In Michaelmas 1995, a new breed of rower emerged at Lincoln. They shared a gritty determination, an obsession with Top Gun, a distain for sleep and, above all, a burning desire to have their diminutive college pull above its weight on the Isis. That ambition saw them petition LCBCS for new boats and blades, employ…

I came up to Oxford in 1983, never having touched an oar before and nearly never did. Standing in the Lodge, contemplating the 6.30am start, I turned to walk away – far too bloody early! Then something made me stop – my father had rowed at school in Perth, Australia – so I turned back…

When I came up in 1948, I’d intended to play rugger, but my kit was delayed. The Boat Club pounced and I let myself be led to the Isis where an oar was put in my hands and for the next three years I was rarely far from the river. It started in the tank,…