Spirit On The Water (10 page)

Barnes now had 49 wickets in the series. He already had the most number of wickets ever taken in a Test series and there was still one game to go. Having averaged over 10 wickets in each Test so far, it was reasonable to expect him to go on and set a record that would never be beaten. Immortality was within his grasp.

What Sydney Barnes did now was typical of the man and showed that he had not yet mellowed with the years. The England team arrived in Bloemfontein for the last Test. Barnes believed that the South Africans had promised him some money as a special payment for his performances. When it was not forthcoming, he was so upset that he refused to play in the Test match or again on tour.

One can imagine Johnnie Douglas, the captain, desperately trying to persuade him to play and all his entreaties falling on deaf ears. True to form, Barnes would not budge from his position. He was using the same single minded, rigorous approach to his affairs off the field that he applied to his bowling. Perhaps you can not have one without the other? It’s just a shame that Barnes could not have seen his way through to make it out onto the pitch for that last Test and who knows how many wickets he would have finished up with in the series!

One hundred years on and 49 wickets is still the record for the number of wickets in a Test series. Only four other bowlers have taken more that 40 wickets in a series. Jim Laker with 46 wickets and Charlie Grimmett with 44 have come closest but both did it in five Tests. Terry Alderman (twice) and Rodney Hogg also got more than 40 wickets in a series but each took six Tests to achieve it.

A ‘Barnesless’ England went on to win the last Test and S.F. Barnes had played his last Test match. He did in fact have another opportunity to play Test cricket. Incredibly, he was invited to go on the tour of Australia in 1920/21 at the age of forty-seven but, as ever, laid down his own terms. He wanted to take his wife and child with him, paid for of course by the MCC. He reckoned that he would be happier if they were with him on tour and therefore he would bowl better. Needless to say, the authorities did not acquiesce to this request, even for the great S.F. Barnes, and so the last opportunity to add to his 189 Test wickets was gone.

Although he didn’t play any more Test cricket after 1914, Barnes carried on playing league and Minor Counties cricket for another quarter of a century. Luckily for him, the best bowler in the world was deemed too old to be called up and sent to the trenches. He left Porthill Park somewhat acrimoniously after the Chairman had promised to ‘look after’ him come what may. Seemingly, Barnes did not think that the outbreak of the First World War was a good enough reason for him to break his word!

Barnes joined Saltaire in the Bradford League. He rewarded them over the next nine years with 904 wickets at an average of just over 5 runs per wicket. Extraordinary figures for anyone let alone a man in his forties. He then moved to the Central Lancashire League for seven years, playing for Casteleton Moor and later Rochdale, again averaging 100 wickets a season.

In 1931, he returned to the Lancashire League and played three seasons for Rawtenstall. He continued playing professional league cricket up to 1940 when he was contracted to play for Stone in the North Staffordshire & South Cheshire League. He began playing cricket before the Boer War started and finished during the early years of the Second World War. He was unique.

In 1929, at the age of fifty-six, he played for a Minor Counties XI against the touring South Africans. He bowled unchanged for three hours taking 8 for 41 in thirty-two overs. At lunch, Barnes had taken 2 wickets and a local enthusiast offered him
£
25 if he took all the remaining wickets in the innings. One of the South Africans had retired ill but when the last man came in, Barnes had taken all eight wickets to fall. He then marked a cross on the turf and instructed Jack Meyer, the Somerset amateur, to stand there. Barnes bowled and the ball duly came off the South African No.11’s bat straight into and then out of Meyer’s hands. Barnes glared, glowered, muttered and cursed. What he said when Meyer proceeded to clean bowl the Springbok No 10 with the first ball of his own next over was never recorded.

To celebrate the centenary of
Wisden
in 1963, Neville Cardus was asked to select ‘Six Giants of the
Wisden
Century’. He chose W.G. Grace, Tom Richardson, Victor Trumper, Jack Hobbs, Don Bradman and ………… Sydney Barnes. The Staffordshire League player, turned down by Warwickshire and rejected by Lancashire, had officially become a legend.

If you have ever tried to get a cricket team out on a Sunday, or indeed any other day of the week, you will know that it is not a simple task. By comparison, Hercules had it easy when he had to clean out the Augean stables.

Cast iron guarantees on a Monday can be reduced to ‘not sure I can make it’ by Wednesday and then to ‘I’m really sorry, something’s come up’ by Friday. Out of the blue visits to obscure relatives, unexpected obligations to do some DIY work, children’s birthdays, grandchildren’s birthdays, ‘just remembered it’s our wedding anniversary’, ‘a mate has got me a ticket for the United match’ ……… the list of potential excuses is endless.

Trying to organise an overseas Taverners cricket tour multiplies all these difficulties many times over. The Ash Tree had followed its successful tour of Menorca in 2000 with a slightly less successful trip to Mallorca. We had all got to Manchester Airport on time, which was an encouraging, if somewhat unexpected start. However, our punctuality was not rewarded as we soon discovered that the plane we should have been on was in Mallorca not Manchester, and that there would be a six hour delay. We were flying
First Choice
and someone observed that it was a good thing that we were not with Second Choice.

There was nothing we could do but repair to the
Yang Sing
in the centre of Manchester, enjoy a Chinese meal and hope that everyone got back in time for the delayed flight. We got the train
from the airport into the city, had an excellent meal and thankfully everyone made it back in good time. Our plane had found its way to Manchester and we eventually arrived at Palma de Mallorca in the early hours of the next day.

We spent the first day ‘acclimatising’ and were due to play the MCC (Mallorca Cricket Club) the following day. We woke to pouring rain and when we got to the ground it was under water. The irony of flying all the way from Manchester to Mallorca to have a game of cricket rained off was not lost on us.

The opposition sportingly agreed to try and play a game the next day. If it had been our home pitch under that amount of water then we wouldn’t have been able to play for a week. But this was Mallorca and we did indeed manage to play the following day. We performed poorly and were well beaten, but at least we had managed to get a game. It would have been a long way to go not to play any cricket at all.

For a few years afterwards, it was difficult to muster enthusiasm and, more significantly, commitment for another tour. When organising a tour, it is important to differentiate between ‘enthusiasm’ (“Yes, I’d love to go on a tour. Great idea.”) and ‘commitment’ (Actually coming up with a deposit for the flights and hotel, six months before the tour takes place.)

After several aborted attempts, I was given the task of trying to organise a tour in 2007. When I say ‘given’, what I really mean is that I made the mistake of saying something during a discussion about possible tours that had been interpreted as volunteering actually to do something about it. In short, I had been lumbered.

No matter, I had always wanted to go to the West Indies on a cricket tour, maybe this was my chance? If that was too much of a stretch for the less adventurous club members, I had been on
holiday to Corfu many years before and had seen a cricket pitch there. Assuming it was still in action, Corfu would be perfect and also give me an opportunity to give the “What’s a Greek urn?” joke another airing. France was another possibility. Not too far. Good weather, good wine and good food. Despite the fact that the French air traffic controllers always seemed to go on strike in the summer, it was tempting.

So where was it to be? The West Indies, Corfu or France? We finally ended up going to …………….. Nantwich. Readers with a reasonable grasp of geography will have spotted that not only is Nantwich not abroad, it is actually less than thirty miles from our home base of Macclesfield.

I had failed to convert enthusiasm into commitment. Even a suggestion of five days in Devon had been met with a certain degree of misgiving. A trip to Nantwich was OK though. It was like a very extended away match but I still maintain that it was definitely, technically, a tour. We were travelling as a group. We were staying overnight. We planned to paint the town red on Saturday night (not in the
High Plains Drifter
sense but certainly trying to make sure we experienced everything a Saturday night in Nantwich had to offer). And we were going to play a game of cricket against Wistaston the next day. Well, it certainly beats cutting the lawn and washing the car.

The ‘tour’ took place in the middle of September and, although there was much mirth about a ‘world cricket tour to Wistaston’, at least some sort of activity involving travelling, drinking and cricket was taking place. The players rendezvoused at the
Admiral Rodney
in Prestbury. We had one late withdrawal when Tony was unexpectedly called away to Thailand. As excuses go, it was certainly more impressive than tea with the mother-in-law or tickets for a Boyzone concert.

While we waited in the
Admiral Rodney
, we took bets on who would arrive last. Every club has someone who is habitually late. The Ash Tree has two main candidates: Joe and Andrew. Joe shocked us all by strolling in well before the deadline; possibly the fact that we were meeting in a pub might have helped. Andrew however was not there on time. The driver of the minibus that we had hired was revving his engine, ready to set off. The ‘quick half before we go’ had become a couple of pints when Andrew eventually arrived with some bizarre story about having to catch some budgerigars that had escaped. You couldn’t make it up.

The minibus finally started on its Nantwich odyssey. We got as far as Over Peover, which is about five miles away and not really on the direct route to Nantwich. The reason for the slight diversion was the
Park Gate Inn
. You could buy seven pints of Sam Smiths and still have change from a tenner. With no worries about drinking and driving, it was too good an opportunity to miss. Rum babas in Barbados, martinis in Corfu and a glass of Chablis in France have all got their place but you can’t really beat a pint of Sam Smiths at £1.38.

While supping our beer, we had an enlightened and intellectual debate about the environment and carbon footprints. The talk moved on to polar bears and farting elks, and went downhill from there. As well as the incredibly cheap Sam Smiths, the food at the
Park Gate
was good too and at one point it looked like the tour wouldn’t get any further than Over Peover. Only iron discipline from the tour manager ensured that the tour party got back on track.

Mark was still salivating about his Black Pudding Tower as we drove through Crewe, which to be honest is usually the best thing to do with Crewe. We arrived at a
Travel Lodge
just outside Nantwich which, as luck would have it, was next door to a pub called the
Peacock
. No expense was to be spared on this trip.

After booking in and a quick drink at the
Peacock
, we headed off in the direction of Nantwich. It’s a delightful town with many fine hostelries, some of which we sampled before having a late evening meal.

Once we had eaten, we had one final port of call on our Saturday night Nantwich adventure. Our destination was
Nakatcha
, advertised as “the newest and hippest nitespot in Nantwich.” Just five minutes walk and we found it. Outside the door were four bouncers dressed in their ubiquitous black. These bouncers are trained to spot troublemakers at twenty paces and they obviously knew they were on to something when they saw a group of veteran Taverners cricketers approaching.

As we entered the club, one of our party was apprehended by a bouncer and told that he couldn’t go in. Was it the red stains on his jeans where some wine had been spilt during the meal? Was the faded denim shirt just a bit too passé for their establishment? Was he simply too old? No, it was the footwear that was unacceptable. During their training, these bouncers have part of their brain removed and a small microchip put in its place, which says ‘NO TRAINERS ALLOWED’.

Nantwich farmers wearing wellington boots were allowed in. Fourteen-year-old girls in flip flops were OK but very expensive, top of the range Salomon trainers were not. We tried to reason with the bouncer: “Look you fascist bastard, what’s wrong with them?” It didn’t work. Some people just won’t listen to rational argument. Then we tried some acerbic wit: “It looks like a bit of a shithole anyway.” Things were beginning to get out of hand.

At this point Mark, the Ash Tree Chairman, came over to try and calm the situation but it was too late; something had upset the bouncers. “We’re calling the police,” they said. “It’s all on CCTV you know.” With armed response units being mobilised all over
Cheshire and the prospect of ten years in Strangeways looming, we decided to cut our losses. We hailed a minibus and headed back to the
Peacock
.

Having got back to the pub, Mark and Andrew announced that they refused to be dictated to by a bunch of bouncers and, singing “The boys are back in town”, they set off again for the wild streets of Nantwich. Their footwear was deemed acceptable and so they were allowed into
Nakatcha
. They chatted up the
fourteen-year-
old girls in flip-flops and danced with the Nantwich farmers. Ash Tree honour had been satisfied.

At breakfast in the
Peacock
next morning, Crawford, our captain, reawakening memories of Ash Tree tour captains of yesteryear, was heard to say, “What time does the bar open?” I think he was after a hair of the elk that farted, or something like that. David asked for Bloody Mary but she refused to serve him. We scanned the Sunday papers but could find no mention of any major crowd disturbances in Nantwich. We then reminded ourselves that we were on a cricket tour and prepared for the impending battle against Wistaston.

Mention of a Chairman and a Captain will indicate to you that the Ash Tree is a proper cricket club with all the appropriate club positions. As well as the Chairman and Captain we have a President, a Club Secretary, a Treasurer, a Vice-Captain, a Fixture Secretary, a Social Secretary, a Press Officer, an Assistant Press Officer and a Fines Chairman. In fact, almost as many positions as we have members who pay their ‘subs’. All these positions are ‘democratically’ elected at the AGM in November. In all the years I have played for the club, I don’t remember a single contested election. The Ash Tree cricket club has more in common with a communist state than a democratically run organisation and I suspect most cricket clubs are the same. John is President for
life and Mark is Chairman for life, albeit nominally elected each year.

The role of Captain is the key position. It is by a long way the most onerous job in any cricket club. It is not so much what he has to do during a match, it’s the getting eleven players on to the pitch in the first place that’s the difficult bit. Each year, someone will be persuaded, cajoled, blackmailed if necessary, into taking the job. This all happens before the AGM. God forbid that we should get to the AGM and not know who is going to be democratically elected to the key positions.

County cricket captains are appointed by ‘the committee’, so not much different to the Ash Tree really. They just don’t bother with the pretence of democracy. Quite the most astonishing appointment came in 1946 when Surrey offered the captaincy to Major Nigel Bennett, by mistake. Evidently, the original choice of captain, Monty Garland-Wells, had to withdraw because his father had died. The committee decided to offer the captaincy to Major Leo Bennett, a well-known club cricketer. While this was going on, Major Nigel Bennett turned up at the Oval to renew his Surrey membership. The clerk took his papers in to the Secretary who happened to be with the Chairman and they offered Major Nigel Bennett the captaincy. He accepted!

Sir Alec Bedser called it a “cock up” and blamed it on the post war confusion at the Oval which, among other things, had been prepared for use as a prisoner-of-war camp, although never actually used as such. During an early season game, Major Bennett did not endear himself to Alf Gover, Surrey’s opening bowler, when he twice rolled the new ball along the ground to him. Later, he asked Jim Laker, who had just joined Surrey, to open the bowling. When he replied that he was an off break bowler Bennett said “But you bowl quick too don’t you?”

Major Bennett did manage three fifties, including 79 against Kent and scored 688 runs in the season, so he obviously knew which end to hold the bat. The Surrey players, on the whole, seemed relaxed about the situation. “I reckon we can cope with him for the summer,” one apparently said. “His wife’s a real cracker.”

I imagine that if you have come through six years of war you are just happy to be playing some cricket instead of being shot at. Surrey finished joint 11
^th
in the County Championship, their lowest position ever, and
Wisden
, commenting on Bennett’s performance as captain, noted that “want of knowledge of county cricket on the field presented an unconquerable hindrance to the satisfactory accomplishment of arduous duties.” Which I’m sure is exactly how the
Sun
would have put it if it had been around at the time. Errol Holmes, who had been captain before the war, was invited to take over for the 1947 season.

The Ash Tree captain in 2007 was Crawford. He is not normally lacking in negotiating skills but came back from the toss with the Wistaston captain to announce that local rules applied and we would be playing 40 overs per innings. We normally only play 30 overs each innings and, while ten extra overs may not sound much, several of the team were still feeling a little tired and emotional. Suffice to say, not everyone welcomed the extra overs with open arms.

Wistatston batted first and we actually did quite well to begin with, considering they seemed to have one or two Saturday league players obviously looking to improve their runs aggregate for the season. Those extra ten overs predictably took their toll and Wistaston finally ended up on 230 from their allotted overs.