A century ago, in 1908, vast crowds turned out to witness London's first
marathon. They packed the roads and the streets between Windsor Castle and
the new Olympic stadium that had been built (on time and on budget) in
Shepherd's Bush. On a scorching day, curiosity and excitement guaranteed
marathon frenzy. Some wanted to catch the spectacle of a freak show, of men
attempting the impossible. Many shared a horrible fascination with watching
humans push themselves to complete exhaustion.
The men who tackled that marathon were pioneers. They were the first to
experience what has now become a magical distance - one that the whole
marathon world is celebrating after 100 years. But these early explorers
were venturing into the unknown.
Before 1908 there was no set distance for the marathon; it was simply a long
race around 40km (just short of 25 miles). The event had been modelled on
the suggestion of a French academic who suggested a run from the battlefield
of Marathon to the refurbished Olympic stadium in Athens would bring a
flavour of ancient Greece to the modern Games. The Olympic marathon distance
in Athens in 1896 was 40,000 metres; in Paris 1900 it was 40,260 metres; and
in St Louis 1904, 40,232 metres. Every time a marathon was run, the distance
would be different.
But that was to be changed by a force even more potent than that of the
founding father of the Olympics, Baron Pierre de Coubertin, at the 1908
Games - and one that attracted far more attention. It was the British Royal
Family. And it was the influence of the monarchy that gave rise to so many
colourful stories - some fact, some legend - that link this marathon and the
debate over its odd distance, to the Royal Family.
It was almost by chance that the Olympics had shipped up in London at all. The
fourth modern Games were scheduled for Rome. But even a century ago the cost
of the Olympics could make economies groan, and in 1906 the Italian
government feared the Games would bankrupt them. The crunch for the Italian
authorities was an eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 1906. They announced they
would have to pull out.
The Olympics were plunged into crisis with just two years to go before the
next opening ceremony. The International Olympic Committee turned to the
British, then in the heyday of imperial power, ruler of almost a quarter of
the globe and renowned as the cradle of modern sport. The British announced
they could take over the Olympics and had just the man to do it.
Lord Desborough was the epitome of the 19th-century gentleman amateur.
President of athletics and rowing at Oxford, he stroked an eight across the
Channel and fenced in the Olympics. He romped up the Matterhorn three times
and swam twice across the Niagara Falls. He styled himself Punting Champion
of All- England. As a war correspondent in the Sudan in 1888 he once
confronted the advancing enemy alone, armed only with an umbrella.
With enormous self-confidence, Desborough declared that these were going to be
the greatest Olympic Games ever, and proceeded to mastermind the event
without asking for a penny of public money.
Thanks to the dominance of Lord Desborough, and a close friendship with King
Edward VII, the influence of the monarchy could be witnessed everywhere. The
King often stayed with Lord and Lady Desborough at Taplow, near Reading. He
was a regular at Desborough's shooting parties and had installed his
favourite mistress, the sensual Lillie Langtry, just a stimulating walk from
Desborough's home. The King's enthusiasm for the prospect of the Olympics
shifting to London was crucial for Britain and his enchantment with the
Olympics, and the marathon in particular, was evident.
As Desborough and King Edward toyed with the idea of the Games coming to
London, many wondered how to produce a memorable echo of the race from
Marathon to Athens. Runnymede, perhaps, might be the English equivalent of
Marathon, dripping with history and tradition? Or nearby Windsor, home of
the great castle, could offer the right distance?
The task of masterminding the route was given to Jack Andrew, the honorary
secretary of the Polytechnic Harriers and a representative on the AAA
committee, and a series of trial races were run. On April 25, 1908, there
was a trial from Windsor to Wembley which clearly carried more significance
than any previous rehearsal, both for the distance and the route. It started
in the Long Walk of Windsor Park. The end of the first mile was on
Barnespool Bridge, where the only surviving marker from the 1908 Olympic
race still tells you that there are 25 miles to go.
The programme that day states: “It is hoped that the King will graciously
consent to the start being made from the terrace of the historic Castle, in
which event the distance will be about 26 miles to the edge of the Stadium
track.” That hope became reality and on July 24 the press noted that: “The
actual starting point for today's race is just below the East Terrace,
Windsor Castle, near the bronze figure of Dako (Queen Victoria's favourite
dog, a Scottish terrier) who was buried there.” For the Royal Family the
prospect of letting the children of the Princess of Wales see the start of
the marathon in the castle grounds must have been virtually irresistible.
The marathon was always planned to finish close to the Royal Box, and to bring
the runners into the stadium would add another 385 yards on the cinder track.
The course took in cobblestones and dirt and dusty tracks but the measurement
of the 26 miles 385 yards had been done thoroughly, with Andrew and his
surveyors using wheels and Ordnance Survey maps to check the distance.
However, the change in the starting location - the move from the Long Walk
to the Eastern Terrace of the castle - may have introduced yet another twist
into the debate about the distance.
John Disley, the co-founder with Chris Brasher of today's London Marathon,
believes that when the start was moved the accuracy of the earlier
measurement of the course was jeopardised. He reckons the organisers may
have got their calculations wrong.
By using maps and contemporary photographs Disley used 21st-century methods of
remeasuring that first mile to Barnespool Bridge. His conclusion is that the
first mile - and hence the marathon course - was 174 yards (159m) short. For
the next two Olympics the distance continued to vary but the “London
distance” was officially adopted in 1921.
The “London distance” may have seemed crazy, almost accidentally arrived at.
But what guaranteed it would live on and become the standard for future
marathons was the frenzy that surrounded the 1908 finish where the Italian,
Dorando Pietri, collapsed five times on the track, was put back on his feet
but disqualified for receiving assistance.
The man who finished 32 seconds behind him, Johnny Hayes, of the United
States, was awarded the gold medal, while Dorando collected a gold cup from
the hands of Queen Alexandra.
The controversial finish, and the headlines, pictures and flickering film of
the drama, stamped on this race for decades its image as a “man-killer”
event. After the struggle of 1908, the marathon story was far too good to
end at the tape.
It is a fascinating story and worthy of inclusion in a film I am doing about a history teacher. It also says much of earlier times and attitudes
Michael Stephen Nolan, Dublin, Eire