Sometime at the beginning of September 1957 while I was waiting to go up to Oxford, I received a letter in Broadstairs from a Richard Hill (RGCH) who was then Captain of Boats at St Catherine's, asking me to consider trying out for the college rowing club. This was quite an awakening for me. How could a RGCH have known that from the age of 11 or so I had been fascinated by the water, both sea and sailing, river and rowing? How could he have known that my aunt, who liked outside activities, had asked when I visited her in London during school holidays as to what we could do on her weekends off from her work? In addition to taking me with her to her Rambling Club, she arranged several times to take me to Windsor or Richmond where she rented a rowing boat for the day. We would then row along the Thames - just Heaven - and have a picnic lunch moored up against the river bank.

The second thing about this letter that startles me was that never in my seven years at grammar school had anyone been sufficiently interested in me to ask what kind of sport I liked or offered to train/coach me in how to play that sport. As good as my school was scholastically, no-one, none of the captains of cricket, hockey, rugby, ever approached this apparently undeveloped youngster and said, 'I believe you have talent or interest and we would like to teach you'. And yet here was this unknown person, sight unseen, with sufficient confidence in me as to offer to teach me how to row. What a gift he had made me.

And so I found myself at Paddington Station shortly after New Year, 1959, meeting up with my colleagues to be trained in a brand new clinker Eight, built in Putney. We had all rowed in it the previous day and were now on our first leg of rowing it from London to Oxford. The heavy rains had added to the downstream current so plans had been made to commence our training at Henley. We took the train down to Henley and then started two days of training in our new boat, All Rabbits Friends and Relations, at the Leander Club.

The camaraderie, dinners together, walking around the foggy, shining streets of Henley at night, the confidence in each other as a team was magical and it reached out to everyone one of us. We stayed at the White Hart Hotel on those frosty nights in cosy rooms with beams, very snug and warm. Rob Roughly (RR), who was then Captain of Boats, despite his large size, coached and even coxed the boat, standing precariously in the stern explaining the various intricacies of the stroke in his own inimitable way while we struggled manfully to keep the boat in balance!

On our departure from Henley one cold, frosty morning, we rowed up to our first lock, Marsh I believe. I rowed bow and Peter Davies, who by then had become a great friend, at number two. Suddenly as we approached the lock, a small cry went up from the cox and we found ourselves sliding freely over the surface of the water and then the whole brand new boat sitting on a thin layer of ice. The bow compartment had been punctured and although no water had as yet come through into the boat where we sat, orders were given for the bow side to break the ice with our blades and to manoeuvre the boat closer to the river bank. This was ultimately accomplished and after one or two of use had managed to get ashore, the boat was hauled out. Evidently the lock was undergoing repair, the water having been diverted. The lack of flow in this section of the river had resulted in the surface freezing over. I guess the cox must have been surprised on suddenly seeing a fine line on the water not knowing what this represented before calling out 'Easy Oars!'.

The lorry which was following our travels with our gear finally transported us to the Beetle and Wedge Inn ('The History of Mr Polly') just outside Wallingford. There we trained for another day or two, with a temporary patch on the boat, on the stretch of river by Sonning. As the water was so high and partly overflowing the river banks, it was not deemed prudent to continue all the journey to Oxford by river. A further memory I have is of Rob moving people around in the boat so as to better focus on them, so that one day at Sonning Reach he assigned Peter to stroke and me to number 7. What an exhilarating and inspiring leader he was.

The trip as always remained with me as it signified so much what Oxford was for me. It was a turning-point in my life, a transition from a somewhat puny, diffident, fearful boy growing up in the shadow of post-war England, to someone who suddenly had opportunities opened up to him and confidence placed in him. This was certainly not how I had felt at school, even though I had excelled scholastically. This was a freedom offered with no bounds; the sense of it has stayed with me to this day. Thank you RGCH and RR, my thoughts are always with you; you have no idea what this rowing experience meant to me.

David J Morris
Providence
Rhode Island
U.S.A.