The start of the 1930s Midland Marathon Championships at Oakengate
Dear Blog,
Last
week I went away to Wales for a few days ... and guess what? That bloody
butterfly in the Brazilian rain forest has been at it again. One tiny flicker
of the wings and consequence follows consequence to be backed up by consequence
to the power of 3.14 ... so how do I go from the javelin throw to the KBG in
one easy move, you ask???? Telford and Moscow Centre in the flutter of a wing. How
come? I hear you ask Blog. Well if you
will allow a little ramble I will endeavour to do my best to explain without
losing my needle and thread. Read on.
As I
may have told you before, dear Blog, told you many, many, many times, my Great
Tome on 'The History of Coventry Godiva Harriers and Other Athletic Clubs in
the city during the last 140 years' is still my obsession but I have added a comparative
study of a northern harrier club which failed to survive. This comparison is to
highlight the differences and consequences of patronage of various sorts.
In the
1920s and 30s, the top running track in the Midlands was at Oakengates,
Shropshire - I have several photographs
of Godiva members competing there. Well three weeks ago, the Godiva Club had a
Midland Track League competition at Telford and as I had a couple of hours to
spare before I officiated at the inter club shot putt competition I thought I
would have a wander around Telford to try to find where the old track had been.
I had done considerable research beforehand but had found nothing of substance
which gave me a clue as to where the location was so I was going in cold - and
the weather was cold as it happened that
day, so I was wrapped up well.
My first
foray into the unknown was to ask the old dear doing the refreshments in the
little cabin for the officials lunch. 'Did she know where the old Oakengates'
Track used to be??' 'Yes, just at the back of the Telford track where the
Midland league was taking place all around you'; 'the long jump is still there'
she added. That was the easi peasiest piece of research I had ever done so I
went to have a look. We do have cross country races on the site and around the adjoining
playing fields in the winter so I knew the area fairly well. To sum up, the old
dear doing the refreshments for the officials in the little cabin was talking
out of her limp lettuce and ham sandwiches.
My next
tack was to enquire of the doddery old fella in charge of the officials signing-in
sheets. I went to his little office adjacent to the track entrance where the
Midland League was taking place all around me and posed the same question. 'No
idea, never heard of it and I've lived here all my life.' So from total certainty
to total uncertainty in the time it took
Linford Christie to run the 100m. 'But someone once told me that there was a track
of sorts at St Georges but I don't know.' was his next sentence. 'Where is St
Georges?' I asked. 'Up in Oakengates'. Oakengates, Oakengates? OAKENGATERS!!
'How do I get there?' 'Out of the Sports Centre gates, turn left for about 50
yards (read metres Blog) then take a
right and follow the road until you come to a mini roundabout. Turn left and go
down the road until you come to St Georges Church.' 'Ta, how far?' 'About two
miles'.[3000 metres Blog] Now I have the
high jump to help officiate in a couple of hours time so I trudged~walked in
the direction I was given.
Point 1:- the doddery old bloke didn't tell me it was up
hill all the way and I had forgotten to bring my crampons. I shall propose to
the English Fell Running Association that next year they hold their Trials for
the European Fell Running Championship between the Telford all weather running
track and St. Peters Church in Oakengates! Enough said.
Point 2:- the first mini roundabout took me into a very nice
residential estate with some pleasant houses and neat gardens. Most houses had
expensive cars parked on the driveways and clearly, no one seemed short of a
bob or two (a Euro or deux to you Blog).
Point 3:- it started to chuck it down, and did it rain or
did it rain? Luckily a young woman was running along the pavement pushing a buggy
as fast as she could to get out of the bucketing rain storm. I must say, that I
had considerable difficulty trying to keep up the tempo run as I jogged along
side. I was hardly able to ask for redirections from her as I had clearly strayed
from my intended path. She pointed out that there was another mini roundabout
further up the mountain and that I should retrace my steps back through the very
nice residential estate with some pleasant houses and neat gardens with their
posh cars and carry on up the mountain for another 400 yards (392 metres to you
Blog). I gasped my thanks as the rain stopped, but I was wet through anyway
with all the clothes I had on and the testing climb from camp 2, having made me
sweat excessively.
Bingo, there was St Georges Church and guess what was alongside it, in
the next field? Yes, a cricket square with it's newish pavilion and an older
one further away with another cricket square, and a cricket match taking place
on each!!! So where's the track, I hear you ask Blog??????????? Track? No
track!!!
The old pavilion seemed the best
bet. I asked a cricketer who must have been W.G.Grace's granddad if there used
to be an athletics track nearby. He took his ear trumpet away from his ear and
said he had no idea but there was a plaque in the new pavilion dedicated to
Jesse Owens. If he had said Captain Barclay, I might have believed him, but
Jesse Owens??? Clearly a case of too much of Eve's cider from the forbidden
tree. To humour him I went over to the new pavilion and asked W.G.Grace's dad
if there used to be a running track hereabouts. 'Aye, and a plaque too'. I
could have hugged him but I can't stand the smell of snuff. Well that is not strictly
true. I lost my sense of smell a couple of decades back but I could remember what
it smelled like as Mrs Harland, our next door neighbour but one, used to shove
pounds of it up her nose when I was a kid (kilograms of it Blog - hang in
there, we still have a couple of pages to go before the butterfly really starts
to flap).
Inside the pavilion was a very nice commemorative plaque to the 1924
Midland Championships with an engraving and a Midlands 100 yards (92 metres
Blog, did you remember from last time earlier on in this ditty??) gold medal. It celebrated Harold Abrahams win
a few weeks before he won gold at the same distance in the Olympic Games in Stockholm.
The plaque had been dedicated to him and had been unveiled in 2008 by his
adopted daughter. Seated at one of the tables supping some stuff was Methuselah
and his two brothers. 'There's some photos in the backroom, if you are interested,
and the old track which you asked about was just where the cricketers are
playing now.' One of the trio could remember running on it as a boy and there then
followed a three hour discourse as to when the track closed. Suffice to say, it
was in the 70s or 80s. I took photos of the photos and photos of the wall
plaque and photos of the ground and photos of where the grandstand would have
been with the church in the background.
An excellent day of research.
And time for a quick trudge back to the track and my duties
as a hammer throw official.
Point 4:- it was all downhill trudging on the way back, if
only I had brought my skate board, if only.
Flutter, flutter keep your eye on the butterfly Blog.
Ding, ding. The name of the lady (Abrahams daughter rang a
distant bell).
Ding Ding Ding DING DING
Blog I kid you not. 4 am the following morning I was wide
awake as the bell tolled!!
Believe it
or not, the family had decided months back to go on holiday the following week
to Wales and to go to Harlech which we used to visit every year for ten / fifteen
years or so after we married. Every time I had a summer / autumn marathon
invite to race abroad I used to spend a couple of weeks training in the sand
dunes to get used to running tired in the heat - a very useful ploy which tip will no doubt be
appearing in an athletics' magazine near you in the next few weeks, Blog. A tip
which is of more use than all the rubbish they print these days by the experts
who all have an armful of badges to let everyone know just how knowledgeable
they are about athletics.
Flutter, flutter, flap, flap. Hang on Blog, we are nearly
there.
And
where did Abraham's daughter live when I did my research on my return home that
evening, you ask Blog. Yes, quite correct, she lived in Harlech where she owned
a shop. Can't believe it can you Blog, but I kid you not. So that's one day of
the holiday taken care of then??? And it gets flap better flutter.
Why, you
ask Blog, did the name of the daughter ring a bell, ding dong?
Well, you
may be surprised to learn that I used to be a bit of a radical when I were a
bit of a lad, like, and that surname was doubly significant, as it was the name
of a pacifist / anti nuclear campaigner / committee of 100 and also was the
name of one of the three people who sprang George Blake from jail in 1966, the
same person as it happened, Abraham's daughter's husband no less. In case you
are unaware of the fact Blog, George Blake was one of the spys for the KGB in
the cold war scenario, Burgess, MacLean, Philby, Blunt and Blake et al. As
someone who helped a KGB agent to escape, he was never prosecuted until years
later in the 1980s when he published a book, not so much to justify his actions
but to clear up all the rumours and counter rumours concerning the whys and
wherefores of the escape.
And so
it came to pass that on my holidays in Wales in Harlech, I did meet the Harold
Abraham's daughter.
Flutterbye, bye bye .
Colin
P.S. I have told you before, Blog, you could not make this
stuff up .... and if you did no one would believe me. But Blog, I kid you not
..... from long jump run up in Telford to Moscow KGB Centre in the time it
would take me to trudge a marathon now.
(Left Oakengates 1920s, right top today showing top left)
