THE WEATHER gods certainly had their say at yesterday's Blaydon Races - but they still could not spoil a brilliant - if very wet - 150th anniversary of Geordie Ridley's tune.
Dark clouds had been gathering on Tyneside all afternoon as flagship celebrations took place at Grey's Monument in Newcastle and beside Shibdon Pond in Blaydon.
Typically, though, the drizzle had somehow held off until all the runners were lined up at the bottom of the Groat Market for the start at 6pm.
And, pretty soon, those dark clouds had unleashed their torrents of rain, flooding the tarmac and soaking us as we headed alang the Scotswood Road.
Mercifully, the rain had eased a little by the time I had squelched across the Scotswood Bridge and around the Derwenthaugh loop as a series of bands encouraged us hearty souls alang the 5.9-mile route.
By then, heading into the last third of the race alang the Chainbridge Road, I knew I was going to make it again to the amended finish line this year.
That feeling came as quite a relief for, throughout the afternoon, my anxiety had unfortunately tried once again to get the better of me.
Specifically, I worried that my failure this year to do any training at all would cost me on the way round - even to the extent that I might collapse or at least embarrass myself by failing to finish.
Of course, my nervous disposition this time had some rational thought behind it - and my stiff leg muscles today are testament to the fact that it certainly is not best practice to run without training.
In the end, though, my negative mindset had still made far too much of the task ahead of me.
Indeed, as I ran onto the new finish on the Shibdon Road playing fields, the official timer told me that I had completed the race in 69 minutes - exactly the same as last year.
Now, I am fully aware that such a time is hardly an outstanding achievement. Certainly, my sister can be a lot prouder having broken through the hour mark this year.
But, like a horse competing in the Grand National at Aintree, my primary aim was simply just to negotiate a safe path all the way round.
Incidentally, Ridley's verse (see below) tells of an incident-packed bus journey from Balmbra's in Newcastle to a horse race on Stella island.
Crashing on the way, the bus loses a wheel and some of its passengers require medical attention. But those who continue eventually reach the racecourse on a rain-soaked day where they find "spice stalls, an' munkey shows, an' aud wives selling ciders" among other attractions.
As such, it just seemed to be keeping with tradition that I allowed myself a few fizzy ciders in the Bisley pub in Blaydon while gathering my post-race thoughts.
Prevalent among them was a sense of pride in taking part in one of the biggest days in Blaydon's history. However, I did also wonder just how well I might do at the event if I ever managed to train properly for it.
Ah well, there's always next year. Perhaps...
(1862)
Geordie Ridley
Aw went to Blaydon Races, 'twas on the ninth of Joon,
Eiteen hundred an' sixty-two, on a summer's efternoon;
Aw tyuk the 'bus frae Balmbra's, an' she wis heavy laden,
Away we went alang Collingwood Street, that's on the road to Blaydon.
Ah me lads, ye shud have seen us gannin',
We pass'd the foaks upon the road just as they wor stannin';
Thor wes lots o' lads an' lasses there, all wi' smiling faces,
Gawn alang the Scotswood Road, to see the Blaydon Races.
We flew past Airmstrang's factory, and up to the "Robin Adair",
Just gannin' doon te the railway bridge, the 'bus wheel flew off there.
The lasses lost their crinolines off, an' the veils that hid their faces,
An' aw got two black eyes an' a broken nose in gan te Blaydon Races.
When we gat the wheel put on away we went agyen,
But them that had their noses broke they cam back ower hyem;
Sum went to the Dispensary an' uthers to Doctor Gibbs,
An' sum to the Infirmary to mend their broken ribs.
Noo when we gat to Paradise thor wes bonny gam begun;
Thor was fower-an-twenty on the 'bus, man, hoo they danced an' sung;
They called on me to sing a sang, aw sung them "Paddy Fagan",
Aw danced a jig an' swung my twig that day aw went to Blaydon.
We flew across the Chain Bridge reet into Blaydon toon,
The bellman he was callin' there, they call him Jackie Broon;
Aw saw him talkin' to sum cheps, an' them he was pursuadin'
To gan an' see Geordy Ridley's show in the Mechanics' Hall at Blaydon.
The rain it poor'd aw the day an' myed the groond quite muddy,
Coffy Johnny had a white hat on - they war shootin' "Whe stole the cuddy?!"
There wes spice stalls an' munkey shows an' aud wives selling ciders,
An' a chep wiv a hapenny roond aboot, shootin' "Noo, me lads, for riders."
No comments:
Post a Comment