Pulling the Woolmer over our eyes

The day Bob Woolmer joined the Circus

Living, as I do now, nearer to Hove than any other county ground (a close run thing between there and Horsham, at which, quite extraordinarily, I have also played), the area to the south of the capital has become more familiar to me. Indeed, I have a son who now lives not far from the venue of this important (some mistake, surely – ed) article.

It was not always thus. During what I loosely describe as my upbringing, home was in Finchley. Lord’s, where nearly all our home matches were played, was an easy bus journey away and much of the summer holiday was spent there, with a friend who was marginally less interested in the cricket than in defacing, and adding ‘witty’ comments to, the scorecards.  As years passed, however, I became a junior member and then a full member, which made me feel very grown up. I also learned to drive.

Thus it was that one Sunday morning in September 1977, my brother and I noticed that Middlesex were playing the final John Player League match of the season at Maidstone. I had barely heard of the place, but a glance at a map showed that it was almost within reach. For some reason that I can’t recall, my dad didn’t want to go, so the two of us made an impulsive decision to head off in the direction of the Medway town. I hope no policemen are reading this and that the Statute of Limitations still applies, because I have to admit to breaking the speed limit a teeny weeny bit, as we found our way through the Metropolis and into the Garden of England. 

I’ve a recollection that we parked on the grass in Mote Park and entered the ground, which was already heaving with spectators, many of them displaying the confidence that Kent’s run of success bred. We found a seat somewhere opposite the pavilion on what turned out to be a lovely sunny afternoon and watched as Mike Brearley won the toss and put Kent in to bat. They did have a pretty good side then – Wisden tells me that Paul Downton played for them – with county cricket stars like Johnson, Tavare and Ealham in the side, as well as international players like Deadly Derek Underwood and Bob Woolmer. 

It was another, the sinewy Asif Iqbal, who took the plaudits that day. To the delight of the packed crowd, he played a masterful innings, driving the last ball for 6 to complete his century. Kent finished on 206 for 4, an almost unheard of total in those days and the natives were pretty happy as they basked in the sunshine and looked forward to watching the devastating opening attack of Kevin Jarvis and, err, Bob Woolmer.

Bob, later to be such an innovative coach, had that very morning announced that he was to be one of the second tranche of players joining Kerry Packer’s World Series Cricket, informally known as a Circus. When batting, he had scored just 6 before being caught behind. Our keeper was a chap who became one of the world’s best umpires, and the bowler was the current President – no, of course not Joe Biden, don’t be ridiculous. He was one of the crowd’s favourites, which was one of the reasons that, when he mis-fielded early on, I restrained myself from shouting out that he could be a clown in the circus. Being beaten up by a crowd of middle class sixty year olds was not likely, but I might have heard some tut-tuts and received some disapproving looks.

Mike Smith was out first ball and Brearley followed soon after, as the game stuck to the script. But then strange things began to happen. Radley, Gatting and Barlow all began to find the boundary across a lightning outfield and the crowd became quieter; the odd strawberry fell from a nice piece of cake as the journey from hand to mouth was interrupted by Graham Johnson being chipped over mid wicket. 

These three were dismissed in time, which left Norman Featherstone and Philippe Edmonds at the crease and some of the locals had departed for their oasthouses and thatched cottages, by the time Middlesex strolled home with 10 balls to spare. Did Featherstone match Asif by driving the winning runs over the boundary? Wisden is silent on this, but memory, ah sweet memory, suggests that he did.

It was a more leisurely drive home, reflecting on a satisfying afternoon, which enabled us to finish third; Kent would have been above us had we lost. Who won the league? Leicestershire! Did our dad regret not going that day? Who knows, but I’m glad we did.