Former Shanklinite Brian Silsbury, who now lives in California, rowed for Shanklin Sandown Club in the 1950s. Here he shares more of his memories from that time. Ed
Our eyes, locked on the back of stroke’s neck, waited for the movement that would galvanise us into action. Each seat full forward, knees bunched under our chins, we were ready to explode in action.
The flag started its downward sweep and we were once more underway as the six coxes yelled the timing needed to move the boats.
“One, two, three – pull – pull,” yelled our cox.
And pull we did, giving our all. Our feet strapped in the stretchers — calves and thigh-muscles taut — knees tightly triangulated and arms, locked straight, transmitting the maximum effort to the bending oars. In unison, our legs exploded and unwound like steel springs, forcing our bottoms, which seemed glued to the sliding seat, to rush backwards. This gave us the adrenalin rush which was the potent power of rowing.
“Let’s move it”
The draw for the final had been unkind to us; we were placed between two Southampton Amateur crews. As our boat gained way, Stroke noticed we were slowly being sandwiched between the two Southampton crews. “Let’s move it, let’s get away from Southampton,” he snarled. We slowly moved ahead and were the first to the half way buoy, placed three quarters of a mile (1.2 Km) from the start.
“Ready to turn,” sang out the cox.
“Turn!”
With that, the cox forced the rudder over as Stroke dug his oar into the water locking the loom across this chest.
Making every stroke count
Several crews caught and passed us as we struggled to get the boat moving again. The leading crew was now over two boat lengths ahead. Enjoying attacking from behind, we focused, making every stroke count.
Slowly, inexorably, we reeled in each boat then passed the leading crew. It was gratifying to see their pain and frustration as we glided by, matching them stroke for stroke but with more power.
The cox kept up his commentary as we approached the end, “fifty yards to the finish”.
We could hear the crowds cheering us, least we thought it was for us. Suddenly, the sound we had been waiting for; the finishing pistol. The club had finally won Junior Four status!
Our crew, Brian Silsbury – Bow, Terry Nigh – Two, Peter Grimaldi – Three and Alan Wigmore – Stroke, felt justifiably proud as we were called to collect our trophy. We had been trying to win junior status since we were 16 years old, which, as it turned out, was the average age of our competitors!
The winners
“Winners of the Novice Fours, Shanklin Sandown Rowing Club,” blared the loud speakers. There was a smattering of applause, but we didn’t care.
We puffed out our chests and put on a swagger as we mounted steps to collect the cup. Then, just as we were about to take the cup, a deep, rich, booming voice, which could only have been Southsea’s Pat Sherwin, called out, “They’re not novices; they’re a load of bl**dy old men!”
My sincere thanks to Terry Nigh, Club Chairman and Pat Glover for providing additional information and for keeping me on course! According to Terry – Chairman, we were the first Junior crew since the 1880s.
Image: Left to Right Richard Hale – regular Bow (Indisposed for this race.), Brian Silsbury – Substitute Bow, Peter Grimaldi – Three, Alan Wigmore – Stroke, Terry Nigh – Two , Geoff Laker – Cox (Also indisposed.)
