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More than seventy-five years have passed, but still there is no British Olympic triumph to match it. You might think that you’ve heard all about Britain’s great Olympic heroes but this tale is head and shoulders above what you think you know.
In 1936 Great Britain became not only the first team to ever defeat Canada in Olympic ice-hockey but they became the European, World and Olympic champions in the bargain. The Brits were rank outsiders for a medal and even though the team was cobbled together at the last moment they sensationally rose to the occasion as they managed to stay undefeated in their seven games and caused an upset which reverberated around the world and even reached the floor of the Canadian Parliament.
The IV Winter Olympics Games, held at the twin German villages of Garmisch and Partenkirchen, were always going to be famous because they were captured on celluloid by the legendary propaganda documentary film maker Leni Riefensthal, and featured Sonia Henje’s transformation into a worldwide household name.
Set against the back-drop of the rising Nazi movement, the British ice-hockey team defied history, political squabbling and personal vendettas to win the gold medal for the first and only time. They managed to overcome political protests from Canada over the eligibility of some players, which was only resolved on the day of the opening match. By the quarter-final stage they had to face the Canadians on the ice as well as in the board-rooms and the Battle of the Empire was hugely anticipated, even though Canada were massive favourites, having scored 209 and conceded only 8 in 17 previous Olympic matches, indeed they had beaten GB 29-2 and 14-0 in two earlier meetings.
The crucial game couldn’t have been given a more sensational script if it had been penned in Hollywood itself. GB scored in the opening moments, the goal was scored by a player who had signed himself out of a sick-bed and was running a temperature, then Canada hammered GB for most of the game but goaltending heroics limited them to just one goal before GB grabbed a winner in the dying seconds.
Going undefeated in the rest of their games gave Britain the Olympic gold and arguably its greatest, and certainly its most improbable, Olympic triumph of all-time.
The scale of the achievement is hard to quantify in today’s sporting climate. If you could imagine, say, Luxembourg turning up for the football World Cup in a mini-bus without having practised, then going unbeaten through the tournament before knocking off Brazil in the final it still wouldn’t be as big an upset as that achieved by the British skaters over 70 years ago.
The British press at large is well known for under-valuing the country’s champions, concentrating on the failures and waiting for the mighty to fall. This probably explains why the gold medallists of 1936 are largely forgotten, even though this story makes Chariots of Fire look like a jog in the park.
These men are now largely forgotten. But they shouldn’t be. In British terms they are the giants of Olympic History. Equals of Coe and Ovett, Abrahams and Liddle, Torvill and Dean. Actually, they aren’t equals in history, they should be placed at the head of the list. What they achieved and the opposition they had to overcome was far in excess of the aforementioned champions.
The individual stories of the 13 men that made up the GB squad are fascinating in themselves, and what they achieved as a group will never be matched, something that can rarely be said in sport. This is the classic story of a group of men winning against all the odds. A group who didn’t want the glory or the riches that came with success. The winning was enough. This is the story of their Pride & Glory.
Prologue
Winnipeg, Manitoba. August 1935. Under the vast blue skies of a late-summer’s day on the Canadian prairies, a postman weaves his way along a dust-bowl street on a bike that should have been retired years ago. It’s Saturday morning and there’s less mail to deliver than usual so his mood is good and he’ll be finished early. Archie Stinchcombe watched the postman’s journey from his living room window and they exchanged nods as the postman dropped a couple of letters in the box at the front of the garden and then cycled away. Archie ambled down to the box and retrieved the mail, he wasn’t expecting anything exciting. As he walked back along the path he casually shuffled through the bills until a strange stamp caught his eye. A letter from England. He didn’t recognise the handwriting and ripped open the envelope with a growing curiosity. The headed notepaper didn’t give many clues about what was written about inside: S. Stapleford & Son. Wholesale Provisions. Head Office. Watford. Roughly typed, the letter opened, ‘Hello Archie: Well old butter nuts how are you doing?’ It was from Harvey “Red” Stapleford, an old friend and former team-mate who had upped his roots to go and play hockey in London. And so began a long journey that would take Stinchcombe back across the Atlantic. It would take him to fame, fortune and the Fuehrer in an epic story.
***
Back then, when you drove past the outskirts of Montreal the road sign read: “Winnipeg 1505 miles”. There wasn’t much of anything in-between. Except fields. Fields of wheat. Fields of corn. Fields. Fields. Nothing but bloody fields. Not even so much as a gentle hillside to break the monotony, just mile after mile of flatness. If, when you got to Winnipeg, you continued out the other side the sign would read “Vancouver 1395 miles”, but at least you’d have the Rockies to look at. But for now that would be a journey too far. For now we’re staying in Winnipeg, Manitoba, population 225,000 of which a quarter were British, at least they were back then, in March 1935.
Around the city life was hard. Most found work on the farms, and the work on the farms was especially tough. As the sun went down the temperatures could plummet fast out on the prairie. From baking heat it could soon be bitterly cold. Farm hands would work long hours from early in the morning. By the time they piled onto flat bed trucks for the journey home they ached from top to bottom. Back home for a few hours sleep before the toil started again. That was life from April until September. During the winter months the ice hockey season provided a respite from the grind but it didn’t exactly mean the winter was a life of luxury as work was scarce and any money saved over the summer had to stretch ever further when it was –20 degrees outside.
If these weren’t the worst of times, then they were pretty close. The great depression was biting hard, but sport provided a welcome diversion. Horse racing, lacrosse, baseball and hockey managed to keep most of their crowds, even when large portions of the country hadn’t had a decent harvest for three years. The people played or watched in person when they could and listened on the radio when they couldn’t. Though the land was flat the vast distances meant that radio transmissions form the east needed numerous relay stations to get a good reception in Winnipeg. Especially on a Saturday night when millions across the dominion would huddle around their transistors from small Saskatchewan villages to remote Maritime outposts. They were all tuning in to hear the voice of Foster Hewitt, perched high in his ‘gondola’ above the ice at Maple Leaf Gardens in Toronto. Every Saturday night the programme would open with his legendary refrain: ‘Hello Canada and hockey fans in Newfoundland and the United States.’
* * *
Archibald Stinchcombe was still in nappies when his parents decided to swap the rolling countryside of Cudworth, Yorkshire for the prairies of central Manitoba. He was barely walking when they left Montreal for the long trail west. He was small for his age, but when he was old enough to walk he was old enough to ice skate. He soon started playing the game that had taken a foothold in hearts and minds across Canada, hockey. Not field hockey, but the real man’s game, known elsewhere as ice hockey. Archie soon found that he could skate like the wind and despite his small stature found himself playing in higher age group junior teams. The team photos from his teenage years make it look like he was the side’s perennial mascot, always being a year or two younger, and a foot or two shorter than his team mates.
As he rose through the amateur ranks, Stinchcombe acquired the reputation as a tough little bugger. He had to. Almost every game was a challenge to see if someone his size could survive in such a physical sport. Stinchcombe’s success was even more remarkable when you find out that he achieved it all with sight in only one eye. He was half-blinded when a stray dart from the hand of his brother accidentally injured him during a childhood game. He thought that no one in hockey knew of his handicap but when he skated out for his first senior game he realised that people did know. As he lined up for the opening face-off his opposite winger scowled at him and declared, “Come near me you one-eyed bastard and I’ll have your other eye out!” Stinchcombe was shocked and angered at the same time. The puck was dropped and within moments the enemy wing-man had control of it along the boards. Archie saw red and as he approached his foe he slashed him across the back of his hand with his stick and despite the padded gloves he inflicted several broken bones and the winger disappeared from the ice for the rest of the night. He would have to continue this fight for survival throughout his career.
* * *
Whenever he could, Archie would tune in to Foster Hewitt and Hockey Night In Canada, struggling to get a good reception across the vast dark spaces of the winter prairie. Another listener was London-born Alec ‘Sandy’ Archer. He played hockey too and had represented Canada at football when they’d played a Scottish touring side made up of professionals in Winnipeg. Manchester-born Jimmy Borland would listen from Montreal, Sittingbourne native Edgar Brenchley tuned in from Niagara Falls. Jimmy Chappell from Huddersfield was in Oshawa, Ontario. East Ham’s Art Child was in Guelph. Johnny Coward from Ambleside was in Fort Frances, and Glaswegian netminder Jimmy Foster was another living in Winnipeg. As these young men grew up times in Canada were tough and they started to drift back ‘home’ to blightly. But this wasn’t something that Archie Stinchcombe had given much thought to, then Red Stapleford’s letter arrived . . .
Champions
Today it’s a Sainsbury’s, but in for a few weeks in 1937 it was the centre of the sporting world. The junction of Seven Sisters Road and Green Lane in Harringay, the long-gone site of the Harringay Arena. The Ice Hockey World Championships were the big news around the globe, but today on a daily basis I’d wager that 99.9% of those passing by would be blissfully unaware that this was once the scene of a thriving sports venue. This was the centre of controversy and intrigue, when what is now seen as a minority sport was the hottest ticket in the capital. Great Britain had sensationally beaten Canada at the IV Winter Olympic games in Garmisch-Partenkirchen the previous year to capture the triple crown as Olympic, World and European Champions. It was sensational because Canada had never lost a single game at the Olympics, never mind the whole tournament. Since ice hockey became an Olympic sport in 1920 the Canucks had won 16 and drawn once, scoring 209 goals in the process and conceding just eight. Great Britain had met them in 1924, losing 19-2, and in 1928, losing 14-0. Then in the early 1930s Britain’s standing in the ice hockey world began to change as a ‘professional’ league was formed and players were drafted in from around the world, but especially from North America. Officially the players were amateur, each being listed as a tradesman outside the sport, but in reality, with crowds in the 10,000 region the players were handsomely paid under the table. Later in the decade it was reported that the best London based players were being paid several times the amount afforded Arsenal’s highest paid players under the Football League’s maximum wage plan. With teams operating from Streatham, Wembley, Harringay, Earl’s Court and Richmond in London alone, there was plenty of scope for imported players to pick up a decent wage packet.
Among the exodus form Canada were many players who had been born in the UK but moved there as children, thus allowing them to play using British passports, and more importantly, they qualified to play for the Great British national team. After learning the game in North America they commanded high fees when returning to the old country, but the Canadian Amateur Hockey Association (CAHA) were upset at the flow of players overseas and set to put a stop to the drain of “their” talent. They were also increasingly worried about the strength of the GB team using these returning Brits.
The hockey tournament at the 1936 winter games was set to be the most competitive on record. The host German team, with a high-profile Jewish player, the college–based Americans, the Brits and of course the heavily favoured Canadians were joined by 11 other nations in battling for the medals. The GB team had it’s odds shortened after a strong squad was announced. Among the 13 players named were 11 who had been trained in Canada, and two of these were in dispute with the CAHA over their transfer to the UK during the summer of 1935. Alec Archer and netminder Jimmy Foster were set to be integral parts of the British assault. Indeed Foster was considered by many to be the best netminder in the world at this “amateur” level.
***
The IV Winter Olympics Games were held at the twin German villages of Garmisch and Partenkirchen in February 1936. The games were captured on celluloid by the legendary propaganda documentary film maker Leni Riefensthal, with Sonia Henje becoming a worldwide star in her last Olympics. The Downhill ski event was literally a ski race down a mountainside through trees and featuring skiers taking many falls along the way and getting up to carry on. The Bobsleigh competition looked like Heath Robinson had been at the design centre with all shapes and sizes of ‘Bob’ taking part, many looking like little more than home-made go-carts with the wheels removed. Spectacular crashes were almost guaranteed. The near-suicidal Ski-Jumpers were watched by a record crowd of 130,000. But it was in Germany that Great Britain achieved arguably it’s greatest, and certainly it’s most improbable, Olympic triumph of all-time.
Set against the back-drop of the rising Nazi movement and visited by Hitler himself, the British ice-hockey team defied history, political squabbling and personal vendettas to win the gold medal for the first and only time. The player’s places of birth were what mattered when it came to Olympic qualification and they gathered from far and wide. East Ham and West Ham, Beckingham and Sittingbourne, Barnsley and Huddersfield, Glasgow and Manchester. Having settled across North America they had all gravitated back to London by the middle of the decade that was leading to war. As the Olympic team was being assembled it was decided that they would be captained by the last great Corinthian spirit of top level British sport, Carl Erhardt, who would become Britain’s oldest gold medal winner at the age of 39. The coach was a born and bred Canadian and the team manager was an enterprising Irish travel agent who knew a good opportunity when he saw one. With little time for preparation, hardly any funds for equipment and travel and almost no hope of a medal, the party of 15 set off for southern Germany intent on enjoying themselves and trying their best. On arrival they found themselves as unlikely local heroes, with only the host nation having more Bavarian support. Adolf Hitler stopped by to sign autographs for the British players, storm troopers lined their route from hotel to stadium and when they gave an Olympic / Nazi salute to the German fans the cheers could be heard for miles around.
Little was expected back home and few outside the regular hockey fans in London seemed bothered, but by the time they returned home the young-BBC had been airing their games live and had plans for the world’s first TV recording of the sport, the national press were all-over the story and the sport really took off.
* * *
The story of what transpired during the 1936 Winter Olympics at Garmisch-Partenkirchen is a long and complicated one, but the basic facts follow. After an initial worry about the lack of snow, Adolf Hitler declared the games open amidst a heavy snow storm that arrived as the teams entered the stadium. The GB team stood patiently in the open air during the lengthy proceedings as ice hockey captain Carl Erhardt recalled: ‘[It was a] rather tedious march-past of the various teams of all the participating countries and proved to be a pretty chilly and unpleasant form of amusement. Whereas most teams, particularly the continentals, were uniformly dressed to look something like a team, we of course, looked rather ragtime. Such parades can be quite attractive in bright weather with sun glistening on snowy mountains, but it is a very different matter when you are standing in a snowstorm, listening to speeches you can’t hear and anyway might not understand, while wet snow keeps trickling down your neck.’
Erhardt was one of what was a dying breed even back in the 1930s, a sportsman with a true Corinthian spirit. He had driven to the alps from Sittingbourne in his open-topped Lagonda M45 (which his son still drives to this day) with his hockey equipment, a set of skis and his precious tuxedo packed on the back-seat. As he drove into the valley containing the twin villages he was struck by the lack of anti-Jewish signs and overt Nazi propaganda which he’d heard so much about in the lead-up to the games. This was because Hitler had ordered the removal of such items in a radius of several miles around the games to try and give a feeling of normalcy to the visitors from around the world. He did not want to give the impression of the games being hi-jacked for political purposes but he changed his mind and did exactly that with the summer games at Berlin later in the year.
The GB team had more pressing issues than worrying about world politics as they arrived for their first game against Sweden. The Canadians, via the CAHA, had put in an official protest about the eligibility of Foster and Archer and it was reported that GB would be disqualified if the two played, while other papers explained that GB would withdraw from the games if the players were barred. Somehow the stalemate was sorted with some eleventh hour negotiations (explained in the book for the first time) and the two played as GB edged the Swedes 1-0. A 3-0 win over Japan followed to give the Brits a place in a semi-final group with Canada, Hungary and Germany.
* * *
The flags flying outside the stadium represented all of the competing nations, with the familiar five rings of the official Olympic flag at one end of the line. At the other end of the row was a bright red flag, rippling occasionally, with a large black swastika at it’s centre. Inside the stadium there was an air of expectancy. Moments before the opening face-off some German dignitaries made their way to the V.I.P. box as the open-air stadium rose as one with rowdy “Zieg heil”s ringing around the seats. Then the teams came out, Canada first to muted applause, then an ear-splitting roar as Great Britain, not Germany, skated out to join them. It was clear that the earlier Canadian protests had made them the villains of the games. The biggest sensation in Olympic hockey history was about to unfold.
The date was February 10th 1936 as the Empire rivals faced off. The arena was filled to above it’s capacity with thousands locked outside. As the last game of the day, it did not begin until 9.45 pm and the air temperature was a bracing –2 degrees at game time. The stadium was framed by the mighty Zugspitze mountain and over-seen by a million bright stars in the clear night sky. Within the first minute the predominantly German crowd was on it’s feet as Britain’s Gerry Davey, who was running a temperature and had checked himself out of his sick-bed to play, took a speculative long range shot which eluded the Canadian ‘keeper Nash and stunned the reigning champions. The rest of the first period saw Great Britain defending as if their lives depended on it. They skated hard to keep the more skilful Canadians at bay, and they threw themselves in front of shots not caring that in those days the players pads were pretty flimsy and none of them wore any kind of head protection. While the exertion of the game made the players bodies grow warm, the hands and toes were close to being numb. Dripping noses were subconsciously wiped on jersey sleeves. The Canadians did find a way through eventually and equalised shortly before the end of the first period.
The second period was scoreless and then the Canadians went on an all-out attack during the final 15 minutes, looking for the winning goal that everyone expected. Their frustrations grew though as the Brits, and especially netminder Jimmy Foster, were having the game of their lives. Inside the last two minutes Britain were pinned in their own zone, hanging on for the final buzzer and a famous draw, but then the puck took a ricochet onto the stick of Gordon Dailley who skipped past a player and suddenly saw the length of the ice open up before him, and he was off. Little winger Edgar Brenchley saw the chance and sped off behind him, finally able to abandon his defensive duties. Dailley entered the Canadian zone on the right wing, moved in towards Nash’s goal and took a cross shot that the Canadian managed to get a piece of but the puck fell invitingly for Brenchley who had out-skated the trailing Canadians desperate to get back and aid their helpless ‘keeper. He had the relatively simple task of knocking the puck into the open net igniting scenes of pandemonium. Fifteen thousand German hats were tossed into the air and the roars reverberated around the valley. Fans, competitors and residents in the twin-villages instinctively turned to the brightly lit stadium wondering what could have caused such an ovation. But the game wasn’t over and for the final 60 seconds Canada hammered away at the British goal and actually had two good chances but on each occasion Foster broke their hearts. The final buzzer sounded and the Canadians slumped to the ice.
The Brits, as their own protocol demanded, did not go overboard in their celebrations. A few firm handshakes, nods, three-cheers for Canada and an acknowledgment to the crowd before they had to battle through a mass of crazed fans to get back to their dressing room, steam billowing from exposed heads and ruddy faces.
This was the biggest sporting story of the year but more matches still had to be played. An epic 1-1 draw with Germany, convincing wins over Hungary and Czechoslovakia before a final 0-0 tie with the USA clinched the gold medal. These games all had their own elements of drama and controversy too. The Brits ‘salute’ to the crowd after the German game was argued over, Hitler himself watched the Hungary game and met the players afterwards, signing autographs, and before the final round of games the Canadians tried to have the format of the competition changed to give themselves another game against Great Britain. They failed, but only after causing more bad blood between the Dominion and the Old Country.
The scale of the achievement is hard to quantify in today’s sporting climate. If you could imagine, say, Luxembourg turning up for the football World Cup in a mini-bus without having practised, then going unbeaten through the tournament before knocking off Brazil in the final it still wouldn’t be as big an upset as that achieved by the British skaters over 70 years ago.
The outbreak of world war two put paid to any plans of defending the title and by the time the Olympics were resurrected in 1948 the 1936 team had been largely forgotten and re-distributed themselves across the globe.
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