Sporting- Aspects
Runners and Jumpers
By,.I. P. W. MALLALIEU IN mid afternoon at the White City last Saturday, some ten thousand people found themselves staring intently towards the far end of the stadium. In off moments during the previous half-hour we had glanced over there and seen men trying to clear the High Jump. But the High Jump was very far away and things of greater interest were usually happening right in front of us.
But now an announcer had spoken through the loud-speaker. G. A. Jeffries, of Otago University, New Zealand, and Mag- dalen, the Oxford first string, he told us, had just won the High Jump with a jump of 6 feet 2 inches. He was now going to try to equal the inter-Varsity record of 6 feet 3 inches. Everyone turned to look and suddenly the loud-speaker clicked on again. " G. A. Jeffries," said the announcer. " is having the bar raised to 6 feet 3 inches." We all laughed and peered more intently than ever.
There was Jeffries, in a bright red pullover to keep out the spring wind, standing right below the bar, while the judges on little ladders fixed it in position. Then, moving away, Jeffries sprang in the air, then burst into the motion of a man who bicycles frantically. That done, he moved easily to where the rest of his outer clothes were and laid his red sweater among them. Then, stripped and erect, he stood facing the bar and poised for his run. The whole stadium stood still. Javelin- throwers who, all afternoon long, had been sending shafts into the sun, stopped their practice. The runners who had been padding round the edge of the track to loosen their muscles stood still, and the many-headed crowd beeame one eye.
Jeffries rose on his toes like a man about to dive, then moved gracefully and purposefully into his stride. In the silence one could almost hear the grass bending beneath his feet. Then, at the very second when he sprang from the ground to soar above the bar, there was a single, sharp crack.., At that critical moment the starter had fired his gun for another race. Jeffries shied, hit the bar with his knees. Thereafter we saw him no more, for, of course, all eyes now turned to the race, and when that was over and we looked again to the far end of the stadium the High Jump poles had been dismantled and Jeffries had van- ished. Perhaps he had gone to the pictures. The only thing that stayed where it was was the inter-Varsity High Jump record. That is typical of the Oxford and Cambridge Sports at the White City. The stadium is so vast that when you are sitting in the centre stands you cannot see what is happening at either end. But you crowd into the centre because, there, you are opposite the finishing-line for the track events. So the field events go on as a decorative but rather puzzling background to the races. At one end, men with long poles run crabwise to vault 11 feet or more into the air. Beside them other men hurl themselves violently at the Long Jump. In the middle distance javelins rise and fall in graceful arcs. Towards the far end, the circular discus spins through the air, and in the far distance G. A. Jeffries prepares to beat the record. It is all very gay and pleasing. Occasionally, the loud-speaker makes it com- prehensible. But it is only background. What we really come to see are the races.
And what races they were last Saturday ! To take the very last one first, we had the Quarter Mile. The 100 yards and the 220 yards are over so quickly that. you have no time to relish your own excitement. But the Quarter Mile is just long enough to allow the runners some variation in speed, some holding back until the critical moment, and gives the spectators a chance to watch with their minds as well as with their eyes. Though, by the time this Quarter was run, the match as a whole had been lost and won, there was a special excitement about it, because it was A. Dick's, of Oxford, third race of the afternoon and if he won it he would be the first man in the history of the Sports to gain a track treble. Even Cambridge supporters wanted him to pull it off. He did. Half way round, when just in the lead and going smoothly, he was challenged by Sexton, -the Cambridge first string. Sexton might as well have put a fire-cracker down Dick's trousers, for Dick shot away and won by yards.
Next, the Mile. In this race everyone was looking to the red-haired Chataway, the Oxford President, who was supposed to be concentrating his own efforts on this race instead of taking in the Three Miles as well, but who already seemed to have expended enough energy for one afternoon trotting from one -end of the Stadium to the other to encourage his colleagues.
When the six runners lined up at the start all stood upright, bar one. The exception was Miller, the Oxford third string, who crouched into footholds. Obviously he intended to make a flying start, and he did. At the gun he flashed into the lead, arms and legs pounding like steam-hammers, with Chataway loping behind him, Robinson of Cambridge and Law of Oxford just behind hint. Round the track went Miller, drawing the others after him, but at the half-mile he was run out, and Law, summoned by a turn of Chataway's red head, took over the pacing. The two of them drove on, increasing the pressure each time Robinson challenged, then easing very slightly as the challenge faded. Then, in the last quarter of a mile, Chataway went right away, and Law, exhausted in his turn, found himself overhauled in the last twenty yards by the gallant Robinson.
While the crowd cheered a new record, the record-breaker himself was quietly putting on his track-suit and trotting off to some other event. Running a record mile is less effort to Chataway than running for a bus is to us.
The experts all say that this Mile was the race of the meeting. Certainly it was a fine example of team work and judgement.
But it was the Three Miles which got my money. Even run- ners like Burnet of Cambridge and Weeks-Pearson of Oxford require a little time in which to cover Three Miles; so the tension of the race rose only slowly. During the first three or four laps the runners remained close together, now and again exchanging a position, but for the most part steadily and un- excitedly rolling up the distance. But during the second exacting mile, the field had begun to string out. The third Cambridge man was getting well behind and was soon to disappear, and not long after the second Cambridge man and the third Oxford man were all but out of it too. This left Burnet on his own to deal with Weeks-Pearson and Bryant. Round they went for the last Mile, with Bryant only a yard or two behind the leaders.
Coming down the straight, with two laps to go, Weeks-Pearson challenged Burnet for the lead. All down the straight they fought, almost shoulder to shoulder, with Weeks-Pearson taking the risk of having to run the curve on the outside. But with a special effort he just got ahead, and it was Burnet who was left with the outside. I thought that would finish him and certainly on the far straight he made no challenge. But when they got back into the home straight, with one lap to go, the duel was fought out again, and this time Burnet -got in- front and left Weeks-Pearson with the outside. In the far straight for the last time it was now or never for Oxford, and Weeks-Pearson made his challenge. He came up a yard, put on the pressure and drew level, then was just in front. Then it happened. Burnet seemed to gather his legs up as a woman of fifty years ago might have picked up her skirts. He ran as though the earth was opening behind him. Five, ten, fifteen yards ahead he went as he tore round the curve and, in the last straight he doubled that lead again to fall exhausted into wait- ing arms. One man against two, the one man wins and breaks another record. That was the race for me !
So in the slanting sunshine of early Spring we tripped easily, comfortably, happily, away, leaving the vast stadium to echoless silence. I bet that after we'd all gone G. A. Jeffries strode out again and, undisturbed, on his own, just for fun, had a go at that record.
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