SPORTING ASPECT
George Hirst
By J. P. W, MALLALIEU N September 7th, 1921, at Scarborough, I saw Georg° Herbert Hirst play what I believe was his last innings, in first-class cricket. It was his fiftieth birthday, and he was captaining the Players against the Gentlemen. As has short, sturdy figure came from the pavilion we roared at bin' and prayed that he might make a million. He made 31, heaving his bat at any ball that came near him until at last he heaved and missed and was lbw. I never saw an umpire have greater difficulty in raising his finger. Like everyone else on the ground, except George Herbert himself, the umpire felt that he had signalled the end not merely of an innings but of an epoch, that as George Hirst took himself back to the pavilion he was taking with him also the Golden Age of English cricket.
That was more than thirty years ago, time enough for a man to be forgotten. Yet in Yorkshire at any rate, and maybe. elsewhere,' eyes still grow warm and kind at the mention 01 George Hirst. What was there about this man that made Lord Hawke call him the greatest cricketer who ever played for Yorkshire and has made others call him the greatest gentleman who ever played cricket for anywhere ?
There was his technical skill. In his prime, he was a fast left-arm bowler. He was very fast; but it was not only his speed that worried batsmen. He perfected, if he did not invent the swerve so that the ball came at you or swung away from you at bullet speed, but like a bullet that had suddenly ricocheted. "How the devil," asked the great S. M. J. Woods, " could you play a ball that started in an honest way and then came at you like a hard throw-in by Jessop from cover-point ?
George Hirst was also a batsman. He was lusty rather than graceful, but he had one special shot—a pull—for which crowds the country over waited eagerly. A ball would corn° to him well on the off and suddenly down would go his right knee to the ground, round would sweep his bat in almost a semi-circle and away the ball would go towards the square leg boundary. As that knee went down, and almost before bat had struck ball, there would be a great shout of " Here it comes ! " and even if nothing else happened all day, people would leave the ground happy because they had seen Hirst pull.
Hirst made 32,231 runs and took 2,569 wickets in first-class cricket. He did the double of taking 100 wickets and scoring 1,000 runs in a season fourteen times—and only his neighbour, Wilfred Rhodes, has beaten this. Once in 1906 he did the double ' double ' of 2,000 runs and 200 wickets in a season and no one has even equalled that. On top of it all, as a fieldsman he was the finest mid-off of his ,day, stopping shots which would have shaken a stone wall. But it is not just for his technical skill and achievements that he is remembered.
Oddly enough, Hirst was not a great success in Test Matches. I don't think he liked playing in them. He preferred playing for Yorkshire. But he was a wonderful fighter and one of his most fambus innings was in that last Test at the Oval in 1902 when Jessop made his sizzling century after early wickets had fallen cheaply. Hirst followed with a fifty-eight not out which included the last-wicket partnership of 15 with yoqag Wilfred Rhodes to win the match.
What he then did for England Hirst did many times for Yorkshire, going in sixth or seventh to face a crisis and blowing it away with great gusts from his bat. Everyone loves such a fighter; but it is not just for his fighting heart that he i9 remembered.
Hirst had a strong character and a strict sense of right and wrong. When bowling, he would never appeal ' just on the off chance.' As a fieldsman he several times took what appeared to everyone a fair catch yet promptly told the umpire that in fact the ball had touched the ground. He was fair himself and tried to make everyone else be fair too. Gubby Allen has told me that in the Thirties, when he was captain of England, something annoyed him during a Festival match at Scarborough and he sent down a number of balls dangerously near the batsman's head. Hirst was the umpire. At the end 1:4 the over Hirst said: " Here's your sweater, Mr. Allen. Put 011 and go away until you can behave yourself." At Hirst's command, the captain of England did just that. This deter- mination to be fair could seem coldly pompous in some men. But it made Hirst even more loveable because it was known that he had an impish heart, that he had his full share of original cricket sin, that, in younger days, when struck high on the leg and in danger of being given out lbw, he had been known to throw down his glove in pretended agony as a hint to the umpire that the ball had in fact struck his hand. But again it is not just for his strength of character and his steadily developed sense of right and wrong that he is remembered.
George Hirst really loved cricket. When A. A. Thomson asked him what was the best thing in cricket, he said: " Being an all-rounder, of course. When you're both a batter and a bowler, you enjoy yourself twice as much." He loved playing 'f—he was still playing local cricket round Huddersfield at the age of 72. He loved watching it. Two years ago, only three months after' he had had a severe stroke, I saw him sitting in September sunshine to watch the final of the local cup. He loved to talk cricket and in his last few dying days, when he could barely talk, he still loved to listen. And he loved to teach cricket.
He taught cricket at Eton. Perhaps that was not completely all that he understood or wanted to feel. But he was also, until 1944, the Yorkshire county coach; and that, at his time of life, was everything. He had to deal with young would-be cricketers; and the only thing that upset him in this job was to he would-be's ' who were not also can-do's.' I know how ne hated telling boys that they would be better as bank clerks or labourers or skilled engineers rather than as professional cricketers. But Hirst had a head as well as a heart. I knew too how distressed he could be when he found a can-do who was not a would-be.' In my own village we had a bowler. Because we had a bowler, George Hirst was told about it. Because he was told about it, he came walking steadily into our village. He saw what we had seen. But he also saw what we had not seen, that our bowler with the perfect technique had not got the heart which makes technique come alive. Hirst, at long last, shook his head, and that bowler is now making a great living outside cricket where heart matters
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