Cricket 1913

280 CRICKET: A WEEKLY RECORD OF THE GAME. Jun e 7, 1913. The Inky Rambler (Hullabaloo Cricketensis). A hardy annual, blooming in all sorts of unexpected places. A t its best in the winter and early spring. Dies off in the autumn. Needs pruning hard to keep it in check. A Few Cricket Stories. That the Yorfcshireman is essentially a sportsman is a trite axiom ; and there are few natives of the county who are not enthusiasts in at least one branch of our national pastimes. In the prosaic course of business the writer lately had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of an excellent old gentleman to whom cricket is as the very breath of his nostrils. "11118 gentleman w as good enough to enliven the tedium of business by many amusing anecdotes and remini­ scences of his younger days. Some of these the writer has promptly forgotten, but a few are now jotted down in the hope that they may amuse others as they amused h im ; though the written word cannot convey to the reader the old gentleman’s delightfully racy style, nor the evident enjoy­ ment he took in relating his stories. His modesty prevented him from alluding to his own per­ formances, but in his day he w as well known in the West Riding as a useful all-round cricketer, and more especially as a prominent member of the Barnsley and Dewsbury and Savile Cricket Clubs. He exceeded the hundred on several occasions; and more than thirty years ago he w as the prime mover in founding a cricket club at the colliery where he was then employed, which, entirely through his exertions, became well known in the district, and is still in existence. Had not the claims of business interfered with his cricket in early life, it is quite likely that he would have attained more than a local celebrity, for he possessed what Napoleon used to term “ the sacred fire,” and he threw himself heart and soul into the gam e he loved. As a schoolboy he spent every minute of his spare time at the game, and he relates that it was no uncommon thing for him to g o without dinner or tea rather than lose a moment’s practice. His cricket days are now but memories, sweet and 1 cherished, of the years gone b y ; but his enthusiasm for the game has never waned. The name of this delightful enthusiast is Mr. J. W . Bedford, and for more than twenty years he has held a position Of trust at Messrs. Crawshaw and Warburton’s, Ltd., the largest colliery owners in the Dews­ bury district, where he is naturally held in much esteem. Having introduced Mr. Bedford to the reader, we make our best bow and retire gracefully into the background. Amongst the Sheffield cricketers of thirty years ago (it is Mr. Bedford who now speaks) there were few better known than the brothers Johnnie and Jimmie W -----:n. Johnnie, you will remember, represented his county with success on more than one occasion. He bowled extraordinary lobsj he used to toss the ball as high as a house, but when it pitched it would w riggle and squirm like a thing pos­ sessed, and would dart for the wicket at all sorts of un­ expected angles. The two brothers were playing in a match one day when Jimmie’s bootlaces came undone, and the game was delayed while he fumbled about adjusting them. “ Come, hurry up, man, hurry up! ” exclaimed the captain impatiently. “ Why! ” turning to Johnnie, “ whatever does Jimmie wear black laces in his boots fo r ? ” “ O h ! ” replied Johnnie, “ Jimmie’s in mourning. His wife died the day before yesterday.” The late Earl Fitzwilliam was at one time very fond of cricket, and arranged some good matches at his seat, Went­ worth Woodhouse. In the early eighties a match came off in which most of the Yorkshire Eleven were playing, either on one side or the other. Harrison was then at his fastest, and with the first ball of the match he clean bowled one of the opening batsmen with a beautiful breakback. Billy Bates was the next man in, and as he came jauntily down the pavilion steps swinging his bat, happy and light-hearted as ever— alas, poor* Bates !— Harrison, seizing the ball, ex­ claimed, “ See, here comes Bates. Watch me out him like I did the other beggar, first b a ll! ” Bates nonchalantly took guard. Harrison braced himself together, swung his arm, took a run, and hurled down a faster and an even better ball than the first. But Bates, stepping out of his crease and timing the ball with the most perfect precision, has made a drive, and see ! the ball soars far over long-off’s head, over the high boundary wall, and drops on to the roof of a cab standing in the road beyond— a splendid hit! The laugh is somewhat against Harrison, but as the cheering subsides and the ball is returned there is a gleam of determination in his eye that shows he means business. He sw ings his arm to loosen the muscles, and he eyes the exact spot at which the unplayable delivery must pitch. He bowls, and the ball seems to hum as it leaves the supple fingers. But again Bates steps lightly down the pitch, brings off another full-bodied drive, and again the ball sails high over the boundary. Tw o balls and two sixers! “ Now, Shoey lad,” sings out Bates, “ let’s have some right bowling. Thou’d never get me out in a month with such stuff as yon ! ” The laugh is decidedly against Harrison n ow ; and before Bates leaves he has topped the hundred. The Yorkshire Eleven, after a weary day in the field at the Oval, had travelled down to Brighton. Sussex had won the toss, and the Yorkshiremen were having another long score piled up against them on a wicket as hard as iron. “ Shoey ” Harrison, after 1 two days alternate pounding away at one end and chasing the ball at the other, was excessively leg-wearv, and “ Oh, my poor feet; they are sore! ” he kept exclaiming. “ Never mind, Shoey lad,” said Ephraim Lockwood; “ when we get back to the hotel, thee put thy feet into right hot water for a bit.” “ Is that a good thing? ” anxiously enquired Harrison. “ The very best in the world,” asseverated Ephraim. So when the cricketers arrived back at their hotel the first thing that Harrison did was to ask for a tub of hot water. Now in the sitting-room allocated to the cricketers there was a beautiful white hearth-rug