SPECTATOR SPORT
Bowled over
Frank Keating
WHATEVER happens by the end of the summer, the official return of the leg-spin- ner has been a revelation and a joy for cricket. They were not exactly dodo-dead in my boyhood 40 years ago, but almost. Cer- tainly, cigarette-carding at Gloucester as a sprog I had not really appreciated the species, what with our loved young plumber, Sam Cook (left-arm flight and sharp turn), and the immense Tom God- dard's off-spin soon to have to give the ven- erable nod for succession to 'Bomber' Wells, John Mortimore and David Allen. The last two played for England many times. But we never had a leg-spinner.
It must have been in the latish 1940s that Doug Wright came to Cheltenham for Kent. Our George Emmett, Jack Crapp, and young Graveney saw off their new- bailers — Ridgeway and Martin (was it?) — in no time and at a rate of knots with boundaries hither and yon. Jack, perhaps, was flukily caught, so we were 90-odd for one. (Don't all write in at once, I've lent the appropriate Wisden and know Crapp very seldom opened; but on this occasion I remember he did; and what's boyhood memory if it's not certainty?)
Any road, about six o'clock Bryan Valen- tine, the portly mid-on and Kent captain,
goes into a huddle and starts setting a field for his leg-break bowler (the leg-break bowler). Extra gulleys and a 'double-point', a short-extra and a wider mid-off. Emmett and Graveney, the batsmen, checked and double-checked the field; and then settled.
On the free-seats, on the Hospital side of the ground, we oiks began to laugh. No lolidspeaker announcements then about figures and Test facts and who was who and dotty Deloittes ratings and so many appear- ances for England and the ruddy Lord's Taverners.
For in came this nut from the College Chapel end, surprisingly fast — and all arms and elbows, knees and clicking heels like a Spanish-dancer woman we'd seen on Pathe Newsreel in the Stroud Gaumont on an 'educional' trailer on Saturday morn- ings. Laughter. We held in our young bel- lies, doubled up in rustic, rolling-over mirth, I cannot tell you. `Sh000sh,' said someone, 'it's leg-breaks.' What's them?' we chorused. 'C'mon, Tom, clock 'im over Leck 'ampton 'ill! 01' George will, anyway!'
Tom tried. But not before George. Both perished. Humiliating, really. Even before the end of the Six O'Clock News on the wireless.
The bowler was, of course, Doug Wright — Wright, D.V.P. to feudal Lord's. A 'pro' who always bowled like a bounding Corinthian god.
Since when, there have been that bonny brace of Midlanders — Eric Hollies and Roly Jenkins — and a jaunty, shoulder- rolling, carefree man from Lancashire, Tommy Greenhough, who was a Rochdale milkman in the winters. Then, at last, good Robin Hobbs. When Robin walked off the ground at Headingley 20 years ago, after being given only four overs while the cap- tain, Illingworth, and Gifford (respectively, off-spin and left-arm) had bowled over 60 overs between them to win the match, Hobbs thought to himself, 'I'm the very last leg-spinner ever to get a bowl in a Test match. At least that's something to tell the kids.'
But he was wrong.
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