Gregan, ably assisted by the magnificent No 8 Toutai Kefu, seemed to have swallowed whole the Australian destiny to persecute the sportsmen of England. He had a snap and an assurance that announced that no serious arguments would be permitted. But they were. Matt Dawson came back some way from his frustrations against the All Blacks, and beside him Wilkinson was again relentless in his acquisition of points. He accumulates them with unprecedented authority. When a team concedes a penalty and Wilkinson picks up the ball the culprit must feel like a sheep thief hauled before Judge Jeffreys. There is no mercy, no doubt.

It may be that in a year's time the touch of Wilkinson's boot will be consistently reproduced in his hands. It is not so now. Still, he moves between the brandishing of brilliance and the bland, and something of the same could be said of his team. They had a terrible breakdown in the middle of their latest win. Jason Robinson explored both the high and the low of his extraordinary game. Will Greenwood unfurled a passage of play that was as good as anything we had seen in two tumultuous games against the world's best opposition, a perfectly weighted kick ahead, an easy gathering of the ball and a pass out to the wing which sent the blood, and the critical faculty, racing. But his overall yield was low, as was the powerful Mike Tindall's. What Woodward needs more than anything, maybe, is the relentless bravura of Cohen. With and without the ball, he has made immense plays against both the Tri-Nation title holders and the world champions.

Cohen's rage to be a winner among winners is palpable, and when twice the wonderfully promising James Simpson-Daniel fed him passes laden with intuition the idea that Woodward's England might one day indeed beat the world was not so unfeasible. But it was something you could only really think at Twickenham – and, most wisely, keep to yourself.