From an Umpire’s Viewpoint While it is possible to report on most cricket matches by just listing the players and the score, the annual fixture between the Gold Bats and the Sherlock Holmes Society of London does not allow of such brevity. Cricket is only one part of it. The match, played under 1895 rules, takes place at West Wycombe Park, one of the prettiest grounds in the country, with Sir Francis Dashwood’s superb 18th-century Palladian mansion on one side and the equally picturesque church and mausoleum up the hillside on the other. The scene is usually further enhanced by supporters of the Sherlock Holmes team wearing period costume and this year proved no exception with a gentleman displaying his skill on a penny-farthing, correctly dressed in deer-stalker, Norfolk jacket, breeches and leggings. (I will not insult readers by naming the Doyle short story he represented.)
Last year’s match was cancelled because of floods, so both sides were delighted to resume their rivalry under captains Peter Horrocks (Sherlock Holmes) and Bob Miller (Gold Bats). It was as my senior umpire colleague, Murray Hedgcock, went out to inspect the pitch with them that I found the answer to something that had puzzled me for years. I had always wondered how Murray had achieved that dignity and gravitas that marked him out from other men. Was it his many years as a brilliant newspaper reporter? Did he just have that certain something that others did not have? No – it simply comes from his years as a cricket umpire. It was as I saw him walk out that it came to me – that measured unhurried stride, that dignity, that clear sense of superiority over lesser mortals. Like Beach the butler, he was a solemn procession of one. And to help things along, he had brought his 12-year-old granddaughter Georgia, a cricket enthusiast, to see how the game should (or should not) be played.
The Gold Bats won the toss (with an 1895 penny) and, after the 1895 Rules had been explained to both sides, the Gold Bats began their innings. It should be noted that, under these rules, there are only five balls per over; LBW only applies if the ball pitches dead in line with the stumps and the bowler’s rear foot must be grounded behind the rear crease as he bowls. In addition, at least two overs must be bowled underarm, which always produces some excitement. In this instance, Peter Horrocks did exactly that by taking two wickets with his seemingly innocuous lobs. As umpire, it is not for me to comment on the skill of either side, and my concentration was not helped by the red kite which took advantage of the strong wind to show off its nearly two-metre wingspan in a series of graceful swoops over the pitch. Nor were things helped by events off the pitch where Hilary and Robert Bruce were assembling their new gazebo. I won’t say how long it took, but despairing cries of “How on earth can I hold strut C while I’m fitting Socket J to tie-point W which doesn’t fit anyway?” went on for a considerable time. Success came with the intervention of Bill Franklin from California, whose business trips to the UK coincide with Society events with astonishing regularity. Matters were not helped either by the penny-farthing cyclist riding slowly round the boundary line, which meant that I was liable at any minute to receive an impassioned appeal from the batsman for “Penny-farthing cyclist crossing my line of sight!” That would have made a historic entry in the score-book.
Things proceeded without incident till one of the Sherlock Holmes bowlers, Jonathan Lewis, twisted his leg badly and fell to the ground in severe pain. Paul Rush was on hand to give immediate First Aid, and an ambulance arrived soon afterwards to whisk the casualty to hospital. Out of evil came some good, however, since young Georgia, theoretically the Gold Bats’ thirteenth man, promptly became the Sherlock Holmes’ twelfth man and joined them on the field. Lunch, as always for this fixture, came and went with picnics that put Glyndebourne to shame (including a superb Sainte Eulalie rosé!) – and the Gold Bats resumed their innings. It was about forty minutes later that young Georgia covered herself with glory by taking a superb difficult high catch which was applauded by everyone on the ground. And it was soon after that that Bob Miller declared at 139 for 6.
The Sherlock Holmes team came out determined to knock off the runs, and there was more minor drama when the injured Jonathan Lewis returned from hospital and came out to bat with a runner. This is not uncommon but everybody, especially this inexperienced umpire, had to concentrate hard to remember exactly who was meant to be where and to appreciate that though Jonathan could hit the ball as hard as he liked and shout “Run!”, he stayed where he was while his alter ego, well away from the pitch, dashed up and down on his behalf. The Sherlock Holmes team did their best and 100 appeared on the scoreboard, but the Gold Bats bowlers then managed to dismiss two good Sherlock Holmes batsmen in succession. Because the captains had agreed that play should finish at 6 o’clock, Peter Horrocks then came in to play a solid captain’s innings and hold the fort till the allotted time. Another thirty minutes would probably have seen them home, but the result was an honourable draw, with the Sherlock Holmes team scoring 124 for 7.
As always, a highly enjoyable day with as much to enjoy off the field as on it. But that’s the Gold Bats/Sherlock Holmes match for you. – Norman Murphy |
