This is an unfinished piece that describes my love for cricket that I had as a boy. It is roughly chronological.
At January 2020 there are sections to be added or completed.
First memories
I adored cricket, probably more than rugby and even football. I learnt to bowl in the garden outside Jocelyn House, playing with the boarders. Cricket skills are hard; one is not born with them. One evening, an older boy called Simon Allwork taught me how to bowl a cricket ball properly. Something just clicked; in a few minutes, I went from the stage of ‘chucking ‘ a ball to bowling it properly , with a straight arm. I remember this whole episode as if it were an epiphany: akin to experiencing God. Simon Allwork was at least two years older than me, so I must have been in the second year at junior school and he in his 4th year. I knew little of him, and because he was older I barely spoke to him, but he became like a demi-God in my eyes.
Soon, I was learning how to grip a cricket ball in different ways so as to impart spin or seam on the ball. I would read books detailing how to master the techniques of cricket. I was happy to read books and learn from them. I suspect I had no great natural talent, but I had the urge to learn, and had other boys around me to play with constantly and to learn from.
More than once I have repeated my anecdote to my father of how Simon Allwork taught me to bowl. My father will tell me how Simon was very good at sport, and also how Simons own father was exceptionally competitive; he (Mr Allwork) would come for the Fathers Match and have to win.
FIRST CRICKET MATCH – U10s vs Taunton away
My first game of cricket for the school was at Taunton Junior School as an U10. Dad often talked about how the first ever U10s fixture for the school was at the same school, possibly two years prior to my first game, and how we were all out for 4 chasing about 100. So I didn’t expect to win this game, and we duly lost but we did at least score some runs. I can remember the artificial wicket, I remember going out to bat, and I think I remember facing a few balls. I have no idea whether I scored any runs. I do know that I enjoyed the ceremony of the game, the quirks, the odd fielding positions, the strange customs, the wonderful white kit, and the pads and the gloves and the bat. I fell in love with cricket.
I think I loved cricket even more than football or rugby as a 10 and 11 year old, although back then there was no overlap in the seasons as there is now, so as a boy you could love one or two games in the winter and another in the summer.
I must have learned the basics of the game in the U10s. I read books on how to play cricket; these books were big on classical technique, on playing side on, lifting the bat, playing straight. There was a series of ‘How to’ books to teach you to master sports and Mum or Dad must have bought the cricket one for me. I would memorise the basic techniques and would practice them , not veering from the orthodoxy. I read how to play the forward defensive stroke and practiced the actions wherever I could – with a ball outside, or with just my hands in my bedroom, thrusting my front leg forward and keeping my knee and eyes above the ball as the text told me I should. To this day, even when playing amateur, friendly cricket to a very low standard indeed, the old fashioned forward defensive stoke is my favourite. It just feels like a proper shot. If one must score a run, then a wide ball on the offside can be pushed into the covers for a single, and a four is allowed if it results from a crisps drive to an overpitched ball. Anything wide on the leg side may be pulled, although one always feels sullied having to play such a uncouth shot.
GOLF BALL CATCH IN THE BEDROOM
I could catch a ball. In my bedroom there was an old fireplace; that had a tiled wall. About six inches high at its front. Before going to bed each evening, I would throw a golf ball against the tiled wall and catch it when it came back. The golf ball would come back to me quite quickly off the tiles, so my reflexes were challenged. Over a week I must have done this for several hours and I am sure that is why I could catch.
I could field extremely close to the stumps on the offside, in the silly mid off position, and I took a few very sharp, diving, catches. These catches gave me massive confidence.
On one hot afternoon we were practicing on Cedars field; a combination of the heat and the fierce concentration I would impart whilst fielding close to the cricket caused me to faint.
READING WISDEN and other sport books
When I was age 9 or 10, Dad gave me a copy of the 1958 Wisden Cricketers Almanac. Wisden listed the scorecard from every ‘first class’ game played over the last year. Shut away in my bedroom, I discovered the beauty of the cricket scorecard, still the pinnacle of human achievement. I methodically read through each scorecard.
Living as we did in Somerset, I came to idolise the batting and bowling averages of a Bill Alley.
After devouring the Wisden, I moved to other books of ‘sporting bests’, and could soon name the ground names and capacities, nicknames, shirt colours, record attendances, leading goal scorers etc etc of all 92 football league clubs.
I had a ‘gift’ for memorising data, I guess I thought all people did, and I was just better than most. Now I see it as a bit odd and I wonder whether it indicates I was on the autistic spectrum in some way? I have certainly always preferred facts and data to real people.
Cricket, of all the sports, provides the richest source of data. It is also, annoyingly, prone to change. In my universe the leading run makers in Test cricket are still the players I read about as a boy: Sir Garfield Sobers, M.C Cowdrey and Wally Hammond, and if asked the question: “Peabody, who are the leading wicket takers in test match cricket” , I would without hesitation respond: “Lance Gibbs with 309, followed by Fred Trueman with 307, Sir!”.
“And , Peabody, how did Fred Trueman feel after taking those wickets”.
“If I may say so sir, he felt ‘bloody knackered’”.
“Very good Peabody”.
In this fast changing world, it therefore comforts me that Jack Hobbs, with 61,670, is still the leading run maker in all forms of first class cricket, and still will be when I have fallen under the proverbial bus.
As well as the Wisden, Mum and dad bought me ‘The Ilustrated History of Cricket’ for my birthday, probably eleventh. Again, I read this one cover to cover. It detailed all the cricket series’ that have ever been played, along with summaries of all the great players, with their individual statistics listed. As well as reading it, I would use the pictures to make my own drawings, labouring for ages over my Viv Richards picture. (In junior school I enjoyed art and drawing, although had no real skill in it, and by the time I was about 14 I had lots any ability to even draw a straight line with a pencil).
U11s – to be completed
FATHERS MATCHES
Each year there was a ‘Fathers Match ‘ at the end of the summer term. I payed in two of these.
The fathers were encouraged to ‘dress up’ for the occasion. Dad would wear old Edwardian style cricket kit, with a raffish blazer and scarf, and some of the other fathers would compete to be the most flamboyantly dressed.
I think I played in two of these. In the second one, I opened the batting. The dads engaged in witty banter on the pitch. I found it quite intimidating ; I wanted cricket to be taken more seriously than this. I scored 8 runs, all singles, in a grindingly slow innings in which I vividly remember hardly being able to hit the ball off the square. When finally out, I trudged off, disconsolate and faintly humiliated.
John Player league games on Sundays on TV
The Sunday one day cricket league was launched in England in 1969. Between 1070 and 1983 this was called the John Player Sunday League.
During the 1970s game were televised; most Sundays there would be a featured game on BBC2. Coverage of the cricket would be interrupted by horse racing or other events, but most of the game would be shown live.
These games were an integral part of the life in 1970s England. Often the games would be played at minor grounds in small English towns. The grounds were often small but the games seemed well attended; as the afternoon wore on, the noise of the crowd grew as the spectators imbibed more alcohol.
The commentators were wonderful: John Arlott, the poet of cricket and Jim Laker especially.
I could spend hours watching the games’ some of the games could be quite dour, and I might have no interest in the counties playing – Leicestershire vs Essex, say, but I would get hooked into watching and could not pull myself away from the television. I recall one game, a fairly non descript match, that I had sat through almost to its conclusion, become increasingly somnambulant as the game ground on. With just a few overs to go, Mum and dad came to tell me were all going out for a walk. I felt disappointed to have to miss the end of the game, and a little ashamed that Dad did not verbally recognise that watching the end of the cricket match was important; maybe my obsession was a bit odd; I somehow knew that not many children would spend an entre afternoon watching an obscure cricket match.
Somerset had become my team and they came close to winning the league in 1978. I was heartbroken when Somerset lost to ? on Sunday 3rd September 1978. Even Mum came in the living room as dad and I were watching the finale and took an interest. Somerset had lost the day before in the Gillette Cup final, to Hampshire. This would have been one day before my 12th birthday, and most likely the last day of the summer holiday that year. On the 4th September, I would have started life in the senior school.
1975 – David Steele vs Australia
David Steele features prominently in my vivid memories of the 1976 Test season; but he first came to notice the previous summer in 1975. He might be one of the first cricketers I really knew of. Australia won a four match series 1-0. David Steele was the batting hero for England. His game was all about pragmatic defence, steady and safety first play, courage in the face of hostile fast bowling. Gnarled, silver haired, bespectacled, shy, he spent the summer defending his wicket for England, taking the ball on his chest or back when it missed his bat . These characteristics made him a hero to Dad.
I learnt that Dad preferred sportsmen to be honest tryers who made the most of their abilities; a few eccentricities on their behaviours helped too. So Steele, Boycott, Alan Knott , Derek Underwood and Derek Randall were all acceptable. Ian Botham, hero of England cricket in 1981 and other series’, was begrudgingly accepted. For all his talent, he was far too flamboyant.
1976 – England vs West Indies
In 1976 we went for our first holiday in France, after several years of holidays in Devon. For the next 5 or 6 years we had a summer holiday on camp sites(s) France, booking with Canvas holidays.
In 1976 we went to Lannion, in Brittany.
At some point each day we would play cricket with Dad. Jeff wasn’t as keen on cricket as I , but happily played in the games. Sometimes Jane joined in and sometime we played a family game. I always took the game very seriously, anxious to play the right shots in front of my father. He might say I played like Derek Randall, and that made me feel good. The beaches of Brittany were brilliant for cricket, with large areas of firm, clean wet sand , In later years, as we moved down further south, the beaches became busier and less likely to have the areas of wet sand.
It was on that first holiday in 1976 that I really became aware of test cricket and began to learn who all the players were. England were playing the West Indies and were being comprehensively thrashed by a team that included four fast , aggressive bowlers, and swashbuckling batsmen. Their star batsman was a young man named Viv Richards, who I learnt was playing for Somerset. He became a hero of mine, and in my final year in the junior school he came to present the prizes at the school sports day.
After our evening meal on the site, Dad, Jeff and I would do the washing up. Mum would have made the evening meal, helped by Jane, so it was our job to do the washing up, just as we did at home. We usually talked about sport. In Lannion, whilst we were doing the washing up in the evening Dad would chat about the cricket. Dad was incredulous that the West Indies were scoring runs at a rate of ‘a run a minute’, a fact I have never forgotten. There was some beauty in the names of the West Indies team: Greenidge, Fredericks, Richards, Kallicharan, Gomes, Lloyd, Murray, Holding, Holder, Roberts, Daniel. Dad was fond of doughty, pragmatic English players; Boycott was his hero, but he also loved Alan Knott.
I am certain we were in France for the 4th test, held at Headingley from July 22nd-27th . (We may also have been in France for the end of the 3rd test . After drawing the first two tests, England had been absolutely thrashed in the 3rd tests, being bowled out for 121 and 76.
In that 4th test, England made a better game of it; in their first innings, Greig and Knott both made 116; Dad talked about Knott excitedly over washing up duties – could he and Grieg make enough to give England a chance?
In France, we could keep up with the scores in two ways; sometimes Dad could get his wireless to work, and pick up Test Match Special, which would allow us to follow the test matches in real time; and in that summer of 1976 I remember straining to listen to Test Match special on the beach. I think that Mum and Dad thought it odd that I was more interested in trying to follow the cricket on a tinny radio, that playing like a normal child, but I was enthralled.
The second method was to wait for the English papers. On the camp site these would usually be delivered a day ‘late’. Very occasionally, we might get the English paper in the evening of the day I was published. Getting the English papers was one of the rituals of the holidays in France. Mum and dad would get first dibs, and I would try to grab a look at the sports section as soon as possible; reading the day old English cricket scores in the Times or Telegraph was the most wonderful thing.
As the crow flies we were perhaps only 150 miles south or Lords or the Oval, yet it seemed like we were on another planet. The ‘English’ papers were available a day late. One of the rituals of the French holidays was going to fetch them when they came in to the camp shop. ‘When the papers would be available’ was a constant topic of fun filled conversation for Mum and Dad. Occasionally, whilst walking round a French town, we might come across a shop that had an English newspaper in earlier than anticipated. This was a source of great joy. I would get to the paper after Dad had read it, and I would greedily check the cricket scores, bathing in the beauty of the scorecards. The broadsheets also regularly updated the table of averages; these were a special treat.
Back in England, in late summer, the Oval test somehow marked the zenith of that amazing summer. The TV pictures revealed an outfield baked yellow by the heat and drought, as English men sweltered in the unseasonable heat. The crowds were made up mainly of West Indians, enjoying the cricket with a noisy exuberance that was most un-English. This was the first time I had ever seen what I learned were ‘Rastafarians’. Viv Richards was some kind of God.
Heady times.
Somerset vs Australia, June 1977, Bath
In the 1970s and 1980s the touring team would play warm up games against the English counties. We were taken a school trip to Bath to watch what I think was the second day of this game. Mr Winter was in charge. We must have had a day off school to go . Somerset spent much of the day batting; Brian Rose scoring a century. Mr Winter told us about this exciting young player called Ian Botham; the main thrill of the day was seeing Botham batting; he scored a quick fifty, including one six that hit the side of the Leisure centre. Somerset won a famous victory, and later that summer Ian Botham made his debut for England ; England won the series against Australia by 3-0.
England vs Australia , Summer 1977
We would have followed one of the early tests from our holiday in France; possibly the third test from Trent Bridge, 28 July–2 August 1977.
The Australian team of that summer isn’t as memorable to me as the previous years West Indians, but many of the names resonate: Chappell the unflappable captain, McCosker and Walters the doughty batsmen; Hookes was young and dashing, Kerry O’Keefe the spinner with the girls name, Jeff Thompson and Len Pascoe the devilish fast bowlers , Max Walker with his odd bowling action.
England were Brearley, Botham, Boycott, Randall, Willis, Underwood. That summer they were mostly Boycott.
In the third test at Trent Bridge, Boycott, returning to the test team after a long absence, ran out local hero, Derek Randall.
The major event of the series was Boycotts 100th hundred, which he scored at his home ground, Headingley, on August 11th.
Dads two favourite players were Boycott and Randall. He loved Randall as he was a Nottinghamshire lad. But Dad reserved his greatest admiration for Boycott, whom he always referred to as ‘Sir Geoffrey’. Boycotts running out of Randall in the third test might have left Dad with mixed feelings, but by the 4th test at Headingley, Boycott was very much Sir again.
In the 1970s and 1980s, the BBC broadcast all the test matches, interrupted only by pesky breaks to show a horse race from Ascot or Epsom. I would watch hours and hours of the tests during the summer holidays.
Dad would come in and out of the living room to check on the score. He was the ultimate pessimist when it came to sport, and England in particular.
You would be idly watching the first morning play. Enjoying it. The perhaps Tavare would be out and England might stutter to 68-3 by lunch on the first day. “England have lost this” Dad would say, and then repeat several times, to ensure we were all aware of the impending doom.
I felt like saying in response: “but Dad, there have only been two hours of play so far and there are still 28 hours of play left – how can you say England have already lost? We have some decent bowlers in Botham, Willis, Underwood (etc)”. But I didn’t say that; I just accepted that for Dad, England were always losing.
For England football matches, the mantra usually started a few minutes into a game: “England have lost this, we are rubbish”; the first misplaced pass would be greeted the eternally angry : “professional footballers, eh, they should be fined for that”.” I would think “There are only two minutes gone, Dad, can’t we just watch the match”.
On the day of Boycotts 100th hundred, I was watching the match at home. It was a warm summers afternoon. Dad must have been following the game on the radio, outside, because as Boycott reached the magical figure, Dad came in to watch. Boycott completed his hundred with a leg side straight drive off the bowling of Greg Chappell, and then milked the moment for all he could. Dad was jubilant; the name of Sir Geoffrey, one of the few English sportsmen immune from scathing criticism (Derek Randall, David Steel and Alan Knott were the others; they were all doughty, gritty ‘tryers’ and therefore of acceptable moral character), would now ring around the house for several days.
England vs Pakistan and New Zealand, Summer 1978
I remember very little about this series. Whilst on holiday in France, England would have been playing New Zealand. At this time, New Zealand were nothing like the side they are now, and the records show that England won comfortably.
England vs India, Summer 1979
England won the series 1-0. The games played during the school summer holidays were all draws. Again, I remember little of the series, although I always enjoyed watching India, as much for the names of the players as anything else – they had Chandrasekhar, Venkataraghavan, Vengsakar, Vishwanath. They also had Sunil Gavaskar, who was impossible to get out, and Kapil Dev, the Indian Botham.
Somerset vs Middlesex, Gillette Cup semi-final, 22 August 1979
The year after the heartbreak of Somerset’s double ‘failure’, Somerset finally won their first trophies . In a reversal of 1978, they won the Gillette cup and John Player league on successive days.
The Gillette Cup was a 60-over competition. Dad took Jeff and I to the semi-final against Middlesex at Lords.
I think we drove, although we know Dad did not like driving. We took a tube form West London into Lords. The game had started by the time we were in the ground. We went in pat of the ground behind one end, opposite the Lords Pavilion. We were high up in the upper tier of the stand; with a good view, although a long way from the pitch.
We sent most of the game standing up. Most of the people round us were Middlesex supporters. As always, dad got talking to the other people round us, some of whom seemed impressed that we had had come all the way form Somerset. There were loads of Somerset fans in the crowd. Somerset were supported by huge numbers of travelling fans, much as football clubs might be.
It was a low scoring game ; in the modern game, it would be highly unlikely for a side to score only 185 off 57.5 overs, as Middlesex did that day. It was a joy to see Joel Garner bowling; he took four tickets and conceded only 24 runs. During his time at Somerset, Garner was pretty much unplayable in the non-league format; a gangling 6 foot 8 inches tall, he speared in his fast Yorkers at batsman who could barely see the ball coming at that from that height.
I wanted to see Viv Richards bat; he was one of my heroes. I had actually met him when he came to the school to present the trophies at our School Sorts day. Dad had managed to get him to come to that event; Dad said how shy he was , and that he did not want to make a speech; simply , he would hand out the awards.
Viv made 32 on this day; enough to see him in action. The hero of Somersets innings was Pete ‘Dasher’ Denning, who scored 90 not out. Dad liked Dasher more than he did the stars f the side, as he was a local boy, born in Chewton Mendip and educated at Millfield school.
As the afternoon wore on and Somerset got closer to victory, the songs from the Somerset section of the crowd became louder and rowdier. Dad would have been worried about getting out the ground and on to the tube ad then home, but we stayed until the end; Botham came out and smashed the winning runs., and then we left.
| Middlesex 185 all out (57.5 overs) | v | Somerset 190/3 (50.2 overs) |
| Phil Edmonds 63* Joel Garner 4/24 (10.5 overs) | Peter Denning 90* Mike Selvey 1/31 (11.2 overs) |
England vs West Indies, Summer 1980
It was exciting to play the West Indies again, but, in contrast to 1976, this was a wet summer and Many days play were lost to rain. We would have been on holiday during wither the 3rd or 4th test, both of which lots days to rain, and ended up as draws. Thus we would not have had the excitement of following a close game via the radio whilst in France.
England vs Australia , Summer 1981
The excitement of the cricket this summer cannot be overstated. Books have been written about it, films made.
We were on holiday during the famous Third test, played at Leeds between July 16th and 21st.
England had lost the first test, and drawn the second. Botham had lost the captaincy as his form deserted him, and it became clear he wasn’t really captain material. I remember watching on TV the moment that Botham was bowled first ball by Ray Bright, the Australian spinner, during the test match at Lords. The Australians barely celebrated, and the silence that greeted Botham as he trooped off the pitch was embarrassing. I was embarrassed just watching on TV.
For the third test, England bought back Brearley as captain. Botham was just a ‘player’ again. In the first innings, Australia scored 401. Englands chances of winning the test seemed slim. I was pleased to learn that Botham had taken six wickets. Englands reply was pathetic – all out for 1974, although Botham score 50. From out camp site in France, we were resigned to a massive defeat. We picked up what information we could via the radio, then via the English newspaper a day late.
Back then, there was a rest day – Sunday July 19th. We would have had the chance to catch up with the action via the papers.
On the final two days of the game we were on a beach, most likely in Brittany. On day four we picked up that Botham, with the game surely lost, was smashing the Australian bowling around. He was aided by the unlikely figure of Graham Dilley, a fast bowler who could smack the ball around a bit.
On our holidays, after the evening meal, Dad, Jeff and I always did the washing up. We would mainly talk about sport. That evening we were excited that England had fought back a bit. And that Botham was leading the way. Of course, England could not win. But do I feel that even Dad was thinking – we still have an outside chance here.
I remember the last day quite vividly. We were on a beach as usual. We had made camp at the back of the beach, near some rocks. The fact that the beach was rocky suggests it was Britanny, rather than La Boule or St Juan de Pins – longer, sandier beaches, backed by an urban walkway at La Boule, and forest at St Juan. We had the radio on. I was not interested in anything but listening to the cricket. Mum suggested I go and do something.
Australia’s target was just 130; at 56-1 it looked like a doddle for them. Then Bob Willis started taking wickets; he took 8 of the final 9 wickets (Chris Old taking the other). I was glued to the radio, whilst digging in hole in the sand with my feet and hands. Lunch – wonderful baguettes filled with spam or luncheon meat – came and went. Dad would have opened a bottle of French beer which he and Mum would have shared. At some point that afternoon England achieved the remarkable and won the game. I wonder when I would have first seen any of the action? I expect when back in
England, at the start of the next test, as the BBC would have shown highlights as part of their cricket coverage.
The 4th Test , played at Edgbaston ,was a low scoring affair that lasted just four days, from July 30 until August 2nd 1981. This games is famous for Botham 5-11 in Australia’s second innings, when they were bowled out for 110, needing only 151 to win the test.
During the 4th test I was on a cycling ‘holiday’ in the Black Mountains of Wales. The holiday was arranged for me by Mum and Dad; I had no choice in the matter, I was just told I was going. This was a “Roger needs to get out and meet people and socialise and not spend so much time on his own” holiday.
My old friend ‘Ticker’ was coming with me. Ticker had left the school a few years previously but I would still occasionally see him. The holiday lasted 4 nights; we started in Chepstow and cycled through the Black mountains, ending in Hereford. There were maybe 8 people on the holiday; our leader was a gnarled man in his fifties or sixties, with the iron legs of a seasoned cyclist. We stayed in youth hostels I think. Some of the cycling was quite hard, but we stopped regularly at pubs for drinks. We were allowed the odd shandy.
On the final day of the 4th test we spent some time at a castle; someone must have had a radio as we picked up that Botham was taking wickets again, and England were winning a game that Australia should have won. No-one else in our group apart from me and Ticker, and the leader, was interested in the cricket. The only other boys I have any memory of, couldn’t understand my enthusiasm. Music tended to be the main source of conversation on the holiday; music was very tribal then; if you liked one type of music then you couldn’t like another. If you were a ‘mod’ then you hated rockers’ and ‘New Romantics’ and so on. I like ‘Ghost Town’ by the Specials (and other ska music, but also Adam and the Ants who were a bit ’New Romantic’ , so I am not sure exactly where I sat in the world of music tribes). Ghost Town was always on the radio; the cricket hating pair were heavy metal fans – AC/DC, Motorhead etc – and hated the Specials, so I got stick from them, for liking it.
Anyway, after the excitement of being away for the 3rd and 4th test matches, I was able to watch the 5th and 6th tests form the comfort of home. My cousins Russ and Nick were probably staying with us for some of this time. We would get up late, in time for the start of play at 11am; idly watch until the lunch interval. Have lunch ourselves, then finally get out of the house and do something about 2pm. Probably play cricket in the school playground.
England won the 5th test, although Allen Border came uncomfortably close to winning the game for Australia, and the 6th test, at the end of the summer holidays, was drawn.
1976 was the golden summer in many ways. We had the heatwave, the drought, weeks of sunshine. You were outside all the time. I was nine years old, 10 in early September; I would have started playing cricket at school that year and fallen in love with it. I was throwing my golf ball at the edge of the fireplace in my bedroom, learning how to catch. We went on the first of many holidays to France that summer, and whilst there we tuned in to how the England vs West Indies tests were going. I knew all the players from both teams; bowling and batting averages became things of beauty to me.
Late in that summer I saw pictures on TV of the Oval test, the outfield yellow, the crowd full of partying west Indians. Great memories.
Roger Peabody 