COUNTRY CRICKET.
(BY F. GALE.)
I can remember the first cricket match I ever saw as well as if it
happened yesterday; and moreover I can give the names and description
of many of the players.
The _locus in quo_ was the meadow opposite the Green Lion at Rainham,
in Kent, which is situated halfway between London and Dover. The
cricket field is now built over. It adjoined the vicarage garden, in
which a stand was erected for my brother and myself, and from which we,
as little boys, saw the first game of cricket we ever witnessed, in the
summer of 1830, as we had come into Kent from a Wiltshire village where
cricket was not known.
Our grand stand was immediately behind the wicket. Farmer Miles,
a fine-set-up man, was the best bowler, and he bowled under-arm,
rather a quick medium pace, and pitched a good length and bowled very
straight, his balls curling in from the leg; for be it remembered that
but two years had elapsed since it was allowable to turn the hand,
knuckles uppermost, in delivery. I was seven years old at the time,
and was perfectly fascinated at the sight; and as the gardener, an
old cricketer, stood by me all day and explained the game, before the
sun had set I had mastered most of the main points in it. One thing I
am certain of, which is that there was an on-break from Farmer Miles’
bowling; for I watched the balls pitch and curl.
[Illustration: MITCHAM GREEN]
The dress of the cricketers was white duck trousers and flannel
jackets, and some wore tall black hats and some large straw hats. A
few old fogies, veterans who played, had a silk pocket-handkerchief
tied round the left knee so that they could drop down on it without
soiling their white trousers; for in the rough out-fielding when the
balls jumped about anyhow old-fashioned fieldsmen would drop on one
knee, so that if the ball went through their hands by a false bound
their body was in the way. Josiah Taylor, the brazier, was long-stop,
and played in black leather slippers with one spike in the heel which
he claimed as his own invention, as cricket-shoes were little known.
The umpire was Ost, the barber, who appeared in a long blue frock-coat
like Logic’s, the Oxonian, in ‘Tom and Jerry,’ and who volunteered
‘hout’ to a fieldsman who stopped a bump-ball; and when remonstrated
with by men of both sides remarked, ‘Surel_y_ first “bounce” is “hout”
at cricket and trap.’ This occasioned a change of umpire. There were
two very hard hitters, Charles Smart, a tall young fellow, son of a
rich farmer, and ‘Billy Wakley,’ a very stout tall young farmer; there
were many hits to the long-field off and on, which were well held; and
Charles Watson, a promising lad of about sixteen, the butcher’s son,
who played for the first time in a man’s match, immortalised himself
by making a long catch close to the vicarage hedge. The batting mostly
consisted of hard-hitting, and the catching was good. The booth was
made up of rick-cloths strained over a standing skeleton woodwork
frame; and on the right of it was a round table with six or eight
arm-chairs placed on either side; a large brass square tobacco-box out
of which those who sat round the privileged table could help themselves
by putting a halfpenny into a slit which caused the box to open (on
the same principle as the chocolate and sweet-stuff automatic pillars
seen now at railway stations), kept company with a stack of clay-pipes.
The arm-chairs were for the accommodation of the principal farmers and
magnates of the parish who subscribed to the matches and who sat in
state and smoked their pipes--as cigars were little known--and drank
their grog out of rummers--large glasses which stood on one gouty leg
each and held a shilling’s worth of brandy and water; and for the
accommodation of the smokers, the ostler, who always appeared in his
Sunday best costume, which consisted of a ‘Sam Weller’ waistcoat with
black calico sleeves, brown drab breeches, and top-boots, provided a
stable horn lanthorn, the candle in which he lit with the aid of the
flint and steel tinder box, and brimstone matches; for lucifers were
not yet invented.
Another honour belonged to the knights of the round table: as the
cricket ground was bounded on the southern side by the high road,
and as coaches were passing all day, the drivers never forgot the
‘Coachman’s Salute’ with whip and elbow and nod of the head as they
drove by, and this was always returned by a cheery wave of the hand
from the cricket ground. The patriarchs of the village had a form to
themselves on the left hand of the booth; and old Billy Coppin, the
half-pay naval purser, who had a snug little house on the bank of the
roadside, sat outside his door waving his pipe and crying out, ‘Make
sail, my lads, make sail,’ whenever a good hit was made.
When the match was over, one of the villagers, an ill-tempered
thatcher, who was always ready for a set-to, picked a quarrel with
someone from a neighbouring parish, and they adjourned to a quiet
corner close to our grand stand behind the booth, pulled off their
shirts and had a pretty stiff rough and tumble fight, which I
described, in my innocence, at supper when I went in, and thereby got
the gardener into a scrape for allowing me to see it. A very serious
relative told me that she was ‘cock sure’ of the future fate of the two
men who fought, quoting cases out of Dr. Watts’s hymns. Let us hope
that some of the Doctor’s tips have proved wrong.
‘Would you be surprised to hear,’ as Lord Coleridge was always saying,
that, with the exception that cricket has much improved as regards
grounds and some of the implements in general use, old-fashioned
village cricket in its true and pure spirit still flourishes in many
rural districts, and not very far from London even, now? You will find
this happy state of things mostly where village greens exist in a real
cricketing county; and having formerly devoted much of my leisure,
during very many years, to country cricket, I can speak from actual
experience, down to present date.
In the first place, every village green has a history of its own, and
the people are proud of their old traditions. On many of these greens
some of the best-known cricketers in England have from time to time
appeared during a century past, and some come there occasionally now
during every summer; so the cricketers of all classes have always had
good models to work from. The green is common to all, and all have a
common interest in the honour of the parish. This charming home feeling
is admirably described by Miss Mitford in the ‘Tales of our Village;’
and she has not exaggerated it. The consequence is that by one consent
the centre of the green is always left for good matches, and as every
village boy learns the management of turf, you would be surprised to
see what an admirable pitch youngsters of fourteen or fifteen years of
age will make for themselves on somewhat rough ground with the aid of a
five-pronged fork, a watering-pot and a hand-roller; and you would be
surprised to see what _real_ good cricket many of them play. Of course
there is always a sprinkling of sons of good cricketers who have been
well taught, and they have the opportunity of instruction from old
players.
The training of village boys is very analogous to cricket fagging at
school, and anyone who takes an interest in village cricket will do
well, when he and a few friends practise, to have any little boys of
twelve or thirteen who show any proficiency to field out for them, and
to encourage them with a few coppers, making them understand that the
honorarium is dependent on their trying to do their best. The next step
is to take a lively interest in the boys’ eleven, which consists of
boys under fourteen or fifteen, to promote their matches in every way,
and to inculcate the value of fair play. It does them a great deal of
good if an old cricketer will spare half an hour, when the boys are
practising, to criticise their play, pointing out any faults, such as
running over the crease, bowling no balls, not backing up for a run,
explaining to them the principles of running, and calling their partner
(secrets which some really good batsmen never _have_ learned and never
_will_ learn), and so on. The grand thing is to try and make cricket
_real_, and to make youngsters understand that playing the strict game
is the secret of true enjoyment. We all know how all pleasure depends
on observance of simple rules, and on doing in practice all things
as carefully as if we are engaged in a match, or any other friendly
strife. Even if I play at ‘beggar your neighbour’ with a child I insist
on the rigour of the game. Many of us must know as cricketers, too,
that long after we had given up playing in matches, there was immense
pleasure in having a first-rate professional, on a real good wicket, to
bowl, with sixpence on the wicket.
The very mention of single wicket now is like the mention of jalap and
rhubarb and calomel and bleeding, those terrible remedies of the past,
to a modern doctor; but single wicket with seven or eight in the field
is the finest practice for training, and we found it so on our village
green, a very few years ago, played thus. Every man’s hand was against
his neighbours in turn, and there were no sides. Of course, with six
or seven in the field, byes and hits behind wicket counted, and this
fact made the youngsters try to cover as much ground as possible. The
batsman went out if he got ten runs; and as in these games there was,
at least, one good professional bowler, it took a good man to score
ten runs. The professional and any amateur who had any pretence of
being a bowler changed about. These games were very good for putting
a youngster into; and I have seen three or four hundred people on the
green watching one of these trials. It was also a good thing, in the
event of a substitute being wanted in a good match, to try one of them,
as it accustomed an aspirant to accept responsibility and to play
before a crowd. It is a wholesome state of things when young cricketers
are at hand anxious to fill a vacancy; it shows zeal.
Anyone who has charge of village cricket falls very short of his duty
if he does not arrange at least one real practice afternoon a day or
two before a match. He must have a good wicket made, and all who are
going to play in the match must come for some part of the play. And
this is a good opportunity for letting young bowlers come and try their
hand, with sixpence on the wicket. I have much faith in that sixpence
on the wicket. It is useless to waste any trouble on a boy who has not
got cricket at heart, but it is a great deal of use training one who
has. The difficult stage is when a boy’s strength is growing and he
is old enough to be taught strict cricket as regards defence, and in
trying to steady him down you must be sure to steer clear of the evil
of cramping his hitting power. We know from experience that sometimes
matches are lost or draws made owing to the want of a man who will
go in and hit. In my boyhood days there used generally to be one, or
perhaps two, in every eleven who could field splendidly, and who made
no pretence to scientific batting, but who, aided by a strong nerve
and quick eye and a heavy driving bat, could sometimes make a terrible
example of the bowling and help the score. Mr. Absolom, of Cambridge,
and afterwards of the Kent eleven, was one of this class. He was worth
playing in any eleven in England for his bowling, fielding and hard
work, and if he never made his runs, his share towards success was
as great as those who made a score. The thing to ‘burn’ into a young
player’s mind is, that unless he can concentrate all his thoughts on
the match in which he is playing he will never be an English cricketer.
He may, perhaps, by long practice acquire the knack of getting a lot of
runs, and building up an average, but if that is all that he is worth,
he had much better never have been in the eleven at all. Amongst eleven
men, some are sure to get a lot of runs generally, but the men who win
matches are those who prevent the other side getting them. Take one of
the best samples of cricket in the season of 1887, as a proof of what
saving runs means. I think that anyone who knows the game can hardly
help coming to the conclusion that Gunn, in the long field, saved more
runs in 1887 than the best man made, and saved a good many more too.
The Australians put their main trust in their field, and they taught
us a good lesson when they came first, and it has done us good. Gunn’s
batting is often equal to his fielding, to say nothing of his bowling.
Now we come to a more serious matter--management and finance; and,
unless the world has very much changed in the last few years, anyone
who takes a new lead in country cricket will find himself surrounded
by hosts of friends (?) who are worth nothing. They will all want to
come on the committee, and make all kind of wild suggestions about a
stock of club bats, pads and gloves, &c. There is only one antidote to
this, which is to stand firm on one point--that no public subscriptions
shall be asked for for any purpose other than keeping the green in
order, paying for balls for matches, match-stumps, hire of tents,
umpires, scorers, and other inevitable expenses; the simple inducement
for subscriptions being the having a few good matches during the
season, and keeping up a ground for the use of those who cannot pay for
themselves. Unless you keep up a good parish eleven, everyone will do
as he thinks best, and the whole green will be cut to pieces and will
never be repaired.
In these days you cannot get an eleven who will make a good stand in
a match without some professional training. Many places are fortunate
enough to have an old professional or two amongst its inmates, men who
have given up grand public matches, but who are worth their weight in
gold as practice bowlers, trainers, and members of the village eleven.
Men of this class, who will play in a match for ten shillings or will
come in the evening after work for a crown or so, and who are always
on the spot, are the best aids towards keeping together a good set of
young players and forming an eleven. They know the young players and
take a pride in them, and will find out their failings and good points;
and nothing cheers a captain more than an invitation from a local
professional to come and see Bill Smith or Tom Brown bat. When such an
invitation is given, you may be sure that the professional has found a
recruit who can play a length ball with a straight bat and confidence,
and who can punish a loose ball. You will find numberless cricketers
who can get runs--if they once get set; but, like precious stones, many
get spoilt in the setting. What you want is batsmen who, in wet or
fine weather, on rough or smooth ground, will go in with nerve to have
a good try. If you want a few runs to-day from A, and he breaks down
through that cricket malady called ‘funk,’ it is no consolation to hear
from his _claqueur_ B that ‘A got seventy, not out, last week.’
You must try and raise the standard of a village eleven by letting
them play when you have the chance against teams who are stronger than
themselves. A licking is good medicine for them sometimes; and if, on
the other hand, they win by the chances of the game, a victory of this
kind ‘sets their tails up.’ The worst thing for them is playing against
weak teams, making a tremendous score, and knocking their opponents’
wickets over for a few runs. It is astonishing how a captain, by
working steadily on, can ‘educate his party,’ as the late Lord
Beaconsfield said; and if by quiet persuasion he can influence some of
the rougher element to abandon their horse-play and ‘flowery’ language,
and to assist in keeping good order--at the same time warning them that
ladies and gentlemen are kept away from the green for fear of their
ears being contaminated by rough language--he will find that visitors
who come prepared for a noisy rude crowd will be surprised to find
perfect order; and if some one trangresses the bounds of good manners,
he will hear a cry of ‘Better language there!’ This kind of thing _can_
be and _has_ been done; and the result was that, in a place where the
possibility of such a thing as a ladies’ tent on the green was laughed
at, not only was the ladies’ tent a great success, but subscriptions
flowed in in a wonderful manner. One dear old lady--an Exeter Hall-er
who took omnibuses full of people to hear Sankey and Moody--sent ‘two
guineas for the green, which is now, I believe, a place of innocent
amusement and happiness,’ as she stated in her letter. She _was_ a
good Christian, as her house stood deep long-leg, and many a time has
a ‘four’ been scored for a hit through her window--and this is fact.
With the enormous number of large schools in England where cricket
is played, it will seldom happen that any cricket neighbourhood has
not some young fellows from school, or possibly a few from either
University, close by; and if they happen to be of the right sort they
are a great boon. At the same time it should be a golden rule never to
put out of the eleven a good one, who has worked for and earned his
place, for a ‘swell.’ The rule must be kept hard and fast, that the
eleven is open only to those who have proved themselves good enough,
and if that rule is observed, in the event of a real first-rate amateur
turning up, you will generally find that more than one volunteer will
offer to stand out for him.
Captaining a village team is not all a bed of roses; but if you are
really a cricketer at heart, you will soon acquire the absolute
confidence of people of all classes, especially of the humbler order.
It is not an unpleasant thing, as you walk across the green on your way
to the train, to hear a pack of little boys on their way to school,
who look on you as a kind of big dog that won’t bite, all chattering
about the match the day before. ‘Ah! Sir, I heerd my father say that he
won a pot over the match,’ says one. ‘That boy, Sir, got the stick for
playing truant yesterday morning,’ says another. ‘Well! if I _did_,’
replies the culprit, ‘I _see_ the beginning of the match, and _you_ did
not--there!’ That boy may be another Fuller Pilch some day.
And if you are sitting in the tent when your side is in, revolving
many things in your mind, and you feel that the whites of the eyes of
Mr. Chummy the sweep, a good cricketer formerly, who sits on a form
just outside the tent, behind a very short pipe, are glancing round
on you, what a comfort it is, if you turn round, to see an almost
imperceptible nod of Mr. Chummy’s head--for he never speaks during a
match--which says, ‘Going on all right--we shall win!’ That nod of
the head is only intelligible to a cricketer, just as a very ‘shy’
rise of a trout is only perceptible to a genuine fisherman. Those,
too only who have known some celebrated cricketer from childhood, and
have watched his career and promotion from the little boys’ to the big
boys’ eleven, and eventually to the parish eleven, and have seen his
cricket talent developed from year to year until he appears in his
county team, can imagine how painful is the excitement to those who
are interested in his success. It has been my fate to go through--I
had almost said the agony of--that state of suspense many times, and I
must relate one instance. A young player, twenty years old, after my
earnest entreaty, was allotted a place in the county eleven. He broke
ground in London against Notts, and at his _début_ had to stand the
fire of Alfred Shaw and J. C. Shaw. Directly I saw him play the first
ball my mind was quite at rest, as he showed that he had not the stage
sickness. He got twelve runs in an hour and a quarter. His next public
appearance in London was a ‘caution,’ as he scored 20 not out, in his
first innings against Cambridge University; and, going in first, scored
82 in his second innings. This occurred nearly twenty years ago, when
cricketers played with their bats and not with their pads, and boundary
hits, except against the pavilion, were unknown; so fifty runs was a
grand score. I never shall forget my feelings when the colt had made
47, within 3 of his 50; I could look no more; when, all of a sudden,
I heard a roar from the crowd which told me that our village boy had
done it. The secretary of the club said, ‘He must have his sovereign
for fifty runs,’ and he promised me that if he made thirty more, which
would make a total of 100, including his 20 not out, he would give
him two sovereigns, if I would give him one for his first fifty. I
undertook to raise that capital; whereupon, a stranger, a very tall,
handsome, gentlemanly man, said, ‘And I will give him a sovereign too;
for’ (turning to myself) ‘your excitement, which I found was only
occasioned by interest in a village boy, and not heavy betting as I
imagined, has done me real good. I have been for thirty years in India
and am going back again in a month, and nothing pleased me more than
to find this keen love of sport still existing.’ He would not give his
name, and I could never find out who he was; possibly he is alive and
may read this, and may let us know who he was, for I am sure he has not
forgotten it. Richard Humphrey was the colt, and I sent for him into
the Pavilion, and the ‘illustrious stranger’ shook hands with him and
gave him the sovereign.
The foregoing remarks about clubs apply to a country place with some
pretensions to first-rate cricket and a village green. In a rural
out-of-the-way place where the population consists of a class which
cockney writers call ‘Hodge,’ and which we call ‘chaw-bacons,’ bats and
balls and stumps and all implements must be provided by subscription.
In all other cases those who want to play cricket must pay for their
own cricket things. If a good ground is provided the cricket ought to
grow of itself. ‘And this country cricket must cost a good deal of
money,’ perhaps you will remark. Of course it does; so does fishing,
or shooting, or hunting, or any other sport. There are many men who
want to skim the cream of the cricket and to play in a good home match
who will not play in an out match because ‘they have not time,’ really
because they are too stingy. If you mean cricket you must back it
everywhere with all your heart and all your strength. Whatever you do,
never forget the wind-up match and supper at the end of the season, and
get some good cricketers from amongst your foes to join, and above all
a parson or two if possible. In these days, I need not say ‘abolish all
ribald songs and drunkenness,’ as cricketers have good manners now.
As a last word, I must say something for country umpires. When
changes in the game are proposed, a lot of outsiders who try
their hardest to prevent penal laws being made intelligible, on
the ground that ‘the change will put too much on the umpires’
shoulders--especially country umpires,’ are talking nonsense. In the
days of Caldecourt, John Bayley, Tom Barker, and Good at Lord’s,
umpires did their duty without fear or favour, and did not let men
‘cheat’, and the same stamp of umpires still exists in counties and
on many a village green; and if there are any umpires on public
grounds who cannot administer the law fearlessly, they had better be
supplanted by those who can. If batsmen in the past had shamelessly
stopped the ball with their pads without ‘offering’ at the ball with
their bat, country umpires would have given them out for unfair play,
on the same principle as wilfully obstructing the field. I suppose
they would call it l.b.w; and the crowd would have given the retiring
batsman (?) a _very_ cold reception; or perhaps a very hot one: neither
extreme of heat or cold is pleasant. The late Chief Justice Cockburn
said of county magistrates: ‘They may sometimes administer bad law,
but generally good justice;’ and the remark applies to village-green
umpires.