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The Devizes to Westminster kayak race April 2011
Iona Stewart-Richardson, the grand-daughter of the AMCR chairman Brigadier Peter Stewart-Richardson, together with Joe another Old Marlburian decided to take up the challenge of this very arduous race along the Devizes canal and river Thames, to raise money for this her grandfather’s charity. Her mother, Janie, had already raised funds for the same charity by doing a free-fall tandem parachute drop 7 years ago.
Here is the full account of Iona's endurance test is attached. She and Joe managed to raise £2238 for the charity. Their effort is greatly appreciated.
DAY 1
A balding man towering above my partner and I, wired our slim wrists with a fishing line with our boat number attached. We knew the route and the boys were nervous, powerade and bananas were being forced down throats by panicking parents. The tactical jog boasted the new Marlborough skins. The crowd glared as the male dominated pack inconveniently discarded their kayaks in the gang way and ran up the road.
I slid gracefully, (as gracefully as one can into the pod of a kayak), and zipped up my spray deck then proceeded to adjust my black cap, hiding my female features, like a woman in disguise and off to war, I set off with the first stroke. As the horn blasted I was confident. I was prepared for the purgatory and pain, yet I embraced it with a slightly false smile, as I caught a glimpse of my housemaster and Mother in the crowd.
It is hard to recount what happened that day as it all seems such a blur. The endless portages and sweet jam sandwiches slipping down my throat. I had a tussle with my partner at one portage as he was keen to rush off, and refused to let me fill up my water supply. It was clear that his aching back had shortened his temper. During the middle of the day I felt my aching body crying and it was at the next portage where I had been warned rather loudly by my nervy mother that “TWO MEN HAVE ALREADY SLIPPED, BE CAREFUL!!!” so as I hurriedly clambered up the steep mound, feeling my wet feet squelch inside my rotting trainers I heard a jeer from above me calling my name. I looked up to discover a friend of mine. Which at this point I burst into tears. Desperate to hide my watering eyes from various members of the general public loitering on the path I ran across the road and leaped back into the boat. Water splashing down my face and the sun ablaze I had finished the first day.
After settling to the campsite I realised one team was missing as he had been unwell, this was a disaster for him. The rest of us were very lucky. So we ate, and slept.
DAY 2
The 34 degree heat made Sweat dribble down my face as I felt my cereal and sugary pastries dance down my intestines. The lack of knowledge regarding the geography of the route caused my optimism to exceed itself as I became positive 8 miles had gone by. It was only until we glided past a rather large man huffing and puffing, that we discovered we had only paddled 3 miles. This day was one of endless disappointment, as overweight girls squeezed into fluorescent pink lycra overtook us; our morale became low. The first portage at a rather large sports centre on the first stretch of the Thames seemed like a long stretch away. My head was pounding. As I heaved the boat out of the water with my slippery hands allowing the nose of the boat to crash onto the bank I burst into a state of hysteria. I complained about my head and my aching thighs, it was at this point two pills were forced down my neck. After having a break and eating and drinking well I re entered the boat and convinced Joe I was fine. The last major portage involved negotiating our 6 stone boat across a skinny rickety bridge, manoeuvring members of the support crew. I threw the boat to the floor and burst into tears, my mother too was crying from behind her sunglasses comforted me, while various members of the OA department looked worried and anxious. After much deliberation we finished the race after a more than exhausting 8 hour day.
Finally, reaching the end of the day I arrived back in the campsite, after giving my mother permission to go home I felt my body relapse into a state of panic. A drunken feeling hit my nerves as I shivered and sweated from head to toe. Disorientated, I lay in my sauna of a tent and let my heavy head rest on the hard floor. I was feeling dizzy and sick and I felt like my body had completely shut down on me. From here on it is all a blur until I remember being kept upright by 6 rather intimidating muscular men pricking me with needles to get blood and strapping things around my legs and arms while another occupied my ear, prodding it with another instrument, there was silence amongst them all until another man approached as a messenger passing on news about another girl who was throwing up in the next door tent, the paramedic promised me he would stay with me and he said “the other one will have to wait” it was at this point I knew there was a problem. After lying with a rather large policemen and paramedic for what felt like days, while being asked ridiculous questions and being forced to down some blue fluid I was taken into a tent full of doctors, it was at this point my head was rolling back and forth then suddenly I once again threatened I was going to throw up, and I did. Projectile vomit into a massive bowl in front of me, again and again and again. It was about 5 hours later when my body had decided it had reset itself so various members of the Marlborough team dripped into the tent to check on me and give me some food. I was told I would not be able to paddle and finish the race as I was 5 minutes away from being taken in an ambulance before I threw my insides up. This set my partner into a state of silence, for one of the first times ever in his life. That night I was told I would have to sleep inside with doctors. Which i did.
After the disaster the night before I woke up and soldiered on. The team had rang their parents that night to tell them how I had over hydrated so the next morning the parents were concerned yet relived. As day three began I felt strangely fresh and after hearing how one boy had slipped into the canal while getting into the boat; I found my sense of humour again. Later in the day as I took it slowly, I was informed that another team had been sunk by an enormous wave from a pleasure boat, arrogantly cruising alongside them.
As day four approached the campsite was thriving with excitement as the last day was approaching. 6 killos of pasta was cooked after 2 hours by a group of boys in our group who were definitely not “domestic goddesses”. In the morning we were awoken by a large megaphone, which we by day 4, had admittedly become immune to “GOOD MORNING HAPPY CAMPERS!”...slowly some sluggish movement started happening within the campsite as people began to stir. I was stumbling aimlessly through the Marlborough tents looking for my belongings when another megaphone sound occurred “LETS SEE SOME MOOVEMENT FROM ALL THE TENTS NOW PEOPLE!” at this, the campsite suddenly became more active, apart from the Marlborough camp, who in spite of being located in the centre of the campsite, seemed to remain dead to the world. Thirdly and in a more irritated tone the mega phone sounded, about ten volumes louder and this time the megaphone man made his way in the middle of the Marlborough camp near to where I was standing, “MARLBOROUGH COLLEGE IM LOOKING AT U...GET UP!” at this point all the heads in the campsite turned to look to see me, a lonely rather embarrassed camper standing in my pyjamas. The most humiliating start to a day in a long time. The Thames we were told would be chaos due to it being Easter Monday and boiling hot. The morning went quickly and we managed to stop multiple times for snicker munching breaks. However every time we pulled up along a rather sandy bank we were faces with two issues. Firstly, the lifeboats immediately tried to rush to the rescue and it was slightly embarrassing having to apologise for wasting their time. Secondly, getting the boat off the sandy bank involved rather a lot of bum shuffling while in the boat, which was not the most attractive of moves. Joe and I ended up being stuck on a sandy bank and having to awkwardly shuffle off it.
Reaching Westminster Bridge was the most relieved I have ever felt in my entire life. Tears streaming down my face as I heard the cheers vibrate beneath the bridge.
Iona Stewart-Richardson
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