The following poem was read out at the unveiling of the plaque to Robert Sadler in Garratt Lane on September 16th 2017. It is by local Tooting poet, John Byrne.
THE EXTRAORDINARY LIFE AND WHIMSICAL TIMES OF ROBERT SADLER’S COPENHAGEN RUNNING GROUNDS,
ITS MERRY BAND OF QUAINT PRIMA DONNA PEDESTRIANS AND ASSOCIATED ECCENTRIC CURIOSITIES
(IN FICTION AND IN FACT !!)
Way back in Victorian days
there emerged, a new exercise craze
and come sunshine or rain, just behind Garratt Lane
they held various running displays
Robert Sadler with space out the back
had constructed a new running track
this appealed to the feet of the sporting elite
who decided they’d give it a crack
On the Summerstown circuit to tread
keen to verify what had been said
but a five minute mile proved too stiff a trial
so they settled for seven instead
Pedestrians wiry and thin
would stroll to the start to begin
where in fog or in freeze, long moustache to the breeze
they mustered belief from within
His ambitious dream realised
and competitor’s limbs energised
Robert Sadler’s work done, fired the first ‘starting gun’
with a glee that could not be disguised
Then just like the tortoise and hare
their talents defying compare
in those ill fitting shorts, all whiskers and warts
they advanced round that closed thoroughfare
The small fellow knew how to win
he battled through thick and through thin
in the final furlongs he went hammer and tongs
to succeed by a slender margin
The method of start seemed quite fair
observed by a crowd standing there
they would wait on their marks to the sound of the larks
till a bloke chucked his cap in the air
This three lap per mile running track
was a harsh place when under attack
yet once trimmed to four became less of a chore
and quickly they learned the new knack
Just the one rather raw complication
Bob’s Grounds lacked a railway station
so they all trundled down from far flung Wandsworth Town
in true sportsmanlike preparation
Bob served only best beer of course
so Young’s was the most likely source
there were pints for the men who often drank ten
and a gallon or two for the horse
Free entry is what I’m announcing
promised Bob, his critics denouncing
they will not pay again, a pledge I’ll maintain
their petty grievances trouncing
The 200 lap walking event
lasted almost 10 hours in extent
and the crowd fell asleep when it slowed to a creep
this was difficult to prevent
There was scheming and hold ups galore
you’d wonder what a schedule was for
and with darkness descending a premature ending
meant they all came back next time for more
The track’s pulling power was revived
once Red Indian ‘Deerfoot’ arrived
this new long distance king much enigma did bring
and for decades his record survived
Mr ‘Deerfoot’ came then he went
years on they still spoke of that gent
a homeward bound trip on the Great Eastern ship
saw the bulk of his winnings well spent
False starts were a source of frustration
attracting deserved consternation
when the crowd became bored with the constant discord
‘Bell’s Life’ sought some clarification
Through the full range of English weather
pedestrians came together
from far and from near thirteen months of the year
to burn some serious leather
One chap ran an ultra fast mile
shattering the record in style
but four minutes two seconds was too fast they reckoned
so his feat was never compiled
The ‘Crow Catcher’ never caught crows
he had little interest in those
he just ran like the wind, deficit to rescind
who dreamt up that name goodness knows!
They travelled from far and from wide
extravagant bets to decide
so fortunes were lost as some found to their cost
along with their athletic pride
The hundred yards entry was sparse
neither runner possessed any class
after just a short spell they both tripped and fell
the discipline ending in farce
With the ‘Suffolk Stag’ just past his prime
he endeavoured to win one more time
but failed to retrieve the ace up his sleeve
never reaching the finishing line
Track records were set and then broken
small trophies awarded in token
there were sporting delights on those warm summer nights
and spectator interests awoken
Did the great monarch ever attend?
did she cheer as they charged round the bend?
seeming somewhat bemused yet quite often amused
her everyday look to transcend!
The gambling and drinking was rife
causing all sorts of trouble and strife
this disorderly den saw the ruin of men
playing havoc with family life
Then as neighbours began to complain
about drunken brawls in the Lane
the pedestrians knew as the backlash grew
that they’d never compete there again
So the Running Ground fell from favour
of the month, no longer the flavour
its eleven year run filled with all types of fun
left many a mem’ry to savour
Robert Sadler to this very day
rests four running track laps away
modern athletic rank, him and his like to thank
for their brave pioneering foray
(c) JOHN BYRNE MAY 2017
