(We are grateful to Philip Denny for this contribution.)

Rowing - one has to admit it if one is honest - is an exceedingly dull sport, particularly for the spectator. The whole concept of eight husky men submitting to the direction of a squeaky midget in order to travel backwards at a speed slower than one man can cycle is absurd. Yet, performing an identical set of physical evolutions together with every other member of the crew in perfect time and rhythm can give one the greatest feeling of exhilaration and team spirit of any sport. One slight faltering movement or clumsiness in handling diminishes the precise efficiency of the whole and one begins to understand the lines of the Eton Boating Song 'and nothing in life can sever the chain that is round us now.' However, the rowing in that pleasant ditty is associated with 'lovely boating weather and a hay harvest breeze'. At Monkton, notwithstanding some gorgeous balmy Spring and Summer days when one's thoughts strayed to Ratty, Mole and Toad, my rowing coaching in retrospect contained little of that. My mind goes at once to the Putney reach and the Schools' Head or to the Schools' Regatta at Nottingham where the wind was blowing at least Force 6 and driving shovelfuls of hail, rain and wave-crests into the boat, crewed by blue schoolboys with permanent catarrh. There were of course delightful events and delightful weather to go with them. Above all, there were the splendid school regattas at Pangbourne (only two hours away) before rowing politics moved them to the blasted wilderness of Holme Pierrepont. Evesham was a lovely setting for Fours' events. Hereford and Marlow were all that regattas should be and even the dreary ambience of the Gloucester canal provided excellent side-by-side racing. It was the Easter Term which contained the nastiest events. I know that 'mileage makes champions' but I often wondered how much benefit was acquired in long-distance Head races run in appalling conditions by inefficient clubs who couldn't even furnish correct finishing times for the events.

In the late 50s, the Easter Term was taken up with House Bumping races in IVs and I always felt these were valuable as they gave racing experience to crews and to coxes. Rowing was much more colourful in those days. Against the grey of the aqueduct the stacks of house blades stood out in great blobs of cerise, yellow, mauve, green and blue. Oarsmen had house flashes on their zephyrs and their supporters, all Bumps Weeks, wore coloured favours on their jackets. So enthusiastic were some of these that the size of rosette had to be regulated by a Head Master's decree: I recall an Eddystone one the size of a small frying pan! A young and pretty matron sported a mauve ribbon in her hair. I found it and the hair clip with some old bumps' cards recently. It sounds rather romantic, but I have to confess that the maiden's enthusiasm was for School House rather than its coach!

Bumping races are fun, both for the competitor and the spectator. Tummies still give a lurch as aged 'heavies' on the bank recall the minute gun, the stretching bung line and the prow of one's boat lining up to skewer the cox of the boat ahead. At the start gun, all nerves mysteriously vanish and the occasion actually becomes pleasurable as one strives harder when whistles signal an overlap head or when one eyes cox skilfully washing off the prow of a pursuer. Ah me! 1 suppose all that has gone with the demise of the IVs. Our stretch of the Avon is not really suitable for bumping races in VIlls but I suppose it could just about be managed without too much damage to craft and crews.

Racing experience is vital. By racing, I mean side-by-side sprint racing over courses of approximately 1 km. or 1 mile, and I don't think Head races help at all. For togetherness and fitness training, one must get in some mileage but, so often, Monkton crews with good long distance records raced poorly in the Summer regattas but improved in regattas with a repechage system. The experience of regular side-by-side racing is something that our stretch of the Avon doesn't provide and the increased number of regattas does not seem to make up for that basic lack. With rubber dinghies instead of the old 'Falcon' which weighed a ton or more and ruptured 30 boys a year as they carried her to the water, with powerful outboard motors instead of each coach's motive power on foot or bike (I always suggested we should have beach donkeys from Weston!), with rowing tank instead of tubbing on the canal or indeed on the flooded meadow between the boathouse and the hump, with skilled boatmen nursing equipment instead of hard-pressed coaches, many of the adversities of the past have been overcome. Perhaps only one final thing remains to do - shift all senior rowing to Saltford. No, I mean it!