Britain can look back with pride and nostalgia to the great Olympic Games of the past. London in 1908, and the so-called ‘austerity Games’ of 1948, were great triumphs. Against the odds of time and money, these were Games to savour — etched in the memory with flickering black-and-white images of hope.
This is the third time that London has held the Games (no other city can match this) but London has bid for them only once — for the 2012 Games. The Olympics of 1908 and 1948 came to London because no-one else wanted them.
Bizarrely, and this may tell us much about Britain’s sporting and class-bound heritage, all three of London’s Games have been masterminded by lords. The latest of the trio is Lord Coe, Baron Coe of Ranmore.
In 1908, Lord Desborough, the perfect Edwardian sportsman — cricketer, sculler, fencer and huntsman — masterminded the Games in just two years when a near bankrupt Rome pulled out following the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. He bequeathed the Edwardian concept of ‘play up, play up and play the game’, which was to set the tone of international sport for seventy years.
In 1948, Lord Burghley saved the Olympics when two great wars ripped the world apart. The Games should have gone to Helsinki, but it was bombed out. Burghley defiantly staged the so-called ‘make-do-and-mend’ Olympics and unlike 2012, the two previous London Games were staged without any public subsidy. In fact both of these two celebrations showed a profit.
A version of Lord Burghley was portrayed in the film Chariots of Fire by Nigel Havers. In the fictional Chariots of Fire, Burghley hurdled with glasses of champagne delicately balanced on each flight of obstacles. In fact, the real Lord Burghley’s party trick was far more practical — but no less impressive. He would take a matchbox, balance it precariously on top of each hurdle, and run — knocking the matchbox off with his lead leg, but leaving each hurdle upright.
With all the aristocratic confidence of an Olympic Gold medal victory behind him, Burghley stepped into orchestrate the 1948 Games. Improvisation was the order of the day, and in a city that was well-versed in handling the blitz the population rose to the challenge.
The committee, who cobbled together these Olympics, had to feed, house and equip teams from all over the world — all this on a budget of £761,000. Bring your own soap and towels was the order. No telephones had been installed so Boy Scouts carried message from team to team on bicycles. Petrol was rationed and a training camp was set up for one week at Billy Butlin’s holiday camp in Clacton-on-Sea.
Despite all this, the athletes made great headlines. Few could match the spectacular performance of a 30-year-old Dutch housewife, a lean likeable blonde named Fanny Blankers-Koen, or the 26-year-old army officer, Emil Zatopek from Czechoslovakia, who did much of his running in army boots. When his wife, a javelin thrower, was injured he ran with her on his back. He trotted in the bath while the dirty washing needed fixing — a sort of human washing machine.
So much has changed since those innocent days of 1948. The Olympics are now very big business. Commercialisation and professionalism are everywhere. And the spectre of drugs still haunts the Olympics: those were happy days in 1948 when the stimulant of choice was Horlicks. The 2008 Games in Beijing were staged using a budget that, even by London 2012 standards, is terrifying.
There are many who still remember Seb Coe striding the tracks of the world, shattering world records, but somehow still clinging to the Corinthian dreams of the past — hoping not for Gold, but for glory.
The trick Coe has got to pull off is to preserve these Corinthian dreams and, at the same time, tame the monster of commercialisation that threatens to ruin his Games. He can draw inspiration from Desborough and Burghley and hope that an Olympic Lord can triumph once again. If he can pull off this balancing act, Lord Coe will have won the victory of his life.
John Bryant is the author of Lords of the Olympics (published by Endeavour Press £1.99) and the authorised biography, Chris Brasher: The Man Who Made the London Marathon (published by Aurum £20).
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