The Summer Field

133 with some misjudgements of the pitch; not if you batted first. Faced with this prospect, the pro’ advised moderation. In May 1936 the Glamorgan batsman Cyril Smart wrote of himself as a ‘fast scorer’, which he defined as between a stone-waller (‘who says every ball is a snorter’) and the pure hitter (‘who treats every ball as bad’). Only the fast scorer - the ‘scientific hitter’ rather than a slogger, according to Smart - treated every ball on its merits, did not make up his mind about a stroke beforehand, and did not seek runs where there were none. Reg Santall of Warwickshire suggested a similar perspective, over a season rather than an innings. He recalled his fifth season, 1925, when – though he did not spell it out in print – repeated batting failures left his county career in jeopardy until he hit a fast century against Yorkshire at Dewsbury. Just as he accepted failures as ‘spasms’, best not worried about, so he was wary of overconfidence if he was successful (‘just keep plodding away as though everything were running normal’). Understanding that ups and downs were natural and passing was a healthy way to handle batting, and indeed life. * To spectators, though, ‘plodding’ or ‘plugging away’ might look dull. The pro’, in the game for the long haul, had a technique and attitude that worked for him; yet even if he resisted change – because change might be for the worse – others around him and wider society would force change on him. In any case, age changes us, although changes are hard to spot unless we take a break, and return. Just as older people may become more conservative politically, typically batsmen (Sir Jack Hobbs, Ken Barrington and Nasser Hussein to name three from different generations) batted more cautiously as they aged, and fast bowlers became less fast, or were not fast as often (Fred Trueman), or they even embraced spin bowling (Mike Procter). A central question in life is how we explain change, in ourselves, a place, or some part of society. Partly, players were judged against whatever was the norm which changed. If applause is the crowd’s way of showing approval, and booing disapproval, laughter is more intriguing. A telling example of a former norm being laughed at was in July 1925, when Sir Robert Peel of Drayton Manor hosted a local Tamworth Eleven of his, and Warwickshire Club and Ground. For Warwickshire, H.V.Stott came on to bowl ‘under-hand’. First ball, he bowled a batsman ‘with a ball which broke from leg amid the laughter of the crowd’, the Tamworth Herald reported. We may find it hard to judge why some or most in a crowd laugh, even when we’re there, let alone a lifetime after the event. At a guess, the crowd found the under-arm so out of the ordinary as to be ridiculous, and all the more absurd when it fooled the batsman. As a comparison, during the Adelaide bodyline Test, Bradman - given the last over of the fourth day against the well-set Hammond – bowled a slow, wide full toss. As Bruce Harris described it, Hammond lashed at it, to send it out of the ground, ‘but only grazed it’ and it went on to his pads and his wicket. Every player laughed, except Hammond. In each case, the laughter lay in the unexpected. Bradman, by then not a regular bowler, was only bowling to close the day; H.V.Stott was an antique; everyone expected the Batting and Bowling