The Battle of Shepherd's Bush by Hugh Farey
PRELUDE
House Lights dim to the sound of the Olympic Anthem
Then a voice - not unlike that of the current president of the IOC - announces:
VOICEOVER: The International Olympic Committee has the honour of
announcing that the games of the fourth Olympiad in 1908, are awarded
to the city of Rome!
SCENE 1: June 1905. A Hotel Lounge in Oxford.
[Lord Desborough and Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle are chatting together. A
third, older man, George Thomas, is reading nearby.]
DESBOROUGH: Yes, Rome. The Eternal City. I rather fancy going to
Rome. I didn't like the idea of America at all.
CONAN-DOYLE: Do you think the Italians can manage a job like
that?
DESBOROUGH: I didn't think the Greeks could in '96, but they
pulled it off rather well.
CONAN-DOYLE: Wasn't a Frenchman behind it?
DESBOROUGH: Pierre de Coubertin. Baron de Coubertin. He had a lot
of help, of course. The French don't really go in for sport.
CONAN-DOYLE: So what did they have? Chariot-racing? Running in
full armour? Wrestling in the nude?
DESBOROUGH: Good Lord, no. They were nothing like the classical
games at all. They did use the old stadium in Athens, but it was
completely relaid by a chap from the London Athletic Club. Perry's
his name, Charles Perry.
CONAN-DOYLE: So it was all athletics?
DESBOROUGH: There was cycling too, and swimming, tennis,
gymnastics…
CONAN-DOYLE: Fencing? Rowing?
DESBOROUGH: Fencing, perhaps.
CONAN-DOYLE: I wondered if you'd competed.
DESBOROUGH: I might have done if I'd known about it. It wasn't
well advertised over here.
CONAN-DOYLE: Did anyone go?
DESBOROUGH: A couple. Gmelin went. He was quite a keen runner, I
remember, and George Robertson.
CONAN-DOYLE: I know him. He wasn't an athlete though. Threw the
hammer I think, but not terribly seriously.
DESBOROUGH: He was a blue.
CONAN-DOYLE: In the hammer. Not much competition. No, he was a
classicist, spent most of his time in the library.
DESBOROUGH: Well that's just it. He went because it was a
classical revival and he wanted to see what discus throwing was really
like. He even wrote an ode in ancient Greek about it, which none of
the modern Greeks could understand at all, poor fellow. Still, the
King gave him a diploma.
CONAN-DOYLE: Good old George. He's a lawyer now, of course.
DESBOROUGH: There was another Oxford man. An Irishman called
Boland. I don't think he knew what was going on; he was just
spending the Easter vacation in Greece, saw the tennis competition and
joined in. He even had to buy a racquet at the local market. Anyway he
swept all before him and won both the singles and the doubles.
CONAN-DOYLE: With Robertson?
DESBOROUGH: No, a German. The chap he'd defeated in the final of
the singles.
CONAN-DOYLE: Well, well. And the next one's in Rome. At least
there's some classical connection.
DESBOROUGH: No, you don't understand; there have been two more
in between.
CONAN-DOYLE: Really? I never heard of them.
DESBOROUGH: I'm not at all surprised. One was a shambles and the
other so far away hardly anybody went at all. The shambles was Paris,
during the World Fair.
CONAN-DOYLE: Wait a minute. I was in Paris for that. I never saw
any Olympic Games.
DESBOROUGH: Well that's just it, they were just muddled in
anyhow. I'm not sure they were even called Olympic. Some
competitions were called World Championships, some were just attached
to trade shows. Fencing was part of the Cutlery Exhibition.
CONAN-DOYLE: Did you…?
DESBOROUGH: Compete? Certainly not. A handful of English teams
went across, for football, rugby and cricket and so on, and I think
there was a bit of tennis and swimming, but it was all so disorganised
I thought I was well out of it. The chap who started the whole idea
resigned and had nothing to do with it.
CONAN-DOYLE: Baron de Coubertin?
DESBOROUGH: Yes. He was so disillusioned. And things didn't get
a lot better four years later.
CONAN-DOYLE: Last year, in America?
DESBOROUGH: Yes. Poor old chap, he'd exhausted himself getting
the whole show off the ground, gathered a committee of friends from
various countries to help, and basically they'd either done nothing
at all or tried to take over completely. The Americans had another
huge Exhibition, in Missouri, and called just about everything they
did the Olympics, from Primary School Sports Days right through to
some sports they organised for Red Indians and Patagonian natives and
South Sea islanders and pigmies and all sorts. Coubertin was so
furious he never went at all, and for all practical purposes neither
did anybody else. There were 600 Americans and 50 others, as far as I
can gather. Probably most of them were already living there.
CONAN-DOYLE: I don't understand. Why didn't this Baron de
Coubertin ask the British? We've been organising sport for a hundred
years - we practically invented it. Why didn't Coubertin come here?
THOMAS: He did.
CONAN-DOYLE: I beg your pardon?
THOMAS: I'm sorry. Indeed, I beg your pardon, Sir Arthur, but I
couldn't help overhearing the last part of your conversation, which
concerned something I know a little about.
DESBOROUGH: Really? Who are you?
THOMAS: Allow me to introduce myself, Sir Arthur. My name is
George Thomas, and I was the first person to win an Olympian event at
William Brookes's Wenlock Games, from which Baron Coubertin got many
of his ideas.
CONAN-DOYLE: Good Lord.
THOMAS: I'm sixty years old now, but those games at Wenlock are
just about my first real memories. I was seven at the time.
DESBOROUGH: Seven?
THOMAS: It was 1850. My father was an innkeeper, and William
Brookes was the doctor. He was quite a small man, with bushy white
whiskers, but mostly I remember his energy. He organised the first
village games - cricket, football, quoits, races, that sort of thing.
He decided to call them Olympian Games, and organised a lot of bands
and processions and speeches to go with them. I won the first race. Dr
Brookes's son John was second. I won two shillings and sixpence, and
we both got a laurel crown and were carried on people's shoulders in
the procession at the end of the day.
DESBOROUGH: What's this got to do with Baron Coubertin? He
wasn't even born; he's only about 40 now.
CONAN-DOYLE: Mr Thomas, allow me to introduce William Grenfell,
Baron Desborough.
THOMAS: Oh! I'm so sorry, My Lord. If I'd known, I wouldn't
have…
DESBOROUGH: Please, old chap, don't mention it. I gather you
recognised Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle. I'm afraid I don't aspire to
his celebrity.
THOMAS: It's not that, My Lord. Everybody knows about your
swimming the Niagara falls and climbing the Matterhorn…
DESBOROUGH: Twice.
THOMAS: Yes. It's just that I didn't recognise…
DESBOROUGH: My face. While Sir Arthur is the frontispiece of every
detective novel in every bookshop in the land. I quite understand. Now
go on explaining what your Dr Brookes has got do with Pierre de
Coubertin.
THOMAS: Well, Sir, Dr Brookes's games carried on year after year
until he read an article in the paper about the Olympic Games being
revived in Athens.
DESBOROUGH: When was that?
THOMAS: 1858 or 9.
DESBOROUGH: You must be mistaken. The first Olympic Games in
Athens were in 1896.
THOMAS: No, they weren't. They were in 1859 and a couple of
times after that. And they were organised by a Greek called Evangelis
Zappas. Have you heard of him?
CONAN-DOYLE: Never.
DESBOROUGH: Nor me.
THOMAS: He was a rich businessman, and he revived the Olympics in
Greece. And Dr Brookes was inspired by this and improved his own
Olympian Games at Much Wenlock, and then began to organise British
Olympic Games in Liverpool and London.
CONAN-DOYLE: I've never heard of them either. When were they?
THOMAS: From about 1860 to 1880, but then they petered out. Dr
Brookes was very disappointed, and retreated back to Wenlock, and his
village games, which still went on every year.
CONAN-DOYLE: And that was that?
THOMAS: It might have been, but he was very active in the field of
children's physical education, so when he read about a congress in
Paris devoted to that very subject, he wrote to its organiser.
DESBOROUGH: Baron Pierre de Coubertin.
THOMAS: Exactly. The Baron then came to visit Dr Brookes at
Wenlock (who planted a tree for him) and decided his games were just
the sort of thing he needed as a framework for an international
revival.
CONAN-DOYLE: Football, cricket and quoits?
THOMAS: I think it was more the bands and processions that
impressed the Baron. The arrangement, if you get my meaning.
CONAN-DOYLE: Well, I'm dashed. So let me get this straight. The
Greek Zappas inspired the Englishman Brookes who inspired the
Frenchman Coubertin.
DESBOROUGH: And whatever there was before, there have been three
international Olympic Games so far, and the next ones are in Rome.
CONAN-DOYLE: Will you go?
DESBOROUGH: I don't see why not, if it's properly organised.
They'll know about fencing all right.
CONAN-DOYLE: What about rowing?
DESBOROUGH: Rowing? I don't think so. It's nearly thirty years
since I won the boat-race.
THOMAS: Will they use the Colosseum?
CONAN-DOYLE: It's too ruined now, I'm afraid, and even if it
could be repaired I don't think the arena is big enough. I imagine
they're thinking of the Circus Maximus.
DESBOROUGH: They'll probably have to get Perry back to lay a
decent track. And manage the athletics, I shouldn't wonder. At
Athens he laid the track, marked it out and did most of the
timekeeping and measuring as far as I can make out.
CONAN-DOYLE: Kept him busy.
DESBOROUGH: Oh, he was there for months. They couldn't get the
cinders for the surface of the running track, and when they got them
they couldn't roll them properly, and the old Panathenaic Stadium is
too long and thin for serious athletics. The Americans complained.
CONAN-DOYLE: They always do. I must say I don't really
understand the Yankees. They've taken up sport with such a desperate
fervour to win it's easy to see they don't understand it at all.
DESBOROUGH: The fledgling leaving the nest.
CONAN-DOYLE: And falling on its nose. They're all so keen they
don't seem to have any fun.
DESBOROUGH: They won't appreciate Rome - no culture at all.
[A servant brings in a letter.]
SERVANT: I beg your pardon, My Lord.
DESBOROUGH: Yes, Redwood.
SERVANT: There's a letter from the Greek Ambassador, My Lord.
DESBOROUGH: Thank you. Excuse me.
[He opens and reads the letter.]
CONAN-DOYLE: Mr Thomas, did you continue to compete?
THOMAS: I beg your pardon, Sir Arthur?
CONAN-DOYLE: After your success at the first Olympics.
THOMAS: Oh, I see. Oh, no, Sir Arthur, I was too busy at the
innkeeping trade. I ran a few more races as a child, but not after -
too busy selling ale to waste time playing games. I couldn't have
joined an Athletics Club anyway.
CONAN-DOYLE: Why not?
THOMAS: Well, not after that money I'd won when I was a child. I
would be considered a professional, and clubs these days are only for
amateurs.
DESBOROUGH: Arthur. Excuse me, Mr Thomas. Arthur, listen to this:
it's from the Greek Representative of the International Olympic
Association inviting us to the next Olympic Games… in 1906!
CONAN-DOYLE: But they're not due till 1908.
DESBOROUGH: These are called 'Intermediate.' Apparently there
was a movement after the first Games to keep them in Athens, but it
never came to anything. Now, when the next two have been such a
shambles, the idea's been revived. There are going to be Olympic
Games every two years, alternating between Athens and other cities
from around the world.
CONAN-DOYLE: Good Lord.
DESBOROUGH: What fun. I wonder if Cosmo Duff-Gordon's available,
and Theo Cooke; we could make up a fencing team. Do you fence at all,
Arthur? Why don't you come? We'll sail across on Tommy de
Walden's yacht.
CONAN-DOYLE: I'm sorry, Willy, I don't think my fencing's up
to it at all; not at my age.
DESBOROUGH: Nonsense; you're only a few years older than me. I
won't take no for an answer. Do some research for your next Sherlock
Holmes book. Look, I'd better get to work. If you'll excuse me,
Gentlemen, I think I'll start writing letters; there's not much
time. Arthur, Mr Thomas.
[The party breaks up. Blackout.]
SCENE 2: May 1906. A Hotel in Athens.
[Two of America's finest athletes and good friends, Ray Ewry and
Martin Sheridan, are relaxing after a workout.]
EWRY: 24 reps in 8 minutes. Not bad, eh, Martin?
SHERIDAN: Very good. How's the hurdling?
EWRY: Very funny. Standing's what I'm good at; standing's
what I'll stick to. Gold in High Jump, Gold in Long Jump, Gold in
the Hop, Step and Jump in Paris and St Louis, and I'd have got
another three here if they hadn't dropped the Triple.
SHERIDAN: You watch out, Ray. I'm right behind you.
EWRY: In your dreams.
SHERIDAN: Neither your High Jump nor your Long Jump were as good
as they were in St Louis.
EWRY: Are you surprised? The stadium surface was a so primitive it
was like exercising on a beach.
SHERIDAN: Yes. Still you can't expect a four-thousand year old
stadium to come up to one of ours. And what do the Greeks know about
athletics?
EWRY: It shouldn't have been a problem. They got an old limey in
to oversee the laying of a new track in '96 and he came out again to
set it straight this year.
SHERIDAN: Which old limey?
EWRY: Guy called Perry. Laid the track at Athens in '98, and
this year, like he was laying a bowling green, not a cinder running
track. It was like taking off in the sand-pit, not just landing in it.
I wonder what Rome will be like. Another ancient ruin done up, I
suppose.
[Sheridan is looking at a newspaper]
SHERIDAN: I don't think they've started doing anything yet.
They're in a bit of trouble.
EWRY: What's that?
SHERIDAN: The local paper.
EWRY: In Greek?
SHERIDAN: No, it's an English edition. Look.
EWRY: What's the picture?
SHERIDAN: Volcano. Called, uh, Vesuvius. It's been erupting
apparently.
EWRY: Let's see. It'll help my Geography. I don't even know
where Vesuvius is. Oh, my God…
SHERIDAN: What?
EWRY: Listen to this: Vesuvius' eruption has caused serious
damage to parts of Naples, and considerable loss of life. The Roman
President said, 'We will do all we can to rebuild this historic
city.' And you know what - they can't do the games.
SHERIDAN: The Olympic Games?
EWRY: Too expensive, on top of rebuilding Naples and all.
SHERIDAN: What will they do?
EWRY: Who?
SHERIDAN: That French guy and his pals. The ones who began the
revival in Greece.
EWRY: They'll have to choose somewhere else. After all, that's
what we did. We were going to hold the 1904 Games in Chicago, and when
they said they wouldn't be ready they were switched to St Louis.
Didn't you know that?
SHERIDAN: I thought St Louis did it as part of the Louisiana
Purchase Exposition.
EWRY: They did, but Chicago had first option. St Louis hi-jacked
the Olympics by being better organised and saying they would hold the
national Athletics Championships there, which would have been at the
same time as the Chicago Games.
SHERIDAN: How could they do that?
EWRY: It was James Sullivan. He'd already been appointed Sports
Director of the Exposition before Chicago was offered the Olympic
Games, and as chief of the Athletic Union whatever he says goes.
SHERIDAN: And don't we know it.
EWRY: Chicago tried to postpone its games for a year, but the
Olympic committee say they had to be held every four years on the
dot.
SHERIDAN: So how come we had some more two years later, and
we're going to have some more two years after that?
EWRY: Long story. Pierre de Coubertin, that's the French guy, he
said he wanted the games in a different city in a different country
every four years. But after the first games were so successful, the
Greeks said that they should always be held in Athens. There was a lot
of American support for that idea, so in the end the compromise was
that there would be games every two years, alternating between Athens
and somewhere else.
SHERIDAN: So 1896 - Athens, 1898?
EWRY: No, no, it didn't start for a while. The Greeks were still
working out how to pay for it. 1896 - Athens, 1900 - Paris, 1904 - St
Louis, and then the Greeks kick in with 1906 - Athens again.
SHERIDAN: I got it. So 1908 - Rome, or wherever, 1910 - back to
Athens, 1912 - somewhere else, 1914 - Athens, 1916…
EWRY: That's it, that's it.
[Jim Lightbody, another of the team comes in.]
LIGHTBODY: Hey, you guys, I've got some news.
SHERIDAN: Yes?
LIGHTBODY: You know Rome can't hold the next Olympic Games
because of Vesuvius?
EWRY: Yes.
LIGHTBODY: Well, guess who's got them instead!
SHERIDAN: Tell us!
LIGHTBODY: London!
SHERIDAN: Well, I'll be… How'd they manage that?
LIGHTBODY: All the British bigwigs are staying on some Lord's
yacht in Athens bay. When they heard that Rome was giving up they
invited their King Edward and Baron Coubertin along and they had a big
pow-wow and by the end of the evening it was a deal.
SHERIDAN: Do they have a stadium?
LIGHTBODY: They're going to build a new one.
SHERIDAN: With a new-laid track?
EWRY: Perry!
[Blackout.]
[end of extract]