It is one of those quirks of history. An event several centuries ago provides the possibility of delight in the present. In 1616 Edward Alleyn, retired actor manager, founded what became Dulwich College. And here on this sunny 21^st of June, Alleyn’s birthday, the Gold Bats, the cricket team of the PG Wodehouse Society, are gathered on the fields of Dulwich to do battle with the Dulwich Dusters, the side made up from the school’s staff. People long past cricketing age are arrayed in deck-chairs. Excitable school-boys are running to and fro. And upstairs in the pavilion several stalwarts of the society including, on brief visits to the kitchen, Colonel NTP Murphy the society’s chairman, are putting the final touches to acres of cricket tea.

This game has, as sporting journalists might put it, a bit of history to it. The Dusters have tended to have the better of the fray, sometimes, as Gold Bats’ veterans mutter to themselves, as a result of the old sporting tactic of including a ringer. Who can forget the appearance of a bronzed Australian of spectacular sporting prowess in their side who, an alert veteran Australian journalist observing in an astute fashion from his deckchair suddenly realised, was none other than Darren Berry, vice-captain and sometimes captain of Victoria, a man who Shane Warne was wont to call "mate".

So it was with some trepidation that the Gold Bats this year found the wiry and track-suited form of Bill Athey, (England, Yorkshire, Gloucestershire and Sussex), pacing the pavilion steps. Athey is, of course, chap in charge of cricket at Dulwich, and would be perfectly entitled to play. Relief was widespread when he said he had other responsibilities for the afternoon.

The first tactical advantage of the afternoon went to The Gold Bats' captain Bob Miller. He won the toss and elected to bat. It was 4.30 in the afternoon. It was to be a game of 20 overs each with a rule that anyone reaching the milestone of 25 runs would be retired but could bat again if needed. The sky was evenly furnished with patches of the brightest blue and piles of cotton-wool clouds. A batsman taking guard could look around the field and imagine that summertime in England might never look any better.

From that point on, of course, everything goes downhill. Oliver Wise slipped over on the first putative run and, in the chaos of cricket matches like this, was not run out. Fate had even less of a smile when it came to the other Gold Bat opener, Christopher Warman. He has recently retired after 35 years on The Times. During that time some of his greatest pleasures came from his reputation as a Wodehouse enthusiast. This ensured a regular stream of Wodehouse-connected books from the Literary Editor for him to review.

Warman hadn’t so much as faced a ball before he found himself turning sharply to convert a Wise single into a two. Thigh muscles protested and immediately the game was flung into all the entertainment and distractions of having a runner taking part on behalf of the injured batsman. The raised expectations of the spectators were rewarded with scenes of batsmen and runner going in all directions, clouds of dust as fielder and batsman collided and disputes as to whether whatever resulted should be graced with an entry in the scorebook as run or leg-bye. Warman was out shortly afterwards, bringing the mayhem to a close. This brought the fluent Jonathan Fisher to the crease.

Oliver Wise settled into scoring with ease. Twice he booked himself into a possible detention by hitting none other than the Master of Dulwich, Graham Able, for four. Back in the pavilion the initial Dulwich tactics of bowling each bowler for one over only and then changing to someone else was bringing chaos to the scorers. But it did restore your faith in the youth of this country, or at least the youth of Dulwich. Passing small boys would respond to queries of: "Who’s bowling?" not with a grunted: "Stinker Shuttleworth - everyone knows that" but with a crisp response and additional information such as "Arscott, sir, with two ts".

Meanwhile Fisher was out leg before wicket to Able. The umpire, given that he was none other than the Society’s chairman, was thought to be somewhat over-enthusiastic in his immediate response of a raised finger and shout of "out". This was carrying fair-mindedness to a bit of an extreme suggested several voices from the deck chairs. The pendulum then swung the other way as the stout Dave Bloxham, many times the saviour of his side, was dropped by Danny Kent, another Dulwich Australian, who is rapidly becoming a veteran of this fixture.

Further disasters followed. Oliver Wise was run out in one of those incidents, infuriating to the participants but amusing to the rest of us, when both batsmen find themselves at the same end. Michael Savage, uncle of Wooster Sauce editor Tony Ring, then strode to the crease looking remarkably dapper in his role, at the age of 70, of Oldest Member. He was bowled by Andrew Storey. Immediately after this Paul Rush was given out stumped. This decision had added piquancy. It was Rush Senior who was standing as square-leg umpire. An aggrieved Rush Junior arrived back at the pavilion. He wasn’t questioning the decision, freely admitting that he could quite reasonably have been given out caught behind as well as stumped. It was the morality of the decision which peeved him. "I’d bought him lunch and he still gave me out" was the gist of his complaint.

The hat-trick ball from Storey was averted and Miller and Bloxham set about restoring some balance to the innings, Bloxham hitting two consecutive and thumping fours. He duly reached the 25 mark and was retired. Shortly after this Patrick Gilkes was, as some onlookers suggested, plumb LBW. But as, rather surprisingly, no one appealed, he remained in. This provoked the suggestion later on that a change should be made to the laws governing these games. In deference to the great man no Wodehouse batsman should ever be out "Plum" LBW. Such a change would also relieve the game of recriminations between batsman and umpire over what precisely the rules surrounding the LBW law are in the first place.

The score was 84 for 7 and the overs were running out. Bob Miller made a tidy 15 before being deceived by Danny Kent’s slower ball and being out for one of those infuriating caught and bowleds which look simple from the boundary but which are seen as eminently skilful by those in the middle.

At this point the last pair were at the wicket. Here your author needs to stand back and admire what happened next. He hit a perfect cover drive and felt all the emotions of one who should retire immediately from cricket and spend the rest of his days thinking of the joy of that one stroke. The Gold Bats’ hundred came up with a brace of wides. The last man was run out going for that last extra run on the last ball of the match. It was only when back in the pavilion and discussing matters with the scorer that the truth came out. Umpire Murphy had suffered an aberration, probably as a result of the surfeit of wides, and had informed the batsmen that what the scorers knew to be only the penultimate ball was, in his view, the last ball. The Gold Bats were all out for 101.

Tea was taken. It was at this point that the decision of the Gold Bats to bat first was called into doubt. Hedgcock’s Law, as propounded by Society Patron Murray Hedgcock, the veteran cricket writer, is that a good cricket tea of the sort which makes trestle tables teeter and groan, is A TACTIC. It is something to be inflicted on the opposition so that when they come to bowl and field they are lethargic in both mind and body. Overloaded digestive systems make it hard to chase to the boundary or decide who should bowl first change. But Hedgcock’s Law only works if the opposition bat first. In this case the Gold Bats had batted and were now, post-tea, to field. The only tactic which would have reversed this impending disaster would have been for the team to hold back and only eat a smidgen of sandwich and take the merest sip of tea.

In the circumstances this proved impossible. The upper floor of the Dulwich pavilion was a scene which would have done justice to a frontispiece, probably painted by a Dutch master of the still-life, of a forthcoming edition of "Feasts To Floor Cricketers". Strawberries and cream cut a swathe along one table. Muffins, both sweet and savoury, bridge rolls bulging with egg, cress and other delights, more varieties of sandwiches, including the health-giving cucumber, than you imagined existed, some American sweet-meats called chocolate chip-cookies, and a pile of doughnuts completed the picture. Tea took a while to deal with.

Then it was the turn of the Dulwich Dusters to bat and they showed their intent by hammering the first ball for four. And then they did it again. It was one David Burnett, who had also opened their bowling with some success. He was the nearest the Gold Bats came to unmasking a ringer. He turned out to be an Australian gap-year student helping out on the sporting side.

There was then a bit of an hiatus. A straight four vanished into the bushes at the Mike’s Grove end of the ground. Like spaniels searching for a flung stick several fielders indulged in a bit of scrimmaging in the undergrowth. They could see no sign of the ball and after a while, given that they were out of sight of the game, a plot was mooted to slope off down to the nearest pub under the cover of the shrubs. But then, in a scene straight out of all schoolboy fiction, a passing urchin on the pavement beyond the railings asked us if we were looking for the ball which was clearly to be seen in the middle of the road. The game could continue.

With the score on 11 the Gold Bats struck. Michael Collins had Burnett leg before wicket. "And that’s the first over I’ve bowled in 35 years," he said, with an astonished smile. This longevity and depth of experience in the Gold Bats' attack was underlined a couple of overs later. Jonathan Fisher was put on to bowl. Umpire Murphy asked him if he intended bowling right arm over. "It was, last time I bowled," he replied, "but that was 20 years ago."

Shortly afterwards a match which had been slipping the Dusters way accelerated out of reach. We will give no name to the bowler concerned, suffice to say that he is on the committee and was wearing an MCC sweater. The over concerned went for 4-1-4-4-6-4. In the midst of it Andrew Storey retired having reached his 25. This decision was applauded by his partner. "I’ve only faced two balls since you came in," he was heard to say in a plaintive sort of a way. The score was 54 for 1.

Subtler tactics were required. And while we would never suggest that Umpire Murphy had an ounce of sharp practice within him his method of giving the batsmen their guard was thought somewhat peculiar. Normally guard is given by looking straight down the wicket and advising the batsmen how close his upright bat is to the part of the crease in which he would like to take his guard. Umpire Murphy, it was observed, was giving batsmen their guard in a thoroughly knowledgeable fashion with arms akimbo, knees bent and a keen eye observing the position. But he was making his assessment from a wider and wider angle of the crease. Some suggested that we might shortly witness the first-known occasion of a batsman’s guard being given from a position wide of silly mid-off.

Mild gamesmanship or not it failed to turn the game. Before long another Dulwich Duster, Steve Hoyle, having landed a boundary one bounce into the pavilion deckchairs, also retired at his 25 mark. The score had raced away to 67 for 1. It was time for a captain’s effort. Bob Miller put himself on and was rewarded with an instant LBW decision. The optimistic amongst the Gold Bats observed that heavy grey rain clouds had gathered somewhere around Crystal Palace and looked as though they fancied playing the curmudgeon with a cricket match.

Danny Kent was now at the wicket. A deflection from his pad looked a sure four leg byes but pulled up just before the rope. Only one belated run was taken. This was the lull before the storm. He hit the next ball to the pavilion for four and then put one into the nets for six. It was not long before he too was retired. Stephen Arscott strode in. "Shall we get ‘em in singles?" he said. "Isn’t that the line?"

He might have been stumped next ball but for the ball becoming jammed in wicket-keeper Patrick Gilkes’s upper pad. Arscott was well down the pitch but the ball was reluctant to be plucked from its refuge. The school clock chimed seven. The score was 89 for two. There were still ten overs to be bowled.

When the score reached exactly 100 a stratagem was required to bring one of the Dusters most famous players to the crease. The facing batsman inexplicably shouldered arms to a straight ball and was bowled. And out to the wicket strode the delightful Mrs Henderson. Times have changed since she first played against the Gold Bats. She no longer favours the shorts which then so cheered the fielding side. And she has now progressed from being Mrs Henderson the Italian mistress to Mrs Henderson the Head of Italian Studies. Her batting technique though has remained just as distinctive as it ever was. Michael Savage was brought on to bowl. There were just two runs required to win.

The first ball was a wide. Umpire Murphy could be seen to start to spread his arms wide but then thought better of the gesture. The match continued. Mrs Henderson missed a couple more widish balls. Then she got a slight top edge and dollied a catch to the substantial form of Dave Bloxham at silly mid-off. He got a hand to it, but it bounced up. He almost took it again but parried it sideways. Then, after a couple more efforts at a juggling catch, it went to ground. Mrs Henderson survived to battle some more. But on the last ball of the over a straight one found its way through her sound defences.

Too late the first drops of the impending rain started to fall. Bob Miller decided on a masterstroke. Mindful of the need for lob, or underarm bowling, to be employed in the forthcoming match between The Gentlemen of the PG Wodehouse Society and the Gentlemen of the Sherlock Holmes Society he called up the team’s lob bowler. This provided a starring role for your author once more. The first ball was on a perfect length. It swung this way and that. It dipped skilfully at the end of its trajectory. Some later said they had detected an element of reverse swing. It turned sharply off the pitch. And it was hammered straight down the ground for a four into the bushes once more. The match was won for the Dusters.

After the game, when the teams had changed and a beer or two was being drunk in the bar upstairs in the pavilion, a strange sight could be seen. Out of the windows on the other side of the pavilion you could see several hundred people sitting in a semi-circle facing the building with rugs over their knees and umbrellas held over their heads while roaring with laughter. It was the evening of the staff play. Cricket again. It was called "Outside Edge".