This month I reissued my cricket poetry collection, Slips, as a free ebook pdf download from my website: www.markpirie.com
Slips was originally produced as a small run limited edition in the Earl of Seacliff Art Workshop Mini Series in 2008.
Here's the link to access the free version of the book:
http://www.markpirie.com/books/slips-cricket-poems
A review of this book appeared in a previous blog post by Tim Jones.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Friday, November 15, 2013
Anonymous 1881 NZ cricket poem
19th century cricket poems emanating from New Zealand are nothing short of real mystery. We don’t know enough about our authors from that century to ascertain who could possibly have been their author.
One such example turned up in a Thames newspaper in Papers Past at the National Library of New Zealand, and it is not an isolated case.
All we know is that the editor of the paper prefaced it, and stated that the post mark indicates it is from “the Whau”.
I Googled “Whau” and note that it is in the North Island of New Zealand and that it is commonly known as the Whau River.
In the 19th century, at the time of writing the poem, European settlers had been using the Whau for marine transport, and a few local industries like a tannery were there. There was also a well known ‘lunatic asylum’. It is now an estuarial arm near the Waitemata Harbour and is within the Auckland metropolitan area.
The editor’s comment could be a joke on the part of the paper. Another anonymous poem ‘from the Whau’ called ‘Poor Old Shanghai’ and headed “A MAD POET” appeared in the Thames Star, 15 May 1880, obviously the same person/joke.
Clues given in the poem by the names: “…Lawless, Buttle, and Frater, / Burgess, Steedman, and Law,” indicate that these are local Thames cricket players. The poem seems to be from one of their players, but is it one of the XI that played? W W Robinson (who was known to compose verses) was an early Thames player before moving to Auckland around 1877 and could be another likely suspect, except that he was visiting England and didn’t return till early February 1881 (in Rowan Gibbs' W W Robinson on the Cricket Field, 2013). There were other Auckland cricketer-poets around like W F Buckland and William Outhwaite. Could they have sent in the poem? But it is surely someone who knew and played with the Thames cricketers.
For now, it all remains a mystery. Enjoy the poem.
ANON
The Deserted Cricket Field
The following has been forwarded to us by an embryo poet. From the post-mark it appears to have emanated from the Whau:—
Not a sound was heard, not a cricketer’s shout,
As forth to the field we proceeded;
No more was kicked up the devil’s own rout —
The requisites all lay unheeded.
Then spake an ancient cricket ball,
Who’d braved the willow’s strokes:
Said he, “Oh what’s become of all
Those jovial cricketing blokes?
“Time was when we were worked to death,
And driven from square-leg to long-off,
But now, alas! we idly draw breath,
And are sorely tried with the cough,
“For our owners they leave us unheeded,
And let us catch cold in wet grass
’Tis no use, howe’er much we pleaded,
Our master he is such an ass.”
And then the ring did sore lament,
And wailed with anguish sad,
And swore a judgment had been sent—
’Twas enough to drive em’ mad.
Then up and spake a stalwart stump
And loud did curse his fate,
Said he, “By Jove my swag I’ll hump
And clear before ’tis late.
For how can I, who’ve lived a score
Of innings through and through,
Remain content to work no more;
I’ll off for pastures new.”
And as he spake he left the ring,
Who chanted the “Dead March in Saul;”
And the tears they fell as they solemnly sing
Both the bail, the bat and the ball.
“Come Lawless, Buttle, and Frater,
Burgess, Steedman, and Law,
Come, for the season is late,
The time for cricket is o’er.”
With this chorus the dejected ones finished,
And lifted their heads up and wept,
Let us hope their prayers will be answered
That the cricketers have not all slept,
For if all their energy’s gone,
Whate’er will become of the game,
And the folks will cry out every one,
“No cricket, By Jove, what a shame.”
(Thames Star, 18 January 1881, page 3)
Article © Mark Pirie 2013
One such example turned up in a Thames newspaper in Papers Past at the National Library of New Zealand, and it is not an isolated case.
All we know is that the editor of the paper prefaced it, and stated that the post mark indicates it is from “the Whau”.
I Googled “Whau” and note that it is in the North Island of New Zealand and that it is commonly known as the Whau River.
In the 19th century, at the time of writing the poem, European settlers had been using the Whau for marine transport, and a few local industries like a tannery were there. There was also a well known ‘lunatic asylum’. It is now an estuarial arm near the Waitemata Harbour and is within the Auckland metropolitan area.
The editor’s comment could be a joke on the part of the paper. Another anonymous poem ‘from the Whau’ called ‘Poor Old Shanghai’ and headed “A MAD POET” appeared in the Thames Star, 15 May 1880, obviously the same person/joke.
Clues given in the poem by the names: “…Lawless, Buttle, and Frater, / Burgess, Steedman, and Law,” indicate that these are local Thames cricket players. The poem seems to be from one of their players, but is it one of the XI that played? W W Robinson (who was known to compose verses) was an early Thames player before moving to Auckland around 1877 and could be another likely suspect, except that he was visiting England and didn’t return till early February 1881 (in Rowan Gibbs' W W Robinson on the Cricket Field, 2013). There were other Auckland cricketer-poets around like W F Buckland and William Outhwaite. Could they have sent in the poem? But it is surely someone who knew and played with the Thames cricketers.
For now, it all remains a mystery. Enjoy the poem.
ANON
The Deserted Cricket Field
The following has been forwarded to us by an embryo poet. From the post-mark it appears to have emanated from the Whau:—
Not a sound was heard, not a cricketer’s shout,
As forth to the field we proceeded;
No more was kicked up the devil’s own rout —
The requisites all lay unheeded.
Then spake an ancient cricket ball,
Who’d braved the willow’s strokes:
Said he, “Oh what’s become of all
Those jovial cricketing blokes?
“Time was when we were worked to death,
And driven from square-leg to long-off,
But now, alas! we idly draw breath,
And are sorely tried with the cough,
“For our owners they leave us unheeded,
And let us catch cold in wet grass
’Tis no use, howe’er much we pleaded,
Our master he is such an ass.”
And then the ring did sore lament,
And wailed with anguish sad,
And swore a judgment had been sent—
’Twas enough to drive em’ mad.
Then up and spake a stalwart stump
And loud did curse his fate,
Said he, “By Jove my swag I’ll hump
And clear before ’tis late.
For how can I, who’ve lived a score
Of innings through and through,
Remain content to work no more;
I’ll off for pastures new.”
And as he spake he left the ring,
Who chanted the “Dead March in Saul;”
And the tears they fell as they solemnly sing
Both the bail, the bat and the ball.
“Come Lawless, Buttle, and Frater,
Burgess, Steedman, and Law,
Come, for the season is late,
The time for cricket is o’er.”
With this chorus the dejected ones finished,
And lifted their heads up and wept,
Let us hope their prayers will be answered
That the cricketers have not all slept,
For if all their energy’s gone,
Whate’er will become of the game,
And the folks will cry out every one,
“No cricket, By Jove, what a shame.”
(Thames Star, 18 January 1881, page 3)
Article © Mark Pirie 2013
Sunday, November 10, 2013
J Haughey’s 1923 NZ children’s cricket poem
I haven’t found many New Zealand children’s poems and stories on cricket. A past post includes a children’s cricket poem by Noeline Gannaway, an adult, which I photocopied and gave to my nephew for Christmas 2010.
Recently, when researching the Christchurch Star newspaper for the journal broadsheet, I came across a poem by a ‘Master J Haughey’. The poem came second in the Star’s children’s poem competition, 14 December 1923.
It’s evocative of life on the farm for children growing up in rural parts of New Zealand as well as showing the importance of cricket in their lives. There’s a similar poem to this in A Tingling Catch in a section called ‘Boys’ Songs’ by the adult Tom Bracken (also author of the New Zealand National Anthem ‘God Defend New Zealand’) called ‘Bush Children’ from Not Understood and Other Poems (Wellington: Gordon & Gotch, 1909).
Bracken similarly views cricket as a worthwhile pastime for children:
‘Willie, give the lads a call,
We must have a game of cricket;
Jack and you can stop the ball,
I will stand to guard the wicket.’
Play your game, ye merry crew,
Now’s the time for recreation,
By-an-bye there’s work to do,
You have yet to build a nation.
J Haughey’s verses form a lovely poem worth sharing here. I’m sure many cricketers old or young can relate to the child’s joy at playing cricket after schoolwork and farm work has been done.
J HAUGHEY
The Boys Out on the Farm
I rise up in the morning,
Soon after break of day;
Then off right down the paddock,
For the cows are far away.
To get them to the cow-shed
It takes some little time:
Then milking starts in earnest,
For school work starts at nine.
My four cows are the quietest,
There’s Brindle and old Bess,
And Snowball too, and Judy
Are soon milked with the rest.
The milking now is finished,
And the morning’s nice and cool.
Now for breakfast and our school bags
And off we go to school.
The schoolwork that we’re doing,
Seems always just the same.
I like, when it comes playtime,
To go and have a game.
And home again at four o’clock
To start the evening run;
For, after milking’s finished,
We’re going to have some fun.
Then in the evening twilight,
When all is still and calm,
The fun we have with bat and ball,
The boys out on the farm.
Poem © J Haughey 1924
Article © Mark Pirie 2013
Recently, when researching the Christchurch Star newspaper for the journal broadsheet, I came across a poem by a ‘Master J Haughey’. The poem came second in the Star’s children’s poem competition, 14 December 1923.
It’s evocative of life on the farm for children growing up in rural parts of New Zealand as well as showing the importance of cricket in their lives. There’s a similar poem to this in A Tingling Catch in a section called ‘Boys’ Songs’ by the adult Tom Bracken (also author of the New Zealand National Anthem ‘God Defend New Zealand’) called ‘Bush Children’ from Not Understood and Other Poems (Wellington: Gordon & Gotch, 1909).
Bracken similarly views cricket as a worthwhile pastime for children:
‘Willie, give the lads a call,
We must have a game of cricket;
Jack and you can stop the ball,
I will stand to guard the wicket.’
Play your game, ye merry crew,
Now’s the time for recreation,
By-an-bye there’s work to do,
You have yet to build a nation.
J Haughey’s verses form a lovely poem worth sharing here. I’m sure many cricketers old or young can relate to the child’s joy at playing cricket after schoolwork and farm work has been done.
J HAUGHEY
The Boys Out on the Farm
I rise up in the morning,
Soon after break of day;
Then off right down the paddock,
For the cows are far away.
To get them to the cow-shed
It takes some little time:
Then milking starts in earnest,
For school work starts at nine.
My four cows are the quietest,
There’s Brindle and old Bess,
And Snowball too, and Judy
Are soon milked with the rest.
The milking now is finished,
And the morning’s nice and cool.
Now for breakfast and our school bags
And off we go to school.
The schoolwork that we’re doing,
Seems always just the same.
I like, when it comes playtime,
To go and have a game.
And home again at four o’clock
To start the evening run;
For, after milking’s finished,
We’re going to have some fun.
Then in the evening twilight,
When all is still and calm,
The fun we have with bat and ball,
The boys out on the farm.
Poem © J Haughey 1924
Article © Mark Pirie 2013
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
George Kaye’s 1974 NZ cricket poem
A cricket poem I found recently is in a book donated to PANZA (Poetry Archive of New Zealand Aotearoa). It’s in a hardback, beautifully produced collection Boots and Pack by George Kaye, printed in 1974.
There are no biographical details given for the poet but he appears to have grown up in Lower Hutt and the Hutt Valley in the Wellington region of New Zealand.
Included in the book are illustrations by Peter McIntyre (1910-1995, the WWII New Zealand artist) and it is well printed by Wright & Carman Ltd, Trentham, Hutt Valley.
PANZA has a second book by Kaye titled Hills of Life (1978).
A search of the National Library online catalogue brings up several other books by this author who was born on 14 March 1914 and was a war correspondent and photojournalist for the press. Kaye served with the 2nd New Zealand Expeditionary Forces in World War II. He has also authored history books about Lower Hutt and the WWII New Zealand campaigns in Greece and Italy and contributed photographs to other books. Kaye died in 2004. Peter Kitchin wrote a tribute for him ‘War seen through a lens’, The Dominion Post, 15 July 2004.
In Kitchin’s obituary he focuses mainly on his war period and the 7,000 images that Kaye took during WWII, including a well-known photo of General Bernard Freyberg. Kaye commenting on his time at war said: ‘I felt death pass me by and that scared me. You have got to experience a brush with death before you experience a war.’
Bruised in to poetry by the death of his son tramping at age 16, poetry became another avenue for his snapshots of life.
I did not find any mention of his cricket interest. His other interests were cornet playing with the Lower Hutt Municipal Band, and he was a noted public speaker. There are, however, references to a “Kaye” playing Junior grade cricket in the Hutt 1930-32 in Papers Past searches at the National Library of New Zealand. It is inconclusive that this is George Kaye himself.
Besides his obvious love of the outdoors and tramping, Kaye’s Boots and Pack contains the rhyming cricket poem I found that I’ll reproduce here. It’s a well-worn theme, the metaphor of cricket and life, but the poem has a good ending: ‘Though if we’ve scored but poorly, / Does it really matter? / For in the end, the bowler, / Always beats the batter.’
GEORGE KAYE
Cricket
For every one that’s in,
There’s always one that’s out;
Life’s a game of cricket,
Or something thereabout.
And standing at the wicket,
We watch every ball;
Some we miss and some we hit,
If we try to play them all.
We may not last an over,
We may not even bat;
Though some play on for ages,
At least it seems like that.
And when they face the bowler,
There’s very little doubt,
They’ll last a long, long innings;
But in the end they’re out.
And when the score is added up,
Of every run that’s made,
There may be satisfaction
In the way the game was played.
Though if we’ve scored but poorly,
Does it really matter?
For in the end, the bowler,
Always beats the batter.
Poem © George Kaye 1974
(From Boots and Pack by George Kaye, self-published 1974)
Article © Mark Pirie 2013
There are no biographical details given for the poet but he appears to have grown up in Lower Hutt and the Hutt Valley in the Wellington region of New Zealand.
Included in the book are illustrations by Peter McIntyre (1910-1995, the WWII New Zealand artist) and it is well printed by Wright & Carman Ltd, Trentham, Hutt Valley.
PANZA has a second book by Kaye titled Hills of Life (1978).
A search of the National Library online catalogue brings up several other books by this author who was born on 14 March 1914 and was a war correspondent and photojournalist for the press. Kaye served with the 2nd New Zealand Expeditionary Forces in World War II. He has also authored history books about Lower Hutt and the WWII New Zealand campaigns in Greece and Italy and contributed photographs to other books. Kaye died in 2004. Peter Kitchin wrote a tribute for him ‘War seen through a lens’, The Dominion Post, 15 July 2004.
In Kitchin’s obituary he focuses mainly on his war period and the 7,000 images that Kaye took during WWII, including a well-known photo of General Bernard Freyberg. Kaye commenting on his time at war said: ‘I felt death pass me by and that scared me. You have got to experience a brush with death before you experience a war.’
Bruised in to poetry by the death of his son tramping at age 16, poetry became another avenue for his snapshots of life.
I did not find any mention of his cricket interest. His other interests were cornet playing with the Lower Hutt Municipal Band, and he was a noted public speaker. There are, however, references to a “Kaye” playing Junior grade cricket in the Hutt 1930-32 in Papers Past searches at the National Library of New Zealand. It is inconclusive that this is George Kaye himself.
Besides his obvious love of the outdoors and tramping, Kaye’s Boots and Pack contains the rhyming cricket poem I found that I’ll reproduce here. It’s a well-worn theme, the metaphor of cricket and life, but the poem has a good ending: ‘Though if we’ve scored but poorly, / Does it really matter? / For in the end, the bowler, / Always beats the batter.’
GEORGE KAYE
Cricket
For every one that’s in,
There’s always one that’s out;
Life’s a game of cricket,
Or something thereabout.
And standing at the wicket,
We watch every ball;
Some we miss and some we hit,
If we try to play them all.
We may not last an over,
We may not even bat;
Though some play on for ages,
At least it seems like that.
And when they face the bowler,
There’s very little doubt,
They’ll last a long, long innings;
But in the end they’re out.
And when the score is added up,
Of every run that’s made,
There may be satisfaction
In the way the game was played.
Though if we’ve scored but poorly,
Does it really matter?
For in the end, the bowler,
Always beats the batter.
Poem © George Kaye 1974
(From Boots and Pack by George Kaye, self-published 1974)
Article © Mark Pirie 2013
Monday, October 28, 2013
Mathew Sinclair retirement ode
This year saw the retirement of New Zealand and Central Districts batsman Mathew Sinclair.
He was a favourite player of mine who I was sad to see become an under-achiever at international level. Many good first class players have gone that way, but he could always plunder runs at first class level.
I can recall others like Sanjay Manjrekar for India, Allan Lamb, Mark Ramprakash and Graeme Hick for England or a number of West Indians like Ramnaresh Sarwan.
Sinclair was a New Zealand equivalent of these players, so he is in good company you could say.
Sinclair scored two double Test hundreds for New Zealand averaging 32.05 (on par with Graeme Hick’s 31.32 Test average for England; Hick’s first class average was way better than Sinclair’s of course at 56.78 with High Score of 405 not out but it is still an interesting comparison).
In Sinclair’s first ever first class innings for Central Districts he was bowled for a golden duck v Canterbury, 1995/1996 season.
Sinclair also took a famous one-handed diving catch in a one-dayer at the Melbourne, Telstra Dome, close to the boundary, 2004/2005 season, to dismiss Australia’s Matthew Hayden.
I’d like to mark Skippy’s retirement, as I did for Chris Martin this year, with a short ode:
MARK PIRIE
Ode to “Skippy” Sinclair
(Mathew Sinclair)
“Skippy” made the grade: at best at
first class play. With his bat, “Howzat!”,
He scored a double on Test debut.
His first innings tho’ was when he threw
away his wicket for nought.
But mostly he wasn’t bought
by bowlers. In first class play
he went his own stolid way.
He endures like a Kiwi Hick,
few could match when in good nick.
Remember his catch, diving full length,
A one-handed beauty. He had strength
on the pull, swatting through mid-wicket;
Standing tall, he could rattle any picket.
Poem © Mark Pirie 2013
Mathew Sinclair (1999/2000-2009/2010): 1635 Test runs at 32.05. High Score 214 v West Indies, 1999/2000 season. 3 Test hundreds.
13717 first class runs at 48.64. High Score 268 for New Zealand A v South Africa A at Sedgars Park, Potchefstroom, 2004/2005 season. 36 hundreds.
ODI runs: 1304 runs at 28.34. High Score 118 not out v Sri Lanka, Sharjah, 2000/2001 season. 2 ODI hundreds.
He was a favourite player of mine who I was sad to see become an under-achiever at international level. Many good first class players have gone that way, but he could always plunder runs at first class level.
I can recall others like Sanjay Manjrekar for India, Allan Lamb, Mark Ramprakash and Graeme Hick for England or a number of West Indians like Ramnaresh Sarwan.
Sinclair was a New Zealand equivalent of these players, so he is in good company you could say.
Sinclair scored two double Test hundreds for New Zealand averaging 32.05 (on par with Graeme Hick’s 31.32 Test average for England; Hick’s first class average was way better than Sinclair’s of course at 56.78 with High Score of 405 not out but it is still an interesting comparison).
In Sinclair’s first ever first class innings for Central Districts he was bowled for a golden duck v Canterbury, 1995/1996 season.
Sinclair also took a famous one-handed diving catch in a one-dayer at the Melbourne, Telstra Dome, close to the boundary, 2004/2005 season, to dismiss Australia’s Matthew Hayden.
I’d like to mark Skippy’s retirement, as I did for Chris Martin this year, with a short ode:
MARK PIRIE
Ode to “Skippy” Sinclair
(Mathew Sinclair)
“Skippy” made the grade: at best at
first class play. With his bat, “Howzat!”,
He scored a double on Test debut.
His first innings tho’ was when he threw
away his wicket for nought.
But mostly he wasn’t bought
by bowlers. In first class play
he went his own stolid way.
He endures like a Kiwi Hick,
few could match when in good nick.
Remember his catch, diving full length,
A one-handed beauty. He had strength
on the pull, swatting through mid-wicket;
Standing tall, he could rattle any picket.
Poem © Mark Pirie 2013
Mathew Sinclair (1999/2000-2009/2010): 1635 Test runs at 32.05. High Score 214 v West Indies, 1999/2000 season. 3 Test hundreds.
13717 first class runs at 48.64. High Score 268 for New Zealand A v South Africa A at Sedgars Park, Potchefstroom, 2004/2005 season. 36 hundreds.
ODI runs: 1304 runs at 28.34. High Score 118 not out v Sri Lanka, Sharjah, 2000/2001 season. 2 ODI hundreds.
Anonymous 1919 NZ cricket poem
The following humorous soliloquy based on Shakespeare’s play Hamlet was sent in to me by an Australian researcher who came across it whilst reading Papers Past at the National Library of New Zealand.
It was first published in the New Zealand Free Lance and appears to be a New Zealand cricket poem. The editor of the column published it with the following note: “The following item after William Shakespeare has not been hitherto published, but it is worth a place in my columns:--”
Cricket poems after Shakespeare are popular in cricket poetry. A Tingling Catch includes Don Neely’s ‘To walk or not to walk: that is the question;’ also after Hamlet. Don’s poem was written as an introduction to his cricket column in New Zealand Cricketer, 14 December 1970, on whether a batsman should stay or walk after appearing to have nicked a caught behind chance.
This poem is about a leg-before decision. I’ll include the anonymous writer’s poem here for your enjoyment.
ANON
Out Or Not Out
(Showing Hamlet’s latest soliloquy on being given out leg-before when
playing for Denmark against an eleven from the adjacent States)
Hamlet – Am I out, Horatius?
Horatius (batting at the other end) – I fear so, sire; methinks I heard
the man say “Chuck her up.”
Hamlet (retiring): Then must I go.
Yet ’tis a monstrous thing
That all this great and momentous issue
Should hang upon a churlish umpire’s nod.
How now, my lords? The ball had bias on it,
And, if my leg had been in front, as ’twas not,
’Twould ne’er have hit the sticks – no, not by yards.
It did not pitch straight – it was rising high –
Besides the man is bowling round the wicket;
Yes: I can summon up a million reasons
Which, on being pondered on, conspire to show
The verdict of yon purblind idiot false.
Well, well:
The thing’s an allegory,
How accident doth wait on carefulness
And all precautions used. I took one leg;
I wisely questioned if my toes were clear.
And all for this. Oh, sirs, the pity of it!
I was firmly set
As any oak tree in the sylvan glade;
I saw the bowling well; the ball appeared
To me as large as the full harvest moon
Sailing above the strawstack. I had meant
To score a hundred when that echoing yell,
Both from the bowler and the wicket-keeper,
The pre-arranged duet of knavery,
Checked me in mid-success and cut me down.
What weak-kneed umpire could resist that roar?
There’s not a doubt on’t. I was bustled out.
Give me a pipe; I’ll drown my grief in smoke.
This cricket is a passing beastly game.
(From New Zealand Free Lance, Thursday 20 February 1919, page 21)
It was first published in the New Zealand Free Lance and appears to be a New Zealand cricket poem. The editor of the column published it with the following note: “The following item after William Shakespeare has not been hitherto published, but it is worth a place in my columns:--”
Cricket poems after Shakespeare are popular in cricket poetry. A Tingling Catch includes Don Neely’s ‘To walk or not to walk: that is the question;’ also after Hamlet. Don’s poem was written as an introduction to his cricket column in New Zealand Cricketer, 14 December 1970, on whether a batsman should stay or walk after appearing to have nicked a caught behind chance.
This poem is about a leg-before decision. I’ll include the anonymous writer’s poem here for your enjoyment.
ANON
Out Or Not Out
(Showing Hamlet’s latest soliloquy on being given out leg-before when
playing for Denmark against an eleven from the adjacent States)
Hamlet – Am I out, Horatius?
Horatius (batting at the other end) – I fear so, sire; methinks I heard
the man say “Chuck her up.”
Hamlet (retiring): Then must I go.
Yet ’tis a monstrous thing
That all this great and momentous issue
Should hang upon a churlish umpire’s nod.
How now, my lords? The ball had bias on it,
And, if my leg had been in front, as ’twas not,
’Twould ne’er have hit the sticks – no, not by yards.
It did not pitch straight – it was rising high –
Besides the man is bowling round the wicket;
Yes: I can summon up a million reasons
Which, on being pondered on, conspire to show
The verdict of yon purblind idiot false.
Well, well:
The thing’s an allegory,
How accident doth wait on carefulness
And all precautions used. I took one leg;
I wisely questioned if my toes were clear.
And all for this. Oh, sirs, the pity of it!
I was firmly set
As any oak tree in the sylvan glade;
I saw the bowling well; the ball appeared
To me as large as the full harvest moon
Sailing above the strawstack. I had meant
To score a hundred when that echoing yell,
Both from the bowler and the wicket-keeper,
The pre-arranged duet of knavery,
Checked me in mid-success and cut me down.
What weak-kneed umpire could resist that roar?
There’s not a doubt on’t. I was bustled out.
Give me a pipe; I’ll drown my grief in smoke.
This cricket is a passing beastly game.
(From New Zealand Free Lance, Thursday 20 February 1919, page 21)
The Short Stay Anthology of Shorter Cricket Rhymes
Here’s a bit of fun.
A fellow known only as “Short Stay” has started sending me in very short cricket rhymes.
I like the idea of a pseudonym for cricket rhymes, a well-known tradition in cricket poetry of olden times.
Here’s the start to his expected anthology:
From The Short Stay anthology of Shorter Cricket Rhymes
Lord’s
is
Broad’s
NZ v England, at Lord’s, 21 May 2013
………………..
A Short Stay
lb
me?
Mis-hit.
Sh**!
dissent:
sent
You blind?
Fined
0:
Caught.
Poems © The Short Stay anthology of Shorter Cricket Rhymes 2013
A fellow known only as “Short Stay” has started sending me in very short cricket rhymes.
I like the idea of a pseudonym for cricket rhymes, a well-known tradition in cricket poetry of olden times.
Here’s the start to his expected anthology:
From The Short Stay anthology of Shorter Cricket Rhymes
Lord’s
is
Broad’s
NZ v England, at Lord’s, 21 May 2013
………………..
A Short Stay
lb
me?
Mis-hit.
Sh**!
dissent:
sent
You blind?
Fined
0:
Caught.
Poems © The Short Stay anthology of Shorter Cricket Rhymes 2013
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