Memories of Shanklin RC

The following account is from one of our rowers from the 1960s, Brian Silsbury.

Thank you Brian for sending it ! Note....Pat and Alan in the crew!

Sink or Swim

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­Exploring an outlet for my restlessness, I returned to Shanklin Sandown Rowing club and joined a racing crew. The club was quick to rope me into a race against our arch rivals, Ryde Rowing Club, the most formidable club in the Island. They had just introduced a new four mile, marathon race and named it the Yelf Marathon in honour of their benefactor, the Yelf’s Hotel.

It was planned to be a challenging row in coastal fours, crewed by four oarsmen and a Cox. The four mile course would start from boathouse on Ryde Pier, row to a tall wooden pylon, two miles out and return to finish at the boat house.

The evening before the race, Archie, our Club Captain called a meeting at the Crab Inn,  bought the beers and got the meeting underway. “I’ve inspected our ancient and dilapidated coastal four the Westover. Unfortunately, we have a problem; it will never survive the eight mile road trip to Ryde, let alone, the four mile, marathon race.”

He took a swig of beer as he let the bad news sink in. “However all is not lost. I telephoned Clew Zinc, the Ryde Club captain and registered our crew for the race.” Archie’s face cracked into an impish grin as he continued, “While I had him on the phone I asked if we could borrow one of his club’s coastal fours. He happily agreed,  mentioning in passing, that Ryde still had two venerable coastal fours available but that  each had a minor problem; nothing serious,” He stressed.

Archie selected the usual crew for the race. He was Stroke, I rowed Three, Alan rowed Two, and Pat, in the Bow with Buddy as the Cox,

Race day arrived and we were offered the choice of two almost identical boats, Madge or  Gwen. They had been highly successful in their day. We were excited to race in either, having been beaten frequently by both boats! 

Whilst we deliberated and tried to decide which one to borrow, Clew joined us. “Just so you know, the Madge has a small tear in fabric of the bow buoyancy tank, and the Gwen, a four inch split in the hull.”

“Thanks, that settles it. We’ll take the Madge and tape over the tear.”

The cool, watery sun had long since disappeared behind dark threatening clouds and the weather deteriorated further into a cold afternoon blustery, breeze. Once on the open water, I could see the waves were building and developing white caps as we line up with the four crews using the starting lines dangling from the side rails of Ryde pier.

The starter stared down, raised his flag and yelled over the increasing wind noise, “I shall ask you once, are you ready, row.”

So saying, the flag dropped and we were on our way. 

We got away to a flying start with the rhythm and power that had developed after months of training.

Compared the Westover, the Madge was a pleasure to row; fast and responsive as we forged ahead of the other crews.

After rowing for about ten minutes, we realized the other crews were slowly gaining and we were beginning to wallow. Clearly, something was wrong. Eventually, all the other crews passed us as we struggled on.

The Madge was settling down by her bow and the choppy seas were breaking over the bow wash-board, as well as over Pat, rowing, Bow.

Thoroughly drenched, Pat managed to peer ahead at the buoyancy tank and called back. “Archie, the buoyancy quick fix tape has disappeared.” Pat got more and more drenched as he tried to shout and row.

“Our bow buoyancy tank has ruptured and is filling with water. Unable to plane, she drives her bow into the waves each time we pull.”Thankfully, I did not hear Archie’s earthy reply as the wind and waves increased while the boat slowly and inexorably settled deeper beneath us.

It was a scary and bone chilling experience as we remained seated with our feet still strapped in. I looked around and could not see any other crew or rescue boat. Madge had almost submerged as the wave’s were level with the gunnels and our waist.

“Keep rowing! We have to stay with the boat and continue to row. That will at least keep the Madge from foundering.” growled Archie.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­My mind started to wander as I remembered the advice given me by an old Shanklin longshoreman who could not swim. “If you sink, always stay with the boat. Rescuers will find the boat, but sometimes fail to find the crew.”  We were just able to move our oars enough to prevent the Madge from sinking to the bottom.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­ It seemed a lifetime before our plight was spotted by the racing officials who immediately dispatched a heavy four oared galley. Once along side we were unceremoniously plucked from the sea with strong arms that hung over the sides of the galley.

  As we huddled in the bottom of the galley, wet, cold and bedraggled we shivered uncontrollably, just as one of the rescuers quipped, “Hey lads, don’t worry we have stopped the race and will restart once you’ve dried out. Who’s game for a re-row?” Archie looked over and muttered, “Sure,” but the rest of the crew mutinied and told him what to do with his re-row!

Once back at the boat house, the Club Captain handed out generous tots of whiskey, praised and thanked us for not abandoning the Madge to her watery grave.