Interview: Allan Wells' memories of career forged at Meadowbank

Allan Wells on a visit to Meadowbank to unveil a plaque. Picture: Esme Allen

One of the great mysteries of Allan Wells' Olympic triumph concerns the book he was reading just before the big race. Was it an account of the Nuremberg Trials and how the Nazis were brought to justice for their crimes against humanity, or perhaps the autobiography of a go-to pathologist looking back over a slew of grisly killings?

In Moscow in 1980 Wells’ wife and coach Margot left this question hanging as he caught his breath between the semi-finals and final of the 100 metres. “Actually,” says the sprint king today, “it was Murders of the Black Museum. The 50 most notorious cases investigated by Scotland Yard. The Ripper, Christie, the Krays – they were all in there.”

That’s all right, then. For a moment – well, for 37 years – I thought it was going to be something really horrible. “I needed serious distracting,” Wells continues. “I needed to be taken as far away as possible from the race and, as strange as it may sound, I ended up contemplating guns and knives and what goes through the head of an 
executioner.”

What is not a mystery, though, is that there would have been no Moscow for Wells without Meadowbank. No lunge for the tape with that pneumatic Popeye chest. No lap of honour, arms outstretched like Atlas as if he was holding a globe above his head. No discovery of how, at the crack of the starting-pistol, Margot ditched calm science for primal screaming (“C’mon Allan! C’MON ALLAN!”). And no open-top bus parade back home in Edinburgh.

After tomorrow, though, there will be no Meadowbank. The athletics stadium is closing its doors and a big chunk of Scotland’s sporting narrative will be consigned to history when the wrecker’s ball delivers the most decisive shot-putt ever seen in EH7.

This is where Wells was inspired; where he trained; where he journeyed four times a week on a No 49 bus until he acquired a moped. And this is where the victory procession ended for the first Scot to win gold on the track – and the first Brit to be able to call himself the fastest man alive – for more than half a century. “You wouldn’t be interested in talking to me today if it wasn’t for Meadowbank,” says Wells, now 65.

Over the next hour he will describe the place as “a godsend”, “like Christmas had come” and “glorious”. Wells’ own story, from housing-scheme kid to podium star, was glorious but there have been jarring chapters recently
with accusations that he used performance-enhancing drugs. He continues to vehemently deny the charges but Meadowbank, for the next few hours and days at least, stands proud as his centre of excellence, as it was for others of his generation and beyond.

Wells is in Guildford, Surrey, which has been his home since 1982, so his daughter Zoe and son Simon are inured to him shouting passionately for Scotland during football and rugby internationals and just as keenly for whoever England are playing. “This used to cause them consternation. I tried to explain the historical, long-winded rivalry but they get that their dad’s competitive.” This is his most-used word in our chat (after Meadowbank, anyway). An engineer to trade, he lectures at the University of Surrey where “the post-grads can just about put up with my swearing.” Grandfather to Zoe’s daughter Olive, he runs along a canal most days with her pug Dexter and likes his golf, having just achieved his first hole-in-one.

“I’m pleased to say it was back in Edinburgh, the 11th at Craigmillar Park. I was with three pals from 
Fernieside Primary, Robert, David and Alex, and another lad Tommy who was the year below but lived in my street. It was a good day talking about old times, watching the Hearts and remembering Willie Wallace playing a last great game against Celtic before moving 
to them.”

Would these chums say he was competitive, even at Fernieside? “I think they’d tell you that right after sports day I’d have the most winner’s ribbons – red, I think. Every morning before the bell we played football behind the school, which meant a run round the building to get into line. I used to let everyone go ahead then try to take them on the corner. That was just as thrilling as anything I ever achieved on the bend of the 200 metres.”

Meadowbank opened on 3 May, 1970 – Wells’ 18th birthday. The blacksmith’s son was getting himself a good career at Brown Brothers in Leith. “We specialised in hydraulics, stabilisers for ships and compensators for North Sea oil rigs.” He recalls an unusual order: “This big guy from Greece wanted his yacht painted gold.” His bosses passed on the job but, two months later, the reddish-yellow hue became a routine sight. Signing up at Meadowbank as a volunteer for Edinburgh’s Commonwealth Games changed Wells’ life.

“I was given duties like putting out the hurdles. It’s a myth that I raked the long jump pit. But I got to see the Games for free with ‘Steward’ on my tracksuit – I couldn’t have afforded the tickets otherwise – and being up close to the 
athletes and seeing them warm up and checking their times actually made me feel like a competitor.

“I saw the 5,000m, gold for [Ian] Stewart and silver for [Ian] McCafferty. I saw Lachie [Stewart] win the 10,000m and Marilyn Neufville set the Games’ only world record [400m]. But the guy who maybe made the biggest impression on me was [Welsh long jumper] Lynn Davies. I thought he portrayed what an athlete should look like. He was a great cover star for the sport.”

Long jump was Wells’ first discipline, but he always loved sprinting. His home in Fernieside Crescent was next to the HQ of Edinburgh Southern Harriers. “On my way to school and the shops I saw the track every day. That was hugely significant. There was a wire fence separating it from our path and I remember when I was maybe seven or eight getting into trouble for running alongside the club members. One of them, Dave Combe, gave me a right blast. ‘You’re putting me off,’ he said. Funnily enough I ended up 
racing against him later.

“I loved having that track on my doorstep and I suppose it was quite quirky. It measured 354 and a half yards, something like that. And the long jump was an optical illusion. Because the field was on a slope you thought you were running uphill.”

There were no such kinks at Meadowbank. “To have an all-weather track was kind of space-age. Every other track at that time was cinder. The only one to compare was Crystal Palace, but Meadowbank was superior for being a proper complex with its big hall and all the other facilities. I felt very proud of my city for having staged such a great Games and for the local people to then be able to enjoy Meadowbank – 
everyone did.”

On that trip back north recently, Wells had one last look round. “It was lovely walking across the orange floors again, looking at the spike marks and wondering if any were mine. It was quiet when I was there, but then I remembered how even when the place was really busy you could walk from the cafeteria, along one of the corridors and down the stairs and there would be no one around. It was an eerie feeling but you could just sit down and meditate.

“I bumped into a young shooter, with her dad who might have been her coach, and tagged along with them. We walked the length of the stand to a long room, well rigged out, where she was training for next year’s Commonwealth Games. Right to the end of its life, then, Meadowbank has been helping sportsmen and women towards their goals and dreams. I got a sense from the girl of the commitment we all showed when the place opened.

“I remember that right after the Games finished there was a directive from the Edinburgh council’s recreation department that Meadowbank was to be used by the city – by schoolkids with all their different sporting interests, by everyone. We heeded that. It was a tremendous facility and we thought we should make the best of it.”