In the autumn of 1989, Magdalene College Cambridge was still adjusting to a new sound echoing around the ancient courts. The sound of metal clicking on stone was no longer just the studs of muddy rugby boots, but now also the high heels of the first female entries to Magdalene from a year earlier. Magdalene men had run an unsuccessful campaign called ‘Black October’ against the admission of women. But like it or not, by the end of the 1980’s Magdalene was starting to enter the 20th century, just in time for the next one.
In preparation for the female intake the College had made certain sensitive and thoughtful modifications – such as the elimination of the communal baths and the addition of spy holes into all room doors. But the rest we were going to have to figure out as we went along. As you might expect, the first female intake to Magdalene were not lacking in character. Even many of the black armband-wearing members of Black October had started to express an interest in the new intake.
Through the late 1980’s, Magdalene had become famous as not a particularly academic college, but one that took it sports very seriously. This is why I had applied. I had scraped into Magdalene a year earlier (with grades A,B and C!) with the intention of coxing in the University boat race. I read Geography because, as my Director of Studies explained to me on my first day at Magdalene:
“The good thing about reading Geography at Cambridge is that after three years here we give you a degree. And if you study, we give you a good degree.”
I explained that I had not come to Cambridge to study, at which point he visibly relaxed, looked at his watch and poured us both a sherry, it already being 11.30am. He explained that I had made an error in not selecting Land Economy as a degree – a foolish oversight on my part. But that he would help me with my cause.
In terms of my coxing, I had had a good career as a Junior, racing with some of the top clubs and squads. However, by the age of 19 I had grown from being a tiny boy into a small but still heavier young adult, and certainly was too large to cox for Cambridge University. After a successful trial eights win, I stood down from the University squad who preferred lighter alternatives. Being now free, and still in my first year, I agreed to cox the Magdalene first boat in the 1989 May Bumps. We were bumped first by a quick Trinity Hall crew, and then in a tortuous struggle suffered the agony of being bumped by Churchill at the second time of asking. I had thought I had raced at the top of the sport, but nothing was as exciting as that bump race. I was hooked.
In terms of my academic record, at the end of my first year I had secured the fourth lowest Third in the University for my Geography Part I’s. My end of year report from one lecturer read ‘it is hard to assess Jo’s work because she has not attended many lectures.” Perhaps because of this, Magdalene College saw fit to appoint me Captain of Boats for my up coming second year.
Rowing is unusual as a team non-contact sport where the outcome of a long race is often determined by inches. In the heat of the struggle of a close race, only the cox can really judge who is winning. Facing the wrong way, muscles screaming in agony with the noise of oars and shouting coxes and supporters it is only absolute faith that keeps the oarsman going. Thus rowing is physically, psychologically and emotionally one of the most demanding sports on earth – or water. The one sensible part of rowing is that in most races crews race over a set distance and whichever crew goes fastest wins. Not so bumps racing. On the narrow, shallow and twisting river in Cambridge (The Cam), crews race in procession and the aim is to physically make contact with the boat in front – hence the ‘bumps’.
This means that there is no set distance to a bump race…no way of knowing how long the race will be. It could be two minutes or twelve. Crews tend to go off as fast as they can and try to make up the five second or so gap to catch the crew in front – and avoid being caught by the crew behind. Catch the crew in front and the boats swap places for the next day – thus moving up the rankings. Bump the crew in front on each of the four consecutive days and the crew wins its blades…the highest accolade there is. This makes for a kind of racing that raises the blood in a way that no other race that I have experienced can. Bump racing is the kind of cross between Rowing and Fox Hunting that only ancient Oxbridge could invent.
Rugby dominated Magdalene in the late 80’s, and the College had an outstanding record at Cuppers over the years. By contrast, rowing was for those who could not play rugby. Although the Boat Club traced its roots back to 1828, in recent years the highest honour had become to row in the Magdalene first VIII and cause havoc at the bumps supper, rather than to actually win a race. I will not be remembered as the most warm or friendly captain of boats in Magdalene’s history. I was still slightly twisted on not making the Blue Boat (Cambridge University Boat Race Crew) and very hungry to win something. In my view, the point of rowing was to race, and point of racing was to win. “The aim…” – as became our mantra “…is the Mays”. Magdalene had not won a race in living memory – let alone won our oars – let alone in the first division. It was a big ambition.
THE MICHAELMAS TERM
I had been taught that to field a fast crew, it required strength in depth in the club – so we set about recruiting strongly in Freshers’ week. We had managed to twist the College’s Bursar’s arm and persuade all concerned that it was of critical importance that Magdalene Boat Club (MBC) purchased a brand new VIII for the new rowing women – we argued it would almost be discriminatory not too. Thus, having just taken delivery of a stunning new Ayling Racing boat, we managed to recruit a good proportion of the new female intake to MBC. As the women joined the club, the men became more interested in rowing.
On the land, we signed a deal with a new trendy gym (The Exchange) that had opened and began a programme of early morning land training. This did nothing for my popularity either. We also decided that social events should be a hallmark of the club, and with the new female intake, Magdalene could actually achieve this for the first time. Even the College bar situated below the Captain’s room in First Court – largely pointless in an all male environment – was starting to thrive.
First Court
On the water we set about breaking down the historic elitism of the first boat. We trained in ‘matched eights’ – crews evenly balanced to be the same pace. We thrashed up and down The Reach (long straight stretch of The Cam) side by side. Each time one crew gained an edge, we swapped some crew members around to balance them up again. Over the Michaelmas autumn term the crews were beginning to develop a bite, and at a local race organised by 1st and 3rd Trinity, Magdalene dominated and came home with several victories. The Cambridge New Journal ran a story about us with a picture of our crew under a corny headline of “No Daudlin’ for Magdalene”. Magdalene winning a race was indeed news.
At the Fairburns Head our first VIII finished a respectable 7th, but more importantly our second VIII (The Cannibals) finished second among the second VIII’s and inside the top 20 overall. In another race, both our top two men’s VIII’s finished in the top ten overall, within a few seconds of each other. We believed that the height of the pyramid depends on the width of the base. We had started to build a good base, and had a good start to the year. Above everything else, we had won something. The crews had experienced a new and different feeling called winning. They were becoming hungry, but the aim was the Mays.
THE LENT TERM
Coming back after Christmas, the Lent Term started well, with many of the crew coming up early to train. On land we continued to build fitness, and the late Lady Calcutt – The Master’s Wife – was Patron of the Boat Club. In her non-matching indigo and lavender stockings, champagne dribbling from a flute held at 45 degrees, she was always around and a much loved supporter and friend of the club. The Master – the late Sir David Calcutt QC – was also a great proponent of the club. He had reversed a decision from a few years earlier that had banned the boat club from formal hall on account of drunken and rowdy behavior, and allowed us back (on certain conditions which I committed to, including no food to be thrown).
When we offered to name the new ladies VIII after Lady Calcutt, she obliged and we held a ‘boat naming ceremony’ in the College Garden. There was a sense growing in the College that the Magdalene Boat Club (MBC) was ‘up to something’, but as the Lent Bumps approached I made a terrible mistake.
Bad Hair Day: Me and Lady Calcutt at the boat naming
In Magdalene at that time, we had a number of Blues (former Boat Race oarsmen) and internationals who had chosen not to row for the College for one reason or another. I now persuaded them to join our first VIII, displacing most of our incumbent first VIII down to the second VIII. On paper, we should have then had the fastest first VIII on the river. In reality, under the weight of all those egos, the boat went backwards. It was very poor judgment on my part.
To add insult to injury, we had given our racing colours a makeover and become early adopters of lycra. But we got the sizing horribly wrong, and ended up racing in humiliating baggy lycra. We looked awful and the rowing was even worse. We rowed over for the first three days of the Lent Bumps uneventfully, before our crew became bored and allowed ourselves to be bumped by the Clare crew that had been chasing us for the previous three days. Thankfully many of our other crews fared much better in their races, with the second mens VIII earning their blades in style. The women were awarded discretionary blades for going up four including an overbump – despite missing one start due to technical failure. A slightly controversial decision, but important as the women were still forming under the excellent leadership of the women’s captain.
At the Bumps supper, I apologised to the club for what I considered entirely my mistake. In the celebrations and commiserations of the late night, amends were made and we looked to the future. We managed to get an VIII to the Head of the River Race in Putney, where we were targeting a top 100 finish. We finished 256th. It was a fitting end to a challenged term, but we had learned alot about ourselves and – importantly – about bump racing. In the selection of talent, ever since that experience, I value passion, commitment and hunger above accomplishment and status. We had not done well in the Lents. But the aim was the Mays.
THE MAY TERM
May Bump Crews in ‘The Gut’
The start says it all about Bump racing. The National Championships start with a word from an umpire. International races begin with a horn, lights or both. Bump racing starts with a 19th century cannon firing. At which moment, each cox drops the chain (attached to the bank) that they have been holding, and all hell breaks loose. It is ‘bump or be bumped’. Most crews charge off the start, and try to catch the crew in front as quickly as possible, gambling on a short intense race. But the Cam is very bendy, and every time a crew goes through a bend, the laws of physics means it slows down.
The Bumps course contains a massive early double 90 degree turn from First Post Corner to Grassy Corner or ‘The Gut’ – as it is known. It is shaped like the drainage u-pipe under a sink. It then straightens for a bit before another big bend (Ditton Corner) onto a long straight final section called The Reach. We had observed how crews – even in the first division – would progressively slow though each corner – and all the bumping action happening in the first few bends. Any crews that made it through to Ditton Corner and The Reach tended to row through the last seven or eight minutes in a rather relaxed way – all by themselves.
We formed a different strategy. We were a fit crew now, so we decided we would practice accelerating out of every corner, and focus on developing the ability to ‘jump’ – to step up our pace dramatically for a burst. Our plan was to hold our ground through the first half of the course and the big bends. Then, just as the crew in front thought they were safely onto The Reach, we would attack them, catch them, then bump them. At least that was the plan.
The May Bumps Course
We had a stroke of luck at the start of the May term. I was approached by a good friend John Fitch who had just won with Goldie (Cambridge University Boat Race reserves crew) and was really eager to row with us in the Bumps. He was studying at Homerton Teacher Training College, and since Homerton was a mostly female college, they did not have enough men to field a mens VIII. John and I had won at the National Championships a few years previously in a composite schoolboy crew, and I knew he could be a great addition to the crew. Mindful of the Lents experience, it was an important decision, but John was as hungry and passionate as any of our boat, if only we could get him in it.
There is a rule that allegedly dates from the Great War that allows an oarsman to row for another college if his own cannot put together their own mens VIII. This was to cope with the huge numbers of undergraduates who were listed killed or missing in action between 1914 and 1918. I remember poring over the lists in the history of the Magdalene crews in the almanacs in the Captain’s room. A decade of Magdalene crews had been decimated. Admittedly, doing a PGCE (teacher training) does not quite compare with the challenges of the Battle of the Somme, but after a brief Captains’ meeting, it was agreed that John could row with us at Magdalene in the Mays. John brought a boost of power and optimism to the engine room of the crew, and a lift as we began the final approach.
The Magdalene First May VIII 1990
One of the training strategies we employed was to broaden our horizons as a crew, and train and race away from the Cam as much as possible. We went on a training camp in Oxford with Oriel College, Oxford – Head of the Torpids and a good crew. They were faster than us, but we were in the same league. We raced at Thames Ditton Regatta and won a Novice event, but our feet were kept firmly on the ground as an Eton Colts (under 16’s) second VIII rowed by – taking lengths off our time!
The weekend before the Mays we went to Nottingham to train with the Notts and Union Rowing Club coached by Mark Banks. Mark was a Lightweights National Squad coach, successful businessman and quite an inspiration. Training with a National Squad crew on the fast moving water of the Trent was like altitude training for a backwater College crew like ourselves. We spent a few days thrashing up and down, asking to practice in the wake of their boats to simulate the rough water of approaching a crew from behind for a bump. This mystified the Nottinghamshire crews who asked what strange kind of race we were training for. When I explained about the bumps one said:
“The Mumps!?! I ‘ad that wunce. Nasty.”
At the end of the training camp we were feeling like a crew. Living in close quarters, eating together, training together had been good. We’d got the lycra sizing right this time, and helped by a new sponsorship agreement with a local businessman, we actually looked like a crew. We were close and sharp. At the end, Mark Banks delivered his verdict to us:
“You’re not pretty and don’t row particularly well. But you’re a gritty lot, you’re fighters and you don’t give up easily. Play to your strengths. And good luck”.
DAY 1
It’s a good bet that the Fitzwilliam College crew woke up that day worrying about the crew in front of them – not the crew behind them. We had been chasing Fitz for most of the last two years in the Mays, and failed to make any impression. We were determined that today would be different.
As the gun went off, I dropped the chain and felt the crew surge. A clean start. We made little impression before The Gut, but as the river straightened out of Grassy Corner, we put in our first push. Rowing is a fabulous spectator sport as the alternate pulsing nature of the strokes makes for nail biting racing. On the Cam, doubly so since the river banks across the early stages of the race are packed deep with partying students, cheering their favorites for all they are worth. The river is so narrow that it feels like the supporters are on top of you. We had learned in the Lents that our crew could not hear me over the din through the antiquated home made amplification system in our boat. So we had invested over £500 in a state of the art “Cox Box” which displayed the stroke rate and – more importantly – had excellent amplification. Now at least, they could hear me.
We closed to around a quarter of a length as we went into the last major corner – Ditton Corner – before the Reach. The Fitzwilliam crew slowed and their cox took the corner slightly wide. I tucked our bows inside their stern…all we really had to do now was wait. As the river straightened I called the ‘jump’ and our crew sat up and kicked as we straightened first. With more pace and the angle on our side, no sooner were we on the Reach when we smashed into their stern and their cox put their hand up to acknowledge a bump. It had been a long time in the coming, but we had done it. Our first blood. Our strategy appeared to work.
DAY 2
I don’t know if we thought we had finished our racing for the year, had partied too hard the night before or just could not be bothered, but rowing down to the start on Day 2 was very sluggish. We were chasing the Clare College crew that had bumped our heavyweight ego first boat in the Lents, and Clare had injected a couple of better oarsmen since then. We could not afford to mess around.
As the cannon went, we ambled off the start. Luckily Fitzwilliam – now starting behind us – put in a mad kamikaze sprint off the blocks to try to bump us back in revenge for yesterday. This did us a favour as it took us from asleep to half asleep by the time we went into the Gut. Coming out I called for a push but had little effect. At Ditton corner we were still a good length behind Clare, and leaving ourselves a lot to do. As we straightened onto the Reach, I called the jump, and again nothing happened. It was like the unreliable hyper drive on the Millennium Falcon. We were just going through the motions, and I couldn’t get a response.
Once onto the Reach, the crowds thin to nothing as no one expects anything interesting – let alone a bump – to happen up there. There are no supporters to cheer you on. That was supposed to be our secret strategy but right now it was working against us. We were not looking threatening, and with no cheers from the river bank, things were looking bleak.
From somewhere deep in the engine room of our boat, a long chain of loud and graphic expletives suddenly graced the warm still summer Cambridge air. I will never know which one of our crew made this insightful contribution, but it worked. We snapped out of our coma into full pace with one giant surge. “Surprise” had not been one of our intended tactics, but according to those following us on the bank, two things happened in that moment. First, we lunged forward. Second, the Clare crew saw our great gear change, completely panicked, fell apart and went backwards. In a little over ten strokes we went from a length behind and out of touch, to a high velocity bump.
Back at the Boat House we were more relieved than pleased. Paul Knights – the best Boatman on the Cam, guide, wise counsel and even sometimes coach to us through that year – summed it up;
“You looked alright. Once you started rowing.”
Tomorrow we were chasing Churchill. A different quality of crew, and one which had bumped us the year before in the Mays. They had been moving up so far that year, and honestly speaking they were a better crew than us. For our part, we all knew that we would need to race out of our skin if we were to have any chance at all.
DAY 3
Through the year we had been lucky to be coached by some top class people. Paul Knights and Mark Banks were two, but our finishing coach was a man called Paddy Broughton. Paddy was a Land Economist, athletic Magdalene Blue and now a successful character in the City. He was also confident, charismatic and a great coach. All these things we admired. He had been travelling up to Cambridge after work in London for many nights to prepare us in the run up to the May’s, but had always explained that on Day 3 he had a meeting and could not commit to be with us.
As we completed our land warm up and prepared to boat in Paddy’s absence, I did my best to simulate a pep talk to the crew. We knew today was the big day. The crew felt up for it, but there was something missing. Just as we walked the boat out down the slope to the water, Paddy came sweeping around the corner on a bicycle – still in his suit.
“OK boys, now let’s go out there and bump them!” he shouted without a greeting or stopping.
Spontaneously a cheer went up from the crew, and I felt a little extra ooze into them. On the way down to the start, we were rowing slightly short and stiff, but it was punchy and I could feel that they were up for a fight. Although we had a couple of people who had learned to row at school, most of the boat had started rowing at Magdalene. We were an old-fashioned Magdalene crew, with a new determination and approach. I left them to their own thoughts on the way down.
The boom of the cannon echoes slightly as the roar of the supporters fills the air. We charged off the start and settled into a good rhythm. It is hard to judge distance from behind, but it felt like Churchill had also started fast. Into the gut and we remained in a good strong rhythm. Still short, but paced and poised. Coming out of the Gut into the short straight before the last big corner we put in a big push. We definitely closed up considerably here, and the crew began to feel the uneven water of the puddles being sent down from the oars of the Churchill boat in front. But today we were chasing a first rate crew, and they countered and pulled back distance as we went into Ditton Corner.
Bumping: Me steering with John Fitch at six leading the engine room
Coming out onto the straight, we were probably still about two thirds of a length behind. As the cheers of the crowds thinned to nothing, we prepared to jump. I called it and we stepped up a gear. Onto the long straight Reach, we closed up to about a quarter of a length behind Churchill, but then there we stayed. Their cox was taking a good line and there was no advantage to be gained on the course. I positioned our boat slightly off center from their racing line – thus meaning that our crew were rowing in the slightly calmer water – rather than our blades dropping exactly in the puddles of the boat in front.
We pushed. They countered. We pushed. They countered. Try as we did, we just could not get close enough to bump. There were a few cries of encouragement from within our own boat, but there was no way around it…we were running out of river. The finish (for us in our place in the division) is slightly ambiguous but largely considered to be the Pike and Eel pub just a few tens of meters after the Railway Bridge. The Railway Bridge that we were rapidly approaching. You are not exactly aware of you surroundings as an oarsman, but when they went under that big iron bridge they would surely know exactly where they were, and sprint for the finish. We would never catch them. We had only one choice, and only one chance left.
I steadied the crew for a couple of strokes to make sure they would all hear exactly the words that I said next;
“LAST TEN!!!”
I screamed it for all I was worth. There was no finish line. We now had ten strokes in which to catch them – or I faced a mutiny.
“….2…..3…..4….” I yelled.
They responded. I could feel them reaching deep into their reserves. It is at this moment when faith in each other becomes the determining factor. Not fitness, not technique, but are you willing to beast yourself harder than your opposite number in the other crew in order to bump? Only if you trust that the man in front of you and the man behind you is hurting just as much as you, are will you do this. We did.
“….5….6…..”
I steered the boat back exactly in line with Churchill’s stern. This was risky since it meant that there was a bigger chance of one of our crew – our now tired crew – catching a crab or making a mistake in the rougher water. But it also meant that we would probably have to row a foot or two less in order to bump them, since our bow would be exactly in line with their stern.
“…7….8….”
At first I thought we had crabbed as the bow pair stopped rowing, and spray went up in the air. There was a lot of splashing in the bows and because of the line, I could not see the hand of the Churchill cox raised high into the air. We’d got them. We slid to a halt locked together under the Railway Bridge. This time through the exhaustion came a loud cheer. We’d done it. With a stroke and a half to spare.
DAY 4
One of the secret ingredients of Bumps racing is luck. Bumps racing is highly variable and there are more factors out of direct control than any other form of racing. As well as usual risks like illness or injury, in bumps the risk of crashing on the extreme course is high. Or if the crew in front bumps up, or crashes, there is nothing whatsoever you can do but be left with no one to chase. But on day 4 we were lucky, and knew it. We were chasing a weak Emmanuel crew that had been bumped down in each of the first three days. On the way down to the start, our crew was rowing at our best and whatever I said to them, at barely less than full pressure. As we sat on the start, all eighteen people in both boats knew exactly what was going to happen next.
Even before the Gut we were closing fast. I tried to steady our crew but there was no chance.
“Stick to the plan…stick to the plan!”
I called as they piled on the pressure. They were ignoring me again, this time in a positive way. We closed to within a quarter of a length coming out of The Gut and then the demoralised Emmanuel crew collapsed. We bumped before Ditton Corner, providing the crowds with at least one visible Magdalene Bump.
Leading the crew into the Bumps supper that evening, in formal hall, holding the College flag high amidst the thumping of the tables is a moment that I suspect will stay with all of us. We had been lucky, but we had done it. More than winning our blades, it felt like there had been a change in the College and Magdalene Boat Club around that time. In the years immediately before, we mostly went down. In the years following, we mostly went up, achieving a high of third on the river in 1996. More than this, with the admission of women, the culture of MBC and Magdalene changed forever. Despite the prophecies of Black October, both the academic and sporting results improved. And nothing was missed. Except maybe the communal baths.
Magdalene Boat Club : 1990
After the Mays, we had harboured a loose plan to compete at Henley Royal Regatta. However, we had achieved our aim in the Mays, and decided to quit while we were ahead. I had coxed a racing VIII for the last time. A few days later, we assembled for one last outing of a different kind…a single punting trip down to Granchester. Nine heavy men and an industrial quantity of alcohol already weighed the punt down to the waterline, and it wasn’t far before we were all in the water. Amid the drunken celebrations, we talked and laughed over the various moments of the year and of course the bumps themselves.
It had been a good year all around with mens and womens crews at many levels tasting victories. But we all knew that it was the moment we caught Churchill that defined us. That moment of absolute faith in each other, and determination to succeed. It was a moment when we had stretched ourselves to the very edge of our limits. As we sat, sodden and drunken by the river bank beside our sunken punt, one of the crew leant towards me and said privately but with a serious and slightly threatening tone;
“You do realise, bump or no bump, there was not going to be an eleventh stroke.”
Joe Garner was Captain of Magdalene Boat Club in 1989/90
and is Chief Executive of Nationwide Building Society.
August 2016.
APPENDIX : May 1990 Crews
Mens 1st VIII |
Mens 2nd VIII |
Mens 3rd VIII |
Mens 4th VIII (‘107’) |
Mens 5th VIII – Grads |
|
Womens 1st VIII |
Womens 2nd VIII |
|
Boatman : P. Knights
President : Linton Guise
Patron : Lady Calcutt
Captain : J. Garner
Womens Captain: C. Gunter