Dear Sir, - Miss Helen Fivetoes enquires if any readers of "London Life" know of any girl who can swim with one leg. Perhaps Miss Fivetoes and others would be interested to hear of my experiences, for I am a one-legged swimmer.
I can scarcely remember my first introduction to the water. My father, being a keen swimmer himself, believed in my learning to swim at a very tender age. It was at the Isle of Man, at the age of three, where I first encountered the waves. In those days it was a case of much persuasion and long howls on my part before I could be induced to enter the water, but there were even louder howls and more forcible persuasion before I would come out again. In other words, I took the water like a duck.
My father used to swim a considerable distance out with me on his back, and soon I became very confident. One day I ran, fully dressed, into the sea. My nurse ran after me, calling to me to come back. Child-like, the quicker she ran after me, the quicker I ran, until I was well out of my depth and had to be rescued by some gallant hero. At that time I did not think he was a hero, nor was I at all pleased with his actions.
A few month later I developed hip disease. For quite twelve years I did not go into the water, and during that period I spent five years and seven months on my back on a spinal carriage. It was extraordinary that I ever started to swim again, for I was looked at as a complete invalid, hopping about on crutches.
We were staying at Anglesey, and I used to long to join the others when they went bathing. One day my mother said, "Why not?" I was carried into the water and was able to float almost immediately.
In a day or two I was doing backstrokes and moving about quite easily; but I was never able to stand up in the water - which I have always thought since is the reason why I cannot understand people saying that they dread to be out of their depth. Depth of the water has never concerned me - the deeper the better.
I enjoyed several years bathing, then came the time when I had to have the left leg amputated: and I thought that swimming, as far as I was concerned, was a thing of the past. However, my doctor thought this was the only exercise it was possible for me to take, for not only was I minus a leg, but also had an anchylosed hip-joint, which meant that I could not successfully use an artificial limb and, consequently, much walking would be too great a strain on the other leg. I began to swim again.
About five years ago I met a professional swimmer, who became great friend. It was then that I began to think seriously about swimming. My friend taught me the correct strokes - or, to be more accurate, I ought to say the correct strokes to the best of my ability. We also did many tricks and stunts together, and took the Royal Life-saving Proficiency certificate and Bronze Medallion.
In 1928 my friend persuaded me to try a long-distance stunt, with the idea, if I was successful, of attempting the Morecambe Bay swim. It was arranged that I should swim from the North Pier to the South Pier at Blackpool, a distance of about two miles. We set off in a small rowing boat, and it was not until we reached the end of the North Pier that we realised that neither of us had given a thought as to how I was going to get into the water.
I could execute a fairly decent dive from the bath-side, but I could certainly not balance myself on a rowing boat and dive in. I was afraid to risk sitting on the side or stern of the boat and dropping in, because I might hurt my back in doing so. Things were really becoming desperate. There was a crowd at the end of the pier waiting to see me start. I was becoming hysterically nervous. At last the boatman enquired if I would object to being thrown in. It was certainly a rather undignified commencement, but the only solution to the problem.
we progressed favourably for a quarter of a mile, then I encountered adverse currents and felt myself being literally held back and making no progress at all. The next ten minutes were not pleasant ones.
No, I would not give in! I put every ounce of strength into my arms, and when almost on my last gasp I found myself making headway. The rest was easy. I accomplished the swim in ninety minutes, which was considered good doing. It was too late in the season to enter for the Morecambe swim.
In 1929 I had a slight operation on my throat, which prevented me doing serious swimming that year.
After that I started to do a little regular physical training to get really fit for the twelve miles across Morecambe Bay. In July 1930 I decided as a final test, to swim from Rossall Point to Blackpool, actual distance six miles, but taking into consideration the necessary dog-legging, about nine miles swimming.
The weather was ideal, even too much so - the glare of the sun on the water was very trying for the eyes, and the sea was so calm, that there was scarcely any helping current. It meant slogging the whole way. I shall never forget that swim. In less than two hours I was in agony with the pain and soreness of my eyes. I had never liked wearing goggles, and had started without them.
I managed to don the goggles somehow, and resumed swimming. After a few minutes I thought to myself, "This is a funny business. The goggles act splendidly for my right eye, but not a bit of use for the left one." It was useless to try on under these circumstances.
I ordered the boat to stop and flung the goggles back to them.
It took four hours and ten minutes to cover the distance. I sprinted the last few hundred yards, just to show them I could do it. I admit I was tired, a little stiff, and suffering horribly with my eyes, but I was far from physically exhausted.
Now for the sequel to the goggles. It was when we were back at the hotel and I was getting dressed, that my friend asked me, "How did you come to lose one of the glasses in your goggles?"
No wonder they had been no use to me! Evidently in putting then on the glass for the left eye had fallen out.
Six weeks later came my great test, the Morecambe Cross Bay race. The weather was most unfavourable and quite a rough sea. I did not feel all happy during the crossing from Morecambe to Grange, and I'm sure that if my trainers had a single word about giving up my attempt I would have done so. However, they did not say anything of the sort, although I learnt afterwards that they were both very nervous and if there had been any trouble they had not the least idea how they would have got me out. It was too rough for the boat to get close to the swimmers without danger of bumping. In fact, there were times when the swimmers were flung above the gunwale of the boats on top of the waves.
Breathing became difficult, one gets to a rhythm which becomes impossible, as very often one's head is completely under the wave. More often than not one's strokes are useless; instead of getting a purchase the water, one's arms were aimlessly waving in the air.
The following day I found myself bruised from my left shoulder to the waist, caused by the buffeting of the waves. I had no inclination during the swim to give up, although the boat once stopped to inquire how I was feeling and, in spite of being none too comfortable, I yelled back "Carry on, it's great!"
I was absolutely unconscious of the fact that I had been actually vomiting for the last few moments!
The difficulty in swimming Morecambe bay are the sandbanks. The tide runs out so quickly that there are many banks left high and dry. It is a desperate race to get over the banks before they are dry. I knew that I had the endurance, but was not sure that I had the speed. I saw my boat going ahead and my trainer shouting to me to put on all speed. I knew that we were coming to one of the dreaded banks. In a few moments I could feel my finger tips touching the bottom, and my hope sank. For just one weak moment I cried out, "I can't do it!"
My boat went aground, I had not the sense at the time to tell them that I was getting into deeper water. The pilot and my trainer ordered me to get into the boat immediately unless we were likely to be there all night.
In a flash I was in the boat. My trainer jumped out and pushed us off. We were actually on the very edge of the bank, and two minutes later in deep water! I am confident that I could have managed to get over it, for spite of being a bit breathless after the last spurt I was very fit and not the least tired. I had only been swimming two hours and twenty minutes and covered a good three parts of the way.
Yours truly,
Margaret Harrison