Lives in Cricket No 47 - Brian Sellers

34 The line that disciplines the fell Were Sellers, father and son, not Freemasons because they felt it was not for them; or because members did not want them? We cannot know if Freemasonry was a bond between Bowes, Verity, Sutcliffe or Hutton; or even if they knew each was a member. Whether they joined because they believed in it; because they wanted to rise in society generally; or they liked the company, of clubbable conservative men that made a change from cricketers: they made themselves a life that did not belong to Yorkshire cricket club; or Brian Sellers. Ellis Robinson Whenever he was in a Yorkshire team photograph, Ellis Robinson was usually smiling broadly, as if he were glad to be there. He was a worthy member, as a hard-hitting lower order bat, an outstanding catcher, and above all as an off-spinner. In the three seasons from 1937 until the war, he was one of the four men who bowled most balls for the county; in Sellers’ last two seasons after the war, Robinson took most wickets. Even then, Robinson sometimes suffered according to the order of seniority. In the list in the newspapers of the 13 for that 1937 challenge match, the amateurs Sellers and Yardley came first, then the most senior professionals – first Sutcliffe, then Leyland and Wood – to the last two, Cyril Turner and Robinson, who were indeed the two left out of the eleven. The twelfth man had the traditional and thankless job of looking after the bags on the journey to the next match; and had to ask the players for the money afterwards, for any taxis or porters. ‘The established people, they didn’t have to do it. You wouldn’t expect Herbert to do it, would you?’ Robinson said. The most a man could do was excel when he did have a chance; even then you might not keep your place. Dickie Bird learned that, a generation later, in May 1959 when he made 181 not out, what proved his highest score for Yorkshire: When I got back to the dressing room, Brian Sellers, the chairman of selectors, was there to greet me. ‘Well played, Dickie lad,’ he said. ‘But get thee bloody head down, you’re in the second eleven in the next match.’ That’s Yorkshire cricket: they deflate you before you can reflect in any glory. Sellers had a lot of enemies but I liked and respected him. He gave it to you straight, never behind your back. That is another admirable Yorkshire quality. Robinson put something similar into print: ‘I got 13 wickets in one match and at half past six I was told that I wasn’t required for the next match, that I was playing in the seconds. You couldn’t sort of fathom why; it was probably to stop you getting big headed.’ While Bird and Robinson understood why Sellers did it to them well enough, the reasons were fundamentally economic and cultural; Sellers as the foreman for the employer was denying the workers any feeling of security; or rights, of expression for example. Robinson recalled how (in June 1939) Yorkshire lost at Bristol on a pitch made for the off-spinner Tom Goddard (who took 13 wickets); yet they left out Robinson. ‘You couldn’t say anything. The