Dear Dave and Harriet… Mike was ill for much of the year. At one point his vertigo was so bad we had to cancel the summer holiday…
Dear God what possesses people to write this piffle? What possesses them to suppose that anyone would be the slightest interested in them being ill? How many people do they send this stuff to? It made me so cross that I told some collectors the other day I’d only put a £ in their collection if they’d switch off the deafening Christmas music they were playing outside Asda in Pudsey. It was set at migraine level.
Anyway for those who still love Christmas, a good book to buy for someone who likes cricket is the new Tim Quelch book Bent Arms and Dodgy Wickets. For anyone who had a 50s childhood it’s a nostalgic wander down memory lane and for me in particular, reading it was a wonderful reminder of the names that my father was always talking about when it wasn’t football.
One of them was Jim Burke the greatest ever professional at Todmorden Cricket Club. That was back in the days when a weekend cricket match and a picnic was a regular thing for the Thomas family; even granny came along. Bags of crisps and ginger pop, egg sandwiches, short trousers and sandals, and pals from school, it was always sunny (or so it seemed) and Jim Burke was imperious with both bat and ball. It was a splendid time to be a boy growing up. For the ultimate memory-lane trip into growing up in the 50s try Bill Bryson and The life and times of the Thunderbolt Kid, an absolutely gorgeous book about growing up in mid America in Des Moines. I once had this wonderful idea of re-writing it and simply changing the name Des Moines to Todmorden, and Bill to Dave, and then see if anyone would notice it was just the same book while I sat back and counted the royalties.
I would have begun it with: “I came from Todmorden – somebody had to.” But then discovered that’s just how Bryson began his first travel book except he said, “I came from Des Moines…”
Anyway: Tim’s book is enjoyable for all cricket lovers – although truth is I’m not a cricket book regular reader, but I do enjoy the game, whereas I’ll sit and read footie books till they come out of my ears. But Tim’s book was a typical ‘Tim book’ shall we say, inasmuch as he “clearly enjoyed disappearing down rabbit holes”, as he puts it, delving into not just the cricket but all the social background of the immediate post-war years, and the austerity of the 50s, along with the class system, gentlemen versus professionals, who and who should not be considered fit to be an England captain.
The 50s, looking back, now fascinate me. The happiness of childhood (and Hornby Dublo train sets) gives them a rosy glow though all of us who grew up then, now realise they were tough times when Britain was a land of black and white and very little colour in our lives - which, leads on nicely to say that the issue of ‘colour’ and prejudice in the UK and apartheid in South Africa back then, forms an important part of Tim’s book.
In a nutshell this is a book about English cricket during its 5-year golden spell in the 50s, and the years and events and games that lead up to that swashbuckling period. England swashed while Australia buckled under the onslaught. There are little nuggets of information such as the ’47 team that set sail for the West Indies travelled on a banana boat. Some of the England team in the immediate post war tour of Australia put on 2 stones in weight they ate so much on the tour having endured the shortages of rationed food in the UK.
The names of the 50s legends that make the basis of this book are enough to make a cricket lover drool; dour, Pudsey Yorkshireman Len Hutton and glamorous, dashing Denis Compton who was also an ace footballer for the Arsenal. These two were every boy’s hero. Drab Todmorden was brightened just a little by the great huge billboards with pictures of Compton advertising Brylcreem. These must have been what inspired my father to lather my hair with this filthy stuff he called tutty. It was something the local barber made up himself, a foul smelling, purple, gooey liquid that cost a shilling a bottle. It was then rubbed into the hair, the hair was combed, and then this mixture of slime, glue and swamp water set as solid as concrete for the next 12 hours.
So: there was Denis Compton, Godfrey Evans, Trevor Bailey, Alec Bedser, Len Hutton, Brian Statham, Fred Trueman, Tony Lock and Jim Laker, followed by Colin Cowdrey and Peter May. And last but not least Frank Tyson. If you are of a certain age those are names that will make knees knock and hairs on the back of the neck stand upright. And this of course was exactly what happened to opposition batsmen when either Trueman or Tyson roared in. Hutton’s name of course is a reminder of the 50s controversy – should the England captain be an amateur or a professional. If you were an amateur you were a gentleman and this was a grand thing and your initials came after your name. If you were a professional (boo not cricket old sport) your initials preceded your name. Hmmm or is it the other way round? Buy the book to find out. They used to have games of Gentlemen versus Players and it really wasn’t the done thing, don’t you know, in those days to play the game for a wage. It was considered very much below the salt. The Australians used to laugh at this.
Throwing, bent arms and foot dragging which enabled a bowler to release the ball closer to the batsman, was a real problem during the ‘58/59 tour of Australia. But diplomacy was paramount and no great fuss was made although as Peter May said, “Having a ball thrown at you from 18 yards blights the sunniest disposition.” The loss of the ashes by 4–0 and the loss of the ‘world crown’ becomes the endpoint of Tim’s wonderfully detailed and superbly evocative book. But bent arms and dodgy wickets was not the reason they lost this particular series. Between 1953 and 1959 the England team were top of the world at Test Cricket but the crown was lost in Australia for a whole number of reasons. It would be a long time before the Ashes would be regained by Ray Illingworth in 1971. I felt almost a personal involvement; Mrs T taught one of his children at Pudsey Bolton Royd Primary School and Illingworth saw me score two superb runs in the annual parents versus staff game.
The regaining of the World Crown came later after the Millennium. By this time the sport was truly professional. It is hard to imagine what the 1950s amateurs would think if they knew the sums earned by the likes of Flintoff, Pietersen, Cook and the rest. Meanwhile: in more recent times do you remember when Fred Trueman’s daughter married Raquel Welch’s son at the Devonshire Arms in the Yorkshire Dales? Legend has it that his first words to Raquel were, “Na then lass them’s a fine pair o’ googlies.”
Anyway: Bent Arms and Dodgy Wickets is a truly fascinating read and is available from Pitch Publishing. They’re a decent publisher – but then I would say that because they’re the people producing the Jimmy Adamson book in August or September, 2013. In connection with which I went to see Jimmy Robson a few days ago. He had fond memories of Jimmy A as well as remembering things like the nip of whisky “to calm the nerves” they were all offered by Billy Dougall whilst they were in the dressing room before a game. Jimmy couldn’t remember who took a swig and who didn’t… though he did say that he never did.
What he did remember vividly were two disallowed goals in his career, one in 1961 and one in 1962. The ’61 goal was in the FA Cup semi-final against Spurs. It was a superb header that would have put Burnley 1–0 up at a time when most Spurs players thought they were on the way to a defeat. The ball was in the net, the Spurs players turned to head towards the centre circle and were then as amazed as Robbo to see the referee disallow the goal for ‘climbing.’ Maurice Norman, the man-mountain Jimmy was supposed to have climbed on to reach the ball, after the game expressed his amazement to Jimmy. The referee’s decision gave Spurs the confidence that it was their day. And so it was. They won 3–0.
He remembered a disallowed goal in the ’62 Cup Final as well, when he burst through and headed for a space, latching onto a through ball. He said he saw this huge gap open up in front of him and he set off and went on a direct run and rounded the keeper and slotted home. The referee blew for offside but Jimmy swears that if you look closely there was a Spurs full-back playing him on.
He confirmed too how little interest Jimmy had in football when he finished with Leeds United. Jimmy and May would sit in their front garden in the summer in the sunshine and chat to passers-by. Whenever Robbo passed on his way to the shops he would stop for a gossip but never once did they ever talk about football. But, “he was a great captain who would talk and marshal us during a game and a great coach who devised many of the free kicks,” he said. It was Jimmy A who brought Jimmy R back to Burnley for a season to play in and support and guide the young reserve team.
Meanwhile: Burnley lost not quite miserably but almost at Nottingham Forest, and then up came Watford. Beneath a blanketed sky on a dank drizzly day that was 50 shades of grey, Burnley produced a performance that was 50 shades of this and that in a 1–1 draw. There were good bits, some occasional excellent exciting bits, and various drab bits. Kevin Long had an impressive debut at centre-back; solid centre-back Edgar was puzzlingly preferred in midfield to Stock and Bartley (McCann suspended); but a midfielder Edgar is not.
Lafferty was preferred at left-back to the more swashbuckling Mills; Charlie was yet again on his own up front, Vokes was brought on for the final two minutes, and the forgotten man Keith Treacy was brought on for 10 minutes, producing the pass of the season which went unrewarded. Overall, not a bad game for the neutral but disappointing for Clarets to see another draw when a win was there for the taking, had chances been taken, and Vokes been brought on earlier.
Almunia on several occasions was in the right place to make the saves look easy, and one in the dying seconds from Vokes’ header was top-class. Watford smacked the bar; Grant made a decent double save but all in all Burnley just shaded it and Zola was probably relieved with the point. Watford took the lead with a shot from just inside the box that found its way through a ruck of players. Charlie equalised with a penalty. At the moment there are thrills and spills but goalkeepers, last ditch tackles and blocks are thwarting Burnley so this was only the sixth Burnley goal in eight games – not good.
Outside the ground the brass band played and the carol singers sang and a splendid Father Christmas toured the car park pulled by the Thwaites shire horses. Alas, my own Christmas mood got off to a bad start when I went for my hot drink before the game and they’d run out of the free mince pies - typical.
When ah were a lad we went round the houses and sang at least two carols all the way through and then felt grand if we got a thruppeny bit when we knocked on the door. But nowadays when carol singers come to the door of Thomas Towers; they’ll sing one line of ‘We wish you a Merry Christmas’ and then knock on the door expectantly. Last year they got short shrift and ran off asking was I called Victor Meldrew.
Merry Christmas to one and all – bah humbug.