Work Text:
HEAD OF THE RIVER 1914
BARWON RIVER, GEELONG
A Final Competitors:
Lane 1: Scotch College, Melbourne
Lane 2: Geelong Grammar School
Lane 3: Melbourne Grammar School
Lane 4: Geelong College
The eight coasted down the final stretch of the transit lane, all eight boys rowing in synchrony. Around the bend, their coxswain called, “Easy oar,” and the crew paused at ‘hands away’, the blue blades feathered and parallel to the water. After the boat had been balanced this way, none of the blades touching the water for several seconds, the call came, “Drop.” All eight blades hit the water at the same time with a slap that was designed to intimidate.
Behind them, the second eights had just gone, the shouts of the coxes filling the air along with the splash of the oars entering the water. After a quick drink break, the Melbourne Grammar School eight started turning their boat into Lane 3. Scotch College, a vision in cardinal, gold and blue, sat behind the start line already in Lane 1. Geelong Grammar, a stark contrast to Scotch in light blue, in Lane 2. Melbourne Grammar finished turning and touched it up to join the other three schools, in dark blue, with blades the same colour bearing the white School crest.
Two minutes later Geelong College, dark green, turned into Lane 4. “Schoolboys Coxed Eight Division One A Final, move up to the start line please,” one of the marshals called through his megaphone. The coxswains of all four crews, working together so the crews stayed level, asked bow four in each boat to tap it up. Once the bow balls of each boat were on the start line, all the boats checked it down to stop and the rowers sat forward. In the Melbourne Grammar School boat the bow seat, dark-haired and lean, the Captain of Boats, glanced across at his competition.
“Okay, Grammar,” their coxswain whispered into his megaphone, leaning forward so he was face-to-face with the stroke seat, but addressing the whole crew. “This is what you’ve been training eight months for. The Head of the River: five minutes, three other crews, one chance. Don’t let me down now.” The bow seat took one hand off his oar to slap the shoulder of two seat, who in turn did the same to three, and so on down the boat until stroke shook hands with the cox. It was their silent way of telling each other that they were a crew, that they would face whatever was to come together.
As the marshal raised his megaphone to his mouth, ready to start them, the MGS coxswain lifted a hand to signal that his crew were not ready. “Wally, tap it around slightly—that’s it, easy oar.” The bow seat settled back into 3/4 slide, at the ready, as the coxswain lowered his hand.
“Scotch College, Geelong Grammar School, Melbourne Grammar School, Geelong College—quick start. Attention, row!” All four crews sprang out of the start, the coxswains leaning forward. Melbourne Grammar was quick to draw away, taking a seat before they had even settled into their stride at 250m.
Wally Meadows, in the bow seat, was entirely focused on the race before him. Never once did his eyes look out of the boat, watching the shoulders of the boy in front of him, as his hands moved faster and faster. “300 metres, boys, lengthen it out,” came the call of their coxswain, “we’re sitting level with Scotch, in front of the others.” Scotch College, their arch-rival: if MGS beat them, they would win the day. “We’ve taken a seat at 400m, boys, that’s it! Let’s gear up for the 500m mark.”
At 500 metres, two seats up on Scotch, Melbourne Grammar were asked, “Commit for ten, this one, now!” and they went like never before. The Cup and the glory depended on it. They crashed through the 500 metre mark, the boat gathering more speed as they drove their legs down. After those ten Wally heard the welcome call, “We’re half a length clear now boys, let’s maintain speed. Sit up on those finishes, hold ‘em through!” In his periphery, he could see Scotch’s cardinal-coloured blades flashing in the sunlight, and the thought that they were behind MGS was enough to drive him onward.
750 metres, and they were halfway. Wally’s legs were burning, his core was burning, and his brain was starting to fuzz over. All he could think was a steady repetition of, “Let this end, let this end.”
“We’re a length up on Scotch, give me clear water!” the coxswain shouted, “First bridge coming up, stay with me! Catches in quick, there!” A shadow fell across Wally as they flew under the silver footbridge, and he knew that they had 500 metres left. Death mode—it was all or nothing now. “We have clear water! Easy away, easy away.”
All the Melbourne boys were committing, knowing that glory was close at hand. It had evaded them the year before last, with Scotch snatching it; but last year they had triumphed, and here was the chance to make it back-to-back. Halfway between the two bridges now, 400 metres to go, then 300. The second bridge was nearing, the signal for them to step up.
“All right boys, we’re coming into the second bridge,” the cox called, his upbeat tone revving them up. “Step up now!” They took it up two beats to rate 38, their breath coming thicker—yet the stroke was quicker.
The second bridge was behind them and as the cox called the second step up after ten strokes, Wally knew that they were not far away. The shout ripped from his dry, hoarse throat, “Go now!” Two lengths clear of Scotch, and they were rapidly gaining on the finish line. On the bank, the cheering of the supporters was muffled, but Wally could hear the beat of the drum MGS had brought down, keeping time.
“Once more,” their cox exhorted them, “courage—now!” Rate 42, ten strokes more.
Five.
Three.
Then the blessed bell, and the coxswain’s triumphant, “Easy oar, let it run!” The supporters erupted, and Wally fell forward over his oar, spent and breathing hard. One hand still gripped his oar, the other the side of the boat for support. In the next moment, he sat up, released the oar altogether and splashed the water on either side of the boat. His two seat fell backwards, looking up towards the sky, and Wally hugged him from behind, both boys tired and sweaty but too ecstatic to care.
Scotch College finished, and then the two Geelong schools: first Grammar, and then College. Near the white judge’s box, the finish line judge said into his megaphone, “The 1914 Head of the River Regatta. Fourth place, Geelong College; third place, Geelong Grammar; second place, Scotch College. And in first place, and Head of the River nineteen-fourteen: Melbourne Grammar School, with coxswain Jack Ellis, stroke Alexander Ainsworth and bow Walter Meadows!”
Wally shouted his triumph to the sky until his throat was hoarse and he had to go for his water bottle again. Eventually their coxswain asked for all eight to sit at the finish, their blades squared and buried, and then they rowed through the Moorabool Street bridge to bring it in to the landing. The contingent of MGS supporters had run through the bridge to meet them at the landing, and there were many willing hands helping to pull their boat in using the oars.
Stroke-side got out first to hold the boat, while bow-side leaned out towards the river to undo and lift out their oars. Wally rested his oar on the side of the boat, the blade on the landing, grabbed his water bottle and stepped out of the boat. He was immediately accosted by his Vice-Captain, Mitch Thompson, who rowed in the same crew, further down in the boat; and Mitch hugged him. They had been the Captains to lead MGS to back-to-back Head of the River victories.
As he stepped on the rigger to hold the boat down while stroke-side carried the oars up onto the grass, Wally shook hands firmly with Jim Linton, last year’s stroke seat and Vice-Captain, and Wally’s best friend, who had come down to watch. Jim’s sister, Norah, was also there, in her MGGS school uniform, complete with blazer and straw hat, and she pumped his hand with both of her own. Around him, the supporters were still cheering: it was an atmosphere that Wally would never forget.
Later, on the podium, Wally received the enormous Cup in his hands, feeling its weight: around his neck, he wore the gold medal that the crew had been awarded. The crew and supporters were waiting, and he lifted the Cup high, bringing a cheer from them all. The nine boys, including their coxswain, huddled together for a photo, Wally squatting in the front holding the cup aloft with one hand, the index finger of his other hand thrust forward to indicate they were winners. Mitch was beside him, shouting in his ear; their coxswain, Jack Ellis, on his left, had a smile on his face that Wally was sure he himself was mirroring.
Yes, it was a triumphant day, all right. Melbourne Grammar had won the day, and Wally Meadows couldn’t think of a better way to go out than to have all the hard work over the last eight months pay dividends. He was outgoing Captain of Boats, and Head of the River champion.