It Wasn't That Easy

It wasn't that Easy: Tom Godwin. John Pinkerton Memorial Publishing Fund, 2007. 200 pages paperback, £15. ISBN978-0-9552115-5-3

In his 87th year it's good to have this personal account of Tom Godwin's life in and around the sport in which he has spent his entire life, as rider (two Olympic bronze medals), bike shop owner, manager, coach, and all-round ambassador for cycling. A biography by someone else might have been bland, but Tom's own voice comes through strongly, speaking of a world quite different from that which we now inhabit, offering us an insider's view of times and mores in some ways better, in others worse, than our own.

Not surprisingly the book's core is Godwin's own childhood and subsequent career in cycling. After the Tokyo Olympics the next forty years are covered in twenty pages.

The sheer hardship and comparative deprivation of an ordinary life will be incomprehensible to most Britons under forty. Born in the United States in comfort and relative prosperity, then dragged back to a wretched suburban existence in 1930s England which he describes as ‘degrading', (ten years later I benefited from the rural equivalent) it's not surprising that Tom developed into a self-reliant youth.

Some may describe the book as ‘controversial', which is only one man's code for ‘I disagree with what he says.' It's true that Tom holds little back. He loved his father, but presents the old man warts and all – a chancer, a gambler and fixer, innately dishonest even to cheating his own son. His insistent mismanagement of Tom's career – he must ride everything at all distances instead of specialising – probably deprived his son of world championships at selected events, unlike Harris, whose innate talent was probably no greater. Father Charlie had experience of handling boxers, for whom ‘drying out' was considered the done thing for three or four days before a fight. For a cyclist it was a disaster, and the young Godwin must have frequently competed when thoroughly dehydrated.

Being himself, like Hamlet, ‘free of all contriving', Tom seems to have been identified as a victim by those less scrupulous, his father included: manoeuvred out of a job promotion, imposed upon by a business partner, cheated of his prizes by his own father (he tried to sell Tom's most valued trophy and take a £250 cut for himself), ignored for international selection despite being national champion, disgracefully cheated out of victories, particularly by the Manchester Wheelers officials who seem to have achieved an exceptional standard of chicanery even for the disgusting NCU. The Wheelers were, of course, Harris's club and when Tom refused to sell his Muratti Cup to Harris's personal mentor, Tom McDonald, he was told, ‘You'll never ride at a Wheelers' meet again' – in effect, he was warned off one of the country's principal tracks – and they kept their word.

He beat most of his contemporaries, including, on occasions, Reg Harris, the consummate non-amateur, whom he despised as a man while respecting his athletic abilities. Reg would do pretty well anything to win, buying races, faking injuries and mechanical problems, and employing as soigneur Louis Guerlache, who offered Tom ‘a little help' at a World Championships and who stormed out when Tom said ‘no'. Incidentally, I've never really understood why druggies are quite so offended when you turn them down. Guilt? Shame when faced with honesty? An secret awareness, desperately suppressed, that you're better than them? One I know used to greet any good performance with, ‘Good ride, what are you on?'

Tom could be obstinate, never suffered fools gladly, as those of us who visited his shop in Kings Heath will remember, yet he is also a man of great charm and highly-developed social skills. Like many young riders he was cosseted at first, but branded as ‘difficult' when officialdom found he could think for himself. The pattern was repeated when he became a manager and coach. He would be in, then out, one team would win triumphantly, another, just as good, would flop. The lack of support, official and financial, was often responsible for low morale, and team managers had no say in selection, which was the province of the sport's politicians. But possibly more destructive was the general climate of ‘anything goes', especially for a man for whom self-discipline was almost a totem, and who approached his sport with seriousness.

But Tom ran the first British training camp in Mallorca and the first Track Course at Lilleshall, founded the Birmingham RCC, was among the pioneers in training coaches, and trained and mentored a generation of British track riders, many of whom won national and international titles and medals, and still thank him for what he did for them.

For my generation Harris remains literally a household name, but Godwin is, in defiance of the proverb, a prophet honoured in his own city. Harris sold all his trophies for cash and ended broke and cashless. Godwin, essentially an amateur, considered that sport is its own reward and never sold the trophies which evoke so many memories. He was, it seems, in those days that rarity, now quite extinct, a man of honour.

Fine production, illustrated with numerous photos, and with a useful index. All funds go to the John Pinkerton Memorial Fund.

Ray Minovi