Cricket 1913

46 CRICKET : A WEEKLY RECORD OE THE GAME. F eb . 15, 1913. Rural Cricket. B y C l a u d e B u c k in g h a m , M.A. S c e n e — A private village cricket ground in N .E . Hants. A rustic shed constitutes the pavilion, and there are the usual adjacent paraphernalia of scoring board, treacherous benches, and broken-down seats. The home team in groups and variegated flannels discusses the prospects of play, and awaits the arrival of the visitors. These tardily and detachedly appear con­ veyed hither by divers means of locomotion. The captains stealthily approach each other, pass a forced joke or two, and toss up. The coin falls awry in a tuft of long grass, and a re-toss becomes necessary. I The home captain wins, and decides to put his oppon -1 ents in— a manoeuvre that causes considerable conster­ nation and some sarcasm among the members of his X I. i s t P l a y e r . B low ’d me if Mr. Chandos ain’t gone and lost the game afore it.’s started. 2 n d d i t t o . I t ’s a d------d clever bit of juggling, j th a t’s what I calls it, but it ain’t cricket. 3RD d i t t o . No morejit ain’t. I t’s this ’ere feenessin’ an’ fiddlin’ about with the bloomin’ game that don’t do it no bloomin’ good. I t’s bloomin’ ’armful— it’s I bloomin’------ 4TH d i t t o (employed by captain on his estate). ’Ere, chuck it, chuck it. The gu v’nor ain’t the stoopid ass he looks. 'E knows what ’e ’s about where cricket’s the ticket if ’e is a bit ’azy-like on other things. Mark I me, ’e’s got some reason in ’is mind for putting them chaps in, and if ’e 'asn’t— , [They continue the argument until the captain approaches, and, disregarding sullen looks and murmurs, gives the order for his men to take the field. The match begins. Two matured cricketers, grey-haired and corpulent, open the innings .] W i c k e t K e e p (with hand to mouth— to Slip). A pair of puffers, eh, Bill ? Can't last long, I ’m thinking. S lip . Don’t know. These old coves take some worrying out at times. Look at old Dr.------ [A neat late cut summarily closes the dialogue. The “ puffers ” do last a commendable time, putting up 20 before being separated. A youth in well-cut flannels with a coloured sash makes his appearance. He palavers abnormally about taking his block, bangs the fore-turf heavily with the back of his bat, throws away imaginary clods of earth, and enjoys a long and compre­ hensive look round.] B o w l e r (to umpire ). A lot of swank. I call it . . . might be taking a lease of the premises. These ’Varsity toffs ought to ’ave special pitches growed for ’em. Well, ’ere goes (sends in a fast fu ll toss which is promply dispatched to the leg boundary. Pending the return of the ball the batsman resumes the patting process. Aside). T h a t’s right, . . . git the ground to yer likin’ , gu v’nor . . . and when the ball does 'it it p ’raps you ’ll try your ’ and at the hatmisphere. [The match continues merrily for a time, and then the second “ puffer ” gets run out.] i s t S p e c t a t o r (old and enthusiastic — solemnly). There’s old Gustard out. I t ’s no good ’is sayin’ ’es the man 'e was. ’E ’d never ’ave got out like that a year or two back. ’E ’s 45 come Michaelmas, and ’e’s ’ad ’is day. Better retire before decayin’ than decay before retirin’, th a t’s what I says. Cricket weren’t meant for old ’uns. I t’s more for the likes of young Mr. Playwell, what’s in t ’other end, it’s ------ . Aye, bless me, so it be— th at’s Parson Scraggs goin’ in. Now, ’e’s a properer age ( gazes steadfastly a while). There, look ye, Garge, ’e ’its ’ard, Parson does, same as he do in his sarmins. 2ND d i t t o . Yaas, and ’e’ll be ’it ’ard ’imself one o’ these sunny days, if ’e don’t ’ave a mind. There’s that Vicar of ’is— Reverind Bluster— ’e comes to me t ’other evening, and ’e says, ’Awkins, he says [proceeds to retail at length village scandal of vicar and curate being at loggerheads. Meanwhile runs are put on apace, the youth scoring numerous singles for clean low shots. He finally falls to a good ball.] B o w l e r (to umpire). These toffs ain’t no sort of good for a ground like this. Their cricket ain’t sportin’ enuff for me. Gimme good ’ard ’igh ’ittin . . . . none o’ yer carpit shoves or drorin’ room tricks . . . ’it out and git out, that’s m y motter. U m p ire (sententiously). I reckons Mr. Playwell plays a good game— that he does. He has a bit of knowledge how to keep the ball down, my friend. You don’t want it balloonin’ about in the air like— (a distant hurtling noise in the air is audible, and all gaze upwards. They remain in an awestruck attitude till an aeroplane sails over and is lost to view) — like one of them new­ fangled things. If this ’ere outfield of ours hadn’t pampas grass a-growin’ on it, and valleys and rivers a-runnin’ through it, chaps like Mr. Playwell would double and treble their scores— don’t you forget it, my friend. Now, when I was a youngster------. B o w l e r . 0 ! orlright. Give this joccer what he wants (as batsman takes his guard, and recognizing a hitter of local repute). Lor, lumme, it’s Bonnersop! (addressing no one in particular). Spread out, you fellers. [A general expansion takes place. The hitter indulges in much lunging out, mistimings and beatings of air, and eventually makes a lofty hit to long-on. That fieldsman skips a dyke or two, has time to shout, " More sky-gazing, boys,” and waits with well-disguised equanimity the ball, which uninterceptedly falls on to his chest with a thud, and rebounds thence into his hands. The feat is heralded with shouts of “ Good old A l f ” from the crowd.] H i t t e r (generously — to fieldsman). A fine catch that, A lf— never thought you ’d hold it. F ie ld s m a n . Thanks. I sometimes gets ’em all right. [Pending the in-coming of the next man, a group of fieldsmen foregathers together, and discusses the fallen foe.] i s t F ie ld s m a n . B it off it, old Soppy, to-day ? 2 n d d i t t o . Never seen ’im on it yet. 3RD d i t t o . What about last year at Wincham ? You was playin’ then, wasn’t you ? ( 2nd F . nods nega­ tively.) Oh ! blimme, you missed some sport, then. Soppy was dazzlin’— 'it two sixes off young Sparkes— one of ’em took root in the ’eather— anyways we ’ad to ’ave a new ball— and the other— well, I ’m jiggered if I ’member— what I do recollects is we ’ad our noses j in ’edges and ’eather and 'erbs and a ’tater gardin