WOULD YOU LIKE A GAME FOR THE SECONDS? ..... (PLEASE!)
Douglas Hurdley, teacher of English, Annott Housemaster, mentor to many and dedicated supporter of School sports has submitted this feature article:
From 1970, for about twenty years, I was in charge of cricket teams and hockey teams - second teams - and this had its problems.
The first elevens had the stars of the day, naturally, and players were keen to be a part of it. The ‘possibles’ of the second elevens could be a little more reluctant, with the added complication that any injury or absence in the first team meant that the best players from the second eleven were taken, which was awkward, especially on a Saturday. So on some Saturday mornings it could be difficult to find a team and a scorer for the afternoon. Chris Ward or his brother David from School House come to mind as willing volunteer scorers - a boon.
There would be begging and pleading to fill the last place, especially if a long coach journey to Norwich, Langley or Cambridge was involved. I was grateful to boarders like Sam Organ from Queens who would come for a trip to leave the school grounds for a while! From 1974 it became more and more difficult, once the school took in girls, so that the numbers of boys as potential players was reduced. Children of members of staff were so supportive: Max Leslie; Richard and Matthew Pluke and Adam Lubbock turned out week after week, which was invaluable.
A patched-up team with some patched-up kit would at last be ready to go, probably in a coach driven by a bearded, grinning ‘Hug’, who was a real character and drove like a fiend. On one trip to Cambridge for a cricket match we had gone beyond Bury on the old A45. We were bowling along at a fair speed when a police car overtook the coach and signalled to pull in. Hug lost his grin. He smoothed his hair, straightened his shirt and climbed out. Had he been speeding? His grin was even wider when he returned. ‘The Leys has phoned the school - there is a thunderstorm - the game’s off.’ He was so relieved.
The other memorable incident with Hug was on a freezing February day with three hockey teams coming back from Norwich. As we approached ‘the Magpie’ at Stonham, smoke started coming from the cowling of the engine beside the driver. Hug cursed and pulled into the pub carpark. Cue loud cheers from the teams, at the prospect of a drink on a cold evening while the problem was sorted out. Norman Stevens was in charge of the Firsts; I was with the Seconds and the Thirds must have been umpired by Ken Charrot, who must have been about 60 then. As the stampede down the coach began, Ken stood up, reached into his jacket pocket, took out his Blue Book and asked in a clear voice, ‘Which of you young men is over 18?’ There stood Ken like the little Dutch boy - alone - stemming the broken dyke.
This was before the mobile phone, so contacting Garnhams for a replacement coach took some time. The four of us over 18 waited in the pub. Eventually the coach arrived. There was a head count and two were missing, to be seen ruinning from a pub further along the road, wiping their mouths. They had been ‘to phone their mums.’ I can’t mention names but a few prefects were reduced to the ranks on Monday!
THE GREAT SULK.
Fixtures for hockey and cricket fluctuated. In my early days, under JNS, we took hockey teams as far as Bishop’s Stortford - quite a long trip - ‘because our 1st XI plays their 2nd XI and their 1st XI plays Harrow 2nd XI.......’ It was an experience.
This was the era of the ‘great sulk’ between Woodbridge and Framlingham, College. Games at Fram were run by Norman Borrett. Some years previously JNS and Norman had disagreed - it is said over an LBW decision - I never dared to ask, in case JNS told me. His explanations could be long and dry. So, until these two worthies retired there were no fixtures between the schools, though we travelled all over East Anglia for games. Occasionally we played against teams from Ipswich Comprehensives. I can remember going into one such school with our team feeling cocks and a little superior. As we walked through the playground and down the corridors however, they fell quiet at the size and appearance of some of the pupils they encountered and were less chirpy. In fact they clustered around me like chicks around a mother hen. On the trip home Tony Davenport confided that he could not get over the fact that the forward he had to mark not only wore a turban but had a black beard as well.
FLANNELLED FOOLS
Games of cricket had their moments too. Once, at King’s School, Ely, we were batting second and overhauling their total well, thanks to big hitting from Jeremy Marchant. He was in a hurry because we could see a thunderstorm coming across the Fens. As he dispatched sixes into the marshy ditches beyond the boundary, the Ely umpire, a certain Mr. Reckless, offered the batsmen to end the game through bad light, but Jeremy refused. So, as we changed ends their umpire intoned mournfully, ‘OVER - in the gathering gloom’ ..... ‘OVER, - in the pouring rain.’ We won that game.
WHY DID IT ALWAYS HAPPEN AT ST. JOSEPHS?
When I went for the first time to umpire at St. Josephs, I was a little taken aback to find my opposite number with an ankle-length black soutane under his white coat. Odd things seemed to happen at that School!
On one occasion the coach stopped and I got off to be greeted by the priest who was to be officiating.
‘Are you with the Under 14s?’ he asked.
‘No - Mr. Weaver will be along in a minute.’
Mr. Weaver disembarked from the coach to be greeted with,
‘Ah. Mr. Weevil.’ He was hardly thrilled.
It was there that one of our bowlers took their last three wickets in three balls to win the match so I gave him the hat-trick ball as a memento, only to have to stop the coach as one of the priests was running after us to reclaim the match ball.
In the 1970s, at the height of the Monty Python era, we were at St. Jos again for a match. They began to play ‘Liberty Bell,’ the opening music of the comedy series. No one on the cricket ground seemed to be taking any notice of this, but at the appropriate monent, in unison, ‘de dum diddly dum de diddly dum’ every fielder squelched down a foot - with fitting sound effects, like the cartoon foot on TV.
In one game there, a St. Jo’s batsman came in who was playing a part straight out of P.G.Wodehouse. He was more Bertie Wooster than Bertie himself. We had down to earth Suffolk lads, like Gerry Daish and Paul Smith who had no airs and graces. This young man was playing ‘The Toff’ - wearing a colourful cap with a matching cravat. He spoke, or rather ‘yelped’, in a loud affected voice with a stage ‘posh’ accent. As he pushed a single, the call was, ‘Just the jolly old one, Giles.’
This annoyed as well as amused the fielders. Our wicket keeper was the most down-to-earth, one of the famous Wisbech apple-growing Leach family. The brothers were stalwarts; there was usually a Leach, a Jardine, a Kemsley or a Simpson in the team over the years.
A catched was snicked to the keeper, who was so anxious to take it that he snatched at it and dropped it.
‘Bugger!’
‘I say, umpire, would you mind awfully asking your chaps not .... to swear.’
We may have lost that match.
OTHER MEMORIES.
Our fixture against Norwich School was always on FA Cup Final day. We prayed for rain but it rarely worked. I can remember a Norwich batsman running in to face the bowling, refusing a guard, shouldering arms to be out first ball and running off, asking if there had been a goal.
There was a Saturday when all my pleas and ploys failed. It looked as though, for the first time, I was a player short - destination Culford School, John Motson’s old school, incidentally. Somehow, one of the girls from Mrs. Kay Pluke’s Sixth Form Centre, and I can’t remember her name, sorry, was persuaded to join us. She played in shorts and seemed to enjoy the outing but when she batted she was hit on the leg above the pad and suffered quite a bruise.
I’m not sure we won that one either.
The outcome was that headmaster, Fred V-R, had me on his carpet on the following Monday morning and made it clear that there were to be no more female cricketers in the team, even if we were short of players.
At Langley I asked an angelic boy who was handing round sandwiches, how he had got a job like that on a Saturday afternoon. ‘I’m a malefactor, sir.’ I had tried that approach too.
TEAM TEAS
Whatever the reason - whatever the sport - it was always a headache to find helpers for Team Teas on a Saturday ..... well for me in Annott House at any rate, and to an extent to Tony Warnock in Burwell. It was less of a problem for Ian Battye (‘Now look here, chum’) and none at all for Alan Nicholls for some reason.
How to do it? Bribery? ..... Cajoling? .....Punishment? Wayne Garvie of Burwell seemed to do it a lot at one time. If there was a problem on Saturday, there was a bigger one on Monday, with the formidable Miss Keeble - the queen of lean cuisine - and who can forget the grey delights of a dish of ‘dead baby’s arm?’ solid pastry? or green curry? ‘Clean plate please, Sir.’
These are ramblings not a detailed history, so I cannot mention everybody - put it down to lack of space and a failing memory ---- sorry to Ollie Hicks .... John Cummings ..... Stuart Leask ....et al. It is an appreciation of the kindly co-operation of hundreds of boys - and one girl - who played a game for the 2nd. XI often at short notice - like breaktime on Saturday.
‘Are you sure you don’t want a trip to Colchester? They do the best teas, with cream buns ........... PLEASE.’
Oh, PS Why I hate Harry Carpenter.
In 1977, it was the Queen’s Silver Jubilee Year. At Wimbledon, Virginia Wade had reached the women’s final and national expectation was high.
Naturally our teams were playing Outer Mongolia High School -away. There were no Walkmans then, but a few had radios to follow the match. I let it be known that I wanted to see the replay later and did not want to know the result. There was teasing merriment on the coach home and lots of hints, but no one told me what had happened.
We were home around 9.00pm, feeling tired after a hot day. I turned on the sports programme and there was Harry Carpenter, who smiled, and said, ‘Now let’s see how Virginia Wade won at Wimbledon, this afternoon.’ The end of a perfect day!
We probably lost that game too.
A footnote from Dr Jeremy N. Marchant-Forde with some more details to add to Doug Hurdley's memories:
One of the reasons for writing is to add to Mr Hurdley’s sporting memories! I captained the cricket 2nd XI way back in the summer of 1984. I am the Jeremy Marchant mentioned in the 'Flannelled Fools' section of his article above – one of my very few finer moments with the bat that game at Ely, where I scored somewhere in the region 65 on a pitch with very short boundaries. My best (and probably only shot), being an old-fashioned slog around cow corner, but I believe the scorebook said I scored my 50 from about 15 deliveries, including a couple of dot balls. Naturally I was bowled before long but we did indeed win that game as the dark clouds swept across the sky…
The other ‘addition’ concerns Lucinda Wakefield, who played that one game at Culford mentioned in 'Other Memories'. Lucinda was actually under the ‘command’ of Mrs V-R at Headmaster’s House, who obviously had a direct line to Fred V-R himself, especially when it came to ensuring the safety of her charges! So, unfortunately she did only play the one game for us though she could easily have played more based on ability.
It was always fun to play for Mr. Hurdley and I’m sure I’m not alone in looking back with immense gratitude to all those members of staff who coached and cajoled us and tried to keep us under control on those Saturday bus trips! Can’t have been an easy job!
Back
Next
Page