Cricket My Happiness. By A. A. Thomson. (Museum Press. 12s.
6d.)
A CRICKET book, publishers appear to have decided, must carry the word 'cricket' in its title. So, in the last five or six years, cricket has been, for different writers, their 'Destiny,' 'World,' Pleasure," Life," Heritage' and 'Carnival.' Now it is Mr. Thomson's 'Happiness' but not only in uncommending title—it proves so in demonstrated and pleasantly presented fact.
Its label apart, there can be little other fault to find with this book. 'Uncle Walter was a fair-minded man, except when roused to blind passion by the sight of Yorkshire
in jeopardy.' C_ricketing Yorkshire, of course, the author means. He loves York- shire cricket, but not blindly. As in his novels, he is a man of humour and observa- tion, whose characters are relishable and fundamentally kind. For a writer of his good nature, indeed, there could be few better characters than these cricketers, carrying out their six-hour day of concen- trated and faithful labour in the sun with unfailing zeal and frequent, if uncertain, elevation to the heroic.
The long bookshelves of cricket are by
no means filled by writing of uniformly high quality. Few of those who have written of
the game have blended first-hand observa- humour, whole generations of simple sport- craftsmen with such a reasonable dash of reverence as touches them with glory.
This is fact and imagination, past and present, hero-worship and human under- standing blended in the earthy-heroic and round prose which is the genuine prescription for cricketing writing. Mr. Thomson's cricket is, indeed, a happiness.
J. A.
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