f meeting Pete's parents who came along with his brother to support the run and present the winning trophy, which now bears their son's name. What lovely people and how they have kept their dignity and poise in such tragic circumstances. The run was purgatory for me, weight has ballooned by over two stone (see the evidence alongside) and any semblance of fitness disappeared a long time ago. Treacherous icy patches didn't help and checking my watch at the one mile mark (8min, must have been long) confirmed my worst fears. Still, I caught the enormous bulk that is Dave Newport in the last mile, gave him a smug look and uttered some fanciful words like: 'good luck mate, hope you get to the finish ok'. This lump of lard then proceeded to ease past me (thankfully the road was wide at that point) and stride towards the finish leaving me speechless, less than smug and totally out of breath. .
The next day, as part of a very social Christmas / New Year (23 in our house one evening!), we had Australian visitors to lunch, Jim and Margaret Langford and their respective daughters. Jim was a top class runner, winning the Australian XC Champs on more than one occasion and finishing 30th in the World XC Champs in Limerick in 1979. A number of us went over to support Jim and despite a very heavy weekend indeed (we stayed with mad Irishman and fellow Ranelagh Harrier Gerry Walsh, who with his twin and the rest of his eight siblings could drink with the best of them), I can still remember cheering Jim on down the home straight in the pouring rain and clawing mud, and gate crashing the official party later that evening. He ran with Ranelagh and got himself totally integrated into the club scene, racing every week and rewriting the record books. I remember a classic race between him and Hugh Jones in a mob match in 1976, Jim prevailing by 10 seconds in 38.53, a course record by a long way.
Jim was so enamoured by the Ranelagh scene that the poor guy accepted an invitation to the Isle of Man Easter athletic festival. This was not a weekend for the faint-hearted. As the name implies it takes place at Easter, not the warmest time of the year. It's good for the local economy because all the guest houses get filled up out of season; unfortunately none of them have any heating! I did this event five times and always went down with a heavy cold a couple of weeks later. Whilst, again as the name implies, there was athletics involved, the weekend has other attractions also ... there are three races: a five miler on a brutal course starting & finishing on the famous TT grid and taking in the superb Douglas sea front; a 4 x 3 mile relay taking in the same tough hill as Friday night, and finally a four mile fell race on the other side of the island in Peel (this latter event not always taken that seriously, I well remember stopping for a pint after half a mile, before the climb started, downing half of it and leaving the rest for the return journey). Tradition dictates that after this last race the runners jog back across the island, about 12 miles, to Douglas ... stopping at every pub for a drink along the way! The final event of the weekend was the beer race, always totally dominated by the university teams. Manchester University, aka Far Canal AC (think about it), usually won in a canter in the 4 x 1 pint format. By this stage we were all a little tired, especially given that we didn't go to bed at 10pm each night in anticipation of the next day's race! In fact in one year a madman from Edinburgh University, Robin Thomas was his name, decided to attempt (for charity) to run 100 miles and drink 100 pints in the 100 hours of the festival weekend. He was successful in his bid despite being an epileptic. Unfortunately he was billetted in our guest house which meant either signing for yet another pint with him at 3am or, even worse, accompanying him on another couple of miles at the same hour of the morning. Unforgettable times. Jim was never the same again. He is still running though at 65 and is also adept at rogaining, a form of long distance orienteering (look it up on google).
A few days before Christmas I received an e-mail out of the blue from another Australian acquaintance, Mike Dalton (Dorley to his friends). Mike (no. 574 in the picture, a veterans 5,000m race in 2008) stumbled across my blog and got in touch, I knew there was a purpose in writing this dross, someone out there reads it and, in this case, gets in touch after many years. It works! Mike and his friend Dean Giblin (in red singlet), both from Tasmania, also ran with Ranelagh, around 1990. These guys were quality athletes (Dorley ran 1.03.56 / 2.16; Dean won our half marathon and was a top class 1500/5000m runner). Claudie and I now need to add Tasmania to our many places to visit, especially as Dorley's address is the inspirationally named Seven Mile Beach!I guess the first Aussie I knew at Ranelagh was the legendary Mal Cother - he arrived in 1970, having travelled via the Trans-Siberian express to watch the Commonwealth Games in Edinburgh. He arrived on a six month visa and left in about 1990, 20 years later! And what a legacy he left. His story telling at social dinners was amazing, he was so self-deprecating and his jokes bizarre in the extreme. The Ranelagh clubhouse used to be full of his possessions as he slept in the changing rooms for many years!
More next time on Mal plus close friends Max Little, Geoff Nicholson and George Thomas and sundry other Aussies. I might even regale readers about my 11 years working at Queensland House in London and the many friends made there if space allows. There is no doubt that my running and social heritage stems to a large extent from these wonderful Australian friends.
