UK poet Anthony Rudolf's cricket memoir

This month I’ve been editing a new issue of my poetry magazine broadsheet: new new zealand poetry. The guest poet is British poet/translator Anthony Rudolf. Last year I wrote a brief article on his cricket interest. Here’s the cricket extract from his new memoir that Anthony sent me to publish in broadsheet:

ANTHONY RUDOLF

From A Vanished Hand: My Autograph Album

A cricket scorecard pasted into my album, which I have successfully unpasted to read the reverse side, is rich with possibility, although I no longer remember whom I went with to the second day of the final Ashes test of 1956, held at the Oval. Doubtless I did not go to the Lord’s Test because, unlike the Oval, it was in term time. Possibly my companion was Paul Rochman, definitely not Michael Pinto-Duschinsky who had a skin condition preventing him from being in the sun. I wonder if the former Prime Minister, John Major, later president of Surrey, was there as a schoolboy. Born in March 1943, he is six months younger than me. Evidently Major and I look or looked alike because, while he was Prime Minister, I was quite often stopped in the street: “Are you the Prime Minister?”, asked some schoolboys. “Would I be walking around North Finchley in a tracksuit if I was John Major?” My nearest and dearest could not see it, but I could, and all those strangers thought so too. Vox populi, or what. The cricket gave me an excuse to write to him about our physical resemblance. I told him about the schoolboys, enclosed a photograph of me, and also a photocopy of the scorecard. Eventually a reply came from his Chief of Staff, Arabella Warburton: John Major did attend the Test match on the first day, when Compton played his last Test innings. There was no comment from him on the alleged likeness and she herself saw none. 

   Hugh Tayfield and Crawford White, the two signatures on my scorecard: my old Cambridge friend John Barrell did not need the following explanation when I consulted him, though non cricket fans or cricket non fans among my readers should be informed that Hugh Tayfield was a famous and distinguished South African off-spin bowler. All the same, I am not sure that it wasn’t Crawford White whom I recognised first. He was the cricket correspondent of the now defunct News Chronicle which we took at home along with the Times and it is possible his photograph was printed alongside his by-line. According to the Guardian obituary of White in 2000, “his most difficult job was ghosting Denis Compton’s column”. The previous Test at Old Trafford saw Laker take nineteen wickets (eat your heart out, rival Tayfield), a unique record to this day. I consulted John because I wasn’t sure if I attended the Oval on the first or second day, and accuracy, as in left arm spin bowling, is of the essence. At first I thought that I picked up the scorecard — which shows England all out for 247 and Australia 13 for three wickets — at the end of play on the first day but John Barrell writes, consulting his memory and the 1957 Wisden which he owns: “if memory serves, Compton was out for 94 after six o’clock on the first day, and, in failing light, May decided to send in Lock as night-watchman. But he was out first ball to Archer, and so Washbrook had to come in. He averted the hat-trick but fell before the close, also to Archer; Evans immediately fell to Miller, and England ended the day at 223 for 7, having been 222-3 half an hour before.”  The score on my card suggests that the printers on the ground were late in bringing it out on the second morning or, less likely, brought out a second edition quickly. I seem to remember we had our own cricket books on whose blank templates we could keep score, but mine have not survived the passing of time.

   Cyril Washbrook was aged forty-one and was one of the England selectors. The first four England batsmen on the scorecard are listed as P.E. Richardson, M.C. Cowdrey, Rev. D.S. Shepherd and P.B.H. May. The rest of the England team was Compton, D.C.S., Lock, G.A.R., Evans, T.G. (keeping wicket of course), Laker, J.C., Tyson, F.H., and Statham, J.B. Note the initials: the first four England players were amateurs (“gentlemen”), the last seven professionals (“Players”) and the convention, which I touched on earlier in respect of John Warr, was to identify them by the position of their initials. On the other hand the entire Australian team have their initials first. John Barrell explains: “all the Australians were adjudged to be amateurs in those days. If memory serves, and it does, there were only five teams in the Sheffield Shield at that time, too few to justify their paying professionals, and they played only over long weekends, but not on Sundays.” The match was eventually drawn. England won the rubber and the Ashes. Barrell very kindly scanned theWisden match report for me. The scorecard cost me three old pence, has its own individual number 171011 (or is that the number of the edition?) and an advertisement for “Shell with I.C.A.”: “Only Shell has both high octane and I.C.A”.  I emailed Shell’s customer service to find out what I.C.A. stands for and received no reply. Perhaps they think I am an anti-pollution activist. Odd how John Barrell was the only person I could turn to, given that a few weeks earlier I asked him if he could tell me the name of the anonymous author of an 1816 article in the Edinburgh Review.    

(Coda: A recent obituary of the Middlesex off-spinner Fred Titmus refers to a loudspeaker announcement at Lord’s concerning the scorecard: “For F.J. Titmus please read Titmus F.J.”. Apart from calypsos, the only song that I know of which refers to cricket is on an album called Back in the DHSS, made by the Indie group Half Man Half Biscuit, “Fuckin’ ’ell, it’s Fred Titmus”. Sadly, unlike the lead singer, I never met him to obtain his autograph).

© Anthony Rudolf 2011

See also my blog post "Anthony Rudolf - UK poet with a cricket interest" (October 2010).

Chris Boxall's cricket book I Am an Axeman

I’ve played cricket for several teams over the years and for two clubs: Hutt District Cricket Club and Wellington Collegians Cricket Club. I enjoyed playing cricket.

One of my best seasons was playing for the Wellington Collegians' “Axemen” in a social One-Day grade. It was great to be part of the team and have a special role in the side. My given nick-name was "Mr Burns" because of my then long hair and sideburns. I didn’t mind as hearing them call out "Burnsy" reminded me of that great Scots poet Robbie Burns. (Little did they know.)

My role was the close-in catcher, a dangerous position but cool to play a part in matches. I took 6 catches in 11 games that season and gained respect for pulling off some unbelievable ones that were smashed right at me. Bowser, our wicketkeeper, once called out: “Good stuff Pirie! Nice catch, good Michael Jackson manoeuvre!” It was a nice commendation of my one-handed take, up in the air, both feet off the ground. That season I also scored some runs. I mainly batted as a useful lower-order batsman at 7, 8 or 9.

The good run didn’t last though, my form and commitment fell away, I was promoted up the order but I simply wasn’t good enough to play as a batsman against the better bowlers, and I decided to retire from the Axemen after 3 seasons with them. The batting average from my last season was 0.85 after 9 games and 5 ducks. Pitiful. It’s never good being in a team when your soul isn’t in it and you’re not contributing to the team dynamic. I went back to my writing.

The following portrait of me by fellow Axeman and one of our best batsmen, Chris Boxall, is a revealing picture of the end of my Axemen days, especially the image ‘floating out the door off into another poem.’ I had been round to his place to give him a copy of my new cricket poetry book Slips. I included Chris’s “Axemen XI” in A Tingling Catch as a found prose poem. Sadly, I didn’t make the team of the best ever Axemen players. But Chris’s decision was fair. The “Axemen XI” was taken from his published book I Am an Axeman (about his efforts to score a century during his last season as an Axeman). It’s an entertaining and at times very honest book rife with cricketing sayings and quotations. Chris was a great team man and a very dependable opening batsman.

CHRIS BOXALL

Mr Burns

The start of my last season as an Axeman was but a few weeks away and a week after lunching with Sally, the fields dried and we practiced outside.

We introduced a new rule – get out and that’s your net.  Really good session, and fifteen guys at a pre-season practice: that’s an Axeman record for sure!

All bodes fine for 08/09.

My net was pretty good; I pulled out my cover drives and slashing cuts, popped a few up and put the pull away.  Then Jules bowled me.  Shit, that sums it up: more practice needed.

So off to the pavilion I went – where some stew, some sulk, some vent.  But for me no time, no time, so I stripped my kit, grabbed a ball and cut the line.  It landed on a penny and rapped poor Tyler in the belly.

I got home after practice and chucked my bag on my bed.

Mr Burns knocked on the door, ah that’s right.  He came in carrying a sheepish smile, some memories and a bag.

I offered him a wine but he declined.

Meet Mr Burns – poet, enigma, cricket player, Axeman.

“Do you remember the game at Grenada,” he said, “when I split my webbing fielding the ball?  The other team put me in a sling on the sideline and later I was almost needed at number 11.  Big Bird said ‘remember Gavin Larsen’ and he helped put my pads on.”

The crocodile snaps at silly mid off and snaffles the ball, swallowing it whole and somewhat digesting the leather before spitting out a gooey pulp.

“I had an average of 14 in my first season,” he said.  “We won this game, I hit a four and Stelios said ‘good shot mate, who said you couldn’t bat?’”

Oops, maybe that was me.

You see it was no secret that he was a poet first, a catcher foremost and a cricket player way away another day.

I invited him over to have a quick look at my writing, but before the literary questions took, he slipped me a cricket poem from a new little book.  I thanked him and began flicking, “hey, how’s the team looking this year?” Mr Burns said but by this stage I wasn’t listening…

The Pavilion

Everyone likes to take

their chances: the dipping

catch at mid-on

grasped by urgent finger-tips,

or the unbeaten 50 that

has the opposition packing

early.  Or the swinging ball

that sends the stumps

cartwheeling into the air.

But, as with cricket,

as with life, there’s times

when things inevitably turn,

and even the best of us

spends their time stuck in the pavilion.

Good stuff.  Cricket ay, you gotta love it.

One of the best nights I ever had at the club was with Mr Burns.  There were about six of us on the balcony drinking and reading his poetry.

Maybe that’s why I play cricket: for the culture – perhaps this book will turn my batting fortunes around… do the literary Gods talk with the cricket Gods?  Maybe they do…

I snapped my thoughts like a ruler only to see Mr Burns floating out the door off into another poem.

Alone.

I moved my cricket bag and sat on my bed, alone.

Alone in my pavilion, free time – nothing to do but sing and rhyme, what to do, what to do, silver beet, silver beet…

I dreamed of my century and of little feet and cricket bats.  I dreamed of my woman and our wonderful future.  I dreamed of Argentina and of Auckland and the way her forehead smells when I kiss her.

Only two hours till 10.30 before I call Juli as I do every night.  This gorgeous Argentinean woman, ai, she’s beautiful.

Alone in my pavilion I am, alone in Wellington.

I picked up my cricket bat – one day I’ll raise you.  Actually it feels good to be playing this season; it’s kind of like another chance.

You see, last season was very nearly my last.  I mean, I was feeling down anyway…

But then I was betrayed.

(Excerpt © Chris Boxall, including The Pavilion by Mark Pirie, from I Am An Axeman; The Copy Press, Nelson, 2009; ISBN 978-0-473-15756-2)

Thanks Chris for sharing the excerpt.