David Foot

This year David Foot, one of the very best of cricket’s legion of fine writers, celebrated his ninety first birthday. Inevitably his health is not quite what it once was but he remains able to live at home in Bristol with his wife of many years, Anne. He is not a man I have ever met, but something about his writing makes me feel I have known him all my life, so I hope he will forgive me if I refer to him by his christian name throughout this post.

David was born in 1929 in the Somerset village of East Coker where his father was sexton. He spent his entire working life in journalism, beginning with the Western Gazette in Yeovil where, in 1945, the 16 year old secured a position as a trainee copy boy.

In time David moved a little way north, to the Bristol Evening World. There he reported on cricket, of course, but he was no one trick pony. When cricket was off season David wrote about Bristol City Football Club. He was also a noted theatre critic and would on occasion happily, and skilfully, turn his hand to general feature writing if required.

The Bristol Evening World closed in 1961 and David was, given his reputation as one of the very best, courted by Fleet Street. In the event however he chose to stay in the West and turned freelance, a status he maintained for the rest of his working life.

David’s cricket watching was strictly local, primarily following Somerset and Gloucestershire. Depending on what source you read he either never reported on a Test match, or alternatively did so just once. Either way it is easy to see why London did not appeal. Of his local workplaces he would say; The press box is kinship; I love the chirpy, companionable aura. Repartee is sharp, incestuous jokes are traded, legs pulled. Whatever the public’s perceptions, we all have a great affection for the game. We drink and eat and talk cricket.

It is something of a surprise that no publisher has ever published an anthology of David’s press writing or magazine articles but, perhaps, that is an oversight that will be remedied in time. As it is those interested in the work of one of the game’s finest writers have just his books to turn to, although they are most certainly a very fine selection indeed.

Prior to the arrival of Marcus Trescothick few would have argued with the contention that Harold Gimblett was the best batsman Somerset had produced. The story of the young batsman who flunked his trial in 1935 and then, called into the side at the last minute when someone pulled out, not only scored a century on debut but one so spectacular it was the fastest scored in England in the entire season, is an enduring one. 

Despite the batting genius within him Gimblett was a man whose mental health was fragile and, years before it became acceptable to admit to and seek help for such issues, Gimblett’s tribulations ensured he was only ever capped three times by England. David knew Gimblett reasonably well and, having greatly admired him as a cricketer, when the old batsman suggested that David help him get his thoughts into a book he was happy to agree to do so. 

Progress proved slow and when Gimblett took his own life in 1978 David assumed that would be that. It turned out however that Gimblett had left plenty of material for him in the form of a series of tape recordings. Three years later Harold Gimblett: Tortured Genius of Cricket appeared. 

The book contained a foreword from John Arlott, which began:-

There has never been a cricket book quite like this ‘life of a great batsmen in torment’. David Foot has written it with compassion, something not far from passion, and sympathy, out of a childhood admiration. It is a remarkable achievement that, in spite of those emotive factors, he has maintained an admirable objectivity. It is not a biography, nor autobiography, nor the data for a psychological study; but something of all three.

The book received universal acclaim. A small print run quickly sold out, as did a reprint, which was followed by a paperback edition. Twenty one years later Stephen Chalke, with Fairfield books then established, decided that the book needed to be made available again. He had three reasons for doing so that which he set out as:-

Firstly there is the story it tells, there is no other like it in cricket …… secondly there are the circumstances in which the book came into being. No other cricket book has such a poignant genesis …….. thirdly there is the quality of David Foot’s writing. There are others among today’s cricket writers with a greater insight into the finer technical details of the game, but none who so vividly capture its character and its enduring appeal.

The Fairfield book is a true second edition in that there are a few revisions to the original text, as well as a final chapter of reflection from David. Therefore whilst the first edition is certainly recommended, the second is perhaps the better one to look for.

Three years after Harold Gimblett: Tortured Genius of Cricket was published Cricket’s Unholy Trinity was Foot’s next look at the lives of those whose interest lay as much in their personalities and their own demons as in their achievements on the field. Three men were featured, two from the West Country and one, Lancashire’s Cecil Parkin, from way beyond Foot country. In terms of his character however Parkin was as much a one-off as Somerset amateur Jack MacBryan and Gloucestershire’s prolific wicket taker, left arm spinner Charlie Parker. The review in The Cricketer described Cricket’s Unholy Trinity as fascinating stuff, and it most certainly is.

As Arlott explained Harold Gimblett: Tortured Genius of Cricket was not exactly a biography, and in some ways breaking new ground does make an author’s task a little easier. It was different with Wally Hammond however, one of the best known of all English cricketers. By the time Wally Hammond: The Reasons Why had been published there had already been two biographies of Hammond, one by Ronald Mason and the second by Gerald Howat. Both are good books, but whilst both looked at the wider picture, particularly Howat’s, neither succeeded in explaining the complexities in the Hammond persona.

David had been talking to people who knew Hammond well for his entire working life and in that sense his was a book with a very long gestation period. In a thoroughly researched account David certainly succeeded in unravelling his subject and explaining what made him tick. He himself summed up the result when, alongside a dedication to his family, he explained: This book is, overall, an affectionate portrait of someone who brought so much joy to the game yet appeared to find so little of it himself away from the crease. 

The size of the task that David took on with Wally Hammond; The Reasons Why was formidable and is evidenced by the number of people that he spoke to from outside the game, most notably medical experts, as he sought to fully understand and explain the evidence that he found. David’s well known colleague at The Guardian, Frank Keating, described his biographies of Gimblett and Hammond as imperishable classics in cricket’s canon. It is an assessment which I cannot imagine that anyone who has read both books will not agree with wholeheartedly. Personally I would add just a single rider to that, being that by virtue of the size of the task it undertook, I would suggest the Hammond is the superior book, albeit by the shortest of short heads.

Beyond Bat & Ball was first published in a limited edition in 1993 and then republished by Aurum two years later. David’s introduction begins with the words this is not really a book about cricket. He has to make the point because each of the eleven chapters bears the name of a man, ten of whose names resonate because they were cricketers, and the last of whom if not a gifted cricketer was certainly a cricket lover. But David’s writings are on the subject of the men themselves, and their accomplishments on the field are purely incidental.

The eleven begins with the notoriously cantankerous Glamorgan all-rounder and long time skipper Wilf Wooller. Next up is the one non-cricketer, poet Siegfried Sassoon. An Australian follows, Test opener and later writer Jack Fingleton, the anti-Bradman and a man of forthright views. Bill Andrews, the Somerset all-rounder and remarkable character who titled his autobiography The Hand that Bowled Bradman, is featured as well as a couple of other Somerset players. They are firstly Bill Gresswell, an amateur all-rounder who, in time, suffered similar problems to Gimblett and indeed lived in the same village as Gimblett. The second is Bev Lyon, an innovative maverick of a county captain who ruffled plenty of feathers between the wars.

The stalwart Surrey fast bowler Tom Richardson is another to feature in Beyond Bat & Ball, as is another Surrey man, Andy Ducat, a double international who died at the crease in 1942 at the age of 56. Mighty hitter and fast medium bowler ‘Big Jim’ Smith is also included as is Bertie Poore, a career soldier who found the time to play in a Test for South Africa and score a triple century for Hampshire. Last but not least there is Jack Mercer, a pace bowler who led the Glamorgan attack between the wars and who was an accomplished magician. Once more the book is a look at the human condition as much as anything else, and is a most enjoyable read.

Beyond Bat & Ball was the Cricket Society Book of the Year for 1993 something which, if nothing else, shows just how random awards can be. This is not intended to be a criticism of the way such accolades are handed out, but it must have been a very difficult decision for those charged with choosing the winners for 1983 and 1996 to look beyond the biographies of Gimblett and Hammond.

Fragments of Idolatry was published by Fairfield Books in 2001, and is best described as Beyond Bat & Ball revisited, but with an even more discursive range of subjects. Three of the twelve men featured are not cricketers at all, being Rugby coach Carwyn James, footballer Alec Stock and boxer Ted ‘Kid’ Berg. In addition there are two Somerset men better known as writers on cricket in ‘Crusoe’ Robertson-Glasgow and Alan Gibson, albeit ‘Crusoe’ was a very good seam bowler. All five are fascinating characters as are the cricketers featured who are Horace Hazell, Tom Cartwright, Reg Sinfield, Maurice Tremlett and Alf Dipper from the West Country, together with Middlesex men Walter Robins and, the most familiar name amongst the cricketers, ‘Patsy’ Hendren.

I do not propose to linger for long on any of David’s other books, but only because to do so would make this post unduly lengthy. There are more than twenty other titles that have come from David’s pen. Many of them are cricket books, but not all. Of those that are a number are books that he ghosted for others. Zaheer Abbas and Vivian Richards need no introduction, and two others are Andrews and journeyman Gloucestershire batsman turned top umpire David Shepherd. All are worth reading, as is an essay on Mark Lathwell and Andrew Caddick that was published by Richard Walsh in 1993 in a limited edition of fifty copies.

There are also a number of books on the subject of West Country cricket generally. An early one, from 1980, was From Grace to Botham, which contained brief profiles of one hundred West Country cricketers. In 1986 came Sunshine, Sixes and Cider, a full history of the Somerset club. Later there were two books co-written with fellow sports writer Ivan Ponting. Of those the first was Somerset Cricket: A Post War Who’s Who in 1993 and then, on a similar theme, Sixty Summers: Somerset Cricket since the War, a very attractive 2006 publication from Fairfield Books.

The last book from David appeared in 2006 when, after considerable persuasion from Stephen Chalke and Scyld Berry, he produced an autobiography entitled Footsteps from East Coker. Stephen describes it as a beautifully written book, capturing his life in pre-war rural Somerset and his long career in journalism. David himself later conceded that, of all his books, it was the one of which he was most proud. It was an entirely appropriate way to conclude a very fine writing career.

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England Strong Betting Favourites for West Indies Tests

Test cricket returns on 8 July as England host the West Indies at the Ageas Bowl in the first of a three-match series.

It will be the first time in almost six months that Joe Root’s side have played the longest form of the game. England won their latest Test series 3-1 in South Africa over the winter but now face the Caribbean contingent with two matches at Old Trafford following the opener.

These are also the first international cricket games on home soil since a memorable and dramatic draw Ashes series with Australia last summer. The Windies aren’t expected to provide the same stiff competition as that opposition from Down Under, though.

According to the cricket betting on the first Test, England are strong 27/100 favourites to win the match. The West Indies are 8/1 outsiders to cause an upset in Southampton, while a drawn game is 19/4.

A weakened Windies team gives England every chance of winning this Test series, but there are some things for captain Root and head coach Chris Silverwood to try and iron out. This series should be a golden opportunity for the skipper himself to put some big scores on the board.

Root has only made one Test century at home in three years. That has caused his England batting average to slip to 48.40, and that is below the exalted standards he has previously set. Perhaps it is the burden of being captain.

Singling Root out is hardly fair when the openers haven’t exactly pulled their weight in the run-scoring department in recent times. What this home with the Windies may do is afford England the luxury of experimenting at the top of the order.

There is a 55-man training squad including 14 players as yet uncapped for the ECB selectors to choose from. That will be whittled down as the Test series approaches, but there are new names and combinations to be considered.

England have missed the sure and steady presence of Sir Alastair Cook, Root’s predecessor as captain, among the opening batsmen. He was a throwback to previous generations not brought up on limited-overs cricket with its overemphasis on aggressive
play at the crease.

Finding someone so similarly level-headed for the start of an innings in the Test arena is a key ingredient England need to add back into their team. This presents a unique opportunity to try out candidates without having to worry too much about it harming the hosts’ chances of winning.

Not that Root and Silverwood can afford to be complacent. England don’t want to suffer embarrassment in a form of the game they have been accused of neglecting in favour of limited-overs, because there is no longer the excuse of the Cricket World Cup on home soil as a target.

The West Indies represents another staging post on the journey that culminates in heading Down Under for the next Ashes series the winter after next. England must justify their status as firm favourites.

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‘Freaking’ Out on Cricket Books

A “cricket freak” since his school days, he bought his first book on October 6, 1975 for the princely sum of rupees three.  The book was Tiger’s Tale, an autobiography of Mansour Ali Khan Pataudi, the legendary Indian cricketer.  The book takes pride of place among 800-plus cricket-related books in the possession of bibliophile Vincent Sunder, ostensibly the largest such private collection in Bangalore.

The neatly-arranged books at his spacious home include some rare treasures.  I look for the oldest in the collection which is The Jubilee Book of Cricket by Prince Ranjitsinhji, signed as a Christmas gift in 1897.  There’s the faded autobiography of Sir Pelham Warner, the grand old man of English cricket and two signed books (1935) of English test cricketer, Sir Jack Hobbs.  Another rare gem, now out of publication is Indian sports writer Clayton Murzello’s Caught & Told.

Sunder, who grew up in Bangalore playing cricket has some prized possessions including a couple of limited editions. He pulls out Across the Oceans, a tome on the English cricketers’ tours to Australia and New Zealand from 1861-1962.  His copy is number 54 out of only 100 copies printed and one of the most expensive ones in his acquisition.

Another is of Australian test cricketer Archie Jackson’s story by David Frith, the Keats of cricket. Sunder’s copy is 706 in a limited edition of 1000 and out of print since 1975.

The impressive collection ranges from autobiographies and biographies, coffee table and pictorial books to history, humour, statistics and trivia.  While browsing through his nicely categorized books (arranged by author-last name), I spot almost all the cricketing legends – W.G. Grace, Don Bradman, Gary Sobers, Bill Lawry, the Chappell Brothers, Clive Lloyd, Tony Greig, David Gower, Richard Hadlee, Martin Crowe, Zaheer Abbas and scores of others.

A set of Wisden books and books on umpires catches my eye.

Books about and by Indian cricketers are dime-a-dozen.  All the four works written by Sunil Gavaskar as well as books written about him sit gracefully alongside those of Lala Amarnath, Ajit Wadekar, Sandeep Patil, Sachin Tendulkar, Saurav Ganguly, Rahul Dravid, M.S. Dhoni, V.V.S. Laxman to name some. Notably, all of historian Ramachandra Guha’s books on cricket fill a shelf.

One masterpiece he’d love to read and own, whenever it comes out, is the autobiography of G.R. Viswanath, someone he idolized in his youth and admires even today.

Sunder reckons his passion for the game ignited an interest in reading about cricket which in turn led to a gradual, growing fascination for cricket books.  “There was no conscious plan at all, the collection just evolved,” he says rather nonchalantly, adding it gained momentum when he started working.

The Bangalore book shops were his regular stomping ground, particularly the now defunct Premier Bookshop, where discounts were offered by the owner, Mr. Shanbhag. It was at this bookshop that Sunder had the good fortune of meeting Sunil Gavaskar and getting the ‘Little Master’ to sign his first book Sunny Days.

“He pulled out a bat-shaped pen and signed the book.  Meeting him in person, getting the book autographed and reading the book was wonderfully memorable,” he recalls wistfully.

Remarkably, the collection comprises several other author-signed copies.

The bulk of his books are from John.W. Mckenzie, the cricket bookseller in Epsom. Having two friends living near Epsom has proved favourable to Sunder who also never misses an opportunity to blissfully lose himself in the store whenever he is in the U.K.  “It’s a pilgrimage visiting the store and meeting John, a cricket buff who shares many a cricketing story.”

In this day and age of Internet, digital technology, kindle and what have you, isn’t he a bit of an oddball? He doesn’t think so.  Having worked at Wipro and currently chief executive of Alabos BPO Solutions, a back-office service provider, he’s emphatic he is not old-fangled. “I love the feel of books.  Printed books.  Like it’s only filter coffee and not the instant variety for me,” he smiles. He owns two Kindle fire tablets but they are mostly used for either reference or to buy books that are not available in print format.

An insatiable reader and with a full-time day job, Sunder ingests four to five books a month and minces no words in admitting that he is yet to read at least a hundred titles in his stockpile.

A purely private and personal activity for his own pleasure, clearly the presence of books, which breathe like trees, seem vital to Sunder.  He is in no race to achieve any target or scale any peak.  “Reading is a passion and collecting good books is the other aspect,” he affirms.

Nor is it about money or prestige, it is about how these books can be preserved and how they can be useful. Clearly, for Sunder, it is a celebration of the game and the printed word.

Just before I leave, he removes two colourful covers – Out of the Ashes by Tim Albone on the remarkable rise and rise of Afghanistan’s cricket team and More than a Game by former British prime minister John Major.

I am stumped!

Stanley Carvalho, a just-retired Reuters journalist, has relocated to his home town Bangalore after over 20 years overseas.  He is also the editor/author of three books on Bangalore, including one on the sports legends of the city that we reviewed here.

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Christopher Saunders Publishing

This year Christopher Saunders celebrates forty years as a bookdealer. He began in the trade as a general bookseller, but has specialised in cricket for as long as I have known him, which must be the better part of two decades, and he was well established in that niche long before he and I ever met.

In time the dealership began some publishing activities and, like other specialist dealers collectors have ever reason to be grateful to Christopher for a wide and eclectic range pf publications. Some have been facsimile reprints of old and scarce titles, and others new projects shedding light on a variety of aspects of the history of cricket, many in superbly produced limited editions.

Beginning with the facsimile reprints there have been two ambitious projects both of which we have already reviewed. First to appear, in 2003, was a splendid production of the impossible to obtain set of fifteen volumes of Britchers Scores. Five years later came The Essential Denison, a similar exercise in respect of four annuals produced by Denison in the 1840s, second editions of two of those, and of a fascinating little book of pen portraits, The Sketches of the Players. Both are accompanied by a detailed commentary from David Rayvern Allen and, always assuming a reader is interested in that sort of thing, invaluable. Both are still available at the original price of £450 per set.

Rayvern Allen has also been involved in two rather less expensive projects. The first appeared in 2000 and is entitled E.W.S (1907-2000) The Last Interview. The initials are those of ‘Jim’ Swanton and the original purpose of the interview was to celebrate Swanton’s 93^rd birthday. It was a landmark that was destined not to be reached as Swanton passed away three weeks before reaching the occasion. The slim sixteen page volume appeared in a signed and numbered limited edition of 93.

As long ago as 1858 a small sixteen page pamphlet appeared on the subject of the Life of Richard Linsell, subtitled The Essex Cricketer, Pedestrian and Quoit Player. As far as I am aware no copy of that edition survives, but one must have remained 63 years later as in 1921 it was reprinted. In 2014 Rayvern Allen penned a new introduction and postscript and Christopher published those, with a third edition of the original in a signed and numbered limited edition. Sadly it proved to be Rayvern Allen’s final contribution to cricket literature as cancer claimed him before 2014 was over.

Another major project was Arlott and Ackroyd, subtitled A Celebration of Cricket, Wine, Poetry and Place. John Arlott needs no introduction to anyone reading this. Norman Ackroyd is a celebrated artist, best known for etchings and aquatints. As well as a friendship with Rayvern Allen, who provides the commentary in the book, both men shared a love of books, wine, poetry and prints. This very high quality production reproduces eleven Ackroyd etchings and contains one signed and numbered original etching in a pocket before the title-page. The book is beautifully bound in full green leather and housed in a board slipcase. On publication in 2002 there were 295 copies and, at £395, a few are still available.

In 2005 Christopher went down a not dissimilar path in another project, albeit this time the facsimile was of a one-off item rather than a publication. The original was created in 1909, and was a photograph album put together by the player/manager of that summer’s Australian tourists, Frank Laver.  Separate albums were put together for Laver’s fellow tourists each containing a core of the same images, accompanied by a personalized selection of others. Victor Trumper’s album contained 86 photographs. Two hundred copies of a facsimile album were produced complete with an introductory booklet. The album is available at £375.

In common with other dealer/publishers Christopher has worked with mainstream publishers in order to produce limited editions of important books, although there was a long gap between the first two occasions on which he did so and the second two. The first two of these collaborations were back in 1995 and involved what was, effectively, a third edition of Michael Manley’s seminal A History of West Indies Cricket, published by Andre Deutsch. The Saunders version of the book was limited to 120 copies bound in red leather with marbled endpapers and top edge gilt. The book is housed in a slip case and each copy was signed by Manley and Clive Lloyd, who provided an introduction.  In addition the same publisher’s 500 Notable Cricket Quotations, compiled by Irving Rosenwater, appeared in a limited edition of 95 copies.

Twenty years after the Manley, in 2015, Christopher embarked on a much more extensive project in conjunction with Fairfield Books in order to publish a limited edition of Stephen Chalke’s masterly history of the County Championship, Summer’s Crown. A much more daunting challenge this one involved the preparation of 18 different limited editions, one for each of the counties. All are cloth bound and slipcased in the county’s colour with special endpapers. Each contains an eight page supplement devoted to the county in question and is signed by Chalke and a significant cricketer from the county. Each book is individually numbered and were supplied only to subscribers, so limitations range from the 18 Leicestershire editions to 50 for Yorkshire – apparently as many as seven subscribers purchased a copy of the edition for each of the eighteen counties.

The fourth and so far final publication to fall into this category also came from Fairfield Books who, last year, published The Greatest Season by Patrick Murphy. At the request of the Warwickshire club a limited edition of 100 copies was produced later in the year.

In 2007 Martin Wilson contributed what is in many ways a remarkable volume to cricket literature, An Eighteenth Century German View of Cricket. The author of the original work, Johann Gutsmuths was a German, and evidently and according to Wilson is still regarded as the father of physical education in Germany. Wilson also points out that although by the date Gutsmuths’ work was published, 1796, there had been around 500 references  to cricket in UK publications this chapter in a German book was the first attempt to write a general guide to the game, rather than simply mention it or, as Britcher had done, record scores. There are 28 pages to the booklet of which eight are the original German text, another eight Wilson’s translation and the remainder an introduction and a look at a couple of other references to cricket in eighteenth century Germany that Wilson had located. A signed and numbered limited edition of 100 copies was produced and is still available at £25.

Wilson has also turned his attention westwards and across the Atlantic with Dawn’s Early Light. This one gathered together references to cricket in the USA dating back before 1820 and appeared in 2008. This time there were 160 copies of a 56 page paperback. It is still available at £25. A similar but more varied theme was in evidence in 2009 in First Cricket In……. The subject is exactly what the title suggests, a reference to the first published mention of the game in each of the English counties, and on a wider scale many countries of the world including a considerable number where the game has never really taken root.

To date the last Saunders published Martin Wilson book appeared in 2011. The title, Lillywhite, confirms it to be a biography of William Lillywhite. Known as the nonpareil Lillywhite was the first great round arm bowler and Archie Mac reviewed the book here. 

A more recent biography to emerge from Newnham on Severn appeared in 2017. The Lord of Lord’s is a biography of Lord Frederick Beauclerk and the link to our review will tell you more about the subject matter. Both the limited edition (£85) and paperback (£10) versions remain available.

The Saunders imprint has also ventured several times into the field of bibliography. The first was a general and wide-ranging survey by Stephen Gibbs, The Gibbs’ Guide to Items ‘Not in Padwick’. In one sense this was already long out of date when it appeared, as it only covered items up until 1990, but proved a useful tool nonetheless. The first edition, in August 2004, was a mere ten copies. The second edition, two months later, was of 100 copies and there the matter rested until 2014 when a further edition appeared, again covering only titles issued up until 1990. The earlier version was a spiral bound and fairly basic production whereas the latest, with the best part of double the number of entries, is a much more satisfying illustrated paperback.

More specialised bibliographies have also appeared. The first of these was in 2005 and also written by Stephen Gibbs. Remarkably it was devoted to just one man, Donald Bradman. The Don: A Bibliographical and Reverential Journey is not a short book either, comprising 174 pages. 

Also in 2005 A Bibliography of Nottinghamshire Cricket by Duncan Anderson was published. This small paperback appeared in a signed and numbered limited edition of 100 copies. The following year saw Rob Franks’ Kiwi Cricket Pages released, doing a Padwick for the Shaky Isles, and then in 2010 Kim Baloch did the same for Pakistan, K.H Baloch’s Journey Through The Bibliography of Pakistan Cricket. Neither of these two is a limited edition as such and both are still in print, at £35 and £30 respectively.  Also still in print and available at £30 is Surrey Cricket – A Reader’s Guide by John Per and Michael Pearce, published in 2014 at the same time as the latest edition of Gibbs.

Returning to Kim Baloch Christopher has also been involved in another publication, albeit one that was printed in Pakistan and does not therefore bear the Saunders imprint. Baloch’s Encyclopaedia of Pakistan Cricket bears a title which does not necessarily inspire great confidence, but it was a marvellous book when it appeared in 2004, and whilst a supplement would be very welcome the original remains indispensable to anyone with an interest in the game in Pakistan. It has a broad remit and comprises a bulky 665 page count and its main value is in the pen portraits that appear in respect of, to that time, every man who had appeared for Pakistan in a Test as well as a number of other ‘notables’ whose stories need to be told.  These are not just brief summaries either, the entries (some of which deserve to be described as essays) without exception being well researched, informative and impressively written.

Another book about books, although not a bibliography as such, was Nicholas Sharp’s The Various Editions of AJ Gaston’s Sussex County Cricket 1728-1923. Gaston, also known as ‘Leather Hunter’ produced four editions of the booklet between 1923 and 1925, some or all of which were also produced in a special autographed edition. Only cricket could produce a 34 page booklet dealing with such a subject. The booklet was published in 2006 in a signed limited edition of 75 copies, all of which must have sold as there are none currently available.

Still on a bibliographical journey I come to A Guide To Cricket, published in 2013 and a fascinating history by Tony Laughton of Cricket – A Weekly Record of the Game, a periodical that ran from 1882 to 1913 with, rebranded as The World of Cricket, one further year in 1914 before the Great War brought down the curtain on the game’s first regular periodical. By its nature the book will appeal most to collectors of the magazine, but even those whose ambitions do not stretch that far will enjoy Laughton’s account. Our review of the book can be found here https://ift.tt/2MUoI3A

In 1905 there was an exhibition held at The Fine Art Society in Bond Street in London comprising 88 lithographs of Albert Chevallier Tayler, 48 of which subsequently formed the basis of one of the classic works of cricket literature. Both book and exhibition were called The Empire’s Cricketers, and in 2006 Christopher published a reproduction of the exhibition catalogue along with an introduction by John Hawkins. The twenty page signed and numbered limited edition of 100 card covered copies is still available at £25.

Moving forward to 2012 John Hawkins appears again, on this occasion with a rather different subject matter, albeit of a similar vintage. Trumper’s Team in Queensland 2006 is an interesting little publication, which we gave full details of in our review.

Between 1995 and 2005 Christopher also published nine monographs for Irving Rosenwater. Much more detail in relation to those can be found in this post on Rosenwater’s oeuvre.

An unusual book published by Christopher in 2013 was Those Were The Days by John White. Sub-titled A Yorkshire Boy’s Cricket Scrapbook the book is partly the autobiography of a lifelong cricket tragic, and in part a showcase for the collection of memorabilia that White acquired over a lifetime in love with the game. A good deal of the collection was biographical material on the subject of former Yorkshire and England captain Norman Yardley, whose son contributes an interesting foreword as well as a number of family photographs. This is a large A4 sized paperback running to the best part of 250 pages. It is still available at £20.

There is a Christopher Saunders book which, as far as I know, has never been made generally available – certainly I do not ever recall seeing a copy either on his website or in one of his catalogues. The book is A Verray Parfit Gentle Knight by Rayvern Allen. The book was produced for that group who gather annually as The Master’s Club to celebrate the life of Sir Jack Hobbs and all the copies produced went to the club. I cannot even be certain when the book appeared, but it must have been around ten years ago.

The last book to appear under the Saunders imprint was the unusual but rather splendid celebration of the means of getting into major matches at Lord’s. Jules Akel’s Cricket Tickets appeared in 2019 in a standard hardback and a limited edition. Both are still available and a detailed review appears here.

For the future I have not given up hope that one day Christopher will find the time to go through the remaining papers that he holds from Rosenwater’s Estate and for a new book or books to be the result of that but, dreams apart the one certainty is a book by the the grandson of the renowned administrator and historian Harry Altham. The book will contain a biographical essay but I understand its focus will be the correspondence that passed over many years between Altham and Sir Donald Bradman.

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Alan Gibson

I started watching televised Test cricket in the late 1960s and, BBC2 having just been launched, I could watch it all day if I wanted to. I enjoyed the commentary. The men I recall most vividly were Jim Laker and Richie Benaud. They generally took it in turns, but anchor Peter West was involved as well, and I certainly recall Ted Dexter and Denis Compton acting as summarisers.

An issue arose however when my father got home from work, usually around 5.30 pm, or a bit earlier if he could get away, which gave him the last hour or so’s play. It wasn’t so much that I objected to the principle of his turning the sound down on the television and listening to the radio commentary instead, but the fuss he made in setting it up and ‘evicting’ me from ‘his’ armchair caused a completely unnecessary disruption to my viewing pleasure.

After 1975 this ‘ritual’ became much less frequent and soon stopped altogether. The reason it ended was my father’s realisation that the man he considered the doyen of cricket commentators, Alan Gibson, wouldn’t be returning to the airwaves.

Sadly for me I think that at that point I was a bit too young, and probably insufficiently educated, to fully appreciate Gibson. I couldn’t always understand why my father chortled as he did when Gibson was on air or why, occasionally, he used to talk about abandoning his lifelong loyalty to the Daily Telegraph and starting to buy The Times instead, just so he could read Gibson’s prose.

Although I don’t suppose my father did I soon forgot about Alan Gibson and it wasn’t until just over ten years ago, when a book about him written by his eldest son, Of Didcot and The Demon, dropped through my letter box that I finally realised what it was that had captured my father’s imagination all those years ago. I will say now that having reread sections of that book, and others by Gibson Senior for the purposes of writing this post, the rating I gave Of Dicot and the Demon, a mere 4.5 stars, was insufficient to properly reflect its brilliance. 

Turning now to my subject today Alan Gibson was born in Sheffield in 1923, his father a Baptist minister. In time the family moved to the West Country, that delightful part of England that Gibson became a part of. He was clearly a highly intelligent man, and in time he graduated from Oxford University with a first class honours degree in history.

The need to complete his National Service part way through his degree meant that it was 1948 before Gibson was seeking employment and, an initial job as a lecturer at the University of Exeter presumably not enthusing him, he soon applied to the BBC for a role in broadcasting.

Something of a polymath Gibson was nonetheless a great cricket enthusiast and, unlike one or two of his peers, he seems to have been a competent cricketer albeit not one whose talents were such that he ever aspired to a level beyond the club game.

Amongst Gibson’s various duties at the BBC was covering cricket commentaries, primarily in Hampshire, Somerset and Gloucestershire. In 1955 he decided to go freelance and, eventually, in 1962 he received the longed for invitation to join the BBC Radio Test Match Special team.

As far as writing is concerned Gibson wrote a good deal, on a wide variety of subjects and, in 1965, a cricket book. Jackson’s Year was an account of the 1905 Ashes series that was won by England 2-0. Skipper Stanley Jackson, for whom that Edwardian summer was to all intents and purposes the end of his First Class career, topped both the batting and bowling averages.

The book had a generally good reception. In Wisden John Arlott welcomed the appearance, sixty years after the event, of a book on a series he described as historic, adding here its story is recounted by a man with a sense of general as well as particular history and the ability to write mature prose.  In The Cricketer GD Martineau wrote a rather strange review, which seems largely to be an expression of disappointment that the book was not a biography of Jackson. 

Jackson’s Year was also reviewed by Leslie Gutteridge for Playfair Cricket Monthly, and he at least seemed to appreciate that the book was primarily an account of a Test series. In his Cricket Quarterly Rowland Bowen was rather more Martineau than Gutteridge, thundering this book has fallen between two stools: it is not scholarly, nor long enough. Clearly antagonised in some ways by what he had read Bowen did however add that Gibson shows evident judgment ability and some literary ability.

At this point I will concentrate briefly on Gibson the broadcaster who, as indicated, I regret to say I can barely remember. I know though that my late father would certainly agree with some of the testimonials I have found to Gibson the commentator. The view of fellow TMS team member Christopher Martin-Jenkins was: as a broadcaster he had a mellifluous voice and an easy command of language and a twinkling sense of humour. Former Wisden editor Matthew Engel wrote that Gibson as a commentator was close to genius. 

The magisterial EW ‘Jim’ Swanton felt sufficiently moved to write to The Cricketer after Gibson’s death that of all the cricket commentators of my time none was easier to work with. He was a pro to his fingertips. Gibson’s Wisden obituary described him as a natural broadcaster with a honeyed voice, a wonderful sense of cadence, a turn of phrase and an eye for the telling detail. As an example of one lasting moment of inspiration if Martin-Jenkin’s memory is correct, and it must be conceded that he himself was not certain of this, then it was Gibson who first described the name of New Zealand pace bowler Bob Cunis as neither one thing nor the other.

There are few of us who get to enjoy an entirely straightforward life, and geniuses never do, and Gibson was no exception. He struggled with alcohol addiction and that cost him his position with TMS when, with growing anger, his boss at the BBC, the former Welsh Rugby Union international Cliff Morgan, listened to his somewhat inebriated thoughts on the final session of the Headingley Test in 1975. Had Gibson been the BBC’s employee and disciplined, it might have been fairer. As it was as a freelancer the BBC simply never booked him again, and nothing was said. He was left with his writing, primarily but by no means exclusively for The Times and The Cricketer

Either because of and/or as a result of his fondness for alcohol there were also mental health issues and, in 1963, there was a suicide attempt and a lengthy admission to a psychiatric hospital. Thirteen years after that, and a year after the TMS ‘sacking’ a second book, A Mingled Yarn, appeared. In the book, and unusually for the time, Gibson laid bare his demons and as a result the book received great acclaim although, it should be noted, eldest son Anthony’s verdict in Of Didcot and the Demon, was that the book had been written movingly, if not entirely honestly.

Married twice both the Gibson marriages ended in divorce, the personal issues doubtless standing centre stage in both of those dramas. Clearly a man with a temper, I have variously read that he could be acerbic, testy and scathing. He seems to have had no time for fools, and was easily bored, another observation of Martin-Jenkins being that: like many with a touch of genius Alan always had a slightly rebellious streak in him and a healthy contempt for those of lesser intellect who might be laying down how he should approach his job. 

During the sad year in which he lost his slot with TMS Gibson was paid a great compliment when he was invited to read a tribute to Sir Neville Cardus at the memorial service for Cardus that was held in St Paul’s Church in Covent Garden (known affectionately as ‘The Actors’ Church). Gibson rose splendidly to the occasion. Two sections of the tribute appeal to me particularly, one of which I will come on to, but the other splendidly illustrates the point made by CMJ and quoted in the preceding paragraph as Gibson said of Cardus: the words lyrical and rhapsodical were sometimes applied to him, usually by people who would not know a lyric from a rhapsody.

Financial pressures were ever present for a man with four children from two families, and there must have times when he regretted not seeking out a more lucrative career than the one he chose. There was a telling observation from Ivo Tennant in his obituary for Gibson in The Cricketer when he wrote: in a sense, Gibson was too clever for his own good. Broadcasting and journalism did not fulfil his first class mind. Nonetheless the overriding impression of Gibson is a positive one.

Gibson’s third book appeared in 1979. He had been working on The Cricket Captains of England for years, and the long disappearance of The Times from the newsstands, caused by the bitter print workers’ dispute of 1978, gave him the time to finish it. If, after Jackson’s Year, there were any doubt as to his ability to write a serious cricket book, then this one erased it. Swanton wrote Mr. Gibson has set himself to fill a broad canvas, and he has succeeded to a degree that I doubt whether any other contemporary cricket writer could have approached. It was a serious piece of research and writing, but the sense of humour could not be kept completely under control. Gibson ended his preface with; I have never been much of a man for sums, and I am sure I will have made many statistical errors. I shall be deeply grateful to any reader who does not point them out to me.

Five years after The Cricket Captains of England was published The Times, as the BBC had before them, tired of the restrictions that Gibson’s drinking put on his ability to fulfil his obligations to them and another contract was gone, and the second marriage went as well. Gibson continued to do some writing and, two years later his last book appeared, Growing up with Cricket. This was another project that Gibson had been working on for some considerable time and was effectively a second autobiography, this time dealing with the cricketing issues that A Mingled Yarn had largely left alone.

Alan Gibson seems never to have stopped drinking and he died in a Taunton nursing home in 1997 at the age of 74. It had been a sad deterioration and he had done little writing in his later years, and that which he had done generally lacked the old magic. In 1992 West Country journalist Richard Walsh published an essay of Gibson’s on the subject of Jack Davey, a stalwart left arm fast medium bowler from Gloucestershire. It was not Gibson’s best work. A similar effort on the subject of Dennis Silk appeared the following year and was better, but jointly credited to Walsh who, one is left to suspect, was very much the main writer. Amongst the decline there was however one piece in which Gibson arrested the decline when he was asked, in 1992, to contribute a memoir to The Cricketer following the death of his old friend Arlott.

Another fine writer/journalist from the West of England who knew Gibson well was David Foot, who described him as the academic who got lost on his way to the cricket ground. The ground in question was generally a county ground rather than one hosting an international – Swanton expressed the view of many when he observed that Gibson’s wit and humanity were better attuned to county cricket.

The dust jacket of A Mingled Yarn contains a testimonial from Arlott, describing Gibson as quite the most amusing sports reporter writing at the present time. His writing represented anything but straight reportage. In Foot’s words, Gibson might, occasionally, tell readers who had won the toss, but then he was off, in a discursive and peripheral account of his daily thoughts. Long time colleague at The Times and, nominally, Gibson’s senior was John Woodcock, who put the same point another way, while I wrote about the cricket, Alan was usually elsewhere writing about a day at the cricket.

I must, of course, provide an example of Gibson’s writing which, limiting myself to one, is a difficult choice. When Gibson gave his eulogy for Cardus he, not unnaturally, made reference to Emmott Robinson, the Yorkshire all-rounder of whom it has often been said that he was, to all intents and purposes, a creation of Cardus. Gibson was rather more prolific in his portrayals, but the principle was the same, an affectionate exaggeration of the characteristics of the individual concerned.

Two of Gibson’s more famous portrayals were of Brian Close (‘The Old Bald Blighter’) and Robin Jackman (‘The Shoreditch Sparrow’) but, for my one example I have, after much consideration, chosen the Somerset seamer Colin Dredge. An honest journeyman rather than a budding superstar Dredge spent a decade in the Somerset first eleven taking almost 450 First Class wickets at a tick over thirty runs each. To Gibson Dredge was ‘The Demon of Frome’, and at the end of May of 1978 after Dredge’s bowling in the Kent second innings had taken Somerset to victory he wrote:-

The Demon of Frome bowled long, painstakingly, and successfully. I have never seen him bowl better. He has, whether consciously or not, adjusted his action since I first saw him: although still prone to no-balls, he has cut out the shuffles and strides out well. His action reminds me very much of that of the present rural Dean of Northleach, whom I saw take many wickets on grounds around Taunton, including this one, and whose action was always regarded as model – just as his sermons still are.

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One among the billion

Mahender Singh Dhoni turned around and said something funny to Virat Kohli. And Shikhar Dhawan chuckled. Kohli cracked a joke back. Ajinyka Rahane and Yuvraj Singh joined the banter. Then Dhoni came up with the mother of all punchlines and the whole team erupted with laughter. I laughed with them too.

I. Laughed. With. The. Indian. Cricket. Team.

And we laughed and laughed and laughed until the last man finished the job and zipped up.

Ladies and gentlemen!

I don’t really recall the jokes that passed inside the men’s room in a Mumbai multiplex where the Indian cricket team had congregated at the intermission of our film’s premiere.

All I remember is this. I entered the men’s room and quickly took a strategic position in between Dhoni and Kohli – my favourite cricketers in the current team. This way Dhoni and Kohli had to look at my face if they were to talk to each other. I was not going to address anyone directly but I was not going to leave that rest room until one of them figured out I didn’t belong there and chased me away.

But they didn’t. I walked in with them. I took up my position with them. I laughed with them. And washed my hands with them. (“After you Virat”, “No, no after you” “No, you’re the skipper” “Ok, thanks”). This – being in the men’s room with the Indian cricket team – I realised immediately, and I acknowledge now, was the greatest moment of my life.

Then Sachin Tendulkar turned up at the door and urged the boys to get back to their seats. He didn’t want them to be late for their flight to London. They had a Champions Trophy to play for, you see. And before leaving for the airport, they had to finish watching the second half of our movie. At his word, everyone rushed back to the movie hall. Then Sachin turned to me and asked, “Siva, you’re not going in?”. This, ladies and gentlemen, the fact that Mr. Tendulkar knows me by name, is the greatest achievement of my life.

I had been a film professional for 17 years and a cricket tragic for over 30 years when Ravi Bhagchandka called up to check if I would work as the screenwriter for the film he was producing, with James Erskine as the director. It was going to be on Sachin Tendulkar’s life and career.

I can’t imagine a life without cricket. And I can’t imagine cricket without Sachin. I just can’t.

There are weeks I can go without listening to music; and months without watching movies. In the past nine years, I have watched nothing on television except test cricket and Grand Slam tennis. I can probably carry on without books, too. But I just can’t deal with life without cricket.

Here is how I picture heaven to be. Sunshine. Green wicket. Men in white flannels. Four slips and two gullies. A brand new, shiny, hand-stitched red leather ball weighing 5 1/2 ounces bouncing around. A batsman with a willow deftly negotiating it. Mild shouts of “well bowled!”, coming from the wicket keeper.

I used to play the game regularly when I was in school. I have spent more time on the Cricinfo Statsguru page than any adult I have met. I still spend my days and nights and most of the moments while in flights – stuck in traffic – waiting in long queues – under the shower – dreaming up All Time XIs.

All Time Lefties XI. All Time Flair XI. All Time XI who played between 14 and 37 tests. The best XI from the players I have seen; which happens to be SM Gavaskar, CG Greenidge, IVA Richards, SR Tendulkar, BC Lara, AR Border *, AC Gilchrist +, RJ Hadlee, MD Marshall, SK Warne, J Garner.

But there are millions like me in every state of India. Every colony and gully and slum and swanky enclave in this country is filled with cricket fanatics who fall back on the game to escape from the drudgery of real life. Everyone knows everything about cricket that one needs to know. My neighbor knows as much about left arm spin bowling as Bishan Singh Bedi. So, anyone could write a movie about Sachin. I am just one among the billion.

But I could see why I would be offered the writing gig. I was the cricket tragic with the right kind of film pedigree. Someone who had succumbed to both the big temptations of our society. This double requirement – “we are looking to hire a cricket buff and a film addict” – makes the talent pool comparatively smaller; about the same size as kleptomaniacs with diabetes. I understood this unique qualification I have and didn’t question the wisdom of a new producer asking me to write a script on the life of India’s darling cricketer.

I knew every cricket lover in the country knew Sachin’s career inside out and whatever angle one chooses to take in narrating his life, it was bound to disappoint the majority. Ravi and James had the most sensible solution to this problem. It would be a documentary, and Sachin would have to be Sachin. Plain and simple.

The whole country had been closely following Sachin from his debut. We knew what music he listened to; what sweets he ate. We knew when he grew a moustache. We saw his cherubic cheeks transform into a well chiseled adult face without ever losing the boyishness. If we were to hear his story, why not hear it directly from him?

Putting together a team of XI players was the biggest deal in Manamadurai, where I grew up in the 80s. Chappells, Lillee, Roberts and Vishy had retired by the time television broadcast reached our village. And the first television signals we received came from Colombo. The grainy Roopavahini logo is inseparable for me from the first images of professional cricket I saw. Aravinda de Silva and Roy Dias locking horns with Kapil Dev and Ravi Shastri was the first taste of televised cricket we got. About six of us would enter one of the only two houses that had televisions uninvited and plonk ourselves in their living room and watch the whole game in pin drop silence. We did not want to give the hosts any excuse to throw us out. If they did, we would storm the other house without missing a beat.

All six of us were totally dedicated to the great game. We would be playing cricket all the time in every available corner of the street. Every wall in the neighbourhood bore the marks of three stumps and two bails drawn with a red chalk. One of us admired Vengsarkar. The other one was a Kapil Dev fan. I was a big cheerleader for Gavaskar and Shastri.

We six were the core of our team. The remaining five players needed to make up a full XI would have to be begged and emotionally blackmailed to join us on match days. Our captain, Srini, was the patient, mature organiser who would go from door to door to persuade every friend and acquaintance to join us when we played real matches on the school ground or at the large empty land behind the church.

We had one set of stumps. One bat. And no protective gear. The opponents from the railway colony or from “the other bank” across the Vaigai river were probably worse off. I remember most of us playing barefoot ignoring the blisters caused by the burning river bed.

When many of our families eventually bought televisions, we no longer had to go to other homes to watch the game. But this meant we had to host other people in our home on match days. So, when Miandad hit that last ball for a six or when the Chennai test match ended in a tie, we had close to 50 people in our house shouting and screaming and cursing non stop.

My love for the game followed me out of our village and to my undergrad days when Sachin started to overtake the other superstars of the Indian team in cricketing ability and in popularity. But the fun of watching the game with such a large crowd jostling for space in a cramped hall would never be matched anywhere else.

When we shot the scene of the young Sachin watching India’s 1983 World Cup win with a bunch of friends, James asked me and my friend and fellow writer Sandeep to stage it because this experience of watching cricket together in one house was so representative of that time and of our society.

Sachin made his mark in international cricket and we learnt the benefits of playing a team sport. We became less selfish. We learnt to appreciate the achievements of our mates. And we figured out that in life, like in test cricket, most people do not succeed or fail but just survive, and that is good enough.

Obviously, for this reason alone test cricket would not appeal to the Americans. I tried my best to explain the nuances of the five day game to my grad school friends in Gainesville. That winning did not matter and not losing is a good enough goal to have. It didn’t fly with them. I managed to convince a total of zero American friends of mine to become cricket fans.

With some of our Pakistani mates sharing the tab, we rented out a house and installed a satellite dish to bring in the 1996 World Cup telecast to Florida. That was the time Sachin transformed from a great cricketer to a superhero. Believe me, I still turn to Sunil Gavaskar for inspiration. My early lockdown days were spent watching YouTube videos of Sunny batting. To beat depression and loneliness you need the technical mastery and businesslike artistry of the Little Master. He will help you keep your head above the water. But you need Sachin to help you dream. To soar above the limitations – both real and imagined – you are bogged down by, you need to watch the Little Champion bat, especially from that 1996 World Cup onwards.

When I returned to India and started working in movies, I could not remember my childhood before Sachin entered our collective conscience. In the decade since he faced that famous pace attack in Pakistan as a 16 year old, he had grown in front of our eyes in stature. He had grown with the ever expanding media, quickly filling up the television screens, hoarding spaces and newspaper pages. He had become synonymous with the game like Jordan was for hoops.

We wanted to say all of this in our film. For the benefit of the kids born after his test debut, now playing the game in the remote corners of this country, we needed to tell his cricketing story the way it unfolded in front of our eyes.

Satellite television took cricket to all parts of the country. Sachin was playing the game on those millions of television sets. Our new found buying power allowed the middle class Indians to travel abroad more easily and attend matches on all the famous grounds of the world. Sachin batted in all of them. Mobile phones came in. And each person alive became an individual consumer of media; and Sachin played on all our devices. The shorter version of the game became the face of cricket; and Sachin became the face of that format.

Sachin was a delight to work with. He patiently answered fan questions disguised as professional enquiries. (“Who was the most difficult bowler you faced? And please don’t say Hansie Cronje” “What is your Dream XI?”). He walked us through Shivaji Park and relived his childhood memories for our cameras. If there was a cricket game on TV he would predict the fate of the delivery before the bowler released the ball. “Single to mid wicket”, he would say and that is where the ball would end up. He showed us the bats he used throughout his career. “This was the one I used in Sharjah, 1998”. He hosted us with warmth and laughed for our jokes. He was a dream.

When the Indian cricket team returned to the movie hall for our preview and took their seats, I sat in the last row and watched each player watching our film. Throughout the film there were smiles, hearty cheers, vigorous clapping and some tears. The film was called “Sachin: A Billion Dreams” and it was this bunch that had made those dreams a reality.

When lights came on, I went down and stood next to Ravi and James. Sachin walked in and addressed the team. He thanked each one of them for their time and quickly switched to the upcoming Champions Trophy in England. Everyone, from Dhoni to Kohli to the junior members of the team, listened to him in rapt attention. Sachin’s voice remained steady and his gentle humor never deserted him as he wished his team from his heart and urged them to play to the best of their ability and how that would be good enough to be world beaters for he knew this bunch in front of him was the best cricket team in the world.

Suddenly I realised I was eavesdropping on an Indian team meeting before a big series and I did not know where to hide. Inadvertently, I had become the fly on the wall in the Indian dressing room. I turned to Ravi for advise and saw him tearing up on hearing Sachin’s speech. I looked up again at all those wonderful cricketers playing for our team, listening to their role model. And all of them were tearing up involuntarily.

I remembered that Sachin knew me by name. That brought tears to my eyes too.

Siva Ananth (is a right arm off spinner who once took 6-23 in 12.3 overs at Lords’ and bowled India to victory in his dreams)

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