TEST MATCH GALLERY
By J. P. W. MALLALIEU, M.P.
AT the beginning of almost any game or sporting fixture the excitement of the crowd relieves itself in a shout, the hopefully defiant, partisan shout of soccer, the good-humoured, almost apolo- getic shout of rugger, the impersonal yet exultant "They're off " of racing.
But cricket is different. All morning long, while the ground is filling up, while the family parties settle themselves on their mackin- toshes, sandwiches within reach, and study the blank scorecards, there is a genial hum. When the captains come out to toss, and the result is tom-tom'd round the ground, the hum rises to a buzz, rises further as the bell sounds and the umpires roll placidly on to the field. It rises again as the fielding side strides out. It reaches its climax as a flash of white is seen through the pavilion windows and the opening batsmen at last appear. Then the buzz dies down. the field is set. The batsman takes his guard and looks around him. The bowler stands motionless and remote until the umpire calls "Play ! " At that instant there falls upon the ground a silence that you can feel. The bowler begins his run. Then, how- ever big the ground, you can hear those thudding steps, you can almost hear the ball sizzling through the air ; certainly you can hear it strike ground or bat or wicket-keeper's gloves. At that the silence gives way thankfully to a long-drawn-out sigh and the genial hum, sometimes rising to a buzz, sometimes, though rarely, reaching an ecstatic shout, begins again. Whenever I see a cricket match begin I see the world, for one moment, standing still.
Maybe it did not stand still at 11.3o on Thursday at Trent Bridge, Nottingham, when the 39th series of Test Matches between England and Australia was due to begin. Maybe it rained. I'm writing this on Tuesday and I can't be there on Thursday, anyway. But I can still see that first ball in my mind's eye, the hopes and fears that go with it, and, above the hopes and fears, the excitement of knowing that with that ball a new series of Test Matches has begun, a new source of memory which will warm long winters and kindle old age into youthfulness once more.
Do you remember the first Test ever played at Trent Bridge, 49 years ago almost to a day ? That was W. G. Grace's last Test Match. But it was Wilfred Rhodes' first, and now he's passed into legend, just like the Doctor and his beard and his arrogance. What a legend that Rhodes legend is ! The greatest left-arm slow bowler the world has ever known, surly of manner sometimes, but sweet of action, hot in heart but ice-cold in brain. I can see him now, running, nay almost walking, up to the crease, bowling, then watch- ing, fiery-eyed, as the ball was clouted out of the ground. Back he'd go, run up again, and pitch the ball a fraction shorter. Out of the ground it went, while Rhodes fumed and groused to himself. Then up to the crease again, his action as sweet and unruffled as ever, sending the ball that shade shorter still. Another clout, but this time into the waiting, hands of a fieldsman on the boundary. " That's settled you, you devil," Rhodes would say to himself, and begin scheming the downfall of the next devil who came out. I saw him come back at the age of 49 for his last Test to bowl the devils out on a plumb Oval wicket.
Y,et strangely enough, it's not as a bowler that Rhodes is best known in his legend, but as the batsman who made good. Going in last, he shared in the record last-wicket stand for England at Sydney in 1904. Going in first, he shared in the record first-wicket stand for England at Melbourne in 1912. But his batting perform- ance I like best to think of was in 1902, when, going in last every time, he had a Test average for 7 innings of 67. In those seven innings he was six times not out. And in one of these innings he made perhaps the six most valuable runs ever made for England. You can't have forgotten that match. It was at the Oval, and in the fourth innings England went in wanting 263 to win. They lost 5 wickets for 48. Then in 75 minutes Jessop hit 104. Even so, when the ninth wicket fell we still needed 15 to win, and Wilfred Rhodes came in to join the great George Herbert Hirst. Now George Herbert, even to this day, will do anything to help a youngster. On a fine summer morning you may still see him in the park stopping to tell a boy how to hold his bat correctly. On that August evening long ago he went almost to the pavilion to meet young Wilfred and walked back with him to the crease. " Wilfred," he's supposed to have said, " we'll get 'em in singles." That may be a legend. I must ask one or other some time, for they are both my constituents. But it remains a fact that get 'em in singles they did.
All that floods into my mind at the mere thought of the first ball being bowled in this new series at Trent Bridge. In years to come, there is one thing that I shall say for certain about this series, that it was Bradman's last in England. I remember his first quite well—the century in his first Test, in England, at Trent Bridge, followed by a double century in the Lords Test, treble century at Leeds and another double century at the Oval. But I best remember that 1930 series, not because it was Bradman's first, but because it was Hobbs' last. Most sadly I remember his last Test innings, as he came out with Sutcliffe to the roar of the crowd, being cheered by the Australians at the crease and then getting out for nine. I can see him now walking slowly homewards, twice dropping his batting glove on the way, while the crowd murmured its sadness, its sympathy and its love. So, too, this series will be remembered, not as somebody's first, but as Bradman's last.
They don't think much of England's eleven. We've no fast bowler —for Larwood long ago went off to count his chickens and Bill Bowes must still be counting the pounds and the shillings subscribed for his farewell benefit. We have no left-handed batsmen to hold up the middle of the innings as the rock-like Leyland used to do. And, if you believe what they write in these Southern papers, we haven't got a captain either. Yardley, they say, has not got the cunning of Bradman or the determination of Jardine. He's too much of a gentleman, they say. Well, Yardley may be a gentleman, But he's also a Yorkshireman. And that more than squares matters. Of course, to me, the team is a little disappointing. There are only two Yorkshiremen in it. I remember that match at Lords in 1934 when 19 out of 2o Australian wickets were taken by Yorkshiremen. I remember that 1938 match at the Oval—Hutton's match—when five Yorkshiremen were playing for their country and even Arthur Wood made 5o. (What Arthur Wood remembers best about the match is, not his fifty, but that, missing his last train from Yorkshire, he had to take a taxi all the way down through the night to reach the Oval in time and it cost him £8.) But if, this time, there are only two Yorkshiremen, one of them is Hutton. It is no use laughing about this. When you are up against the Australians you want men who not only play cricket but fight as well. Edrich and Compton have yet to prove themselves fighters. If they do, England may win through even on plumb wickets. If they do not, we must pray that two things will descend from the skies—rain and a new Wilfred Rhodes.
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