Cambridge Lent Bumps 1992 - a retrospective account

The other day I found a hand-written account of my part in the Cambridge Lent Bumps of 1992 as number 6 rower in the Queens' College Third Eight.

It's a bit off-topic, but it's the single experience which fired up my sporting competitiveness and self-belief... for me, this event was utterly transformative.

For background, here is an overview of what this is all about... and here is a more in-depth description.



It was the first time ever that I had really become involved in any sport.  I have never been coordinated at ball sports, and as such my presence on a pitch has usually been the weakest link in a lack-lustre team.  I had rowed briefly at school, but as a scrawny and unenthusiastic teenager I found it to be a mind-numbingly tedious activity.

In January, training began in earnest.  I was openly disgruntled about the amount of time commitment that was expected of the crew; three to five outings on the river per week, plus weight training, running and (occasional) ergo sessions.  In practice, it wasn't so bad, once I got off the baseline of relative lack of fitness, I began to feel increasing pride in the amount of physical work I could do.  As a crew, we all got on extremely well; there must be some kind of bonding process which is forged by the dismal silence of the early morning rendezvous in the porter's lodge.  Our rowing was, however, a bit mediocre.  We were unable to balance the boat, which made us slow in the waterappear pitifully amateur.  I foresaw the Bumps as an event which might possibly be exciting, but an ordeal nonetheless to be got over and done with.  In one race earlier in the term my slide had got disoldged three times, making for a rotten afternoon.

On the first day of the Bumps we felt gleeful pride in catching Selwyn's boat.  We had been allocated a new Aylings craft, and remarkably we could sit it... our confidence was transformed.  It was a long, hard push to catch Selwyn, having been assured that we should catch them in the first two minutes.  The excitement of hearing one, two and then three whistle blasts as we inched up on them fuelled the adrenalin, and afterwards I wanted to be sick.

The second day, by contrast, was all over barely as soon as we had got into our stride.  It was a rough, windy day, and destructive collisions were happening all along the course.  Two wins out of two, but none of us felt that we had deserved it so far.

By the third day, the Bumps had suddenly began to matter much more.  I dreamed about them the night before and found myself fidgeting in anticipation all morning.  If we bumped today, we would have everything to go for.  Four bumps out of four is regarded as the pinnacle of achievement and entitles you to have your own illuminated blade. 

The crew's concentration as we rowed down to the start was impeccable, and our rowing more precise than it had ever been.  What a race!  It was a drawn-out version of day 1, in which we rowed like fury but were unable to catch Addenbrookes right up to the finish line.  There, past the crowds at the Pike and Eel, Addenbrookes abruptly ran out of steam and we bumped them just a boat length away from the end of the course.  Physically and mentally, we were drained.

On the fourth day, we were really in with a chance of glory.  I was desperately keyed up, and the minutes before the vstarting gun were agony.  We began with a superb start, and as we rowed into the first corner the whistles began; we were closing in with a frenzy of exhilaration and anticipation.  This was it.

And then it happened.  Another boat which had already bumped was tucked into an already tight corner.  The boat, with its poor rudder response, was unable to get around it.  We crashed noisily.  Fleeting joy, then panic and despair as we looked over our shoulders and realised that we had hit the wrong boat, and our quarry was now receding into the distance.  More drama then unfolded.  The Addenbrookes boat that we had bumped the day before smashed into us at high speed, and promptly sank.  I am left with a vision in my mind of the crew swimming to the bank, with two oarsmen standing in the submerged hull, waving frantically at another oncoming boat to stop.  The two hundred or so spectators on the bank were also roaring for it to stop, which it did - just in time.  Our boat was badly damagedat the bow, and the stern four (I included) had to row the half-submerged craft back to the boathouse, to be greeted by howls of laughter from the crowds on the bank.

It was the ultimate ignominy after such close glory.  Victory had been so tantalisingly near, and I had become emotionally involved in sport in a way that I had never done before.  We almost scooped the top prize, but it got snatched away from us.  Such is the unpredictability of the Bumps.