How often do you receive mail from Russia? Well, the same goes for me.

Consequently you'll understand that I was more than intrigued a few days ago to receive a small package which was clearly identifiable by its stamps as originating from that country. My address was handwritten in English but poorly so, with spelling mistakes, and on the back was what I presumed to be the sender's name and address. However it was written in cyrillic characters so I could not understand it.

Obviously very keen to open it but totally ignorant of what it might contain, I got my Swiss army knife and selected a long blade so as to slice open the packaging carefully. I didn't want to risk damaging whatever the contents might be so I needed to be gentle with it.

There were several layers of brown paper and some cardboard indicating that the sender had gone to some trouble to insulate the contents from damage. Finally there was a box about four inches square and an inch or so thick with a letter. The letter was again in cyrillic and meaningless to me. Inside the box there was an Olympic gold medal.

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Thirty years back I had been something of an athlete and my particular event was the pole vault. I was good, world class in fact, and represented my country at a certain Olympics. However I wasn't so outstandingly good that I was a certain winner and had close rivals from the US and the Soviet Union as it was then. Anyway, long story short, after the earlier rounds there was just me and the Russian, Markov, left in it for the gold. The American, Bellhagen, had failed to clear the latest bar height which both Markov and I had surmounted and went out third with the bronze leaving the two of us to slog it out for gold and silver. I was feeling good and was sure I could take Markov.

I knew Markov from previous meetings and liked the guy a lot. Apart from his athletic prowess with the pole he was a decent sort. I had beaten him before and he had beaten me. But that was before. Now though still great, I knew I could go higher than him. He was older than me and was starting to wane whilst I was still improving. He knew he was at the limit of his powers and let it be known that this was his final appearance. However he wanted to go out with the gold. He was good, but he was not good enough. I knew it.

The bar was raised and Markov went first. I watched him, knew his style. The stationary stance for a few seconds, then the nodding of the head three times, then the run. I turned away before he got his pole down, unable to look. The cheers of the crowd let me know the result. Markov had cleared the new height. He jumped down off the landing pad smiling broadly, holding up his arms in a celebratory acknowledgement.

My turn. I knew I could do this. No problem. Markov was past it. I was going to be around for quite a while yet. All the training, all the time I'd devoted to the sport, all the other things I could have done with my time but didn't, all of it was for this moment. Olympic Gold.

I concentrated on the start line. Looked down the mental tunnel that was the run up. The crowd went quiet. This was it. I started the run and knew it was perfect. Later I was told the crowd were screaming encouragement as I ran but I never heard it. My pace was spot on. It may seem odd if you don't know the event but you can run too fast in the pole. There is an exact pace which you have to get right. Too slow and you'll blow it, but surprisingly perhaps to some, too fast and you'll blow it too. I was right on the money, I felt it. This could not fail. The training took over and I executed a perfect vault. It was the best jump I'd ever made and Markov was finished. I could go even higher and I knew he could not. I floated upwards, twisted to clear the bar and fell to the landing pad. It was a symphony of a vault, note perfect from the opening movement to the finale.

Except that the bar fell. Markov took gold and I had to be satisfied with the silver. I knew I could beat Markov that day yet he had beaten me. He came over to me, put his arms around me. Tears in his eyes, a Russian, loaded with emotion as they are.

The day after the games were finished I went down to the stadium with my pole and asked the staff there if they'd set up the vault to one centimetre over Markov's gold medal winning height. There was no crowd, no TV, nobody there apart from a few ground staff. I gripped my pole and stared down the tunnel that the run up formed in my mind. I repeated my perfect jump of a few days ago. I sailed over that bar and it remained in place. The two guys watching clapped me. I'd done it, I'd beaten Markov only it wasn't official, didn't count. Markov was still the gold medallist. And I never said another word about it to anyone.

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I had the letter accompanying the medal translated.

"Dear Mr Davis

I am enclosing the gold medal won by my father Ivan Markov for the pole vault at the Olympic games. He died a few weeks ago and when he knew the end was coming he told me that afterwards I should send you his medal. I asked him why and he told me the story of beating you but he told me too that you should have won. He knew you were better but for some reason you didn't do it on the day.

He said that the day after the games were finished, he went down to the stadium just to look around before leaving. He saw you make the vault which beat him, a vault which he knew he could not have cleared himself. He was sure you were not aware of his presence but he knew you had done it and he wanted you finally to have the medal. So I am sending it to you with his sincere congratulations to the better athlete.

Ludmilla Androva"

The letter was from Markov's daughter. I hadn't thought much about those events over the years, had given up athletics after the games for a different career. I never saw Markov again either nor had any other contact with him. We just went our separate ways. I knew I'd done it, beaten him, but I never knew until now that he was aware of this. So now I have the silver and the gold, what do I do?

I wrote back, in English

"Dear Mrs Androva

Thank you for sending me your father's Olympic Gold medal. I return it to you to keep. He beat me on the day and he deserved the gold. As you say, I did not know that he saw me vault the new height but when I heard from you I was immensely touched to discover that he did know and wanted me to have his medal. However in the games the day is what matters. And it was his day.

Roger Davis"