The KGB

Start of a 1930's Midland Marathon on the track at Oakengates bottom left on the photo below.

Oakengates today with the church top left and the mown field where the track was.

 

Dear Blog,

                Last week I went away to Wales for a few days ... and guess what? That bloody butterfly in the Brazilian rain forest has been at it again. One tiny flicker of the wings and consequence follows consequence to be backed up by consequence to the power of 3.14 ... so how do I go from the javelin throw to the KBG in one easy move, you ask???? Telford and Moscow Centre in the flutter of a wing. How come?  I hear you ask Blog. Well if you will allow a little ramble I will endeavour to do my best to explain without losing my needle and thread. Read on.

                As I may have told you before, dear Blog, told you many, many, many times, my Great Tome on 'The History of Coventry Godiva Harriers and Other Athletic Clubs in the city during the last 140 years' is still my obsession but I have added a comparative study of a northern harrier club which failed to survive. This comparison is to highlight the differences and consequences of patronage of various sorts.

               In the 1920s and 30s, the top running track in the Midlands was at Oakengates, Shropshire  - I have several photographs of Godiva members competing there. Well three weeks ago, the Godiva Club had a Midland Track League competition at Telford and as I had a couple of hours to spare before I officiated at the inter club shot putt competition I thought I would have a wander around Telford to try to find where the old track had been. I had done considerable research beforehand but had found nothing of substance which gave me a clue as to where the location was so I was going in cold - and the  weather was cold as it happened that day, so I was wrapped up well.

              My first foray into the unknown was to ask the old dear doing the refreshments in the little cabin for the officials lunch. 'Did she know where the old Oakengates' Track used to be??' 'Yes, just at the back of the Telford track where the Midland league was taking place all around you'; 'the long jump is still there' she added. That was the easi peasiest piece of research I had ever done so I went to have a look. We do have cross country races on the site and around the adjoining playing fields in the winter so I knew the area fairly well. To sum up, the old dear doing the refreshments for the officials in the little cabin was talking out of her limp lettuce and ham sandwiches.

             My next tack was to enquire of the doddery old fella in charge of the officials signing-in sheets. I went to his little office adjacent to the track entrance where the Midland League was taking place all around me and posed the same question. 'No idea, never heard of it and I've lived here all my life.' So from total certainty to total uncertainty  in the time it took Linford Christie to run the 100m. 'But someone once told me that there was a track of sorts at St Georges but I don't know.' was his next sentence. 'Where is St Georges?' I asked. 'Up in Oakengates'. Oakengates, Oakengates? OAKENGATERS!! 'How do I get there?' 'Out of the Sports Centre gates, turn left for about 50 yards (read metres Blog)  then take a right and follow the road until you come to a mini roundabout. Turn left and go down the road until you come to St Georges Church.' 'Ta, how far?' 'About two miles'.[3000 metres Blog]  Now I have the high jump to help officiate in a couple of hours time so I trudged~walked in the direction I was given.

Point 1:- the doddery old bloke didn't tell me it was up hill all the way and I had forgotten to bring my crampons. I shall propose to the English Fell Running Association that next year they hold their Trials for the European Fell Running Championship between the Telford all weather running track and St. Peters Church in Oakengates! Enough said.

Point 2:- the first mini roundabout took me into a very nice residential estate with some pleasant houses and neat gardens. Most houses had expensive cars parked on the driveways and clearly, no one seemed short of a bob or two (a Euro or deux to you Blog).

Point 3:- it started to chuck it down, and did it rain or did it rain? Luckily a young woman was running along the pavement pushing a buggy as fast as she could to get out of the bucketing rain storm. I must say, that I had considerable difficulty trying to keep up the tempo run as I jogged along side. I was hardly able to ask for redirections from her as I had clearly strayed from my intended path. She pointed out that there was another mini roundabout further up the mountain and that I should retrace my steps back through the very nice residential estate with some pleasant houses and neat gardens with their posh cars and carry on up the mountain for another 400 yards (392 metres to you Blog). I gasped my thanks as the rain stopped, but I was wet through anyway with all the clothes I had on and the testing climb from camp 2, having made me sweat excessively.

                           Bingo, there was St George's Church and guess what was alongside it, in the next field? Yes, a cricket square with it's newish pavilion and an older one further away with another cricket square, and a cricket match taking place on each!!! So where's the track, I hear you ask Blog??????????? Track? No track!!!

                          The old pavilion seemed the best bet. I asked a cricketer who must have been W.G.Grace's granddad if there used to be an athletics track nearby. He took his ear trumpet away from his ear and said he had no idea but there was a plaque in the new pavilion dedicated to Jesse Owens. If he had said Captain Barclay, I might have believed him, but Jesse Owens??? Clearly a case of too much of Eve's cider from the forbidden tree. To humour him I went over to the new pavilion and asked W.G.Grace's dad if there used to be a running track hereabouts. 'Aye, and a plaque too'. I could have hugged him but I can't stand the smell of snuff. Well that is not strictly true. I lost my sense of smell a couple of decades back but I could remember what it smelled like as Mrs Harland, our next door neighbour but one, used to shove pounds of it up her nose when I was a kid (kilograms of it Blog - hang in there, we still have a couple of pages to go before the butterfly really starts to flap).

                             Inside the pavilion was a very nice commemorative plaque to the 1924 Midland Championships with an engraving and a Midlands 100 yards (92 metres Blog, did you remember from last time earlier on in this ditty??)  gold medal. It celebrated Harold Abrahams win a few weeks before he won gold at the same distance in the Olympic Games in Stockholm. The plaque had been dedicated to him and had been unveiled in 2008 by his adopted daughter. Seated at one of the tables supping some stuff was Methuselah and his two brothers. 'There's some photos in the backroom, if you are interested, and the old track which you asked about was just where the cricketers are playing now.' One of the trio could remember running on it as a boy and there then followed a three hour discourse as to when the track closed. Suffice to say, it was in the 70s or 80s. I took photos of the photos and photos of the wall plaque and photos of the ground and photos of where the grandstand would have been with the church in the background.

An excellent day of research.

And time for a quick trudge back to the track and my duties as a hammer throw official.

Point 4:- it was all downhill trudging on the way back, if only I had brought my skate board, if only.

Flutter, flutter keep your eye on the butterfly Blog.

Ding, ding. The name of the lady (Abrahams daughter rang a distant bell).

 Ding Ding Ding DING DING

Blog I kid you not. 4 am the following morning I was wide awake as the bell tolled!!

           Believe it or not, the family had decided months back to go on holiday the following week to Wales and to go to Harlech which we used to visit every year for ten / fifteen years or so after we married. Every time I had a summer / autumn marathon invite to race abroad I used to spend a couple of weeks training in the sand dunes to get used to running tired in the heat -  a very useful ploy which tip will no doubt be appearing in an athletics' magazine near you in the next few weeks, Blog. A tip which is of more use than all the rubbish they print these days by the experts who all have an armful of badges to let everyone know just how knowledgeable they are about athletics.

Flutter, flutter, flap, flap. Hang on Blog, we are nearly there.

              And where did Abraham's daughter live when I did my research on my return home that evening, you ask Blog. Yes, quite correct, she lived in Harlech where she owned a shop. Can't believe it can you Blog, but I kid you not. So that's one day of the holiday taken care of then??? And it gets flap better flutter.

             Why, you ask Blog, did the name of the daughter ring a bell, ding dong?

             Well, you may be surprised to learn that I used to be a bit of a radical when I were a bit of a lad, like, and that surname was doubly significant, as it was the name of a pacifist / anti nuclear campaigner / committee of 100 and also was the name of one of the three people who sprang George Blake from jail in 1966, the same person as it happened, Abraham's daughter's husband no less. In case you are unaware of the fact Blog, George Blake was one of the spys for the KGB in the cold war scenario, Burgess, MacLean, Philby, Blunt and Blake et al. As someone who helped a KGB agent to escape, he was never prosecuted until years later in the 1980s when he published a book, not so much to justify his actions but to clear up all the rumours and counter rumours concerning the whys and wherefores of the escape.

              And so it came to pass that on my holidays in Wales in Harlech, I did meet the Harold Abraham's daughter.

Flutterbye, bye bye .

                                           Colin  

P.S. I have told you before, Blog, you could not make this stuff up .... and if you did no one would believe me. But Blog, I kid you not ..... from long jump run up in Telford to Moscow KGB Centre in the time it would take me to trudge a marathon now.