The Man Who Spanned the 20th Century: From Jim Ten Eyck to Ronald Reagan (via Guy Nickalls and Joseph Stalin) – Part 2

1910: The third of six consecutive Harvard victories over Yale.

Here is Part 2 of Tim Koch’s article on William Averell Harriman. Part 1 was posted yesterday.

In 1911, seventy-four years, two World Wars and thirteen Presidents before his death, Harriman had received the first of his life’s many important appointments when he was made coach of the Yale Freshman Crew for 1912. The Graduate Rowing Committee was desperate to find a solution to the Blue’s poor performance on the water and had decided to abandon professional coaching and to use a ‘gentleman graduate coach’ in the British manner. The new Freshman coach wanted to change the short, choppy stroke with a slow catch and a quick recovery that Yale and most American crews were using. He believed the key to success would be to adopt the ‘English Style’ of rowing, a long, swinging stroke which gave more power and speed with fewer strokes per minute. Following the success of the Leander Eight in the 1908 Olympics, this ‘orthodox style’ of rowing was dominant at Oxford and so, in February 1912, Harriman got a six week leave of absence from the University, obtained some letters of introduction to Oxford coach, G. C. Bourne, and to the OUBC President, R. C. Bourne (G. C.’s son) and booked his passage to England. His reception was a cold one in both senses of the word. In 1955, Sports Illustrated magazine painted this scene:

Arriving at Oxford ...Averell found his way to the boathouse where he waited outside an open door in the rain while a boatman went up to the dressing room to fetch the Oxford (President). In his own good time that gentleman came down dressed in a great white duffle coat, stood in the rain with Harriman, read and then quizzically reread the letter of introduction. Governor Harriman recalls its key sentence: “Harriman has come from Yale, which is 3,000 miles away, to see you row.” The (President) crumpled the letter into a ball, stuffed it in his pocket and said, “We’ll be going down the river shortly. If you walk along the towpath, you will be able to see us.” He left Harriman standing in the rain.

Possibly this chilly reception was due to the suspicion that an American was unlikely to be an amateur as defined in the strict and peculiar rules of Britain’s Amateur Rowing Association, especially as regards its opposition to professional coaching. Also, the Brits may have sensed that he was ‘new money’ and may have been unsure if he really was ‘a gentleman’. Whatever the reason, Harriman was left alone on the Isis towpath to observe Oxford’s preparations for the 1912 Boat Race.

Oxford, 1912.

The American visitor was still largely ignored when he followed the crew to Henley-on-Thames where they had further coaching under W. F. C. Holland. Daily he followed the crew, observing from horseback, but when they all dined at Leander in the evening, he sat alone. Eventually the Dark Blues must have realised just how serious Harriman was and, perhaps a little flattered by his attention, President Bourne invited him to eat with them.

Sports Illustrated again:

Thus, finally, and formally introduced, Averell got on famously with the Oxonians and joined them at meals and in their weekly glass of champagne. That introduction to British manners and character was not forgotten on later trips to England as World War II Lend-Lease boss...

After training at Henley, the crew moved to Putney for a final period of instruction before the Boat Race on 30 March, now with Harcourt Gilbey Gold as finishing coach. Harriman’s leave of absence from Yale was running out but he was tempted to stay on in England to see the race against Cambridge. Thus he booked his passage back to the United States on two ships, one leaving before and one after the event. Eventually, he decided that he would have to miss the race and he took the earlier sailing. He cancelled the later booking, one that was to have been on the maiden voyage of a new liner – RMS Titanic.

Yale Freshmen Eight, 1913. Picture: Library of Congress.

On his return Harriman had less than three months to teach his Freshmen the new style in time for their race against Harvard at New London on 21 June. On the day, Yale lost this and every other race in the 1912 regatta. However, the Freshmen’s losing margin at two and a half seconds was the University’s smallest and they regularly beat their own Varsity crew in training. As a result of this, Harriman was eventually made head coach for 1913.

The new man built soon formed his coaching team and appointed the Freshmen’s ‘7’ man to train them further in the English Style. The new Freshmen coach was one Dean Acheson, a future Secretary of State (Foreign Secretary) and a man who in later years would, along with Harriman, become one of ‘The Wise Men’ and who perhaps had more influence on post-1945 American foreign policy than anyone else. Years later, following a disagreement with Acheson over Vietnam, Harriman is alleged to have said to an aide: “To you he’s the great Secretary of State. But to me, he’s the freshman I taught to row at Yale.”

In January 1913, Harriman went back to Oxford to learn more of the English Style, this time taking with him Jim Rodgers (his predecessor as head coach who now had become his advisory coach) and Bud Snowden (the Yale Captain).

Yale Varsity Four, 1913. Harriman should have got them bigger shorts. Picture: Library of Congress.

By 14 April the Washington Herald headlined “Yale Oarsmen Hard At Work – Harriman Employs Methods Which He Learned While Watching Oxford – Awaits English Coaches”. The British finishing coaches were Alister Kirby (who rowed for Oxford in the Boat Races of 1906 to 1909 and was in the winning eight at the 1912 Stockholm Olympics) and Harcourt Gilbey Gold (who stroked three successive wins for both Eton at Henley and Oxford in the Boat Race). Gold also brought his brother-in-law, Gilchrist Maclagan, (who coxed four University Boat Races, six Henley Grand wins and the winning eight at the Stockholm Olympics). He was to instruct the cox in use of the new English built and ‘English rigged’ boat. The Herald article indicated of how far the Varsity coach would defer: Until the two English coaches arrive it is doubtful if Harriman will attempt to select even a tentative first eight.

Unfortunately, things were left very late. The race against Harvard was to be on 20 June, Kirby arrived on 10 May and Gold, Maclagan and the new boat were only available from 3 June. Kirby’s first view of the American crews was at the Yale Spring Regatta on 12 May and the results of this were a selector’s nightmare. The Second Varsity defeated the Varsity by two lengths, the Sophomores (2nd Years) defeated the Juniors (3rd Years) and the Second Freshmen were defeated by a high school crew.

Not surprisingly perhaps, Harvard won every race at New London in 1913. The Yale Varsity crew were in the lead at two miles but lost by 38 seconds at the finish. Crossing the line they were rating 29, compared to Harvard’s 38.

Spectators at the Harvard - Yale Regatta.

This crushing defeat was not the end for the English Style at Yale. Gold and Kirby were engaged to return as finishing coaches for the next year and almost immediately Harriman and Acheson left for England, partly to yet further study rowing technique, partly to attend Henley Royal Regatta on 2 to 5 July. They had a very good time socially but still, as Acheson later recalled, ‘returned as full as Ulysses of esoteric learning about rowing – shell construction, rigging, stroke and training – and with more confidence in our learning that I think I have since felt about anything’. Full of this self-belief, they arranged a race against Princeton. The Harvard newspaper, The Crimson, of 11 November 1913 takes up the story concerning their old rivals with, no doubt, a certain amount of schadenfreude:

When the present English system of rowing was first adopted at Yale, it was felt that the success or failure of the undertaking could not be determined in a year’s time, but most of the followers of the scheme had agreed that the race with Princeton on October 25 would go far towards showing whether or not the system warranted a continuation. The Yale crew came across the finish line a length behind Princeton after a two-mile race, which was characterized for Yale as splashing, unfinished and arrhythmical, the eight men being utterly exhausted. This seems to have decided the matter in the eyes of the graduate and undergraduate bodies, the general consensus of opinion being that unless Yale wishes to have her crew suffer continual defeat, a professional coach of the first rank must be obtained and a new system of rowing installed.

Yale Freshmen Eight, 1913.

A month later, The Day newspaper of 15 December 1913 reported ‘Yale Discards the English Style...’ and that Harriman was to be replaced. While the new Varsity coach (Richard Armstrong, Yale ‘95) was still a ‘gentleman graduate’ (albeit paid), he was to receive strong professional assistance:

Guy Nickalls, the famous Leander Rowing Club coach of London and Eugene J. Giannini, coach for years of the New York Athletic Club crews, have been asked to assist.... The whole question of a change in crew policy came about after the defeat by Princeton.... After this race W. Averell Harriman practically eliminated himself from the situation and left the way for a new coach and a new policy..... Nickalls is quoted as saying that there is no such thing as the English stroke or a Chinese stroke, speaking broadly, and that the stroke used by the English college crews is not in all points suitable for use by American college crews.

An adjoining article had an interview with the great Cornell coach, Charles E. Courtney:

..... Coach Courtney came out in strong praise of the English system. He said that Yale might have had some success of it if she had someone who knew how to teach it. Without mentioning any names Courtney left the impression that young Averell Harriman was not the best man in the world to teach Yale the English stroke.

Harriman and others in the Yale coaching launch, 1913. Picture: Library of Congress.

Perhaps it was the arrogance of youth and of wealth and privilege, the hubris of the ruling class, that made the young Harriman think that he could teach high performance rowing of any style when his ‘crew’ experience was limited to school and to his Freshman year and when his coaching experience was almost non-existent. Further, to attempt to learn a new and different style of rowing and then impart it to others simply added to the likelihood of failure. Perhaps his time at school had set him up for this. In their book, The Wise Men: Six Friends and the World They Made, Isaacson and Thomas said about Harriman at Groton:

...with his air of stoic detachment, Harriman seemed aloof even to students of his own age. He had been taught to row by a private tutor on his family’s own private lake, and the other boys came to regard him as more of a coach than a schoolmate as he helped to organise the underclass crews.

Isaacson and Thomas also said of the young Harriman:

He was tough physically and mentally, and relished putting his abilities on the line. Recreations were challenges to be mastered, and Harriman inevitably did: polo, rowing, skiing, bowling, croquet...... ‘He went into any game lock, stock, and barrel’, Robert Lovett later recalled. ‘He would get whatever he needed – the best horses, coaches, equipment....... and worked like the Devil to win'.

Most importantly perhaps, there was the influence on Harriman of his father, who was loving in a strict, stern way, but was fiercely determined that each of his children should ‘be something and somebody’. Maury Klein, a biographer of Harriman Senior, holds that: ‘(E. H.) Harriman prodded [his] children into reaching beyond what they thought themselves capable of doing’.

Here, I would suggest, is ‘the nub’. Harriman worked as hard as he possibly could have done to understand and communicate ‘the English Style’ in the very short time that he had available. But money and effort and will cannot speed the acquisition of the one thing that practically every coach needs – experience.* Even if he had decided not to change Yale’s rowing style, it is doubtful that such a novice coach would have achieved much better results. When he did bring in men of experience to coach, they did not have enough time to be effective. The new regime under Nickalls had both time and experience and Yale Varsity won by inches in 1914 and by 21 seconds in 1915. While it would be churlish not to give Harriman some of the credit for these successes, how much is for history to speculate.

Alert and active to the end, William Averell Harriman died in New York on 26 July 1986, aged 94. In a tribute, former Secretary of State Dean Rusk said: ‘One cannot grieve after a life so long and so nobly led’.

* Before someone with a knowledge of Yale Rowing corrects me, I will have to acknowledge ‘the exception that proves the rule’. In 1870, Yale Semaphore Bob Cook studied ‘orthodox’ rowing in England and is credited with bringing it to the United States and adapting it to American rigs to become ‘The Bob Cook Stroke’ which was widely used by U.S. college crews.

More on 'Shaved' Blades

HTBS has received two e-mails related to the entry about Ran Laurie’s ‘narrow blade’ that was posted on Friday 27 September. In one e-mail rowing historian Bill Lanouette, who recently wrote on HTBS about Thomas Eakins’s ‘newly’ discovered rowing painting, writes:

That’s a fascinating exchange about English strokes using narrow blades. As a stroke myself I would have loved to use such an oar, but in the 1960s at least, when I rowed in England, all blades were the same size. And, honestly, as a stroke I’m glad they were because you couldn’t feel the poise and power of the crew – and know what pace to set – if you weren’t just as exhausted as the other guys.

The second e-mail came from another rowing historian, Tom Weil, who on this matter writes:

As Guy Nickalls [seen in the photograph] was casting about to improve his 1921 Yale crew, which he had termed ‘gutless’, he saw the performance of one J. Freeman, who had just stroked Yale’s very first 150 lb. crew to victory in the American Henley on the Schuylkill. He put the lightweight Freeman into the stroke seat of the New London crew, and equipped him with a shaved blade. Nickalls was fired by the Yale Committee because of his unfortunate comment, but his parting contribution to the Yale varsity, wielding his shaved oar, led the ‘gutless’ crew to victory over Harvard.

There is an interesting photograph showing Guy Nickalls and freshman coach Giannini at Yale’s training quarters at Gales Ferry on 10 June, 1915 (© Bettmann/CORBIS), here.

Are there any more ideas out there about a stroke’s narrow or ‘shaved’ blade? If so, please send it to: gbuckhorn – at – gmail.com

Rowing History Footnote: HRR – Not a Water Picnic!

From The Graphic, 9 July, 1887.

In the report for the 1898 Henley Royal Regatta, the Henley Stewards expressed concerns about the ‘pleasure boats’ at the regatta. They wrote in their report:

‘The committee have to record, with great regret, that in several races the competitors were obstructed by a mass of boats protruding on the course, and in one instance by a punt drifting, through incompetent management, on to the course. The Committee feel that protection must be afforded to competitors, and, if necessary, the course must be boomed on both sides and pleasure-boats prohibited from going on the course during the Regatta. Such action would be reluctantly taken be the Committee, as it would curtail the pleasure of the majority who manage their boats efficiently, and with due regards to the best interest of the regatta, which exists for boat-racing, and not as a mere water picnic.’

For the 1899 Henley Royal Regatta, on 5-7 July, the Stewards had ordered there to be booms placed on each side of the race course to avoid pleasure boats and punts drifting out in front of the crews racing, which had in the past ruined the day for many good oarsmen. One of these unlucky oarsmen had been the young Guy Nickalls (then rowing for Magdalen College, Oxford), who, in 1887, raced in his first Diamonds event, in the final against James Cardwell Gardner of Emmanuel College, Cambridge.

Amongst the spectators that year was the Prince and Princess of Wales with a Royal party on a boat which got surrounded by small boats and punts (see on top). These crafts soon took over half the course on one spot, so the unfortunate Nickalls, racing on the Berks side, rowed right into the Royal enthusiasts and crashed his shell. He was not offered a re-start.

Sandow’s Magazine of Physical Culture, founded by Eugen Sandow, ‘the strong man’, reported that houseboat owners at Henley produced ‘a chorus of groans and complaints’ as they saw the new booms ‘as a bar to the success of the meeting [the regatta]’. However, there were some places were sliding booms allowed the pleasure boats to pass on and off the course between the races. The Field later reported that ‘the booms were a splendid success.’ The regatta set a record when it came to attendance as more than 12,000 people arrived by train for the last day’s races.

Wingfields on Cigarette Cards

With three entries about this year's Wingfield Sculls, 29 October, 4 November and 7 November, let's round up this rowing event by posting a cigarette card from 1902: Wills's Cigarettes "Wingfield Sculls" "Vanity Fair, 2nd Series No. 48". Easily recognised on this card is the famous oarsman, Guy Nickalls (1866-1935). He had won the Wingfields in 1887, 1888, 1889 and 1891 - and to this can be added twenty-two won events at Henley and an Olympic gold medal in the eights in 1908. The special pose shows how Nickalls was depicted by SPY in the magazine Vanity Fair in 1889.

While there is a lot of sportsmen (and others) from Vanity Fair shown on Wills's Cigarette, I am not sure how many of the sixty oarsmen who was published in Vanity Fair actually made it to a these particular cigarette cards.

Ethel's Gold Medal goes for £17,500!

On 3 September, at Christie’s in London, an Olympic gold medal which was won by Raymond D. Etherington-Smith, the captain of the Leander eight which became Olympic champions in 1908, was sold for an astonishing £17,500 ($27,738). This solid gold medal, 25g, 15 carat gold, auctioned off by his family, was estimated to sell for £5,000 – £7,000 ($7,600 – $11,000).

Raymond Etherington-Smith (1877-1913), called ‘Ethel’ by his friends, studied at Trinity College, Cambridge, where he proved to be an incredible oarsman. He won the Colquohoun Sculls, the Lowe Double Sculls, the University Pairs and Fours, and rowed twice in the Head of the River. In 1898, Ethel rowed in his first Boat Race, and the following year he became President of the C.U.B.C., which was the same year he and his crew managed to break the Dark Blues’ nine-year winning streak. The 1900 Boat Race was also won by the Light Blues with Ethel in fifth-seat. He was Captain of Leander in 1903, 1905, 1906 and 1908, winning the Grand Challenge Cup in 1901, 1903 and 1905, and was the runner-up for the Diamond Challenge Sculls in 1902, racing against the mighty F.S. Kelly.

Ethel was a fine specimen of an oarsman, and Leslie Wars, ‘SPY’, wrote about him: ‘The finest and handsomest young athlete I ever drew as an under-graduate’.

In an article published by the Daily Mail about the auction at Christie’s, Ethel is likened to Sir Steven Redgrave. Read the article here. Incorrectly, the paper writes that Leander’s opponents in the Olympic final race in the eights, the splendid crew from Royal Club Nautique de Gand of Belgium ‘sunk and capsized’ during the race, but that is not true. Following is an account of the race in Henley Races (1919) by Sir Theodore Cook:

‘This proved a magnificent race. The Belgians, who had twice won the Grand Challenge Cup at Henley, and at this Regatta had defeated Cambridge University, were thought likely winners by many people. […] Along Temple Island both were rowing 38 a minute, Leander forging slowly ahead and having half a length to the good at the first signal-box. They gained another quarter length  by the time the second box was reached, in spite of a fine spurt on the part of the Belgians. […] At the Henley mile post Leander were rowing 35 a minute, and were a length and a quarter in front. Both crews rowed in to the finish very hard, Leander at 36 and the Belgians at 38 a minute, the former winning by a good two lengths’ distance in the very fast time of 7min. 52sec.’

The Leander eight had been Great Britain’s ‘second’ boat, and many of the oarsmen had their active rowing career behind them. Due to their age they were called the ‘Old Crocks’. So at age 31, Ethel jokingly told his crew mate Guy Nickalls who was 42 years old: ‘I suppose they have asked me because I am about half-way down the line between yourself and Bucknall in age’ [Henry Bucknall, the stroke, was 23 years old].

Sadly, Ethel, who became a doctor, died five years later, a week after he had turned 36, contracting peritonitis during an operation.

Olympic Rowing? No, thank you!

In a very recently published press release, the International Rowing Federation, FISA, declared the London 2012 Olympic Games Rowing Regatta “a resounding success following the eight days of racing at the Eton Dorney regatta course.” The message continued: “Packed grandstands and enthusiastic cheering became the norm for each day of the regatta with crowds spread along most of the 2,000m course. The official Olympic customer satisfaction survey of all Olympic sites consistently rated Eton Dorney as the top venue peaking at a 97 per cent approval rating.”



Denis Oswald, president of FISA, hailed the regatta as a very successful Olympic Regatta and said: “Rowing is very popular in Great Britain and we knew that the interest would be strong, and it was. The regatta went smoothly for athletes, organisers and supporters.”

Everywhere you read about the regatta at Eton Dorney the story is the same: “The best regatta ever”. If you are British you are probably still in a euphoric state because of all the medals your rowing countrymen and -women brought home. It makes me happy to read that everyone seems to agree that it was a smashing hit.

Of course, it makes it a little harder to understand that one hundred years ago, despite the British oarsmens’ triumphs at the 1908 and 1912 Olympic Regattas, the British rowing’s governing body at that time, ARA, decided that Olympic rowing was not anything that the British rowers should occupy themselves with. Even before the Stockholm Games had started, in the spring of 1912, ARA sent a letter to the German Olympic organisers (the 1916 Olympic Games were supposed to have been held in Berlin had not the War intervened) that ARA “could not at this early date bind themselves to send crews to compete at the next or any future Olympiad”. But why, you might ask yourself? The answer came to the British Olympic Association (BOA) after the War when it was time again to send crews to the Olympic Games, now in Antwerp. BOA then took the opportunity to also send an invitation to ARA’s rival organization NARA to send crews. Now ARA took the chance to speak more plainly:

“[…] that organized international athletic competitions to take place at regular specific periods, and the expenditure of time and money which such competitions must necessarily entail, are entirely contrary to the true spirit of amateur sport”.

There it is in black and white! No true amateur sportsman would like to compete against other athletes who are getting paid to compete. The British view on this was very strict. If someone paid your trip to go to the Olympics, then you were paid and were therefore not an amateur. For the 1916 Berlin Games, BOA had suggested that a public fund was to be set up to try to raise £100,000. The idea got some support, among the supporters was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the editor of The Field, Theodore A. Cook, who was the only oarsman to support the suggestion, probably because he was a member of the International Olympic Committee. Among the doubtful oarsmen were Guy Nickalls and Rudie Lehmann (on the left). It might seem odd that both these famous oarsmen were against the Games, after all, Nickalls took an Olympic gold in the eights in 1908, and Lehmann was known to have very liberal ideas. Although, ARA sent crews to the next Olympic rowing regattas, the organization did not really believe in the Games. In 1925, ARA told the Canadian Association of American Oarsmen that “it had never been in sympathy with the Olympic Games or Olympic Regattas.

This story about the many British oarsmen’s disbelief in the Olympic Games is vividly told in Eric Halladay’s Rowing in England: A Social History – The Amateur Debate (1990). Halladay’s book is brilliant and hard to find; and if you do find it, it is going to cost you a hefty sum. On the other hand, if you are interested in reading it, you will find it as a ‘Google book’ here.

In the research library of Mystic Seaport in Mystic, Connecticut, is a letter written by Halladay (down on the left) in December 1990 to the American rowing historian Tom Mendenhall (up on the right). The American had probably written the Englishman a letter about Rudie Lehmann because Halladay writes

“You may be interested to know that I thought at one time of writing a life of Lehmann. It seemed to me that he needed to be remembered as more than a large footnote in the history of rowing. I got to know his son, John Lehmann, quite well. He was a minor literary figure and publisher, on the fringes of the Bloomsbury group and at one time thought to be the ‘fifth’ man forming the Cambridge spy-ring – Burgess, McLean etc. But there were no papers of any importance and so I had to drop the matter.”

Personally, I think it is really a shame that Halladay did not pursue this mission. Just think what a grand book it could have been. But, instead, we can read Halladay’s book about the amateur question among the oarsmen at a time when they did not want to have anything to do with the Olympics.

Vivian Nickalls: A Successful Sculler

Two of the most famous rowing brothers in Britain are without doubt Vivian and Guy Nickalls. Of the two, Guy (1866-1935) got most attention by contemporary press, mainly because of his frank ways and for being outspoken, which would get him in constant trouble, both at home and abroad. Vivian Nickalls (1871-1947), who was the younger of the two brothers, was maybe not as successful as an oarsman, but through the years he would collect an extensive amount of medals, cups, and awards.

Vivian took the Diamond Challenge Cup at Henley in 1891. He also won the Wingfield Sculls in 1892, 1894, and 1895 (the latter year is when the photo above is taken). Vivian was very successful at Henley in the Silver Goblets and Nickalls' Cup, winning the Cup in 1892 and 1893 with William A.L. Fletcher, and with his brother Guy in 1894, 1895, and 1896. In 1895, to celebrate his two sons second win together in the Silver Goblets, Tom Nickalls donated the Nickalls' Challenge Cup.

Both Nickalls brothers would later in life go to the USA to coach rowing. While Guy would coach Yale - "Their paddling is bad, their rowing, worse." (about his 1916 crew) -, Vivian would coach the University of Pennsylvania and the Detroit Boat Club. Both Vivian and Guy returned to Britain to serve in the Army during First World War. They would also write to highly entertaining autobiographies, Vivian's Oars, Wars and Horses (1932) and Guy's posthumous published Life's a Pudding (1939).

Etonians And Their 'Boaters'

This time, Tim Koch, was very quick sending me some comments about my entry from yesterday about Eton and ‘boaters’. I hand over to Tim - and this time let's call him 'Guest writer' - who writes:

Your recent comments about 'boaters' (flat topped straw hats) at Eton School in England prompts me to send a picture of such an item from my collection of rowing memorabilia [see above]. It was worn sometime in the 1880s by one of the crew of the boat 'Victory' in the 'Procession of Boats' which takes place every year on the school's ‘parents' day" known as the 'Fourth of June'.

Eton School (more correctly called 'Eton College', though the boys are aged 13 to 18) is the most famous fee paying school in the world. Founded in 1440 by Henry VI, it has produced eighteen British Prime Ministers (however, by the time you read this, David Cameron could have made the number nineteen). Our interest is in the fact that it can lay claim to have invented rowing as an amateur sport - though Westminster School, founded 1179, may disagree. The earliest record of rowing for pleasure at the school dates from 1793. Until perhaps the First World War, it produced the majority of University Boat Race and Henley winners.

The 'Fourth of June' is a celebration of the birthday of King George III (1738-1820), Eton's greatest patron. This year it is on 2nd June. Various events take place on this day but the most famous is ‘The Procession of Boats’, in which the best crews from the top four years row past in clinker built, fixed pin eights. They wear uniforms of eighteenth century midshipmen, with the cox dressed as an admiral. The rowers have boaters sporting the name of their boat on their hat-bands and the school arms in metal, all decorated with fresh flowers. At a certain point, the entire crew and cox stand up in the boat with their oars erect. They face Windsor Castle, remove their hats and cheer the memory of George III. The ever reliable British Pathe web-site provides filmed evidence of these seemingly unlikely events.

This film from 1904 also shows Edward VII's Royal Barge which would have been rowed by professional Watermen:

(KING EDWARD VII AT ETON)

Here is some nice colour film from 1960. Interestingly, the boys seem less confident than those in 1907:

(ETON - THAMES / POWER BOATS)

Some nice sound film from 1938. At forty seconds in, there is a brief shot of the 'Monarch', a ten-oar.

FOURTH OF JUNE AT ETON

The 'Monarch' was retired in 1990 after at least 100 years service and is now in the National Maritime Museum in Falmouth here in England.

My collection also contains a programme from 'The Procession of Boats' of 1885. It shows many famous rowing names, notably Guy Nickalls, S.D. Muttlebury, C.M. Pitman and Lord Ampthill.


Many thanks to Tim for this lovely contribution!

'Tarka' - The First Sir Of Rowing

Sir Steven Redgrave was not the first person to be knighted for services to rowing. He was actually the second oarsman. The first one was one of my ‘rowing heroes’: Sir Harcourt Gilbey Gold (1876-1952). Harcourt Gold, known by the English rowing world as ‘Tarka’ (it seems at an early age he had a problem pronouncing his first name, which came out as ‘Tarka’- a name that stuck), was a master of whatever he decided to accomplish in rowing.

Tarka, who was called by R.C Lehmann, “one […] of really great strokes” in his Rowing (1897), stroked three Eton eights to victory in the Ladies Plate in 1893-1895, and Leander in the Grand 1896, 1898-1899. He won the Stewards twice (for Leander in 1898 and Magdalen in 1899), and stroked Oxford in The Boat Race at four occasions, in 1896-1899, only losing the last year. In his first Boat Race, in very rough water, Oxford was behind almost at the first stroke. With 200 yards to go, the dark blues managed to squeeze past Cambridge, winning with a 2/5 length. A contemporary source wrote about Tarka, among other things, “He has wonderful knees; and his legs are always loudly appreciated by the crowd at Putney.” You can study his legs in the drawing by SPY, published on 23 March 1899, in Vanity Fair up on the right.

After his active rowing career was over, Tarka began a successful coaching career. He coached Magdalen and Oxford for many years, and he coached two Leander eights to Olympic gold in 1908 and 1912. During the First World War he served in the Royal Flying Corps. In 1909, he had become a Steward at Henley, and after the war, in 1919, he was elected to the regatta’s management where he oversaw the making of the Stewards’ Enclosure. The next year, Tarka published his little pamphlet The Common Sense of Coaching* (1920).

After the Second World War, in 1945, he was elected Chairman of the Henley Royal Regatta, and three years later Chairman of the Amateur Rowing Association, ARA. In 1949, he received the first knighthood for services to rowing. At the first Henley regatta after the war, in 1946, Tarka had the great pleasure to welcome and escort princesses Elizabeth and Margaret. In the following newsreel, he can be seen with the princesses at this occasion, when the coming Elizabeth II, was handing out the prizes to the winning crews.

(HENLEY REGATTA)

What is maybe even more interesting is the following newsreel that is showing the unused, cut material that did not make it into the newsreel above. Here, for example, you will see a few seconds of the Diamonds final when Jean Sepheriades beat Jack 'Kell' Kelly.

HENLEY REGATTA

Tim Koch has sent me an old Rowing article from the beginning of the 1950s by Hylton Cleaver. In the article, Cleaver wrote about Tarka’s family history where his mother, Charlotte, came from the famous Gilbey gin dynasty. He married Helen Maclagan, sister of the 1899 Oxford cox, G.S. Maclagan. Tarka’s elder sister, Ellen, married legendary ‘oar’ Guy Nickalls and their rowing son ‘Gully’ had Tarka as his godfather and married his daughter Rachel. Gully succeeded his uncle, Tarka, as Chairman of the ARA. (I think I got that all right…) – My thanks to Tim!

* If anyone has The Common Sense of Coaching for sale, I would be very happy to buy it!

Wingfield Sculls Centenary Dinner Menu

Autobiographer Vivian Nickalls, Wally Kinnear, and Bill of Fare composer, Guy Nickalls.

Here is a little foot note to the wonderful story Tim Koch provided about the Wingfield Sculls Centenary Dinner which was posted yesterday. In Vivian Nickalls’s autobiography Oars, Wars, and Horses – how I love this title – which was published in 1932, Nickalls mentions this dinner (pages 42-45) and the Bill of Fare which was composed by his brother, Guy Nickalls. It is really an oarsman’s menu,

“THE START with WHERRY – good OAR d’Oeuvres NO CRABS included – soup TURN TURTLE – fish SOLES PRESSED (against the stretcher) – Cutlets supreme with CUTTERS (far astern) – NO FOWLS Pheasants with NO FEATHERING – THE STARTERS – Peches TO Melba – BEST and BEST BOAT Ice – Last Course – CHAMPION CHAMPIGNONS with a HARD ROW Over. Wines without Whines – Champagne – Real Pain for those on Fixed Seats Only – Port – Starting Always On The Port Side.”

Vivian Nickalls writes that three more Wingfields’ winners were invited to the dinner, but F.L. Playford was very ill, and both A.A. Stuart and A.H. Cloutte were abroad at the time of the dinner. Nickalls seems to have collected the autographs of the fourteen men present (Above; observe the charming little drawing of a sculler after Harry Blackstaffe’s name!).

The Rowing English Gentleman

In a message regarding a previous entry on my blog, Tim Koch of Auriol Kensington RC in London has some entertaining comments: “Your recent posting, ‘An Oarsman’s Dress Code’, included two of my interests: rowing history and classic men’s clothes. The archive at Auriol Kensington nicely illustrates how men’s formal dress changed during the Twentieth Century. The splendid picture ‘Wingfield Sculls of the Thames’ [above] shows a dinner given by the Earl of Iveagh (Rupert Guinness) held at his house, 11 St James’s Square, on 11th December 1930 for past winners of the Wingfield Sculls (The English Amateur Sculling Championship). Those present, to commemorate the centenary of this race, were Iveagh, Guy Nickalls, Rev. W.S. Unwin, F.I. Pitman, Vivian Nickalls, J.L. Tann, T.D.A. Collet, H.D. Blackstaffe, D.Guye, J.C. Gardner, J. Beresford [Jr.], Rev. A.C. Dicker, C.W. Wise, and W.D. Kinnear. All are resplendent in ‘white tie’, which is a tailcoat, white waistcoat (vest) and dress shirt with a stiff bib front, high-standing wing collar and white bow tie. Even Kinnear and Blackstaffe, men much lower on the social scale than the rest of the group, are in the correct dress. They are all wearing their Wingfield Medals, each with a bar on the ribbon denoting the year(s) in which they won.” [Have a look on the right at the stylish Jack Beresford, Jr., and his seven bars for his Wingfields' victories between 1920-1926].

On this fascinating topic Tim continues, “Though taken in 1930, the picture is more illustrative of a formal gathering before the 1914-1918 War. The picture ‘KRC Dinner 1933’ [above] shows the mixture of ‘white tie’ and ‘black tie’ (a.k.a. ‘dinner jacket’ or ‘dinner suit’ or ‘tuxedo’) that would have been common in the inter war years. The dinner jacket had been invented in the 1870s by the Prince of Wales (later King Edward VII, 1901-1910) for informal dining at home. Its essence was a tailless jacket and soft shirt with a turned down collar and black bow tie. By the 1930s the Duke of Windsor (briefly King Edward VIII) and his set were wearing the more comfortable outfit in public and it began to replace the tailcoat. ('DOW' in 'DJ' on the right.) Since the 1939-1945 War, white tie is only seen on the most formal of state occasions. In the 1960s and 1970s it looked as though black tie would also drift into oblivion but, by the time I started to attend rowing club dinners in the mid 1980s, the ‘DJ’ was back and is now worn by the vast majority of men at formal evening functions. I do mean ‘evening’, only Americans and waiters wear black tie during the day. At Auriol Kensington, those of us with regatta blazers sometimes follow the Oxford and Cambridge custom of wearing them in place of the traditional jacket with our dinner suits. On the left is a picture of me in such a rig,” Tim concludes.

Tim, this was very entertaining. Thank you! Maybe time for you to start a blog on well-dressed oarsmen and oarswomen?

F. S. Kelly – A Life of Rowing and Music 2

Here the F. S. Kelly story continues:

Already in 1903, Kelly went to Germany as a music student, and would be there on and off. It was in Frankfurt at a café he read the article about his old rival, Lou F. Scholes, and the Olympic rowing in Henley at the end of July 1908. Kelly would not get his revenge as the Canadian was beaten in his first heat, and Kelly would not be picked to represent Great Britain in the single scull. Instead he was asked by Leander’s coach, ‘Tarka’ Gold, to train and race in the club’s eight, which was going to be Britain’s second boat in the Olympic eights; the first eight was from Cambridge. From 18 June, on a daily basis, Kelly wrote down in his diary the laborious training he and his fellow oarsmen in the eight went through. The ‘old men’ of Leander – two others were Guy Nickalls and R. B. Etherington-Smith - won the Olympic gold in the eights, giving Kelly another medal to his collection. The Olympic champion race would be Kelly’s last rowing race.

A couple of weeks after the Olympic rowing, an important printed work on rowing saw the light of day, The Complete Oarsman by R. C. Lehmann, who was a Liberal MP, a contributor to Punch, a poet, and an authority on rowing. The book also has chapters written by other authorities of the sport. The section on sculling was written by, as Lehmann elegantly put it, ‘Mr. F. S. Kelly, the master of the art.’ Even if this chapter was written 100 years ago, there are still some highly valuable pointers about sculling technique for today’s scullers. Kelly’s chapter was illustrated with twelve black & white photographs of the author in his shell.

After 1908, Kelly fully concentrated on his music career. He would, however, now and then be remembered for his extraordinary rowing career. After giving a concert on 17 October 1910, Kelly and his friend, the cellist Pablo Casals, were reading the newspaper critiques on a train from Newcastle to London. Kelly wrote in his diary on 18 October 1910: ‘On the whole they were fairly just, but one critic said a thing which I foresee will be repeated wherever it is known that I was a sculler – i.e. my playing was perhaps a little too muscular for an interpretation of Chopin.’

Kelly made his professional debut as a pianist with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra at the Sydney Town Hall on 17 June 1911. He played the Beethoven Piano Concerto No. 4 in G, op.59. The critics in the Sydney papers were delighted, which could not be said about the London critics when Kelly performed in England the following year. He continued his professional performances sporadically, but at the outbreak of the war in 1914, he enlisted in the 63rd Royal Naval Division, and was involved in the defence of Antwerp. When sailing to the Dardanelles with the Hood Battalion, he befriended fellow pianist and composer William Denis Browne and the poet Rupert Brooke, whose most famous lines are from his poem ‘The Soldier’: If I should die think only this of me: / That there's some corner of a foreign field / That is for ever England. /

Brooke did not reach the Dardanelles. En route, he contracted septicaemia after a mosquito bite and died on 23 April 1915. He was buried on the Greek island of Skyros with his friends Kelly and Browne present. Both Kelly and Browne were wounded at the ill-fated campaign at Gallipoli. While recuperating, Kelly wrote the Elegy for string orchestra in memory of Brooke. Although not fully well, Browne rejoined his unit and was fatally wounded at the Third Battle at Krithia on 4 June 1915. His body was never found. Kelly returned to Gallipoli in July and was among the last soldiers to be evacuated off the Gallipoli Peninsula. He was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for ‘conspicuous gallantry’ at Gallipoli.

The Hood Battalion was shipped to France in May 1916. At the end of the great Battle of the Somme, Kelly was killed on 13 November, age 35, while leading an attack against enemy lines at Beaucourt-sur-Ancre. Frederick Septimus Kelly now rests in a grave at Martinsart British Cemetery, Somme.

In May 1915, Kelly’s sister Maisie married Captain John Kelly (not related), whom later reached the rank of Admiral and for whom the famous destroyer, commanded by Mountbatten, was named. F. S. Kelly’s diaries, which he began to write in 1907, were bought by the National Library of Australia in 1979, and were published under the title Race Against Time – The Diaries of F.S. Kelly, selected, edited and introduced by Thérese Radic in 2004.

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Acknowledgement: Writing this two-piece article, a very good source of information about F.S. Kelly’s early life and his music studies has been Race Against Time – The Diaries of F.S. Kelly, which was selected, edited and introduced by Thérese Radic. Dr. Radic has very kindly allowed me to use her research for this article, for which I am immensely grateful.

F. S. Kelly – A Life of Rowing and Music 1

While in Frankfurt am Main, Germany, to study piano and composition at Dr. Hoch Konservatorium, F. S. Kelly one day picks up a copy of The Times where he reads that Lou F. Scholes is going to represent Canada in the single scull at the Olympic rowing regatta in Henley-on-Thames. In his diary the same day, 10 May 1908, Kelly writes that the news ‘roused my fighting spirit so much that I went off to ask Director Scholz about the date of the Concert at which I am to play and conduct, to find out for certain whether it will possible for me to scull and have my revenge.’

This entry in Kelly’s diary gives an excellent illustration of what was close to his heart: music and rowing.

Frederick Septimus Kelly was born on 29 May 1881 in Sydney. Frederick was the seventh child of Thomas Hussey Kelly, a wealthy Irish businessman, and his wife, Mary Anne, born in Australia. Like his brothers, ‘Sep’, as he was called by the family, was sent to Eton, where he began to row in 1897 - stroking the eight to victory in the Ladies’ Plate at the Henley Royal Regatta in 1899. As a Lewis Nettleship musical scholar, he went up to Balliol College at Oxford. In Oxford, Kelly – or ‘Cleg’ as he was known there - also took up sculling, winning the Diamond Challenge Sculls at Henley for his college in 1902. On his way to his first Diamond victory, he beat prominent scullers as A. H. Cloutte (London RC), C. S. Titus (Union BC, New York), and R. B. Etherington-Smith (Leander Club).

The following year was very successful for Kelly, although his Oxford eight lost the Boat Race. In the cerise colours of Leander Club, Kelly won the Wingfield Sculls, and the Grand and the Diamond trophies at Henley. After his first Diamonds, Kelly had rapidly been regarded as a brilliant sculler. At his second Diamonds, he easily sculled away from Julius Beresford (Kensington RC) and H. T. Blackstaffe (Vesta RC) to claim the trophy. A contemporary source wrote that ‘his swinging and sliding were perfect in unison and symmetry’ and another one said, ‘that the grace with which his hands left the body at the finish of the stroke was like the down-ward beat of a swallow’s wing.’

It was, therefore, all the more surprising when, in a heat in the Diamonds in 1904, Lou F. Scholes of Toronto RC defeated Kelly. Scholes had been two lengths behind at Remenham, when suddenly he put on a spurt and easily gained on Kelly. At the Grand Stand, Kelly was two lengths behind and, totally exhausted, had to stop. He was lifted out of his shell into a launch while the Toronto oarsman crossed the finish line. The Henley crowd was astonished that ‘a sculler with the style of the Canadian, who depended on his arms and legs, and was without body swing, could beat one with the easy and natural form of the Anglo-Australian.’

One reason for the loss, T. A. Cook wrote, was that Kelly had only trained in his boat for three weeks before his first race in the Diamonds that year. Kelly’s unwillingness to train, made Vivian Nickalls write in his Oars, Wars, and Horses (1932) that Kelly ‘hated training and spent his whole time playing the violin.’ Vivian’s brother, Guy, agreed and wrote in his posthumous published memoirs, Life’s a Pudding (1939), that Kelly ‘was most likely the fastest sculler of all time – quick, neat and polished’ but added solemnly ‘a difficult man to train.’ Unfortunately, Vivian Nickalls’s comment about which instrument Kelly played would later make rowing historians joke and incorrectly remark that Kelly was a sculling ‘fiddler’.

Revengeful at the 1905 Henley Royal Regatta, Kelly easily outclassed all his opponents in the Diamonds (Scholes was not competing), trashing poor Blackstaffe in the final with 15 seconds, winning in the new record time, 8 minutes, 10 seconds, beating the Canadian’s record time from the previous year by 13 seconds. Kelly’s record would last until 1938, when the American Joe Burk knocked 8 seconds off Kelly’s time. In 1905, Kelly would also win the Grand (as he had done in 1904), and adding another triumph in 1906 in the Stewards’ Cup.

In Kelly’s personal life, his father’s death in 1901, and his mother’s death the following year, was a hard blow for Kelly, whose academic studies suffered, and he graduated with fourth-class honours in history. However, his father’s passing left Kelly economically independent, which allowed him to set up a comfortable life with his sister Mary, ‘Maisie’, at Bisham Grange, a house close to Marlow. There they lived a high-society life with trips to London and abroad. Kelly, with his good-looks, was also invited by aristocratic friends to give piano concerts in their country houses.

To be continued...