Romance Triumphant
By J. P. W. MALLALIEU, M.P.
WHEN I was a boy, I expected Holmes and Sutcliffe or Hobbs and Sutcliffe to make 200 for the first wicket even on the stickiest of pitches. On the plumbest of wickets I expected Wilfred Rhodes to bowl 'em out for next to nothing. In good season or bad, I expected Yorkshire to win the championship and England to win the Tests; and the persistent onslaughts of reality never blunted my romanticism.
I watched Holmes and Sutcliffe come down the steps of the Pavilion at the Oval to begin their last partnership. I knew then that they would make 300 together and would win the match without being parted. But Sutcliffe made only four, Holmes a mere ten, and Surrey won by an innings. I've seen Rhodes clouted over the ring time after time. I've seen England time after time clouted out of the ground. But still today, as I settle myself into my seat, I know that Hutton will make a century himself, that he and Lowson will get at least a hundred together, that Wardle will get fifty in about five minutes and that Yorkshire will suddenly put on an unknown left-arm bowler who will at once reveal himself to be the reincarnation of Rhodes and Verity combined. My roman- ticism is chronic.
I took it with me this week to watch Yorkshire and Middle- sex at Lords. There Hutton did get his century—he made 132 in his grandest manner; he and Lowson did hit their century partnership—the first wicket fell at 118; and Johnnie Wardle did hit 'em all over the ground—he made 22 in six balls, his scores being 6, 2, 6, 4, 3, 1. But all this happened on Saturday, the first day of the match, and on Saturday I happened to be doing my job in Huddersfield. On Monday, when I did get to Lord's, the romance was all or nearly all Middlesex—which is cheating. Middlesex had lost Robertson, Brown and Edrich for 33 runs when a man called Thompson (A.) came in. I had never heard of him. I now know that he is 36 and that once, before the war, he made a century. When Thompson (A.) had been in about ten minutes Middlesex were 42 for 4 with Compton out, and I began to dream of a follow-on before lunch. However at 6 p.m. Thompson (A.) was still there with 140 not out and Middlesex had come within 31 of Yorkshire's total. Romance would have had me at Lord's on Saturday and in Huddersfield on Monday. Reality put it the other way round. But there was Tuesday to come, with Hutton and Lowson not out over night, the game wide open and both sides with everything to gain from chasing victory. I looked forward to a tumultuous finish, a Yorkshire victory and another Hutton century. Whether or not the finish was tumultuous I do not know, for I had to leave the ground at 3 p.m. when Middlesex's last innings began, the match ended in a draw with Middlesex three wickets in hand, still needing fifty or so for victory, and, as for Hutton, he received a knock on the knee and, with a Test Match only two days distant, was quite glad to get himself out for twenty. So much for romance.
Yet the reality was so good that I did not miss the romance. On the Monday I settled into my seat at 11.31 a.m. and did not notice the time again until 6.30 p.m.—that, at any rate, is the story I have told my Whip. On the Tuesday -I was there at 10.50 a.m., and only supreme will-power—reinforced by a feeling that the Yorkshire bowling was not quite good enough to get Middlesex out in the time—delivered me at the House of Commons for the first Division at 3.30 p.m. This match had a joyous pattern, and was, moreover, studded with those inci- dents which delight me. There were the Middlesex supporters, who nicknamed the slow-moving Watson "Lightning. There were the Yorkshire supporters—some on holiday, some cutting work on the ground that business must come before pleasure— urging Compton during a big Yorkshire stand to " put the clock on at the Pavilion end." There was a party of schoolboys who had been offered either Monday or Thursday off, and who, glowing with pleasure at the end of Monday said: " I wish it had rained today. Then we'd be coming on Thursday."
There was' as Johnnie Wardle. After his first innings' onslaught, the crowd roared their applause when he came to bat again. Compton spread his fielders to the boundaries, and the ground hushed as the first ball came through the air. Wardle patted it gently down the pitch. The crowd laughed, " He's got his eye in now," they said. " Watch what he does to the next one ! " Wardle patted the next one down the pitch. " Ho can't be feeling well," said the crowd. This view was confirmed when Wardle tapped a single. When he tapped another single) the crowd felt it was being cheated. However, a moment or two later, Wardle lashed out and the ball fell just short of a six. At once the crowd beamed and settled back. " Now we're off " it said. The next ball shattered Wardle's stumps. , Then there was a little last-wicket stand. Watson was in complete control of his end but when Holdsworth came in you could see at once that he was played for his bowling. Watson decided to farm the Middlesex bowling to himself, and went for cheeky singles off the last ball of each over. Compton decided to stop him, spreading his fielders wide for the first four balls, then bringing them close for the last two. Watson beat him for a time, but at last Holdsworth was left to face the devastating Young, like a frightened rabbit facing a serpent. The rabbit promptly hit the serpent's first ball for four. Then to show that after such a long innings he wanted to give the lad at the other end a chance, he hit the next one for three.
There was nothing romantic about such incidents as these. no hurricane hitting, no tensely dramatic last-wicket stand. They \were just the little realities from which so much of cricket's joy derives.
But there was one piece of real romance. When the shine was off the ball, Yardley put on a young man called Wood, playing in his first county match. As Wood loosened his arm I saw that he was left-handed. Was this the Rhodes-cum- Verity who is always just around my corner ? Wood's first ball in county cricket was a full pitch. Edrich hit it for four. Wood's second ball was a full pitch. Edrich's hit deserved four but only got two. The last four balls of the over were neither good nor bad. I began looking round my corner again.
Then in Wood's next over, a beautifully flighted ball drew Edrich forward, beat him, and gave Brennan the stumping chance which put paid to Middlesex's No. 2 star. An over or two later another such ball from Wood put paid to Compton, Middlesex's No. 1 star. Some time later Wood broke the first serious Middlesex stand. Romance thereat ran riot in my heart, and though my mind tells me to take care, I am not listening.
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