COLLEGE ROWING AT CAMBRIDGE.
The casual visitor would scarcely imagine that Cambridge resembled
either Macedon or Monmouth in the possession of a river. He sees in The
Backs what looks rather like a huge moat, designed to keep marauders
from the sacred college courts, and filled with discoloured water,
destitute seemingly of all stream. This he knows cannot be the racing
river. The innumerable bridges forbid the notion, although Ouida has, in
one of her novels, sprinkled it with a mixture of racing Eights and
water-lilies. He wanders on from college to college, and nowhere does he
come across the slightest sign of the river of which he has heard so
much. Indeed, a man may stroll on Midsummer Common within about a
hundred yards of the boat-houses without suspecting the existence of the
Cam. I can well remember convoying to the river an enthusiastic
freshman who had just joined his college boat club. At every step I was
asked whether we were yet approaching the noble stream. I answered
evasively, and with an air of mystery which befits a third-year man in
the presence of freshmen. At length we turned on to the common, which is
bounded by the Cam; on the further bank stand the boat-houses. There
were crowds of men busy in the yards, there were coaches riding on the
nearer bank, but of the river itself there was no indication. We were
still about two hundred yards away when a Lady Margaret Eight passed,
the heads of the crew in their scarlet caps being just visible above the
river-bank as they swung backwards and forwards in their boat. I felt my
freshman's grip tightening on my arm. Suddenly he stood stock still and
rubbed his eyes. "Good heavens!" he said in an awestruck voice, "what on
earth are those little red animals I see running up and down there?
Funniest thing I ever saw." I reassured him, and in a few moments more
we arrived at the Cam, crossed it in a "grind," and solved the puzzle.
Distance, therefore, can scarcely be said to lend enchantment to the
view, since at anything over one hundred yards it withdraws the Cam
altogether from our sight. It is not easy, indeed, to see where the
attractions of the Cam come in. It has been called with perfect justice
a ditch, a canal, and a sewer, but not even the wildest enthusiasm would
have supposed it to be a running stream, or ventured at first sight to
call it a river. Yet this slow and muddy thread of water has been for
more than seventy years the scene of excitements and triumphs and
glories without end. Upon its shallow stream future judges and bishops
and Parliament-men--not to speak of the great host of minor celebrities
and the vaster army of future obscurities--have sought exercise and
relaxation; to its unsightly banks their memory still fondly turns
wherever their lot may chance to be cast, and still some thousand of the
flower of our youth find health and strength in driving the labouring
Eights and Fours along its narrow reaches and round its winding corners.
It may well excite the wonder of the uninitiated that, with so many
natural disadvantages to contend against, the oarsmen of Cambridge
should have been able during all these years to maintain so high a
standard of oarsmanship. Time after time since the year when First
Trinity secured the first race for the Grand Challenge have her college
crews carried off the chief prizes at Henley against all competitors,
until, in 1887, Trinity Hall swept the board by actually winning five
out of the eight Henley races, other Cambridge men accounting for the
remaining three. The record of Cambridge rowing is thus a very proud
one; but those who know the Cambridge oarsman and his river will find no
difficulty in accounting for it. The very disadvantages of the Cam all
tend to imbue the man who rows upon it with a stern sense of duty, with
the feeling that it is business and not pleasure, hard work and not a
picnic, that summon him every day of the term to the boat-houses and
urge him on his way to Baitsbite. We are forced to do without the
natural charms that make the Isis beautiful. We console ourselves by a
strict devotion to the labour of the oar.
The man who first rowed upon the Cam was in all probability a lineal
descendant of the daring spirit who first tasted an oyster. His name and
fame have not been preserved, but I am entitled to assume that he
flourished some time before 1826. In that year the records of Cambridge
boat clubs begin. There is in the possession of the First Trinity Boat
Club an old book, at one end of which are to be found the "Laws of the
Monarch Boat Club," with a list of members from 1826 to 1828, whilst at
the other end are inscribed lists of members of the Trinity Boat Club,
minutes of its meetings, and brief descriptions of the races in which it
was engaged from the year 1829 to 1834. The Monarch Boat Club was by its
laws limited to members of Trinity, and, I take it, that in 1828 the
club had become sufficiently important to change its name definitely to
that of Trinity Boat Club. At any rate, it must always have been
considered the Trinity Club; for in the earliest chart of the Cambridge
boat races--that, namely, of 1827--in the captains' room of the First
Trinity Boat-house, "Trinity" stands head of the river, and no mention
is made of a Monarch Club. These ancient laws form a somewhat Draconian
code. They are twenty-five in number, and eight of them deal with fines
or penalties to be inflicted upon a member who may "absent himself from
his appointed crew and not provide a substitute for his oar," or who may
"not arrive at the boat-house within a quarter of an hour of the
appointed time." There were fines ("by no means to be remitted, except
in the case of any member having an _aegrotat_, _exeat_, or _absit_, or
having been prevented from attending by some laws of the college or
University") for not appearing in the proper uniform, for "giving orders
or speaking on a racing day, or on any other day, after silence has been
called" (exception being made in favour of the captain and steerer), and
for neglecting to give notice of an intended absence. To the twelfth law
a clause was subsequently added enacting "that the treasurer be
chastised twice a week for not keeping his books in proper order."
From the minutes of the Trinity Boat Club I extract the following
letter, dated Stangate, December, 1828, which shows that even at that
early date the first and third persons carried on a civil war in the
boat-builder's vocabulary:--
"Rawlinson & Lyon's compliments to Mr. Greene wish to know if there is
to be any alteration in the length of the set of oars they have to send
down have been expecting to hear from the Club, therefore have not given
orders for the oars to be finished should feel obliged by a line from
you with the necessary instructions and be kind enough to inform us of
the success which we trust you have met with in the New Boat.
we remain Sir
Your ob^t Servts
RAWLINSON & LYON."
In 1833 it is curious to read, "towards the end of this Easter term six
of the racing crew were ill of influenza, etc., when the boat was bumped
by the Queens', which we bumped next race, but were bumped again by
them, and next race owing to a bad start the Christ's boat bumped us
immediately being nearly abreast of us at the bumping-post." Was this
the _grippe_, I wonder? In the Lent Term, 1834, it is stated, "The
second race we touched the Christ's after the pistol was fired the first
stroke we pulled, and lost our place to the Second Trinity for making a
foul bump." By the way, in the oldest minute-book belonging to the
University Boating Club, extending from 1828 to 1837, I find the Second
Trinity boat occasionally entered on the list as "Reading Trinity." It
continued to enjoy this bookish reputation up to 1876, when a debt
which continued to increase while its list of members as constantly
diminished, brought about its dissolution. Its members and its
challenge-cups were then taken over by First Trinity.
In an old book belonging to First Trinity is preserved a map of the
racing river, which explains much that would be otherwise inexplicable
in the various entries. In those days the races began in the short reach
of water in which they now finish. A little below where Charon now plies
his ferry were the Chesterton Locks, and in the reach above this
starting-posts seem to have been fixed for the various boats. When the
starting-pistol was fired the crews started rowing, but apparently no
bump was allowed before the bumping-post, fixed some little way above
the first bend where the big horse-grind now works. Any bump before this
was foul, and the boat so fouling appears to have been disqualified.
This post once passed, the racing proper began and continued past
Barnwell up to the Jesus Locks. It must be remembered that the Jesus
Locks were not where they are now, but were built just where the Caius
boathouse now stands, there being a lock cut in the present bed of the
river, and the main stream running quite a hundred yards south of its
present course, and forming an island, on which stood Fort St. George.
This was altered in 1837, when the Cam was diverted to its present
course, and the old course from above Jesus Green Sluice to Fort St.
George was filled up.
A few more extracts relating to the first beginnings of college
boat-races may be of interest. In 1827 there were six boats on the
river--a ten-oar and an eight-oar from Trinity, an eight-oar from St.
John's, and six-oars from Jesus, Caius, and Trinity, Westminster. In
1829 this number had dwindled to four at the beginning of the races on
February 28; but in the seventh race, which took place on March 21,
seven crews competed, St John's finishing head of the river, a place
they maintained in the following May. Usually from seven to nine races
appear to have been rowed during one month of the term, certain days in
each week having been previously fixed. Crews were often known by the
name of their ship rather than by that of their college. I find, for
instance, a _Privateer_, which was made up, I think, of men from
private schools, a _Corsair_ from St. John's, a _Dolphin_ from Third
Trinity (which was then, and is still, the Club of the Eton and
Westminster men), _Black Prince_ from First Trinity, and _Queen Bess_
from the Second or "Reading" Trinity. The following regulations, passed
by the University Boat Club on April 18, 1831, will help to make the old
system of boat-racing quite clear:--
"1. That the distance between each post being twenty yards will allow
eleven boats to start on the Chesterton side, the length of the ropes by
which they are attached to the posts being ten yards.
"2. That the remainder of the boats do start on the Barnwell side at
similar distances, but with ropes fifteen yards in length.
"3. That there also be a rope three yards long fixed to the head of the
lock, which will be the station of the last boat, provided the number
exceed twelve."
These arrangements allowed thirteen boats to start at once, and special
provision was made for any number beyond that. Obedience to the properly
constituted authorities seems from an early period to have
characterized the rowing man. I find that in 1831 a race was arranged
between the captains of racing crews and the rest of the University, to
take place on Tuesday, November 29. On Monday, the 28th, however, there
arrived "a request from the Vice-Chancellor, backed by the tutors of the
several colleges, that we should refrain from racing on account of the
cholera then prevailing in Sunderland. We accordingly gave up the match
forthwith, and with it another which was to have been rowed the same day
between the quondam Etonians and the private school men." The secretary,
however, adds this caustic comment, "It is presumed that Dr. Haviland,
at whose instigation the Vice-Chancellor put a stop to the race,
confounded the terms (and pronunciations?) 'rowing' and 'rowing,' and
while he was anxious to stop any debauchery in the latter class of men,
by a _slight_ mistake was the means of preventing the healthy exercise
of the former."
The umpire for the college races seems never to have been properly
appreciated. Indeed, in 1834, the U.B.C. solemnly resolved "that the
umpire was no use, ... and accordingly that Bowtell should be
cashiered. In consequence of this resolution, it was proposed and
carried that the same person who had the management of the posts, lines,
and starting the boats should also place the flags on the bumping-post,
and receive for his pay 4_s._ a week, with an addition of 2_s._ 6_d._ at
the end of the quarter in case the starting be well managed, but that
each time the pistol misses fire 1s. should be deducted from his weekly
pay."
In 1835, in consequence of the removal of the Chesterton Lock, the
U.B.C. transferred the starting-posts to the reach between Baitsbite and
First Post Corner, and there they have remained ever since.
Side by side with the college boat clubs, formed by the combination of
their members for strictly imperial matters, regulating and controlling
the inter-collegiate races, but never interfering with the internal
arrangements and the individual liberty of the college clubs, the
University Boat Club grew up. With two short but historical extracts
from its early proceedings, I will conclude this cursory investigation
into the records of the musty past. On February 20, 1829, at a meeting
of the U.B.C. Committee, held in Mr. Gisborne's rooms, it was resolved
_inter alia_ "That Mr. Snow, St. John's, be requested to write
immediately to Mr. Staniforth, Christ Church, Oxford, proposing to make
up a University match;" and on March 12, on the receipt of a letter from
Mr. Staniforth, Christ Church, Oxford, a meeting of the U.B.C. was
called at Mr. Harman's rooms, Caius College, when the following
resolution was passed:--"That Mr. Stephen Davies (the Oxford
boat-builder) be requested to post the following challenge in some
conspicuous part of his barge: 'That the University of Cambridge hereby
challenge the University of Oxford to row a match at or near London,
each in an eight-oared boat, during the ensuing Easter vacation.'"
Thus was brought about the first race between the two Universities. Mr.
Snow was appointed captain, and it was further decided that the
University Boat Club should defray all expenses, and that the match be
not made up for money. It is unnecessary for me to relate once again how
the race was eventually rowed from Hambledon Lock to Henley Bridge, and
how the Light Blues (who, by the way, were then the Pinks) suffered
defeat by many lengths. The story has been too well and too often told
before. Each crew contained a future bishop--the late Bishop of St.
Andrew's rowing No. 4 in the Oxford boat, whilst the late Bishop Selwyn,
afterwards Bishop of New Zealand, and subsequently of Lichfield,
occupied the important position of No. 7 for Cambridge. Of the remainder
more than half were afterwards ordained.
So much, then, for the origins of College and University racing.
Thenceforward the friendly rivalry flourished with only slight
intermissions; gradually the race became an event. The great public
became interested in it, cabmen and 'bus-drivers decorated their whips
in honour of the crews, sightseers flocked to the river-banks to catch a
glimpse of them as they flashed past, and their prowess was celebrated
by the press. It is not, however, too much to say that without the keen
spirit of emulation which is fostered by the college races both at
Oxford and Cambridge, the University boat-race would cease to exist.
Truly a light blue cap is to the oarsman a glorious prize, but there are
many hundreds of ardent enthusiasts who have to content themselves with
a place in the college boats in the Lent or the May Term. Want of form,
or of weight, or of the necessary strength and stamina may hinder them
from attaining to a place in the University Eight, but they should
console themselves by reflecting that without their patient and earnest
labours for the welfare of their several colleges it would be impossible
to maintain a high standard of oarsmanship, or to form a representative
University Eight. Let me, therefore, be for a page or two the apologist,
nay, rather the panegyrist, of the college oarsman, with whom many of my
happiest hours have been spent.
Before entering upon the serious business of life as a freshman at
Cambridge, the youth who is subsequently to become an oar will in all
probability have fired his imagination by reading of the historical
prowess of past generations of University oars in races at Henley or at
Putney. Goldie who turned the tide of defeat, the Closes, Rhodes,
Gurdon, Hockin, Pitman the pluckiest of strokes, and Muttlebury the
mighty heavy-weight, are the heroes whom he worships, and to whose
imitation he proposes to devote himself. A vision of a light blue coat
and cap flits before his mind; he sees himself in fancy wresting a
fiercely contested victory from the clutches of Oxford, and cheered and
f[^e]ted by a countless throng of his admirers. With these ideas he becomes
as a freshman a member of his college boat club, and adds his name to
the "tubbing list." He purchases his rowing uniform, clothes himself in
it in his rooms, and one fine afternoon in October finds himself one of
a crowd of nervous novices in the yard of his college boathouse. One of
the captains pounces on him, selects a co-victim for him, and orders him
into a gig-pair, or, to speak more correctly, "a tub." With the first
stroke the beautiful azure vision vanishes, leaving only a sense of
misery behind. He imagined he could row as he walked, by the light of
nature. He finds that all kinds of mysterious technicalities are
required of him. He has to "get hold of the beginning" to "finish it
out," to take his oar "out of the water clean" (an impossibility one
would think on the dirty drain-fed Cam), to "plant his feet against the
stretcher," to row his shoulders back, to keep his elbows close to his
sides, to shoot away his hands, to swing from his hips, under no
circumstances to bend his back or to leave go with his outside hand,
and, above all, to keep his swing forward as steady as a rock--an
instruction to which he conforms by not swinging at all. These are but a
few points out of the many which are dinned into his ears by his
energetic coach. A quarter of an hour concludes his lesson, and he
leaves the river a much sadder, but not necessarily a wiser man.
However, since he is young he is not daunted by all these unforeseen
difficulties. He perseveres, and towards the end of his first term reaps
a doubtful reward by being put into an Eight with seven other novices,
to splash and roll and knock his knuckles about for an hour or so to his
heart's content. Next term (the Lent Term) may find him a member of one
of his college Lent boats. Then he begins to feel that pluck and
ambition are not in vain, and soon afterwards for the first time he
tastes the joys of training, which he will be surprised to find does not
consist entirely of raw steaks and underdone chops. Common sense, in
fact, has during the past fifteen years or so broken in upon the foolish
regulations of the ancient system. Men who train are still compelled to
keep early hours, to eat simple food at fixed times, to abjure tobacco,
and to limit the quantity of liquid they absorb. But there is an
immense variety in the dishes put before them; they are warned against
gorging (at breakfast, indeed, men frequently touch no meat), and though
they assemble together in the Backs before breakfast, and are ordered to
clear their pipes by a short sharp burst of one hundred and fifty yards,
they are not allowed to overtire themselves by the long runs which were
at one time in fashion. Far away back in the dawn of University rowing
training seems to have been far laxer, though discipline may have been
more strict, than it is now. Mr. J. M. Logan (the well-known Cambridge
boat-builder) wrote to me on this subject: "I have heard my father say
that the crews used to train on egg-flip which an old lady who then kept
the Plough Inn by Ditton was very famous for making, and that crew which
managed to drink most egg-flip was held to be most likely to make many
bumps. I believe the ingredients were gin, beer, and beaten eggs, with
nutmegs and spices added. I have heard my father say that the discipline
of the crews was of an extraordinary character. For instance, the
captain of the Lady Margaret Boat Club used to have a bugle, and after
he had sounded it the crew would have to appear on the yard in high hats
and dress suits with a black tie. The penalty for appearing in a tie of
any other colour was one shilling. The trousers worn on these occasions
were of white jean, and had to be washed every day under a penalty of
one shilling. The wearing of perfectly clean things every day was an
essential part of the preparation."
All this, however, is a digression from the freshman whom we have seen
safely through his tubbing troubles, and have selected for a Lent Boat.
I return to him to follow him in a career of glory which will lead him
from Lent Boat to May Boat, from that to his college Four, and so
perhaps through the University Trial Eights to the final goal of all
rowing ambition--the Cambridge Eight. He will have suffered many things
for the sake of his beloved pursuit; he will have rowed many weary
miles, have learnt the misery of aching limbs and blistered hands,
perhaps he may have endured the last indignity of being bumped; he will
have laboured under broiling suns, or with snowstorms and bitter winds
beating against him; he will have voluntarily cut himself off from many
pleasant indulgences. But, on the other hand, his triumphs will have
been sweet; he will have trained himself to submit to discipline, to
accept discomfort cheerfully, to keep a brave face in adverse
circumstance; he will have developed to the full his strength and his
powers of endurance, and will have learnt the necessity of unselfishness
and patriotism. These are, after all, no mean results in a generation
which is often accused of effeminate and debasing luxury.
A few words as to our scheme of boat-races at Cambridge. Of the Lent
races I have spoken. They are rowed at the end of February in heavy
ships, _i.e._ fixed-seat ships built with five streaks from a keel.
Thirty-one boats take part in them. Every college must be represented by
at least one boat, though beyond that there is no restriction as to the
number of boats from any particular college club. No man who has taken
part in the previous May races is permitted to row. In fact, they are a
preparatory school for the development of eight-oared rowing. Next term
is given up to the May races, which are rowed in light ships, _i.e._
keel-less ships with sliding seats. No club can have more than three or
less than one crew in these races. In this term the pair-oared races
are also rowed, generally before the Eights. The Fours, both in light
ships and, for the less ambitious colleges whose Eights may be in the
second division, in clinker-built boats, take place at the end of
October, and are followed by the Colquhoun, or University Sculls, and
next by the University Trial Eights, two picked crews selected by the
President of the University Boat Club from the likely men of every
college club. The trial race always takes place near Ely, over the three
miles of what is called the Adelaide course. Besides all these races,
each college has its own races, confined to members of the college. But
of course the glory of college racing culminates in the May term. Who
shall calculate all the forethought, energy, self-denial, and patriotic
labour, all the carefully organized skill and patient training which are
devoted to the May races; for so they are still called, though they
never take place now before June? Every man who rows in his college crew
feels that to him personally the traditions and the honour of his
college are committed. The meadow at Ditton is alive with a brilliant
throng of visitors, the banks swarm with panting enthusiasts armed with
every kind of noisy instrument, and all intent to spur the energies of
their several Eights. One by one the crews, clothed in their blazers,
with their straw hats on their heads, paddle down to the start, pausing
at Ditton to exchange greetings with the visitors. In the Post Reach
they turn, disembark for a few moments, and wander nervously up and down
the bank. At last the first gun is fired, the oarsmen strip for the
race. Their clothes are collected and borne along in front by perspiring
boatmen, so as to be ready for them at the end of the race. The men step
gingerly into their frail craft and await the next gun. Bang! Another
minute. The boat is pushed out, the coxwain holding his chain; the crew
come forward, every nerve strained for the start; the cry of the careful
timekeepers is heard along the reach, the gun fires, and a universal
roar proclaims the start of the sixteen crews. For four "nights" the
conflict rages, bringing triumph and victory to some, and pain and
defeat to others; and at the end comes the glorious bump-supper, with
its toasts, its songs, and its harmless, noisy rejoicings, on which the
dons look with an indulgent eye, and in which they even sometimes take
part for the honour of the college.
Happy are those who still dwell in Cambridge courts and follow the
delightful labour of the oar! For the rest of us there can only be
memories of the time when we toiled round the never-ending Grassy
corner, spurted in the Plough, heard dimly the deafening cheers of the
crowd at Ditton, and finally made our bump amid the confused roar of
hundreds of voices, the booming of fog-horns the screech of rattles, and
the ringing of bells. What joy in after-life can equal the intoxication
of the moment when we stepped out upon the bank to receive the
congratulations of our friends, whilst the unfurled flag proclaimed our
victory to the world?
To such scenes the mind travels back through the vista of years with
fond regret. For most of us our racing days are over, but we can still
glory in the triumphs of our college or our University, and swear by the
noblest of open-air sports.