Lives in Cricket No 18 - FR Foster

Leicestershire lost by an innings in under two days. It was a happy band of cricketers who went off to Northampton; Warwicks’ triumph there is fully covered in Foster’s own words in Chapter One. Warwicks’ success had already begun to grip the imagination in some quarters. Headed ‘F.R.Foster – An Appreciation’, appeared in Cricket magazine, page 473, a poem to her hero penned by Phyllis Jeanie Rickards: Warwick, your day has dawned at last, You’ve found a leader, born and bred, The wooden spoon for you has past Now Foster’s head. See how his fighting power resists, And plucketh out the stagnant weeds. Who would refuse to join the lists? When Foster leads. From the pavilion, to and fro, A long and sad procession strolls; There’s not much chance for them you know, When Foster bowls. No chance for that poor chap who skies; The fiercest drive a single yields; Its energy personified When Foster fields. The score mounts up by leap and bound, The bowlers try a swerve of spin, But boundaries are always found When Foster’s in. The scorer sharpens up his point, And point he sharpens up his wits, For soon the bowling’s out of joint When Foster hits. England is rich with such a man, And Warwick you are richer still, You’ll never be an ‘also-ran’ With Foster’s skill. The team rejoice in life renewed, The fairest flower they bring to grief; They fight and win the fiercest feud When Foster’s chief. Warwick, good luck, don’t rest content Until you win and fame renowned Succeed in leading Midds and Kent Then Foster’s crowned. Tell Kent from me she hath lost 44