Lives in Cricket No 20 - Maurice Tompkin

The Coronation summer of 1953 was especially memorable for Leicestershire. Gerry Lester was now officially senior professional in succession to Les Berry. Though Maurice’s credentials for the position were high, he could not have argued with the choice; Lester was three years older and had made his debut the year before and was perhaps more inclined to exercise authority when this was needed. In Coronation Year, there was an air of expectation nationally, even of a ‘new Elizabethan era’. And of course, 1952 had been a great summer for the county. What would this year bring? Maurice wrote an article for the Leicestershire yearbook, characteristically modest, but full of the domestic aspect of playing and living in the county where he had been brought up: I have heard it said that it is a lucky man who enjoys his work, and if that is so then I have nothing to complain about, because I cannot think of any occupation that could give me more pleasure and fun than trying to play cricket for a living. Being local born and local bred, strong in the arm and weak in the head, I naturally would rather play for Leicestershire than any other county. Since the war we have had our ups and downs, more downs than ups I am afraid. What about our supporters during this time? Friends of mine have said to me: ‘Better go down on Saturday and Monday, there will be nothing left of you by Tuesday.’ They weren’t kidding, either. I live in a village and it is difficult when we are on a bad spell to escape the critics – all ardent supporters though – but they do rub it in! Goes something like this: ‘How many did you get – six? How were you out – lbw? What, again! Needn’t have bothered going again today, need you?’ We have had spells when however hard we tried we seemed unable to win a match. During these spells when we took the field at Grace Road I often counted the supporters over in my territory on the popular side (sometimes not very popular) and should there be nine instead of the usual ten I crossed my fingers and hoped he had not given us up as a lost cause. I know very few of the spectators by name but know most of the regulars by sight, and match after match they turned up – must have been as optimistic as we were. During one particular match we had been rolled over for very few and the opposition was steadily building up a lead of two or three hundred. I overheard, but then I was meant to overhear, two of our supporters in a conversation something like this: ‘I wish I had a funeral to go to, it would be a lot more fun than watching this.’ So the other one said ‘someone ought to shoot the lot. You would enjoy that, eleven coffins all with a fox on top.’ I have often wondered whether it would have been in alphabetical order or batting order! Needless to say, the same two supporters were there the next day. 80 Years of Plenty, 1950 to 1953