Bookbuyer's
Bookend
It was to have been an event reminiscent of the famous Book Bang, that literary extravaganza mounted in Bedford Square three years ago. Publishers were taking tents and their very best authors, Hatchards were supplying a bookshop. Leiths were laying on a sit-down lunch for 400, and in the middle of Westminster's delightful Vincent Square were twenty-two of the finest post-war cricketers ever to take the field together. Alas, it rained.
Not that the magnificent players allowed the weather to put them off — though quite a few publishers did. Representing the National Book League — in aid of which the whole thing was staged — were such giants as Colin Cowdrey, Godfrey Evans and 'Lord' Ted Dexter, not to mention a host of excellent players ranging from Clive Radley and Micky Stewart to Keith Boyce and Harry Latchman. Among the opposition, an International Cavaliers XI, were Barry Richards, Alvin Kallicharran, Mustaq Mohammed, John Price, Robin Hobbs and those terrible twins of 1947, Bill Edrich and Denis Compton.
(Dear Denis, not for the first time in his life, should have been elsewhere that day — he was supposed to be adjudicator for the Man of the Match award in Leicester where the Benson & Hedges semi-final had gone into a second day. But he sportingly honoured his NBL commitments.)
In the circumstances the standard of play was remarkable. Through wind, drizzle and biting cold, and watched by a loyal but depleted group of spectators, the two teams entered fully into the spirit of things and for very little financial reward. The only absentees were Gary Sobers (unwell) and West Indian demon bowler Andy Roberts (unaccountable) and the only complaint was over the ball. "Bad Indian job," Lord Ted was heard to remark. "Ruining the players' bats." (But not Denis Compton's — he was bowled first ball.) For the record the Cavaliers beat the NBL score of 188 in a thirty-five overs match (or was it thirty-four? No one seemed too sure) by three avers to spare (or was it four?)
Meanwhile back on the boundary, some publishers were sticking it out with similar goodwill, although it is fair to say that they were fortified by a busy bar. Penguin, Hodder, Hutchinson and Collins all had their own tents, sportingly erected for them by Faber, Pelham and literary agents A. D. Peters, who were sponsoring the game. The last three also had their own tents. There was a distinguished clutch of authors signing books: Edna O'Brien, and John Taylor of London Welsh; Richard Adams, and Barry Richards of Hampshire; Ludovic Kennedy, Robert Dougall and John Dawes, the former British Lions skipper.
When the Collins tent closed down at three o'clock, their faithful novelists Hammond Innes, Colin Forbes and Jon Cleary were seen making their way towards the Hodder tent where Hodder's beaming publicity wizard Eric Major (exCollins) dispensed bonhomie, booze and a bit more besides, no doubt. It would never have happened if Sir William Collins had been around — which he should have been as a matter of fact, because he was due to present a case of champagne to the winning team. Unfortunately the match finished a little early and he was nowhere to be found.
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