The dash for the finish line

26 April 2015

By quarter to twelve, when I finally made it to Tower Bridge, almost three hours after I’d set out, I’d walked eleven or more miles, rather than the seven I’d planned. The noise of the crowds told me I was there before I even saw it and, once I was on the bridge, they got thicker and thicker until I had to literally push my way through. Once or twice I may have mentioned how much I hate crowds. Being short, I can’t see anything and they make me feel panicked and claustrophobic. By the time I got to the other side I was close to tears and disoriented.

The crowds didn’t thin at all and I couldn’t see a way out of them. With no map I wasn’t even sure which way to go next and following the river was no longer an option because the marathon course was between me and it. Suddenly I spotted a sign that made me rub my eyes in wonder. For a moment I thought I was losing what were left of my marbles because, above a St John’s Ambulance tent were the words Southampton (Bitterne). Bitterne is the name of my village. Right about then I could have cried at the sight of this little piece of home and the first aiders manning the stall must have thought I was a nutter when I took a photo.  Of course I explained.
“We’re not from Bitterne,” the young lad told me, “in fact we’re not even from Southampton, we’re from Bolton. We just borrowed their tent.”
Even so just the sight of the sign made me feel slightly better.

Close by there was a policeman so I took the opportunity to ask for some help.
“What is the quickest way to get to Westminster and the finish line?” I asked, meaning the way to walk.
“There’s a tube station just around the corner,” he said, “go that way and you can’t miss it.”
“How far is it to walk though and which way would I go?”
“Crikey, it’s miles away,” he looked shocked that I’d even suggest such a thing. “You’ll never be able to walk there.”

It seemed futile to try to explain I would most certainly be able to walk it. Besides, the marathon route would probably get in the way even if I could understand and remember his instructions. You don’t realise how much you rely on technology until it doesn’t work. Looking at it later on the map, if I could have crossed the marathon course it was less than three miles along the river, hardly a long walk. Conceding defeat I headed towards the underground station. At least I still had my day ticket.

Kindly the policeman had even told me which platform to go from and a train arrived just as I did. On board, feeling a little like a sardine, I tried to look at the tube map on the side of the train but there were too many people in my way. A young lady next to me saw me looking and could probably see I was worried.
“Where are you headed?” She asked kindly.
“Westminster,” I said, my husband’s running in the marathon and I’m trying to get to the finish at Horseguards but I’m not sure I’m on the right train.”
“You’re fine,” she smiled. “It’s a few stops but I’ll tell you when to get off if you like.”
Talk about depending on the kindness of strangers. She was like an angel in my eyes.

Emergining into sunlight and fresh air felt like being reborn. The streets were half empty and I almost recognised where I was. The panic subsided. It was half past twelve and Commando, even if he ran the race of his life, wouldn’t be likely to finish much before two. Finally I had time to stop and find somewhere to eat. Breakfast seemed like an awful long time ago.

Of course, while I was looking for a likely cafe I had to stop several times to take photos of the Whitehall landmarks. First there was the cenotaph. What started off as a temporary structure at the end of World War I was replaced in 1920 by this beautiful edifice following an outcry from the public. The portland stone monument designed by Edwin Lutyens is now designated as the UK’s primary national war memorial and a service of remembrance is held annually.

The nearby Monument to the Women of World War II really captured my imagination. Sculpted by John W Mills, and stunningly beautiful in dark bronze with hanging women’s uniforms symbolising the vital work women undertook, it was a long time coming.  The idea of such a tribute was first mooted in 1997, funds were eventually raised after a long campaign. Baroness Boothroyd, patron of the trust, also raised money on the game show Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? It was unveiled in 2005.

There were other interesting monuments but hunger and the need to find a loo meant I passed them by. Hurrying along searching for a likely cafe I bypassed MacDonalds because, let’s face it, the coffee is not good, Waterstones had a Costa sign but no loos, Pret a Manger also lacked loos, Starbucks looked like it might have a loo but was heaving. Then, on Nortumberland Avenue, I noticed a little cafe with cakes in the window and a sign for toilets so I dashed in, pointed at a random cake, ordered a coffee and asked if I could use the loo while the coffee was made. Hardly waiting for an answer I zoomed to the loo and relief. Goodness knows what the poor waitress thought. It was a rather upmarket establishment, and pricey, and I was rather underdressed. Still the hand wash and hand cream smelt nice and the cake and the coffee certainly hit the spot. There was another emotional moment as I heard the first bars of Truly Madly Deeply on the cafe sound system. This is a song that will always make me think of Commando.

Feeling much better I sauntered along the road to Trafalgar Square to take a few touristy photos of the fountains, Nelson’s Column and the only lion not swarming with children. What I’d really come to see was the controversial exhibit on the fourth plinth.

For those who don’t know, the northwest plinth was originally meant to hold a statue of William IV on a horse but, due to a lack of funds, this never materialised. After one hundred and fifty years of debate it was decided to display temporary artworks. The Gift Horse sculpture by Hans Haacke is the tenth of these and it’s a love it or hate it kind of thing. Based on The Anatomy of the Horse by George Stubbs with an added ribbon on its front leg displaying the stock exchange ticker, it represents power and money. Many people, myself included, think it looks like a dinosaur. The jury is out.

The whole area was beginning to get crowded by this time and, after a little fruitless wandering about, I thought I’d best start making my way to Horseguards Parade and my prearranged meeting point with Commando. It was half past one. Being near The Mall I decided to walk through the arches to the meeting point. It was crowded. When I finally made it through, The Mal was lined with flags and the entrance to Horseguards had a huge sign saying No Entry.

With a sigh I struggled back through the crowds and marched round to Whitehall and the front of Horsguards, where the changing of the guard ceremony happens. There was no sign of any imminent guard changing but the guards, resplendent in their red jackets and golden tasseled helmets, along with their horses, were amazingly patient as people ignored the signs, petted the horses and posed for photos. I did take a couple of photos myself before passing through the wrought iron gates. For some unknown reason an A A Milne poem kept going through my head.

The parade ground, once the Palace of Whitehall’s tiltyard and venue to parades, ceremonies and jousting tournaments and now The Queen’s birthday celebrations, was packed with people waiting for their runners. Once I’d found the big red sign with the letter K where Commando said he’d meet me, I joined their number. With my bright pink Moonwalk hat firmly in place to help Commando spot me, I waited, hopping from foot to foot as my legs were tired from more than thirteen miles of walking by this time.

Under normal circumstances I’d have been looking around and thinking of all the history of the place. Maybe I’d have been trying to take a peek into the garden of 10 Downing Street, or at least looking at the wall. As it was there were way too many people. The app wasn’t working so I had no idea how close to the finish Commando was, although an appeal on Facebook provided a few reports from people at home who could view it.

There was a lot of standing around and even a trip to one of the portaloos. At one point, tired of standing, I found a dry spot by the wall and sat down but a policewoman told me off so I went back to standing. My legs didn’t like staying still very much, they’d have been far happier walking about but there wasn’t much room and I didn’t want to stray from the sign. By three o’clock I was beginning to get worried. I wasn’t alone, a couple of other women nearby were also checking watches and we fell into conversation. One was also waiting for her husband, another for a friend. We compared notes, expected finish times, all long past, and worries. We looked jealously at others as their runners appeared.

Suddenly I felt someone grab my hat from my head. Feeling a little cross, I turned around and there was Commando all wrapped in his red space blanket with his medal around his neck. Without a single thought for my companions I leapt into his arms. Apparently he’d finished the race some time before but there was a walk from the finish through crowds of other runners and queues for medals and race packs so it had taken a long time to get to me. All my waiting and worrying was forgotten in a second. Proud doesn’t even begin to describe it.

As we walked back to the tube station past the crowds and runners still making their way along the course we compared notes on our respective days. Commando was, of course, unhappy with his time. He’d hoped to run faster than four hours twenty one. Even when he checked his GPS watch and found he’d run over half a mile more than the twenty six point two he couldn’t accept that he’d done brilliantly. He did admit that the sheer numbers of runners had made the race frustrating and he’d been held back by those slower than himself. The extra half mile came from trying to weave his way round them. Once again I reminded him that London was never going to be a personal best marathon with almost forty thousand competitors.

After a shower and change of clothes, we wandered to Del Aziz, a restaurant near our hotel for a well earned and delicious meal. Strangely, neither of us was very hungry although the food was good. An elderly woman, seemingly a regular was having her birthday party there so it was lively but the atmosphere was friendly. The deserts looked delicious although there was no way I could manage one. Of course I didn’t pass up the coffee.

The sun was going down over the Shard as we made our way back to the hotel. It had been a long and eventful day.