CRICKET (some bits also described in A147)
I treat cricket as a kind of birthright. And yet being enumerate it is a sport that at times I am barely able to understand. It is so much to do with calculations, tactics, history and statistics. Yet I love it, and I am not very interested in who wins or looses but who bats or bowls with skill.
My upbringing as a child was steeped in sports - especially cricket at which my father played for his county, Berkshire.
We practiced a lot, hardening our hands regularly with methylated spirit. So excelled with bat and ball at school.
My sister, June, was captain of her school X1, brother Nigel did well, and I made off with most of the prizes for fielding, throwing, and catching - the prizes being cricket equipment, so reducing the drain on my family’s finances (it was the time of the recession).
My father listened to Test Match cricket when played abroad via a PYE radio with its glowing valves, wet (car) battery, heavy dry battery and aerial leading from the house to the top of a nearby tree.
My father died. The war started, and I became a refugee in the USA, playing once only in a match of refugees against Boston Gentlemen at Trinity College, Hartford, Connecticut. It was in aid of British War Relief. We took $130.
After becoming a pilot and contracting TB, I thereafter never had the time or occasion to play cricket again. But I do watch part of the Test Matches at Lord’s Cricket Ground.
Four incidences at Lord’s stand out in my memory.
The first was when, as raw volunteers when old enough to join the RAF in the middle of the war, we were about to be greeted by an officer at Lord’s. As we waited expectantly in a corrugated iron roofed, open spectator stand (were the Warner Stand is now positioned), the occasion for us all was of expectation and solemnity. Then one of our number blew up a condom and let it sail out over the hallowed turf. The tensions and expectations were both suddenly turned into a more lighthearted occasion.
The second recollection was when Margreet and I were stuck in a human traffic jam behind the Grand Stand, when a member of the public passed by us shouting: “Sick bowl, mind yer backs”. The human traffic jam parted, we kept close behind him, and the three of us sailed through as the crowd stood aside.
The third time was when Margreet and my sister had reserved seats in the Grand Stand. My sister had mentioned that she had been given brownies by her son’s girlfriend. They watched the cricket and ate the brownies - laced unbeknown to them with cannabis. Margreet (Dutch) for the first time understood cricket, and my sister, June, felt so unwell that she repaired to the St John’s ambulance station nearby and was given a cup of tea. For some time after, my sister refused to answer her doorbell for fear that it was the Police calling to arrest her.
The last memory still continues and was even to my financial benefit.
This came about as I was in a queue to enter Lord’s Ground and had got on well with one of my neighbours. “I like the cut of your jib”, he explained as we were about to pass through the Grace Gates. “Why don’t you buy some shares in my company?” This offer was made in his rather loud voice, so I had a feeling at the time that he was hoping others would hear and take advantage of his proffered advice to help his company prosper.
I do not have anything to do with shares, leaving that skill to others who can add - or subtract.
However, I said that as far as I was aware it was essential to know when to sell. I asked him and he gave me a figure.
Several years later the shares reached the selling price that he had given me.
And I sold.
Margreet and I went on holiday to Sicily on the strength of it. We naturally wrote to him, from Taormina, to thank for our break.
Our benefactor has, since our original meeting, become not only a great friend but also a collector of my art.
Cricket - lovely cricket.
(A154)
