I was interviewed by a journalist this morning who wanted to know if rowing was a posh sport. I’ve blogged about this briefly before, but it’s worth saying again, as it’s something I feel quite strongly about.
Now, then. Let’s get a few basic truths out of the way. Rowing is an expensive sport. There’s not getting around the fact that a decent boat will set you back many thousands. Even second hand shells don’t come cheap. Add to that maintenance costs, oars, safety launches, coxing equipment, and somewhere to house all of this, and it’s no surprise that it costs more than a sport like running.
It takes lots of these to run a rowing club
Which is why most state schools can’t run a rowing club, even if they want to. Of course there are some notable exceptions. My own club in Monmouth shares facilities with the excellent Monmouth Comprehensive School boat club, which turns out some really good rowers, including GB hopeful Emily Richards, who’s making quite a splash in the rowing world, and rightly so.
Schools like Monmouth Comprehensive fund their sport by constant fundraising, which is hard work. You may remember the posts I wrote a couple of years ago about Cheney School’s efforts to set up a rowing club. It took huge amounts of dedication and persistence to make it happen.
So yes. Go to any schools rowing event and you will mostly find private schools competing.
What, then, of elite rowing? Well, again, let’s look at the facts. You have to be young to compete at elite level in a sport like rowing (Greg Searle is the obvious exception, but he started at school and certainly didn’t embark on the sport later in life). The pool of talent will, inevitably, be from young rowers who are established in rowing. Many, though by no means all, will have come from schools rowing and thus mostly from private schools. Some will have done their early training at town clubs or comprehensive schools, and others will have come from programmes like Sporting Giants. But, youth rowing being what it is, there will be a sizeable percentage coming from independent schools. That, by the way, doesn’t mean they are posh. It does mean that someone, somewhere paid their school fees, and yes, that does put them in an elite.
What, then, of club rowing, which is what most of us do? Well, this is where it gets interesting, and much more egalitarian. The monthly fees at my rowing club are £24/month (much less for juniors, students and retirees). For that I train up to four times per week, can use the gym, the club house, get some training and all the other benefits of rowing. That compares pretty favourably with, say, health clubs which typically charge upwards of £60/month without even getting any blisters to show for it.
And as for the club members? Posh? No, seriously, no. But, look, don’t just take my word for it. Here’s what a friend of mine has to say about her rowing club, which she describes as “not posh at all”:
“We have plumbers, builders, electricians, gardeners, students, Mums, Dads, primary and secondary school teachers, teaching assistants, tax inspectors, accountants, medics of assorted specialities, university lecturers, taxi drivers, scientists, computer bods of all sorts, geologists, managers, bookkeepers, carers, county council workers, city council workers… and that’s just the ones I can think of off the top of my head! And lots of juniors, lots of retirees, lots of recreational rowers……a wide ranging mix of people from all walks of life.”
So here’s the thing. If you’re posh, if you have a cut glass accent, if you adore swanking around in a boater and a blazer, if you like drinking champagne and eating strawberries, if you have a second home in Henley… you could well be a rower, and maybe a good one. And that’s great – you’d be more than welcome in any club, especially if you’re going to be generous with your round of drinks.
But if that’s all you have to offer – if you don’t have grit and guts, if you don’t fancy the early mornings, the cold outings, the blistered hands, the burning lungs, the aching muscles, the sweat, the fear and the downright pain, then believe me, you have no place in a rowing club. Except, perhaps, as a sponsor.