Lord's Unseen
ByJ. P. W. MALLALIEU, M.P.
IF you want to enjoy cricket you must see it steadily and see it whole. Of course. that rule has its exceptions. Anyone who happened to go into Headingley on July 10th, 1926, at 11.35 a.m. and came out again, never to return, at 1.30 p.m. the same day, saw something which was in itself complete and wholly satisfying and never to be forgotten. For during that time, in the first innings of the third Test Match, Macartney made a century.
But such moments are rare. I did see, and will ever treasure, an innings by Bradman at Scarborough in 1934. He went in first wicket down, made 132 and still left time before lunch for another wicket to fall. after he had gone But that was Festival cricket, which though pleasant, even exhilarating, is patternless. It is like another of my memories, that of watching, night after night, for weeks on end, Duleepsinhji bat in the nets at school.
Real cricket, where a match is to be won or lost, and there is point about winning or losing, cannot be taken in snippets, for the snippets cannot usually be appreciated except in their context. I wouid dearly have loved to see a famous partnership between Hirst and Rhodes on August 13th, 1902, at the Oval. It produced 15 runs and beat Australia by one wicket. It must have been agonisingly exciting in itself. But no one who had not seen at least the whole of that England innings—or indeed the whole of that astonishing match—could fully savour the snippet which was that last, gallant and triumphant stand.
You must remember that match—even if you were not born when it was played. Australia had batted first and scorertteadily. There were no large individual scores, but only two men failed to reach double figures in a total of 324* Then it rained, and England were out for 183. In Australia's second innings, Trumper was run out for 2 and Lockwood ran through the rest for 121. So there we were with virtually the whole of the third and last day to go, and England needing 263 runs to win. Long before lunch England had scored 48 for five. Then Jessop hit 104 in 75 minutes and, after him,. Hirst, Lockwood and Lilley brought England to within 14 of the Australian score Then Lilley was caught. If at that moment
you had walked into the Oval you would have seen the young Wilfred Rhodes trudging, grey-faced down the Pavilion steps and being met there by the great George Herbert Hirst. If you had been near enough you might have caught the most famous whisper in English cricket history—" Wilfred, we'll get 'em in singles "- and you would have seen victory chiselled from the living rock. A glorious, unforgettable experience—yet how much greater in its context of rain and Jessop and Lockwood and that running out of Trumper than it was by itself.
Therein lies the tragedy of modern cricket spectators like me. In August, perhaps, and only in August, have we time to see cricket whole. Then we can leave our homes and our work for three whole days. Then, you may be sure, for three whole days it will rain or Yorkshire will be playing so far away that we have to put up with Norfolk or Devon or what's its name ?—Middlesex. At other times we can spare only a day at best, or, at worst, an hour or two. That is no time to become part of the game, to see it steadily or see it whole.
Consider my experience with this year's 'Varsity Match. Satur- day, when I'm not in my constituency, is my day off. I am free to do what I like, and I like nothing so much, as watching cricket. Yet this Saturday I went to the cricket with only half a mind. I have just moved house. Not being millionaires, my wife and I cannot afford either professional decorators or professional gardeners ; and, as neither of us likes to live in a mess, we spend most of our spare time weeding, dtstemplring, hedge-clipping, carpet- laying and patting each other on the back. What with children and Parliament and earning a living, neither of us has much spare time. Yet there we both were walking through the gates at Lord's that Saturday, with the garden still like a jungle and the house like a removal-van. This cricket had better be good, we said to each other, and that is a damnable attitude of mind for a start.
Of course, the cricket was not " good." On the first day of a 'Varsity Match it seldom is. This, for University players, is the match of the year. Some of them may never play in a first-class match again. Few of them will ever play in one quite as important. So all will want to discuss it with their grandchildren and, even more important, to produce the printed score-sheet, which speaks louder than words As 0 and 0 on a printed score-sheet will not impress even the most backward grandchild, the early batsmen in the first innings of a 'Varsity Match tend to dig in so that posterity may be impressed even if the immediate spectators are bored. Of course, by the third day, posterity is forgotten and all that matters is to win the match well for your side But the point is that my wife and 1 were watching the first day, knowing that we'd see little, it any, of the second and third.
Well, Dewes and Sheppard went in at 11.30. At 1 p.m., between them, they had scored 50. I can just stand this from England in a timeleg's Test, or from Yorkshire, very occasionally, against really good Lancashire bowling. But though awes and Sheppard,. on form, are near the top class as batsmen and Van Ryneveld is .a good bowler, 1 found all this tough going. If batsmen are to bore you by slow scoring, at least let it be your own batsmen. When towards 3.15 the score was only 127 for three, I looked at my wife, she looked at me, and home we went to cut the grass.
Monday is always an especially heavy day for me. But I thought I might manage to get through my letters in the morning and then snatch an hour and a half at Lord's after lunch before three-line Whips began to swish around my ears. I did settle the letters, but was so engrossed by them, apparently, that I failed to notice it was raining like a monsoon until I actually reached Lord's.
On Tuesday I had a date in the House of Commons at 2.15 p.m. I could not break it. After that was the Strachey debate. I could not miss that. So my only hope of Lord's was a couple of hours in the morning. But hopes are not always realised.
I now know what is the matter with me. Last week, after twenty summers of watching cricket and thirty-six years of talking about it, I suddenly played it again. I neither batted nor bowled. But I played. Now no other player, not even Dewes and Sheppard, nor Van Ryneveld, seems as good as I am. I'll never watch-cricket again except, of course, next month when Yorkshire are at the Oval.
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