The 1948 Marathon lineup	Jim Miller (nearest camera) and the Queen Mother

Some running archaeology
by Jim Miller

I regularly watch ‘Time Team’ on Channel 4 which involves a group of people, some in funny hats and all spurred on by Baldrick, digging holes in the ground to reveal ancient artefacts which throw light on bygone life-styles.  

I’ve recently unearthed some arty facts about running in my younger days  (yes, I was young once) which reveal that in some ways running has changed quite a lot in less than a life-time.  Nowadays most people think of a Marathon as an event in which thousands of men and women take part, many with the sole aim of finishing the course regardless of how long it takes and many in all sorts of fancy dress. At the head of the race there is usually a small band of professional runners, paid thousands of pounds just to appear and earning vast amounts in prize money and sponsorship if they win. It was not always thus. 

My running career began with cross-country but I had a yen to run long distance, inspired by British runners winning silver medals in the two most recent Olympic marathons. A school friend shared my enthusiasm so in school holidays we occasionally ran on the road, increasing our distance until we achieved over 10 miles round Richmond Park. We thought we were heroic. 

Army boots then mainly replaced running shoes for over six years - during which my friend was killed. After de-mob I joined Surrey Athletic Club and ran cross-country again, 5 to 10 miles through the winter, road relays in the spring and a lay-off in the summer. I was still keen to run a marathon but was urged to wait until I was much older.  So I kept quiet but went on planning, even travelling up to Loughborough to watch the annual AAA championship to get the feel of things.  There I saw Alan Turing, the Bletchley Park super-boffin from Guildford, come fifth behind three Olympic runners.  

So the following year I began to increase my distances, even before the road relay season ended, until I was ready for the Finchley 20 in April. Most finishers only received a time certificate but, to my great delight, I also won a standard medal - the standard then being 2hrs 15min.  I managed to improve my time two weeks later in the Surrey County 20m Championship and by then my club-mates had accepted my eccentricity and some even turned out to encourage me. 

At that time there were less than ten marathons each year of which the two most important were the AAA Championship and the Polytechnic Harriers. The latter had been held over various routes every year since 1909 (except during the first World War) and Sam Ferris had won it eight times in nine years - except when he had appendicitis (the slacker).  He had also won the Olympic Silver medal in 1932 - missing the Gold by only 19 seconds.  

In 1948 the two races were amalgamated to incorporate the Olympic selection race. It would be 6 weeks after the Surrey 20 so to make sure I could last the distance I increased my training and ran 25 miles or more on three successive weekends - once over the actual course. (see below for the effect of this) 

The expensive entry fee of 10/- (50P) was offset by the importance of the race so there was a large entry. When I got to Windsor Castle, where we changed in the stables, there were about 120 runners, all men and probably all older than me. We lined up round the inner quadrangle to be inspected by Queen Elizabeth, who was escorted by an anonymous gentleman generally known as George VI. She stopped to shake hands with all past winners, including Sam Ferris and one of my club mates.  

Every runner had to be a member of a club and wear its vest. Many runners wore plimsolls (gymshoes) but with my determination to leave nothing to chance I had lashed out  £3-8s-0d (£3.40) for a pair of leather marathon shoes made to measure by GT Law of Wimbledon. These had a very thin (2 mm) layer of sponge rubber inserted between the inner and outer soles. I wore no socks, just Vaseline on my toes. There would be no drinks stations so I carried a wet sponge, failing to realise that it would dry out completely long before even half way. And finally I carried a ‘turnip’ stop-watch, just like my idol the great Paavo Nurmi. I planned to average under 7 minutes/mile in order to get a AAA’s standard. 

The course started down the hill through Windsor and Eton, crossing the river and then through Farnham Royal, Iver, Harlington, along what was then the Great West Road (A4) until the Chiswick roundabout, then along Chiswick Strand to the Poly Stadium.  

I was with a friendly group and we reached 10 miles pretty well on schedule in 65 mins and 20 miles in just over 2 hrs 15 mins but then I began to slow even more and realised that I was not going to break 3 hours - or even the 3 hrs 15 mins I had managed in training. Along the Great West Road there was a cloudburst and at last I entered the stadium soaked to the skin and it was all over. After being very sick for a while - due to dehydration - I walked home, luckily only a mile or so away. 

When the badly typed and roneo-ed results arrived about a week later I found that I was 80th of 106 finishers but a footnote explained that “At this point “ (3 hours) “the A.A.A. Standard expired and the timekeepers, owing to the very heavy rain, did not continue.”  So after all my efforts my beautifully produced time certificate had no time on it!  Imagine the uproar there would be nowadays if officials gave up before the non-elite runners finished!   

According to my stopwatch I had managed 3 hrs 25 mins - a big disappointment.  (35 years later in my first London Marathon I achieved 3 hrs 39 mins including several minutes to get across the start line) That was the bad news; the good news was that my club captain came 16th in his first marathon and another club mate, ‘Percy’ Green who was then Editor of “Athletics” (not yet a weekly) did exactly 3 hrs 0 mins so they both got standard medals. Incidentally the winner’s time was 2 hrs 36 mins - a time which would mean finishing somewhere back in the hundreds nowadays. 

The first three home were selected for the London Olympic Games where Jack Holden was one of the favourites but dropped out at 17 miles with blisters (with all his experience?).  Imagine the excitement at Wembley Stadium when, with two runners already on the track, we saw the shambling figure of Tommy Richards come out of the tunnel and pass one of them to finish second by only 16 seconds. So that was the third British silver medal in succession in an Olympic Marathon.  There was to be a fourth, by Basil Heatley at Tokyo. 

The BBC had a movie camera following the race and their film was televised during a sports program the following week. My mother happened to know a retired lady who had indulged herself in one of those expensive and rare gadgets so we were invited round and there, on a tiny green screen, we saw highlights from the race, in one of which I appeared momentarily. Strangely enough in my first London Marathon the same thing happened again except that this time it was in full colour and many more people owned TV sets. 

"So, what's changed?  The best thing is that men and women of all abilities run together  - even though the elite may start in front.  In major races the route is closed to all other traffic, there are plenty of drink and first aid stations, porta-loos, etc and encouragement from the crowds all
the way.  At the finish there are plenty of marshals to take care of you and everyone gets a medal and an accurate time certificate. The disadvantages are the delay in crossing the start line, the difficulty of trying to run in a vast crowd, and all the jostling to get drinks, slipping about on discard paper cups

Did I learn anything from all this? Speaking personally it took me quite a few years for the main lesson to sink in, which was that, sadly, I am not cut out for marathon running. After about 2 hours my brain says “what do you think you’re doing?” and my motivation evaporates. 20M races were my best event but there were never many of them. Half marathons did not come into existence until after the 1972 Olympics and the consequent explosion of interest in road running. Give me 10K, especially at Windlesham, any day.