Richard represented GB in 1966 in Bled in what is now Slovenia, and again in Vichy at the Championships in France. Teaming up with Mike Sweeney, these two, by modern standards comparatively modest sized people were still good enough to represent GB in the Canadian World Championships in 1970. Sally and I drove to Bled for those Championships, staying in Karlsruhe on our first night. It was the first time since the end of the Second World War that I could bring myself to set foot in Germany. As foolish as it may seem, prior to that visit it was just something that emotionally I could not face. I had a lousy night’s sleep, only to discover the following day that we had picked the hotel that had been the Gestapo headquarters during the Nazi era. Crossing into Austria we stayed a night, costing ten shillings old money for bed and breakfast in a small village Anif in the shadow of the Unterberg mountain. On into Yugoslavia, and what is now Slovinia, Bled is a magic place set in beautiful countryside, and again for the same cost as in Anif, we were allocated bed and breakfast at the home of a Frau Branco. What always sticks in my mind is that the agency allocating accommodation was called the “compost”, and that umpires in Serbo-Croatian are known as “sodniks”. I can’t think of a more appropriate title !
One Whitsun weekend in 1960, our senior eight had entered the Regatta at Chester on the Saturday, and Hereford on the following Whit Monday. Our number two man, could not make the Chester race and as coach I dropped in as had been my lot on many occasions over the years. We were delighted to beat Royal Chester in round one, and Portora in the semi-final. Racing Shrewsbury School in the final, we won by half a length in a tough race, for schoolboys just never know when they’re beat! The Captain of their crew came round to offer his congratulations, and sought to shake my hand whilst I was sitting exhausted in the boat. “Congratulations sir, but we’ll reverse that on Monday in Hereford”. I replied “Many thanks, but I’m sorry lad you’ve missed your chance, for I’m only the coach substituting for the real guy who’ll be in the boat on Monday!”
The one occasion we did not enter a crew at the Royal, resulted from our lack of technical skills to properly evaluate the quality of a crew. Our greatest opposition in the late fifties and sixties were our friends in the Burton Leander Rowing Club, and our only measure of our standard was whether we could beat the Burton crew. They narrowly beat our four in the provincial regattas, and the decision was therefore made that we would not let our crew go forward to the Royal. Pity we did not know just how good both crews were, for the Burton Leander crew went on to win the Wyfold Cup at the 1959 Royal Regatta.
With my Double Sculls partner Mike Collier
To illustrate, not just our lack of technical information and skills, but the same applied to the selection of British crews for World and Olympic Championships. Standard qualifying times were set for each event, but the trouble was that we did not have any still water on which to set trials. On the Henley reach, one of the coaches to the GB team was Geoffrey Page, and he used to float a stick – like Winnie the Poo – past the Leander stage, and having timed it, calculated the strength of the stream, and hence was able to correct the standard time required for a crew to qualify. Such rule of thumb would bring gales of derision from modern coaches, but that’s the way it was. Of course all that changed once Holme Pierrepont was built, and GB has never looked back since.
Back in the fifties very few women rowed, and certainly none did so in the provinces. One Sunday morning I was stuck for a cox for one of the crews and we put a thick sweater onto the young sister of one of the crew members. With a woolly hat to round it off, I felt we could get away with it, but when Gus Darby made his customary visit to the club, he pointed with a shaking finger at the crew exclaiming “Mr Captain, there’s a woman in that boat”! I apologised and promised it would not happen again, and it was years before my club finally allowed women to join.
I suppose my active interest in politics began back to 1966/7, for having completed five years as Club Captain, I took on five years as club secretary, and planning and organisation took up more and more of my leisure time away from the business. At that time, the provincial clubs were looked down upon by the metropolitan clubs, and the officers of the governing body, used to come to a meeting in Birmingham of all provincial clubs, and there we were informed of how they intended our sport was to be run. As mere provincials, after all what did we know about the finer arts of rowing ! That frankly got up our noses, and when elected to the City Council in 1968, I had a taste of what could be done, and how to go about it. That year was also the time when a real gentleman Freddy Page, the father of Geoffrey, was the senior officer at the ARA and he led the reorganisation of the association, arranging for elections for all the provincial regions. My colleagues in the Derby, Burton and Newark clubs, put me forward and I was elected to represent the East Midlands Region.
I made my first mistake, in that I believed I was elected to represent the East Midlands on the National Council, and not the National Council in the East Midlands. Sadly some of the establishment still clung to the notion that we were there to listen and not be heard. Thus was my training in the politics to come. That year too, was Olympic year with the games in Mexico City. By then we had put together a joint crew from our club and Derby Rowing club, which was unbeaten in England, winning the Stewards Cup at Henley, and was undoubtedly the best in the country in that class of boat. The selection board had decided that qualification would be based solely on the outcome of the regatta in Amsterdam. The course which has since been reconstructed, had a problem with the wind, which, if it was a following wind, would spin off the grandstand at the finish, and after a few days would have the water on the course slowly circulating making it grossly unfair. The Dutch made clear that they would not use the results for their own selection purposes, but for some obscure reason, one member of our selection panel insisted that any result should stand, regardless of how unfair the results turned out. It was calculated that a sculler in lane six, the most affected lane, would be 17 seconds slower than his equal in lane one ! That member, Colin Porter, who had been one of our successful internationals and supposedly the athlete’s friend, seemed able to overrule the Chairman Christopher Davidge who was the only Gold medallist we’d had in many years, and the rest of the selection panel likewise seemed unable to challenge Colin’s dogmatic view.
There followed three special meetings of the National Council, but because there was no mechanism for overturning the selection committee’s decisions, and with everyone knowing how outrageously unfair the process had been, we all felt deeply frustrated and angry for the athletes who were being denied the once in a lifetime chance of representing GB in the Olympic Games. I do not recall any member of the National Council, speaking up for the selectors view, and all were angry at their intransigence. It was the worst possible example of an establishment group, imposing it’s will on what was at the time the first properly and democratically elected National Council.
Our four which had been unbeaten until the regatta in Amsterdam, had finished third in an affected lane, beating the Italians who went on to win the Bronze medal in Mexico. Our President at that time was Harold Ricketts, and I felt he was genuinely sympathetic to our case. He however took me to one side and pointed out what damage I might be doing to the Association. Whilst thanking him for his genuine courtesy I had to reply that perhaps the Association should consider what damage they were doing to the athletes involved. I had written to Denis Howell, then Minster of Sport, and Harold and Freddie Page went to see him. Given his view that the resolution of selection was a matter for the Association, he did give his consent for its review. The Minister agreed that the National Council at a third meeting, should have a chance to review the selection. Harold therefore allowed the calling of that third Council meeting, and with the Minister’s nod in our direction favourable, I had great hopes the logjam would be broken, but all to no avail. Porter would not budge, and our crew, and a coxed four from the Poplar and Blackwell Club were told at that third Coun
cil meeting that nothing could be done.
What made it worse, was that Porter had written to the Council making what many would see as a racist reference to my background, and therefore what did I know compared to him. Jack Beresford our five times pre and post war Olympic Champion contacted me and felt I had every reason to sue on the basis of the letter, but I thanked him for his concern and support, but felt I would not climb into the same gutter as Colin Porter. Whatever odium I might have suffered, it was nothing compared to the disappointment for the crew that had sweated for months to achieve their Olympic goal, only to have it snatched away by a selector who had been chosen as a champion of the athletes. All that was achieved by this debacle was that the system was changed, and selection has since been vastly improved, but nothing can take away the bitter taste that must remain with the members of the two crews who were denied a lifetime ambition to represent their country at an Olympic Games.
Asking awkward questions, and “not knowing my place” had it’s downside, for I discovered some years later that somebody on two occasions had nominated me for membership of Leander under the over 40 years of age and services to Rowing criteria, but had been requested to withdraw the nomination to avoid a Black Ball situation. Unaware of this, and never likely to meet the outstanding rowing performance criteria, much as I would have been honoured to have been elected, it simply didn’t concern me, I discovered this sometime in the early seventies when taken to one side by Graham Ricketts, Harold’s brother, whilst in the Steward’s Enclosure at the Regatta. He was most concerned for me, since it was clear that someone had suggested my nomination again and whilst acknowledging my contribution to the sport, he did not wish to see me publicly embarrassed. Sally was with me at the time, and was furious, and said that we had never sought to be where we were not welcome, but that would certainly not deter me from the work I did for Rowing. A few years later, I had a most generous and welcome letter jointly signed by Desmond Hill and Richard Burnell, who had discovered, what they described as this grave injustice, and whilst they would understand if I rejected their offer, they would be pleased to be my sponsors for a fresh application. Coming from two of the most distinguished members of Leander, I was delighted to accept.
Like most amateur sports, raising money was a necessity, for subscriptions would never cover the cost of boats and equipment, and quite fortuitously when Sally and I became engaged in 1963 we had a party at the clubhouse, with a group, the name of which I’ve long forgotten. But what it did was to highlight the possibilities of running gigs at the club, and raise money that way. Our neighbours at the “Boat” did the same, and at one stage on a Friday or Saturday night, when all three clubs had gigs, I’m certain there were more people down on Trentside, than had ever attended the Cavern – Beatles or no Beatles. The honours board that still hangs on the wall in the clubroom, testifies to the famous groups that played at the Union throughout the sixties.
One Saturday night when all three clubs had gigs on the go, and the clubs were crowded with revellers, three thugs decided to come down to the river and disrupt and cause trouble at one of the clubs. Why they passed by both the Union and the Boat, and choosing to tackle the Brit will be something they doubtless just about survived to regret. Three or four of the Britannia members enjoyed professional wrestling as a sideline, and proceeded to take the thugs apart. Kevin Bruton, who was running our club event at the time, became concerned for their lives and phoned the police. Having explained what was happening, and assuring the police that the clubs were fine and it was the thugs that were taking the hammering, and were ending up in the river, they said that all seemed well and that they would therefore just call down in about thirty minutes time. The word must have got around for neither of the clubs had any trouble thereafter. Would that modern policing would allow such sensible reaction to people defending their property and functions.
I travelled with our club crew to the World Championships in Denmark in the autumn of 1963, and the sight of six lane racing whetted my appetite, not only to find a site in England, but to study and obtain an International Umpires Licence. The crew of Richard Waite, Carl Unwin, Mike Gillott, and John Garton had won the Wyfold event at the Royal for the first time in the club’s history, and this was the first major Championships in which our club had ever featured since we had represented the UK in the 1928 Olympics in Amsterdam. Sadly that lack of experience showed in a performance we knew was well below what they could and should have achieved. My former aim was achieved in 1971 and being the first of it’s kind in the UK it forms a small chapter later in the book. The latter was achieved in 1970, and I held that licence until I retired under International rules when I reached 65. That year I believe was when Egypt and Syria briefly formed the United Arab Republic, and they brought an eight to the championships held on a lake just outside Copenhagen. Their coach was a big guy called Fayaz Yakan, with whom I eventually became quite friendly. The laugh was that as his crew came into the landing stages, the whole British contingent was standing some thirty yards away watching them disembarque. Fayaz scanned the crowd and made a beeline straight for me, requesting that he wished to meet the British Chief coach or Chef de Commission. I politely steered him to Jack Beresford, and when he was out of hearing, our group chuckled that out of some thirty Brits, the one guy the Arab picked out, was the only Jew in the team. Fayaz heard about this later, saw the funny side and came to shake my hand and establish a friendship which lasted for many years until his death. Fayaz had been a brigadier in Nasser’s army, and he regretted that he’d never made it to the Golan Heights. However we met up when Sally and I visited Egypt some years later, by which time he had become a travel guide, and explained that now there was peace between Israel and Egypt, he’d finally made it to the Golan Heights.
Holding that FISA licence, allowed me to join the Association’s International Umpires Committee, which had the responsibility of training and approving candidates for the new National Multilane Umpires Qualification, and to recommend one or two each year for training and recommendation to the International (FISA) commission for the granting of licences to allow those qualified to apply for and hopefully be granted duties at International Championships. Since those days, training and experience has moved on, and you frequently find FISA candidate and qualified umpires travelling to national regattas all over Europe, both to gain regular practical experience, and to ensure an ever higher standard of regatta management.
A charity row with the lads
One example of how practice brought about change, was our experience at the 1986 Commonwealth Games Regatta at Strathclyde. Prior to this event, the official starting and race control was conducted in French, with Attention - Et Vous Pret - followed by Parte. It was never satisfactory, for multi-syllable words inevitably caused false starts. To add to that problem was the rule that the starter could not start the race if just one hand was raised in any of the crews, which in an eights event was a chance of 54 to 1 on, that someone would indicate they were not ready. We agreed that at the Commonwealth event we would stick to English with, Attention – Set – Go. That was simple and should have been sufficient, but in the final for the Blue Ribbon event for the eights, I had charge of the start assisted by Mike Walker. The wind had got up, and being across, the crews were having great difficulty attaching to the start pontoons. After considerable delay the New Zealand crew, understandably getting cold and wound up, set off on a false start even before any orders were given. When they reattached, I did as politely as I could, suggest that they might wait for the others next time. What I did not know was that all our instructions were live over the public address, and it caused some laughter in the stands. The real problem then arose, for as I called Set, the crews on either side of the Canadian crew set off on a false start. The procedure had to begin all over again, but Mike and I could not understand how that false start had occurred. As we came down from the start tower, a Scottish official who had been behind the Canadians, confirmed that their Cox
had shouted Go, as I called Set. Not aware of this subterfuge until after the race was well underway, we could do nothing about it. Fortunately they did not medal, and finally admitted they had deliberately caused the false start. As a result of this chaotic affair, we brought in the simple start for all our domestic events, and took away from crews the ability to delay starts by raising hands during the last two minutes of the procedure which then came under the full control of the starter. Within a couple of years FISA had seen the sense of our changes, and brought them into the International Rules. Of course things have moved on since then, and now all major courses have electronic starting, and false starts are largely things of the past.
The Championships were held in Moscow in 1973, and I attended both as an umpire and as a journalist for the Nottingham Evening Post. We flew from Luton, but were delayed due to the time it took to open the front section of the plane, to allow the loading of all our boats. A great friend and distinguished rowing journalist, Desmond Hill, had just arrived home from a family holiday in the West Indies. He opened his mail and panicked feeling he would miss the flight, threw fresh clothes in a bag and high tailed it for Luton. He looked in a bad way, having not slept for 24hours, and slept little on our flight to Moscow. Arriving two hours late, we were deemed to have somehow missed our slot, and since the airport closed at midnight we had to circle for what seemed ages, before we were allowed to land. Our boats were unloaded and put on a trailer, but since at that stage we had no towing vehicle we had to leave it on the tarmac under the care of Jimmy Wallis our boatman. When we left for town, he was promptly arrested and locked in a small cell until his status could be established. He had bought one of those packets of three or four biscuits at Luton, and sat in his cell wondering how long he would have to make those biscuits last, for we were there at a time when our view of the Russian regime was not exactly warm and friendly. However all was sorted when the West Germans took their trailer out to the airport and brought Jimmy and our boats to the course.
Rowing Against the Tide - A career in sport and politics Page 7
