It would be a lie to say that we had practiced hard for this. We had just about managed an outing in which we had done a few racing starts and a piece which equated to the race length. Still, we thought that as an IM3 eight in the open category we stood as good a chance as any. We had got our splits down to less than two minutes over the course, (a new record for us) and so we felt confident.
Once the draw was out it became apparent that we were up against Oxford Academicals who we assumed were a crew who had once rowed in the far gone days of their youth, and what taken it up again as a pleasant summer pastime. This meant that they would be old boys in frocks and so should put up a good fight because they undoubtably had excellent technique having learnt how to row from the great masters from a bygone age, however owing to them being old they would not have the stamina for an eight hundred meter sprint. Having learnt this, we felt very confident and were delighted to think we would actually collect a pot. It was after all on our stretch of river, we did not have to rig a boat in order to row and we had a new Cox box with a fetching leopard print stripe. Victory was finally within our grasp.
On arrival at our club the boat was prepared for the race. Cobwebs were dusted off (Cox had to remove a spider which had helpfully caught a fly) foot plates reconstructed, life jackets tried on and then rejected on account of being the wrong colour and we subbed an injury for a rower that had not been in the boat for a year. Our crew was therefore half male and half female (we are a forward thinking crew that believe in equal opportunities) with a Cox that gets quite upset at the colour of buoyancy aides. Our long suffering coach went through the race plans with us and after much use of spanners, a bicycle spoke to mend a seat and a few shoelaces the boat was ready.
Pushing off from the club we rowed up to Marsh lock, having reminded Two how to row, and dodged a few cruisers who had not been told correct navigation of the river, and waved at a bride on her wedding barge. Bridesmaids were looking very pretty in blue. At the lock chaos ensued as the crew had forgotten how to spin the boat. Once we did remember we plodded off to the start.
Henley town and visitors regatta was very well run this year and it was running ten minutes ahead of schedule. We had been informed of this by a fellow Henley crew man who had triumphantly raced before us, so we were very glad that we had set off with an hour to spare.
Cheering on a few Henley crews that went past before us we managed to wend our way up to the start with minimum fuss. Cox usually has a few words to ‘say’ to cruisers going at double the recommended speed, however today they were all remarkably well behaved and we arrived at the start without incident. Tucking ourselves neatly into the Berkshire station we waited for our opposition. Cox gave a heartwarming speech, recommending the technique of Bow, the courage of Two, the taste of Three, the perseverance of Four, the speed of Five, the depth of Six, and the fact that Seven and Eight managed to keep them all in order. Poetry was not mentioned.
Once this had all occurred the opposition arrived. They were all male, fairly young and huge. We gave them an excellent race, in as much as our technique was superb, we had been very well taught. However their stamina seemed to be a little better than ours and as a result they reached the finish line before us. This was in spite of us having a crew member in the umpire’s launch, who failed to exert any authority over the umpire. We did feel that our row was excellent, that we had improved hugely since last year and that we stood a very good chance of winning next year.
Once the post-race biscuits were consumed we found ourselves in the beer tent, from which we were able to admire a few other Henley crews racing about, some of whom reached the finish line before their opposition.
MastersofHenley 