Lives in Cricket No 3 - George Duckworth

men I recall seeing in the flesh; Ellis Achong, the left arm spinner of Chinese descent; Sergeant Cyril Washbrook and Leading Aircraftsman Norman Oldfield, strolling round the ground, RAF tunics over their flannels; an ancient Charlie Hallows, still with his dark hair sleekly in place; and little Eddie Paynter biffing straight drives over the tennis courts. George Duckworth must have had what now would be called charisma, for my recollection of him is extremely clear from these and the other occasions I was drafted to help the war effort. Sturdy and a trifle rotund in build, he would once, maybe twice, never more than that, indulge the crowd with his ear-splitting appeal, standing upright and lifting that judgemental arm aloft. There would be laughter and a sporadically cheerful attempt to respond ‘quack quack’. It was innocent enough in all conscience, but, even for an eight year old, it lightened the heart, and, in boosting the morale of packed benches of adults, the gloomy news of war must, for an hour or so, have seemed that much further removed. Then, over the years we would listen to him on the radio, commenting drily and decisively on cricket and rugby league matches. Just as he had presence on the cricket field, he held forth authoritatively when broadcasting, another reason why, from a lengthy experience in the education industry, I feel convinced he would have made a superb teacher. I am able to remember the last time I heard him on the radio, for he related, in his broadly exuberant tones, the story of a cricket match on a Pacific island. It was not unlike in plot one of Peter Tinniswood’s ‘Long Room’ yarns. Apparently, the International Date Line ran through the middle of the cricket pitch. In consequence, the bowler was bowling on Monday and the batsman was batting on Tuesday. The last time I saw him play was the first time I went, as far as I recall, to Old Trafford, a ground I had passed so often during the war, sometimes seeing sheep gently grazing on the turf, and always cheered by the elephantine barrage balloon that was moored precariously on vacant ground nearby. It was July, 1944. Apart from a couple of small-scale service games earlier in 1944, it was Old Trafford’s first major fixture since before the war. It was in aid of war charities, and in contest were the North of England, skippered by that coming captain of industry, Herbert Sutcliffe, and the Royal Australian Air Force. 70 The Legacy