'AWNIOGO': BARLASTON (H)

they came from Barlaston 

Sunday, September 10

September, the month that all school kids hate, is also the time when autumn is heralded in and when cricketers everywhere start chewing their fingernails whilst their clubs run up huge telephone bills through constantly checking up on events elsewhere. This was an important day, to say the least. I know you are all probably thinking ‘Important?! Of course it was flamin’ important!! It was the 50th anniversary of the day Vidkun Quisling, infamous wartime traitor, was sentenced to death in Norway’. You would be right, but it was also important because it could well be the day when the fate of our season was decided. For better or for worse.

After saying a quick prayer for Crewe Rolls-Royce (who would be playing our chief rivals for second place, Ashcombe Park), I hopped into the Heardmobile in positive frame of mind. As far as I knew, we had never before beaten Barlaston on our ground, so it was the perfect moment to set that record straight. We kept the same team that played in the previous day’s draw with Burslem, all of whom were keyed up to do well.

As Addo was busy winning the toss, there were bright blue skies overhead and no apparent sign of the rain that had been widely forecast. The wicket was firm and green, so, not surprisingly, we decided to bowl first. Iain Carr took the opening over and bowled an auspiciously testing maiden at Phil Taylor (who, in surviving, had already bettered his performance from the previous meeting). If the first over was promising, Iain’s next was simply devastating as he took two wickets to plunge Barlaston into early trouble at 1 for 2, earning himself a marathon 20-over spell in the process. The first to go was Rob Riley, bowled off the inside edge, followed by Darren Dutton, who tickled a perfectly pitched leg-cutter to give me the first of my four catches.

not that Phil Taylor, dummy

Iain was clearly back to his best form and seemed a dead cert to dismiss Andy Steele, Barlaston’s number 4, whose batting method contained more guesswork than my annual punt on the Grand National. His foolproof system – block, block, slog, block, block, slog – was eventually exposed in the tenth over when he skied another attempted flail across the line to give Shaun a catch at mid-off. Shaun’s reward for taking this catch was being told that his next over was his last. He didn’t take a wicket and was replaced by Mauler, who himself only had two overs before coming off.

With the thick atmosphere starting to moisten, Wayne was introduced in the hope that his big swingers could cause some damage. Waynoss probably felt like Addo was trying to turn him into a schizophrenic – one day he would he asked to bowl spinners and the next seam-up. Anyway, Wayne it was who took the next wicket to fall, brilliantly tempting Eric Riley into miscuing a slow full-toss straight to Shaun at mid-on. Iain then removed Neil Davies and Craig Edmondson, both caught by me, before an annoying partnership developed between Ben Grange and Taylor, during which the latter passed his 50.

It took us all of twelve overs to separate them and only happened when Iain reluctantly agreed to relinquish the Road End so that Hawk, who hadn’t bowled for three weeks, could have a trundle. Seth slotted straight into a rhythm and his extra pace proved the undoing of Grange who inside-edged a sharp off-cutter into my welcoming palms. Four overs later he knocked over Carl Underhill, who had only just arrived from a post-football gathering in the Butcher’s Arms in Forsbrook, to leave Barlaston on 128 for 8.

view over Shropshire to the Wrekin

By this time, Shropshire had completely disappeared from view and, worse still, it had started to drizzle. With one eye on the incoming weather and one on the game we carried on playing, hoping to finish off the Barlaston innings as quickly as possible. It was at this juncture that we heard some thoroughly depressing news, news that we had all been dreading: Ashcombe Park had won. They had bowled out Crewe Rolls-Royce for just 53 and knocked off the runs in five overs. Five. The rain was becoming steadily harder. The weather forecasters were right. What is more, they had also said that once it arrived it was unlikely to go away.

I thought that it must be a nightmare, an illusion, that it couldn’t really be happening. Not to us. I turned to Drew, looking for some reassurance that it was merely a passing shower, and the eternally optimistic Jock didn’t fail me. Even so, I think it was around that moment that I first thought that we were not going to be promoted; that after all the hard work and effort, we were about to be overtaken down the finishing straight. I recalled the conversation I had had with Vic Hawkins in the week. Vic had told me that he was convinced that we would get promotion and I said that we just needed one match to be washed out. “Surely you would prefer to do it out on the pitch,” he said. I gave this rather noble image some careful thought and replied “No, I hope it throws it down all weekend”. How those words were coming back to haunt me now!! On the 50th anniversary of Quisling being sentenced to death, the rain, our supposed ally, had turned against us. But we had no choice other than to carry on playing. And praying.

Quisling (right) meets an ally 

Iain Carr came back on at the Pavilion End and picked up his sixth victim when Phil Taylor flashed and was caught by Harv at fly-slip having made an innings-cementing 82 runs. This wicket allowed us to claim a further ten minutes’ bowling time but conditions were worsening to such an extent that one of Smudge’s attempted returns from the outfield slipped out of his hand and bounced about five yards to his right, sixty yards and ninety degrees away from the intended destination. The umpires were looking grim-faced and when Cokey removed their last man courtesy of a good catch at slip by Billy, I wondered whether that might just be The End. The covers were pushed on and we dashed into the pavilion for tea.

I sat peering through the condensation that had enveloped the windows, watching the relentless, grey rain tip down on the outfield. A deep sadness settled in my stomach. The umpires talked merrily, behaviour that seemed almost tactless in the circumstances. A lot of umpires require sub-tropical conditions before they venture out after rain but I felt that today’s senior official, Glyn Forster, would make every effort he could to get the game restarted. I lit another cigarette and went to view the incoming skies. It was a bleak sight. We needed at least 20 overs to bat, but time was slowly, implacably running out and the puddles that our outfield had tried so hard to hide were now becoming visible. A couple of Barlaston’s team were showered and changed.

I strolled into our dressing room. Conversation dripped with gallows humour – for instance, the chant of “staying down, staying down, staying down”. By 6.15 pm we had given up the ghost and were, ourselves, showering. Just as he had done to me after the Norton match, and to Harv at Barlaston, Hawk’s hair was completely doused in shampoo, all the while Billy was busy trying to pee over Harv. It was delirious sorrow. We supped a few sad beers, Harv won a few bob at pool, John Myatt announced that there was a strong possibility that he would be playing at Wedgwood next year and I thought about going to play for Ashcombe Park because their square must be covered with four-leaf clover.

MATCH ABANDONED RAIN

BARLASTON 151 all out (57.1 overs)

P Taylor 82, I Carr 6-43

MODDERSHALL 5 points

BARLASTON 4 points