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Hexham in border skirmish horror!
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By Neil Lewis
Nithsdale ARC Regatta, Dumfries, 23 June 2001
Warm and overcast. Flat river.
750m downstream course
300m downstream relay course
The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men/Gang aft agley,/An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,/For promis'd joy! ROBERT BURNS, "To a Mouse" (1785)
How he knew we were coming I'll never know. But Burns' poetry, a distillation of all that's Scottish, could have been written for Hexham Rowing Club last weekend.
The 'scheme' had been to sally forth across the border to Dumfries to the town's annual Nithsdale Regatta, scoop up a handful of trophies, and reiver-like retreat into our Tynedale heartland. Things went awry almost from the outset however. Dumfries used to be the fiefdom of the Maxwell clan; not a good omen. Remember Robert? He fell in the water and drowned.
The advance party of Lewis and Boath, in early races had to leave Hexham at 0630, missed one another at the boathouse by minutes and spent the trip across each worrying about the other. Ideal preparation for a sport where success relies on being relaxed. Needless to say both i.e each of them, lost. Boath, racing in a higher category than normal, was simply not fast enough. Lewis on the other hand to his undying shame found everything beginning with 'B' magnetic, bridge, bank, buoys and bullrushes.
Reinforcements arrived mid-morning after a lie-in, and with supreme confidence began HRC's campaign in earnest. Aitkenhead lost valiantly, Mulholland lost the veteran single handicap in the same vein, and Lewis and Doody in a novice double were trounced by a local boat - their attempt not helped by Brown putting one of Doody's blades in backwards. You would expect a man of his age and experience to know better.
You wouldn't think things could go more 'aft agley', but they did, oh yes. Doody proceeded to almost tip the Brown and Christer double into the Nith helping them to boat, and then……well let me first tell you of our two successes.
Grint and Phillips rowed over (i.e their competition didn't turn up) in the women's double final, but they truly are a class act. They have the skill, obviously enjoy themselves, and will be missed when their university careers begin. Those Old Contemptibles, Jaconelli and Mulholland, as ever did us proud and won the handicapped veteran double sculls in great style.
That just left the finale, the Sprint Relays, 300m legs led off by a men's single, then a women's double, finishing with a men's coxed four. On paper this was ours. St Andrew's Boat Club from Edinburgh, our competition, were given a male starter, HRC a female one so that the rowers could differentiate the shouted start. Mulholland thrives in this atmosphere and gave the double a three boat lead, and faultlessly the ladies extended this to 6 lengths for the final leg. The four of Aitkenhead (stroke), Brown, Christer and Lewis (bow) sat at the start like a coiled spring, and carried on sitting there after the starter's insipid wee shout of 'Gae Hexham,…. if ye like'. Aitkenhead hadn't heard. Lewis shouted 'Go' and each member of the crew chose his own time to pull that first mighty stroke. The cox, a small Chester-le-Street girl plucked from the bank earlier, must have been startled by this and yanked on the rudder cable. It snapped and the boat swerved drunkenly around the opposition and into their path. They were sitting ready on the start, 6 boat lengths down remember. HRC straightened, began again as St Andrews powered away perfectly. Still in the lead the HRC crew for the first and only time that day thought in unison, a variety of expletives and "Goodness me, this is going to be embarrassing". Again they swerved into the bank, rudder jammed. It is almost impossible to imagine how such a lead can be lost, so the crew blamed Lewis, famed for hitting mobile and immobile objects all over the North East of England. He was easily convinced it was his fault, going by his performance earlier in the morning. On reflection he would prefer to blame the spirit of the Scots, Robert Burns, who died and is buried in Dumfries, and is watching over his kinsmen.
They paddled the boat gently towards the crowds waiting at the boathouse, and the noise grew and grew, whistling, laughing, jeering and jibing. "Gae on Hexham, ye southern wussies".
O wad some Power the giftie gie us/To see oursels as ithers see us!/It wad frae monie a blunder free us,/An' foolish notion. ROBERT BURNS, "To a Louse" (1786)
23 Jun 2001
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