Lives in Cricket No 18 - FR Foster

Northamptonshire now visited Edgbaston; Foster batted listlessly and after being too unwell to bowl in the first innings took only one for 52 second time. It was no surprise that he now went off to Prestatyn for a ‘holiday’ and missed the next two matches. Thankfully he returned for Middlesex at Lord’s and it was stated that the cause of his recent problems had nothing to do with cricket; he had reportedly been ‘larking about’ at home with brother Arthur and hurt his side after a heavy contact with the corner of a sideboard. Foster had ample opportunity to test out his fitness; on an excellent surface Middlesex reached 483, with centuries from Tarrant and Warner. Foster gave himself 39.5 overs for figures of four for 124, but though dismissing Warner, his other victims were the Hon Rupert Anson, N.E.Haig and G.G.Napier, an abundance of aristocratic connexions but none in the batting front rank. Warwicks’ reply was eccentric; with no hope of a win they went on all out attack. Smith hit 33 out of 43 in 20 minutes, Charlesworth 60 in 80 minutes. Quaife restored sanity with 50 in more than two hours but six were down for 191 when Foster and Percy Jeeves came together and added 82 in 65 minutes, Foster, after beginning shakily scoring 70. Warwicks fell just one run short of saving the follow-on and suffered a disastrous second-innings debacle. Nought for one overnight they underwent an unbelievable collapse to 33 for nine. Then, and then only did Foster come in. He had only just reached the ground, not having expected to be needed so soon. Under the weather (again) after a heavy night he had taken Willie Hands to the Turkish Baths early in the morning. They then treated themselves to a shave, haircut and shampoo, and had a game of snooker before deciding to get a cab to Lord’s. Let Foster take up the story in his own words: We rolled up to Lord’s and looked at the scoreboard. ‘Good God,’ shouted Hands and he ran like a stag up the long entrance to the dressing rooms. I thought the man had gone mad, but when I took a closer look I discovered that there were eight Warwickshire men out. Hands just managed to change at the fall of the eighth wicket, the Middlesex XI captained by Plum Warner waiting a few minutes for Hands. I had to bustle myself for once and just managed to be ready in time to go in last. Hands was still batting, I went in at 1 o’clock, Lunch was 1.30. As I passed Hands at the wicket I said: ‘Stick it in and let me have the bowling as much as possible. We’ll try and keep these beggars in the field all afternoon.’ Hands winked and nodded. At 1.30 we were still together. Plum Warner said to me ‘Shall we go on for a few more minutes Frank?’ I replied ‘Yes’ and, damn me, if Hands didn’t then get out. He had made three out of 30 between us; I had made the other 27. Foster went on: ‘The best joke was this. After we had lunched, packed our bags and returned to our hotel, I ran smack into my father as we were crossing Trafalgar Square. He said: “Where have you been?” “Why?” I replied. “Haven’t you seen the newspaper placards?” I said “No”. “Well,” he said, all the placards had got it in big type, “Where’s Frank?”’ Vicissitudes down to war 75