Post-War Running at Oxford

‘First of the few’ would have been an apt description for the handful of cross-country runners available in 1945. We arrived late in dribs and drabs after early release from war service, and were promptly drafted into any College activity pending. (I nearly took up boxing as a main activity and spent more time playing hockey for College and Occasionals than on the cross-country course.) There was a trial soon after I arrived, and somehow securing 14^th place in a field of 22 won me a place in the team.

By 1946 matters were better organised, more runners were available and the team had a good record against clubs such as Orion, Finchley and Blackheath But in the Varsity Match, despite coming 1^st and 3^rd, we again lost to Cambridge by a narrow margin. 1947, of course, was the year of the Big Freeze. It started to bite on 28 January when Christ Church was playing Worcester in a hockey Cuppers match in a blinding snowstorm. (We finished the game using a red cricket ball and with an inch of snow on the pitch.) After that it was like the carol – ‘Snow had fallen, snow on snow…We trained a little on the snowbound track, and then the thaw arrived at last on 10 March – just twelve days before the Varsity Sports at the White City on 22^nd. This March date for the Athletics Match meant that cross-country came to a full stop soon after Christmas, and runners were retrained to fill in whatever track roles were required. (I found myself drafted for the 880x in 1946, and for the 3 Miles in 1947.)

Finding myself Cross-Country Captain at the end of April 1947 we set about reviving and promoting the sport to secure a win in the Varsity Match. We would build up reserves by establishing a second team – The Tortoises. (The badge was designed by an army colleague of mine, Norman Moore, later an eminent naturalist and world-authority on dragon-flies.) Our next need was to establish a new course to replace the existing unadventurous one along the river Cherwell. (It was not ‘unadventurous’ during the match against Blackheath the previous November, when the Cherwell was in flood! Part of the course ran along the towpath through water up to a foot deep. On one side was the flooded river, on the other a flooded ditch six foot deep. I’m sure present Health & Safety Regulations would have ruled that unsafe.)

This flooding hazard was one reason for the decision – during the summer of 1947 – to discover a new course which could start and finish at the Iffley Road pavilion. We located a suitable area near Sandford, and in early October set out to fill in the details. In a series of expeditions we discovered the owner of a stretch of woodland and met a friendly and helpful farmer who allowed free passage through two of his fields. Less friendly, we discovered later, was the squatters camp that lay alongside part of the course. This was not far removed from the shanty towns depicted on TV today, and its caravans and shacks provided an additional challenge/hazard. Ribald remarks from kids were reinforced by stray dogs which tended to join in the chase, and more than one runner staggered to the finish holding ripped shorts in place with one hand and needing treatment for bites. (Strong incentive to be near the front and pass before the dogs had woken up!)

Some timed trials showed that the new course could be run in just under 50 minutes, which seemed about right, and on 21 October we had cross-country trials with a field of 60 (Those dogs must have had a field-day!) There were enough survivors to provide two strong teams: the first team defeated both Finchley and Orion and won 17-38 against Cambridge, which I believe still stands as a post-war record win. It seems we started something, for there followed the ‘glory years’ of Oxford athletics (Only one Cambridge ‘intervention’ in a run of 8 cross-country victories, and one Cambridge win inserted in 12 victories on the track.)

Those years 1945-7 were very much in the mood of ‘roll up your sleeves and run!’ (We didn’t even have proper cross-country shoes at first and I remember one race when three times I had to stop to retrieve and replace a shoe stuck in the mud!) The general approach was still not far removed from that depicted in ‘Chariots of Fire’, though towards the end of my time we had Geoff Dyson as part-time coach. He encouraged us past the pain barrier with his battle-cry: ‘You’re not tired – you only think you’re tired!’ We battled on!