Sacred Country
“His destination was the Olympic swimming pool at the Marshall Street baths. He was fifteen. His voice had broken and he could no longer sing in Swaithey Choir. He missed his singing. He missed the purity of his own sound. Swimming seemed to be the only beautiful thing he had left.
A talent scout, a former member of the British Olympic Swimming Team of 1956, had been invited to Timmy’s school. He had worn his Olympic track suit, very faded with eight years’ washing.
The sports teacher had said to him: ‘That’s the one to watch, the thin lad with the silly smile in Lane 2.’ Timmy had swum three lengths of butterfly and the talent scout had been so impressed he’d felt his heartbeat quicken. He said to Timmy: ‘I’m going to pluck you from Fenland obscurity, Timothy.’ Timmy said: ‘This isn’t Fen country, Sir. That’s over above Cambridge.’ ‘Wherever it is,’ said the scout, ‘I’m plucking you from it.’ The group Timmy joined was called The Otters. They had three hours of intensive swimming coac...hing from ten o’clock till one.MoreLess
A talent scout, a former member of the British Olympic Swimming Team of 1956, had been invited to Timmy’s school. He had worn his Olympic track suit, very faded with eight years’ washing.
The sports teacher had said to him: ‘That’s the one to watch, the thin lad with the silly smile in Lane 2.’ Timmy had swum three lengths of butterfly and the talent scout had been so impressed he’d felt his heartbeat quicken. He said to Timmy: ‘I’m going to pluck you from Fenland obscurity, Timothy.’ Timmy said: ‘This isn’t Fen country, Sir. That’s over above Cambridge.’ ‘Wherever it is,’ said the scout, ‘I’m plucking you from it.’ The group Timmy joined was called The Otters. They had three hours of intensive swimming coac...hing from ten o’clock till one.MoreLess
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