LOOKING BACK ON IT ALL

New Zealand Listener, Volume 22, Issue 557, 24 February 1950, Page 6

LOOKING BACK ON IT ALL

. . . Some impressions of the Empire Games, written for

"The Listener" by

A. R.

D. FAIRBURN

HE excitement had been sim- ° mering for weeks. During the four or five days before the opening it began to rise to fever point. Three to "four thousand people, at a shilling a time, were crowding into the stands at the Olympic Pool, just to see the swimmers paddling up and down in their training. Even when, after a session, only a diver or two remained, a big growd lingered on, reluctant to miss anything at all. If the visiting swimmers had sat knitting, or paring their fingernails, there would sfill have been the same 200-yard queue outside the baths. The divers from overseas. quickly "made friends with the spectators. George Athans, the. young Canadian doctor; Peter Heatly, the smiling Scot; Allan Smith, from: Ceylon; Ian Grace, from Rhodesiay and Edna Child, the English girl who made diving from the f0-metre tower look as easy as tossing penniesall these will live long in the memories and affections of those who sat and wetched them. And the superb diving of Athans, Heatly and Miss Child won't easily be forgotten. * We had plenty of opportunities of watching the swimmers beforehand. But the track athletes burst upon us like a succession of rockets on that first glorious day at Eden Park. Glorious it was, indeed. There was the crowd, packed in a solid mass against the skyline, and looking (oddly enough) very beautiful. Pale blue must be this season’s fashionable colour, for it was dominant; and with the thousands of straw hats, made an opalescent glitter. There was the ‘opening pageantry, which was done with fine restraint. The ingredients of colour, movement, fanfares and band music were present in just the right proportions. There.was the release of the hundreds of pigeons, which made the sky look like a slice of seedcake. (An aeroplane passed near them, and the small

boy in front of’me said, "He’s goin’ to mow .them pigeons down if he ain’t careful!") And then, of course, there was the succession of athletic events of a quality very few present had ever seen before. A day to be remembered without question. It was a family reunion on | the grand scale, and even the flintiest hearts, the most hard-boiled sensibilities, must have been moved. There was, most unfortunately, a gap of nearly three-quarters of an hour between the-end of the ceremonies, when appetite was at its keenest, and the be-. ginning of the races. The crowd fried gently on stands and terraces while the band played "selections," including the odd cornet solo. Irrelevance could hardly have gone further.. Some really good Meori dances, and a display of chopping by Dinny Hoey, might have atoned for * the delay Nothing else, short of starting the athletics programme, could have done so. My companion and I went outside the ground in.search of shade, lay down under a scraggy shrub, and rose shortly with a pattern of bidi-bids and crushed poison-apple stains on our backs. We re-cntered the ground at the back of the main stahds, where order was holding chaos at arm’s length with some difficulty. There was what seemed at first sight-to be a circular queue, so that anybody pushing his Way into it would go round and round for ever. It turned out to be three long queues tangled together among a swirling mass of people, all sucking ice-creams, poring over programmes, or looking noisily for lost friends. The sun still beat down, and the ground rose to our nostrils in a mist of fine dust. A Y memories of that day are kaleidoscopic.@The great six-mile race with its crescendo of excitement, lap after

: lap, like Ravel’s "Bolero"; Nelson’s ‘victory, and Taylor’s great sprint up the straight to miss second place by a whisker; Majekodunmi, the Nigerian, stalking the high jump bar like a cat after a bird, and in a flash wriggling up and over; John Treloar and Marjorie Jackson, coming home in their — sprint finals -_so fast that one could hardly see what had happened until it was all over; the 440- yards hurdlers bobbing up and down as if they were worked by cams; the Canadian Norman and Jack Holden, the two marathon men, who ran for practice in the sixmile race, trailing far in the rear, and making ‘some_ of the spectators think that they were old crocks who had got into the race by mistake; the poor applause when the Australian girls filled all three places in the 100yards final; and the generous cheer that went up when it was announced

that Pettie would be running in the men’s 100-yards final after all. The little Canadian runner caused quite a fluttering in the dovecotes- or would have done so, no doubt, if the, pigeons had not already been released. His "breaking" in the sprint final, and the subsequent délay and * argument, were already being referred to’ as the "Pettie incident" before the day was over. At one stage I noticed the starter and Pettie walking together in hot argument towards the judges’ table, the

starter brandishing his pistol in the air. I féared for a moment that he might shoot Pettie. But it all ended happily, and the crowd cheered and set the ‘final seal on a decision that could have been made an hour earlier without bringing the Empire down in ruins. NEITHER the "Pettie incident," nor the heat, nor anything else could mar the glory of that day. After it was over I walked to Newmarket (abandoning all hope of transport), dined on two icecreams, and went to the Olympic Pool for the opening of the swimming carnival. I’ got myself into a_small auxiliary stand high up on the eastern #de, and relaxed while waiting for things to begin. Beyond the packed mass of people opposite there was a brilliant sunset, with the flags fluttéring against it. As the

light faded the emerald green of the floodlit pool below began to take on a deeper and lovelier hue. There was a cool breeze coming gent]y from the south. I felt comfortable after the heat and dust of the day, and settled down to enjoy the fantastic scene beneath me. On the middle platform of the diving tower four trumpeters were seated, looking like a picture -by Salvador Dali. (They were routed out later when. the diving display began.) Their attitudes vaguely suggested a tableau of the death of Nelson (the Admiral, not the runner). Two swimmers moved up and down the pool, limbering up. The stands, by starting-time, were packed as full as a Christmas stocking. The hosts of officials moved about like a herd of white elephants in a jungle clearing. And then the massive machine of swimming officialdom began to rumble its way slowly and steadily through the programme of events. WAS struck by the contrast in dress styles among the women competitors. The Canadians in.dark blue, the Australians in green, and the Scottish also in blue, all wore track-suits that looked workmanlike, The Canadians were spectacular in red. The New Zealand girls, in white bath-robes, looked like vestal virgins. I noticed, too, that the Canadians always dived in and swdm a bit before the race. One of them, J. Portelance, astonished the spectators by doing a bfisk four lengths (220 yards) just before his heat of, the 1650 yards race. It did him little good. That fifst evening’s swimming ended most happily, and crowned a perfect day. The New Zealand girls swam wonderfully well, and took their. heats. Lucas won his heat of the 1650-yards race in excellent time. And we won the men’s relay race rather easily. True, the Australians made our water-polo players look like pickled herrings; but since we have no national honoyr vested in waterpolo we were unruffled by an eleven-to-four defeat. FOUND the second night of -the swimming, on the Monday, a shade less enjoyable. The ‘cool breeze had turned to a cold wind. Our. girls. came last in the final of the sprint, and Lucas

could do no better than third in the 1650-yards, although he swam a gallant race. But the victories of Johnston, of South Africa, in the long race, and of Salmon, of Canada, in the men’s 110yards, were worth going a long way to see. Johnston showed us what a strong physique and a powerful arm action can do,’ in default of a perfect style; and Salmon and Frank O'Neill, of: Australia, also demonstrated the nétd for sheer physical power in sprinting. It struck me that our swimmers overdo the glide, and break the smooth rhythm of the arm movement. Joan Harrison, the 14-ye old South African girl, came third in the women’s sprint, but showed what she was made of on the final day, when she won the 440-yards in great style. Her action is worth study. I stood near her one day earlier, and noticed that her hands and feet are fairly small. How, then, does she get through the water so fast? Mostly, I think, because, of her well-rounded arm and shoulder action, which is knit together in a smooth and continuous rhythm. I took particular notice of the competitors in the men’s 110-yards final. Examined through a pair of binoculars Amos, the "New Zealander, looked nervous. I moved the glasses along the row of swimmers waiting to start, and saw a bespectacled face peering out of a huge white bathrobe, which covered head and all. I had an impression of a very robust version of the late Mr. Gandhi. Later I tealised that I had been scrutinising Peter Salmon, who was about to win. the race. Back at Eden Park next afternoon, the public had another great day. So did Australia. Treloar took his heat»and semi-final, in the 220 yards race, and the girls also won theirs. Those wonde:ful girl runners from across the Tasman ought, by rights, to have brawny muscles, hairy legs, and perhaps the hint of a moustache. Only thus could the prophets be fulfilled --the prophets who, in the age of Miss Amelia Bloomer, said that if women took to physical exercise they would get to. look like men. But these Australian girls are completely feminine. The same

may be said, in fact, of all the leading women athletes at these Games. The prophets have been routed. But the Australians didn’t have things all their own way. Most of us were very glad to see England coming to the fore-even though Eyre did beat our Nelson in the three-miles race. And Parlett was a popular winner in the half-mile. We had the privilege, too, of seeing that really great hurdler, White, of Ceylon, close his long and distinguished athletic career by winning the 440-yards hurdles in time that was only threetenths of a second outside the world record. ‘THURSDAY saw the Australians sweeping everything before them at Eden Park. The men’s

and women’s _ furlong races, the quarter-mile, the. 120yards hurdlés, the hop, step and jump, the women’s javelin throw, the women’s hurdles-in all these events they led the way. A certain diminution in the applause given to Australian victories at this stage have been put down, by the cynic, to sulkiness on the part of the New Zealand crowd. Nothing, I believe, could be more unjust. They were just becoming normally weary of doing something again that they had done so often before. They came to life when the Fijian giant, Tuicakau, won the shotput, and mounted the victory dais *grinning from ear to ear. But this was a success that all welcomed, and none could possibly grudge. I come now to the more melancholy part of my story. At the Olympic Pool on the following afternoon the weather looked threatening. The omens were bad: a small boy with a tray of popcorn fell into the bath before the races

began. By the time the afternoon was half done, torrents of rain were fallin: For an h@®ur the sodden crowd watched a uisplay of diving that might have given pleasure in sunshine, but proved tedious, not to say dismal, in these sadly altered circumstances. An even more lugubrious game of water-polo came later. The brightly-striped awning over the secretarial tent collapsed. Officials in white clothes, looking as if they had been pushed into the pool, did their best to look cheerful and carry on with the business in hand. A completely aquatic afternoon saw Joan Harrison win the women’s quarter-mile, and Agnew, of Australia, the men’s. It was still fun. But it was damnably uncomfortable. At Eden’ Park next afternoon, | the final day, the weather collapsed once again. The rain tumbled down on forty thousand people, all cracking hearty. The track was submerged in places. Officialdom was again drenched. The gaily opakeacent crowd of the. opening day gave place to an enormous bank where thousands of black toadstools had suddenly sprouted. The hammer-throw-ers slithered about, and one, with white shorts on, sat down heavily in the slush. The fine dust of the earlier days turned to a filthy porridge, ankle-deep along the pathways. But in the midst of all these afflictions the Empire Games spirit was triumphant. Parnell, the Canadian, won .the mile in eleven seconds over the. four minutes-a record-break-ing and quite astonishing performance in the ciréumstances. Edwin Carr, of Australia, equalled the Empire record for the quarter-mile. Clark, the Scottish team’s captain, broke another record in winning the hammer-throw. And Miss Y. Williams, of New Zealand, became the first New Zealand woman to win an Empire title when she took the broad jump in record figures, LL this was thrilling, and quite enough to make me forget the stream of water flowing down my neck. But the event that really moved me. and made this final day a rival, in its dun fashion, to the opening day, was the Marathon. When a man of 42 runs 26 miles through pouring rain, the latter . part of it’ with bare and blistered feet, and comes plodding sturdily into the arena four minutes ahead of anybody else, I feel it is time to stand up on the highest seat one can find and cheer without restraint or irihibition. And that, so it seemed, was what a great mar other people thought, too. The cheer they gave England’s Olympic runner, gallant Jack Holden, was worth listening to. What.a man! Even in such a week as this, one cannot do everything. I.saw a little of the wrestling and fencing. I missed the cycling, but enjoyed my friend’s anecdote about the short-sighted old lady in front of him who said that "she did love these tandem races-the men keep together so beautifully in pairs." I saw nothing of the bowling. Having a sympathetic nature, I passed, over the weight-lifting. But I think I did well enough to be satisfied. My only. regret is that, having been at all the athletic and swimming events, I missed hearing them broadcast. It must have been just about as good as the real thing.