Читать книгу Rowing - R. C. Lehmann - Страница 5

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If the tiro who aspires to be an oarsman has ever seen a really good eight-oared crew in motion on the water, he will probably have been impressed not so much by the power and the pace of it as by the remarkable ease with which the whole complicated series of movements that go to make up a stroke is performed. The eight blades grip the water at the same moment with a perfect precision, making a deep white swirl as they sweep through; the bodies swing back with a free and springy motion; the slides move steadily; and almost before one has realized that a stroke has been begun, the hands have come squarely home to the chest and have been shot out again to the full extent of the arms, the blades leaving the water without a splash. Then with a balanced swing the bodies move forward again, the oar-blades all in a level line on either side, and, presto! another stroke has been started. Nothing in these movements is violent or jerky; there are no contortions—at least the tiro can see none, though the coach may be shouting instructions as to backs and shoulders and elbows—and the boat glides on her way without a pause or check.

What sort of spectacle, on the other hand, is afforded by a thoroughly bad eight? The men composing it have chests and backs together with the usual complement of limbs that make up a human being; they are provided with oars; their ship is built of cedar and fitted with slides and outriggers—in short, as they sit at ease in their boat, they resemble in all outward details the crew we have just been considering. But watch them when they begin to row. Where now are the balance, the rhythm, the level flash of blades on the feather, the crisp beginning, the dashing and almost contemptuous freedom of bodies and hands in motion, the even and unsplashing progress of the ship herself? All these have vanished, and in their place we see a boat rolling like an Atlantic liner, oars dribbling feebly along the water or soaring wildly above it, each striking for the beginning at the sweet will of the man who wields it, without regard to anybody else; eight bodies, cramped and contorted almost out of the semblance of humanity, shuffling, tumbling, and screwing, while on eight faces a look of agony bears witness to such tortures as few except Englishmen can continue to suffer without mutiny or complaint. It is not a noble or an inspiring sight; but it may be seen at Oxford or at Cambridge, on tidal waters, and even at Henley Regatta.

What, then, is the main cause of the difference between these two crews? It lies in good "style"—style which is present in the one crew and absent from the other. And this style in the rowing sense merely sums up the result, whether to individuals or to a crew, of long and patient teaching founded upon principles the correctness of which has been established ever since rowing became not merely an exercise, but a science in keelless racing ships. And here one comment may be added. It is the habit of every generation of rowing men to imagine that they have invented rowing all over again, and have at last, by their own intelligence and energy, established its principles on a firm foundation. Within my own experience, five at least of these generations believed that for the first time the virtues of leg-work had been revealed to them, four thought they had made out a patent in the matter of body-swing, and six were convinced that they had discovered length of stroke and firmness of beginning. In the eyes of these young gentlemen, the veterans whom they occasionally condescended to invite to their practice were harmless and well-meaning enthusiasts, who might have made a figure in their day, but who were, of course, utterly unable to appreciate the niceties of rowing as developed by their brilliant and skilful successors.[1] Amiable presumption of youth and innocence! The fact is, of course, that the main principles of good rowing are the same now as they have always been, on long slides or on short slides, or even on fixed seats. And, personally, I have always found that the hints I gathered from such men as Dr. Warre, Mr. W. B. Woodgate, Mr. J. C. Tinne, or Sir John Edwards-Moss, whose active rowing days were over before sliding seats came into use, were invaluable to me in the coaching of crews.