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Shot-and-shell days
Ride and be Damned: Chas Messenger. Pedal Publishing 1998. 151 pages hardback,
illustrated. From Pedal Publishing, 31 High Firs Crescent, Harpenden Herts AL5
1NB. ISBN 9 780953 409600.
'I hate this stuff about the old days – never read it,' a coach told me
recently. Sure, mere whimsical anecdotes are just self-indulgence. But those
who fail to learn the lessons of history are condemned to repeat its mistakes.
Racing was a part of cycling from the beginning, but in the UK it attracted
extraordinary persecution by the police and in 1894 racing on the roads was
actually banned. Thus, while road racing flourished on the European mainland,
in Britain it ceased. In 1937 the NCU and the RTTC formally agreed to outlaw it
for good.
Enter Percy Stallard, international roadman and road racing fanatic. In 1940 he
pointed out that with petrol rationing and no traffic the time had never been
riper for the birth of racing on the roads. Against screams of protest from the
NCU, the RTTC (they banned him sine die) and the cycling press (with the
honourable exception of The Bicycle), Stallard put on the first British open
road race, Llangollen – Wolverhampton, on 7th June 1942, and Albert Price won
it. It was the trigger, but the British League of Racing Cyclists owed its
inception to men like Charles J. Fox and Syd Copley. The BLRC came into being
in November 1942
In 1944 the NCU had 60,000 members, a figure which reflects the huge base of
cyclists at the time. The League, with a mere 450 survived for 16 years. It was
always under-funded and often seemed determined to commit suicide. Founding
fathers and dedicated workers were thrown out, reinstated, and thrown out again.
Chas Messenger's grasp of history doesn't always follow a chronological
pattern, and bits of it are sometimes vague, but we get the general picture.
It's an unedifying story, immensely convoluted, and it's no surprise that
Chas's account isn't always clear. While we owe a great debt to many of these
pioneers, others behaved very badly indeed. Much of what happened can only be
explained by personal vanity, self-aggrandisement, and a desire for power,
however little, on the part of individuals who valued themselves above the
public good. Sounds familiar?
Against this corrosive background the racing went from strength to strength,
from single day events to a long series of stage races, often surviving on a
knife-edge, via the Daily Express Tours of Britain, and, eventually, the Milk
Race. You can see why people hanker for the shot-and-shell days, and remember
the battles with desperate affection – never do we feel more alive than at the
brink of the precipice. You can see, too, why so many resented the birth of the
British Cycling Federation in 1959 as the selling-down-the-river of their most cherished principles.
This story is what any monolithic body which seeks complete control has to
remember – or learn, if you're too young.
Production values are a model of book design, in large format (11" x 9"), all
of it, text included, in a sort of green sepia tint which suits those old
photos perfectly. And there are lots of them. Modern readers will be stunned by
the size of the crowds, even for modest local races.
Those who remember The Leaguer, or have Chas's earlier books ("Where there's a
Wheel", "Cycling's Circus", "Cycling Crazy") will be familiar with his intensely
personal style, but he's always an entertaining and exciting writer who never
allows himself to worry unduly about such obstacles as spelling, grammar,
punctuation, ('bringing the reigns of the League together') and overuse of
inverted commas. It doesn't matter too much until the meaning is actually lost
– it does happen. Exciting or not, a bit of judicious editing and more care
with proof-reading would have enhanced a beautiful book and a necessary account
of part of British cycling's history.
Ramin Minovi
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