Page 3 of Fire Must Burn

‘Thirty-five seconds!’ she yelled. ‘They’re slacking off! You can catch them.’

‘Regular stroke in two, one, row!’ cried Sparks, steering them through the corner. ‘Here comes the Gut! And Pembroke’s in sight!’

The Gut was a narrow stretch, and they could feel the current change as they hit it, crossing to the non-towpath side to take the inside corner. But at the other end was the Pembroke boat, whose oarsmen had apparently given up on catching the next crew in line and were easing up their pace, having no idea they were being targeted. The crew were more or less blocked by their coxswain from seeing the ladies catching up to them, and the coxswain had his eyes upstream.

Then the Pembroke cyclist finally caught up to them, shouting and waving his arms downstream. The coxswain turned to look behind him, and even from that distance Sparks could see the disbelief registering on his face. He turned back to urge his crew back to speed, but one by one each of the oarsmen leaned out to catch a glimpse of the oncoming wraiths, which caused the Pembroke boat to rock slightly and lose more speed.

‘They’ve spotted us, ladies!’ shouted Sparks. ‘Power thirty in two, one, row! Give me everything you’ve got! Newnham! Newnham!’

The chant was picked up by the women along the banks, led by Tildy and Sauce as they pedalled alongside. The Newnham crew whipped around Grassy Corner, gaining inexorably on the Pembroke crew, who had fallen out of rhythm and were frantically trying to regain it as their coxswain shouted himself hoarse. He glanced behind him, his eyes meeting Sparks’s, and she grinned as the prow of the Newnham boat closed in.

‘Ramming speed on two!’ she shouted. ‘Two! One! Row! Row! Row!’

They were in the Plough Reach, a short, straight stretch, and just before the river turned to the right at Ditton Corner, the gutta-percha knob on the bow of the Newnham boat bumped the stern of the Pembroke boat.

Both crews kept rowing, the women shouting in triumph.

‘Well?’ called Sparks to the Pembroke coxswain.

‘They’re not even in the race,’ protested the man sitting five in the other boat.

‘Where did you start?’ asked the coxswain.

She finally had a chance to get a good look at him. He was a fair-haired man, not much taller than her, with light blue eyes which at the moment were scrutinising her intently.

‘At Baits Bite,’ said Sparks. ‘After you did.’

‘How did you do the interval?’

‘We stationed a woman at the next starting post. She signalled us when you passed it. If anything, we gave you more of a head start because you were already at speed.’

The coxswain looked at her as the two boats pulled in tandem, then he nodded, satisfied, and raised his hand to acknowledge the bump.

‘Weigh enough, lads,’ he said.

‘Tony, you can’t be serious,’ said the man sitting at the stroke.

‘They raced fair,’ he said. ‘The way I see it is we can be sporting about it or unsporting. Weigh enough, lads.’

‘We already were starting last,’ moaned one of the crew as they lifted their blades. ‘Now we get bumped by girls. We’ll never live this down.’

‘Check it down, ladies,’ called Sparks, and her crew dipped their oars to slow their boat’s momentum.

The Pembroke boat drifted beyond them, then both boats eased towards the bank. As Sparks stepped onto the bank to secure the boat, she looked upriver to see the Pembroke coxswain looking back at her. He smiled and gave her a quick thumbs up.

Now, that is a fine-looking man, she thought.

‘Well done, ladies!’ she called. ‘One foot up and out, then we stow this beauty and it’s on to the Pike and Eel to celebrate!’

And then they were all jumping up and down on the towpath screaming, ‘Newnham! Newnham! Newnham!’ as a collective outrage of marshals and umpires descended upon them.

ONE

London, 1947

‘No more pineapples, can you believe it?’ grumbled Iris as they walked up Edgware Road. ‘I had just got used to having them back, and now they’re gone again. I love pineapples. How did they become a pawn of international trade negotiations?’

‘Something about the Portuguese wanting dollars for them,’ replied Gwen. ‘And England has a limited supply.’