Cricket
Nuts in May
Alan Gibson
It has not been much of a cricket season so far — at least, not for me. I had a week at Oxford, but it was too rainy for more than occasional cricket. There was, how- ever, a hundred from Richard Bartlett of Somerset, in his first first-class match. This made me slightly uneasy on his behalf. The last man I remember scoring a hundred on his first appearance, and at the Parks too, was David Shepherd, playing for Glouces- tershire. He had previously scored a lot of runs for Devon, and the University bowl- ing persuaded him that first-class cricket was just as easy as that of the Minor Counties. It took him a while to recover, though being a man both resourceful and tubby, he did. I trust Bartlett, who was out for nought next time I saw him, will do the same. I think he is, or will be, a good County batsman, and I wish him well, because he comes from my own old school, T. aunton, which has been less famous for its cricket than its rugby, but nevertheless has produced internationals in J.C. White, J.H. Cameron of the West Indies, and J.A. Jameson. It also employed V.J. Marks as a temporary classics master during the win- ter, and Lord how he groaned over coming to terms again with Oedipus Tyranno- saurus, but it was no doubt good training for him to serve under Roebuck. Then I went to the Oval, a more difficult thing than you might imagine for a lame man. I bought a drink in the bar, and walked through into the adjacent Long Room. Hardly had I sat down when I was tapped firmly on the shoulder by a grizzly old bear (more of a teddy bear, I subse- quently discovered) called Charles, who told me firmly that 'drinking was not allowed in the Long Room'. It seemed a bit rough, in the most famous drinking place in Surrey after the Elephant and Castle, but I put away the drink in one graceful swig and gave the glass to Charles to return. Shortly afterwards, I returned to the Long Room, carrying a sandwich. Tap-tap on my shoulder. 'No eating allowed in here, sir,' said ursine Charles. I asked where I could go to be able to eat and drink and still watch the cricket, and was directed to the Andrew Sandham Bar, which, with no disrespect to a great bats- man, I christened the Andrew Sandwich Bar. You could not see much of the cricket, but it was possible to consume. The next day I asked Charles if I could eat, say, a peanut in the Long Room. He said that sweets were allowed. I asked him if a peanut is a sweet. We both doubted it. I thought a peanut was a fruit, and he thought it was a vegetable. We planned a Test case. The difficulty is that I don't like peanuts. In the Andrew Sandwich Bar I noticed an unattended black bag loitering in a corner for a long time, and as we have all been instructed to do, reported it. Charles appeared, and, staying well in the background, summoned a girl from the office to remove it. This she did with aplomb. When I left the Oval I was presented with a small brown paper packet with a heart-shaped emblem on the out- side. It said, 'Will ye no' come back again? It was a giggle. Love from the girls in the office.' The packet contained peanuts. Next day at Bristol one of the Gloucester- shire cricketers came up to me before play and solemnly presented me with a packet of peanuts. He said he had done it at the request of his wife, who turned out to be one of the girls in the office at the Oval. The buzz, as I believe the word is, has gone round, and I have had two more packets of peanuts, and a dozen or so threats.
Somerset are not doing too well. I was pleased that they lost to Yorkshire, from the last ball of the match, after both sides had forfeited an innings. I was pleased because old atavistic longings still stir me whenever I see Yorkshire play, and even if they did not, I would still support them as the only county to continue to play natives only. I was sorry when Somerset could not quite bowl out Glamorgan in time. But there was a lift to the spirits when they won a Sunday League match, with the extraor- dinary Botham hitting two sixes in the last three balls, to beat Essex. I do not at all care for Sunday League cricket, but it has its moments, and this was one of them.
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