London at the End of the Century:A Book of Gossip
a Beckett, Arthur William
THE MORAL OF THE BOAT RACE.
We had been to the at Mortlake, and were returning to Putney with the tide. Just after leaving the Barnes Bridge our crew were called upon to give up to have a row. Then they It was a splendid eight minutes. My
|friend, Mr. Lehmann, shouted out all sorts of cries of encouragement. Now and again I heard the yells of the hunting-field finding a place amongst the echoes of the towing-path. It was a beautiful sight; one never to be forgotten. The boat sprang at almost every stroke. The blades of the oars worked like clockwork. The crew strove with the earnestness of Englishmen.|
And as I watched them I could not help feeling that in the youngsters before me were the true germs of the British race. They were all good in the schools, but it was something more that shone in the bright good-looking faces of the heroes of the river. I recognised in the men before me the stock from which come the and the There was not a man amongst them, from the sturdy little steerer up to gigantic No. 5, who would not have held his own at Glencoe or shown Tommy Atkins the way into the Redan at Sebastopol. Here before me were the descendants of the men who had fought at Agincourt, Crecy, and Waterloo. And here were they exhibiting the same fine old British pluck that had carried their ancestors triumphantly through the treacheries of the Peninsula and the cruel mismanagement of the Crimea. Oh, it was a grand sight! The sort of sight that makes one's eyes glisten and one's heart beat a little faster at the thought that the blood coursing through one's
|veins was British born, and belonged exclusively to the children of Britannia.|
will say any of the crew or their successors, who reads the above language, quoting the immoral criticism of Lord Arthur Pomeroy.
I reply in advance.
And so it was. While our lads can row and live up to rowing we need not fear for the Union Jack. It will keep floating all the world over.