I live in a town on the confluence of rivers. Water is a significant part of my local landscape and so is rowing.
In any weather, the hardy rowers can be found ploughing a furrow through the Thames.
We are a nation of rowers and Surrey is in the heart of rowing country.
We like to do well at rowing in international competitions. This year, there is a small sporting event taking place on home soil, and water. You may have heard if it.
Hopefully, we will do well. But however we do, the rowers will still be out on the Thames, doing their thing, every day.
“How fared it with the wind,” I said, “when stroke increased the pace?
You swung it forward mightily, you heaved it greatly back.
Your muscles rose in knotted lumps, I almost heard the crack.
And while we roared and rattled too, your eyes were fixed like glue.
What thought went flying through your mind, how fared it, Five, with you?”
But Five answered solemnly, “I heard them fire a gun.
No other mortal thing I heard until the Race was done.”