Squeezed between two days at Lord’s for the ICC World Test Championship final…and then another day at Lord’s for that final, I took a break from cricket at Lord’s by going to Queen’s for a day to watch tennis with Janie.
Friday 13 June turned out to be a very hot day indeed, which is potentially more problematic for us at Queen’s, where we had allocated seats in the sun, than at Lord’s, where I can pick and choose a bit more.
Still, we had a good time, not least because it was an excellent day of tennis.
This is the first time there has been a women’s tournament at this professional level since the early 1970s – i.e. a few months before I picked up a racket for the first time.
Anyway, more than fifty years after I lost my tennis virginity, we saw:
Madison Keys beat Diana Shnaider
Tatjana Maria beat Elena Rybakina
Qinwen Zheng beat Emma Raducanu
Amanda Anisimova beat Emma Navarro
Shnaider serving to Keys
I took one stroll mid match during the first match and checked out the facilities.
One of the “benefits” of a day at Queen’s rather than Lord’s is that I don’t expect to run into a cricketing colleague, friend or acquaintance every five yards or so. Yet, on leaving the Arena at Queen’s, within about five yards, I ran into Josh Knappett, who is my main Middlesex CC link in my capacity as Middlesex’s Trustee on the London Cricket Trust. Josh was even sporting an MCC hat. Always a pleasure to see Josh, of course, but it made both me and Janie laugh when I reported back to her on this chance encounter.
When you’re hot, you’re hot…
Less amusing was the heat and the crowds as we all left the arena at the end of the first match. I did suggest that we turn right rather than left on exit, but Janie spotted a “toilets” sign and got us caught up in heaving dead end misery at the club house end of the campus, where a fight nearly broke out (not us, I hasten to add). Some folk (again, not us) tank up with alcohol to add to the strain of the heat on such days.
Anyway, we changed tack and ended up at the less-heaving end of the campus, where we observed some fine players practicing and took some delicious iced coffee to cool ourselves down.
Above, Neal Skupski, below, Joe Salisbury Amanda Anisimova practicing
We took advantage of some shade and air conditioning at the exhibition stand end of the ground before returning to see the end of the Maria v Rybakina match.
Above, Elena Rybakina, below, Tatjana Maria
Our smoked trout bagels (lovingly prepared by me in the morning before I went to the physiotherapist and the gym) were not going to eat themselves. I can faithfully report that they indeed did not eat themselves; we ate them. We also ate some hand-made crisps, cheese clouds pretzel thins, strawberries and grapes. Not all at once – throughout the afternoon and early evening.
Next up Qinwen Zheng (who now prefers to be known as Zheng Qinwen apparently) against Emma Raducanu.
We took a break during that match, for comfort and for a game of table tennis in the sponsors exhibition area. My new found stability and confidence transferred to table tennis, where I recorded a rare win over Janie.
Janie’s rage almost certainly knew no bounds at this juncture, but she did a grand job of behaving as if she was having a good time and cared not about the table tennis result.
Soon after our return to our seats, the penultimate match ended and the last match of the day began.
Above, Emma Navarro, below, Amanda Anisimova
After the first set, Janie looked up and said that her internal weather detector sensed rain approaching. Strangely, AccuWeather agreed, suggesting that we had some 40 minutes or so before the rain would start.
We decided, wisely I think, to leg it at that juncture, avoiding the heave at the gates and getting home in time to catch the end of the last match on the telly.
Daisy likes these Lord’s double-headers, where you get a nice, reasonably quiet women’s match in the afternoon, followed by an increasingly noisy and boozy men’s match in the evening. The Hundred is her preferred choice of such double-headers, following a confusing experience in 2023, watching Sunrisers in May, as reported 18 months later on King Cricket:
This year, the women’s team has reverted to being Middlesex Women, so the idea of a Middlesex double-header of Middlesex v Sussex made a bit more sense and attracted us to attend.
Naturally Daisy’s favourite sun deck was the location of choice. Naturally we brought lashings of ginger beer with us and resolved to make a meal of the Long Room Bar Baps and salad (gammon again, seeing as you were going to ask).
Unlike Daisy, I prepared for this event inadequately, by assuming that at least one of my Middlesex caps was in my Middlesex bag. Neither of them were. In need of head protection, and with Daisy having doubled-up in the head gear department, I tried to look sensible in Daisy’s floppy hat.
In truth, I was struggling to look sensible in that hat.
Eventually I gave up trying to look sensible in that hat:
I took a stroll between matches – firstly to move the car and then around the ground, which took a long time as I ran into lots of people I knew – some regular friends from Lord’s but also, somewhat surprisingly, Andy Shindler.
We enjoyed our grub between the two matches. So much so that we didn’t even photograph each other eating the food. Older people like us just don’t get the entire purpose of eating out – which is to photograph the event and show your so-called friends that you know how to eat.
As the place started to fill up for the men’s match, Daisy became less enthralled and more aware of it being a bit chilly. After about half-an-hour, it became quite obvious to us which way the match was likely to go and we resolved to catch the end of it on the TV when we got home…which we did.
Whose “bright” idea was it to book a play about dementia and stuff for a week after mother-in-law Pauline’s funeral – which was the closing scene of Pauline’s long, slow demise at the hands of that disease?
OK, so it was my idea. But, to be fair, the idea of seeing this piece had been brewing in my mind for some time, given that Lydia White was appearing in it.
After all, Lydia is my best mate John’s daughter and has been helping me to grapple with the shreds of my so-called singing voice for some five years now. Still, I had told John early in the year that I thought that the subject matter would be too close to the bone for Janie at this time and that the journey to the Arcola too far for my healing bones in May, just three months after my hip replacement.
Between February and April, though, the hip replacement went well and Ben Schwartz had coincidentally arranged to see this very show in Leicester – one of several stops on a tour scheduled to finish at The Arcola in London. When Ben reported back to me in April that the play, and Lydia, were the bees knees – (expressed with well-chosen, professional words to that effect) – I decided to book the show. I suggested to Janie that I’d go it alone on the Saturday matinee, while she was having her hair done. But so impressed was Janie with Ben’s informal review, she decided to move her hair appointment and join me.
That was on 16 April – about 12 hours before Pauline expired.
Still, coincidence followed coincidence when I told John that we’d be going along after all, as he reported back that he and Mandy would be at that matinee with several friends.
In Other Words…
“But what about the play and production?”, I hear frustrated readers cry.
Matthew Seager plays the male lead, as he has in previous productions of his play. He and Lydia certainly make this piece fly. [Insert your own joke here about the production flying to the moon or being a play among the stars].
Strewn with Frank Sinatra songs, it is the sort of play that could easily come across as mawkish or cloying, yet Seager somehow manages to avoid those pitfalls, while retaining warmth, humour and empathy. The fact that he spent a considerable amount of time working in care homes before writing this play might well have helped in that regard…as does an evident talent for playwriting of course.
Both performers did a great job of transforming their body language in a near instant, as the scenes move backwards and then forwards again in time. Matthew’s physical changes were the most profound ones, yet Lydia’s subtle transformations from lovestruck young woman to worn-down, middle-aged accidental-carer were in some ways even more impressive for their subtlety.
But then, I’m biased. After all, Lydia has almost managed to make an audible silk purse out of the sow’s ear that is my voice.
There is a scene during In Other Words in which Matthew’s character explains how bad he is at singing and demonstrates same with a bit of Sinatra. I asked Matthew after the show if Lydia had taught him how to feign singing that badly. Matthew’s reply:
Far be it from me to pretend to be a Jester. But this was a match at The Queen’s Club, so I am in the habit of representing various different teams there, regardless of whether I am actually a member of that club (e.g. MCC, The Dedanists’ Society) or not (e.g. The Queens Club itself, or, for this match, The Jesters Club).
In this instance, I wasn’t supposed to be playing at all. I had promised myself, and my surgeon, that Pinky, my brand-new hip, would be spared competitive matches and tournaments until the autumn. But when the call comes from Tony Friend, it’s difficult to say no…especially when he says, “feel free to say no”, in his “please help” tone of voice.
Also, the call to play the kick-off rubber of this match, as a substitute Jester, could be construed as more like the friendly hours of doubles that I am now playing, than a fierce competitive bout. I said “yes”.
“Would you also be willing to write the match report please? …fully understand if not,” said Tony.
The gentle art of watching on: Anton, Patrick & Josh (above) – Peter, Jon, Tabby & Jez (below)
Had anyone present been paying attention to the scores, they would have seen a match that built to a tremendous climax. First the Jesters took the lead, then the Dedanists’ clawed it back and took the lead, then the Jesters levelled the match again. After six rubbers, there had been two wins for each side and a couple of drawn rubbers. Naturally the final rubber went to a nail-biting one-set-all, five-games-all decider that was determined in favour of the Dedanists’ by a whisker.
James, Stuart, James & Paul. Did any of them know their rubber was determining the match?
But in truth, no-one was paying attention to the scores, other than a vague interest in the rubber that was in front of those indulging in the gentle art of watching tennis. Such is the way of matches such as this, between two peripatetic sides, with many players eligible for both teams and some, like me, representing the team for which they are not eligible.
The well-worn but suitable phrase on such occasions is that tennis was the winner. Several hundred pounds raised for the Dedanist’s Society, after a convivial afternoon and evening at Queen’s, playing & watching tennis, then dining and chatting with friends. Bliss.
Whose “bright” idea was it to book a play about family funerals, eulogies and stuff for the day after Pauline’s funeral?
OK, so it was my idea. But I had the idea to book this back in early March, not even three weeks after I came out of hospital with Pinky. Janie and I love the Hampstead Downstairs – I spotted that this play was only an hour long and that the production had Rosie Cavaliero playing the lead.
Back in the day, Rosie stormed NewsRevue with her performances, not least a cracking, seminal job with one of mine, Domestic Fuel, which became a NewsRevue classic…
…so I was keen to see her perform again after all these years. I booked the very last night of the run to give my hip sufficient time to repair ahead of a “cheek-to-cheek” hour on those Hampstead Downstairs pews.
While my mother-in-law Pauline’s demise this spring was not entirely a surprise, I could not have known in early March that she would die some six week’s later and that the funeral would be the day before we saw the play.
The timing could have been worse. Given the central conceits of the play revolving around funerals, eulogies and things going badly wrong for a family before during and after…I guess seeing this play the day BEFORE delivering Pauline’s eulogy might have terrified me. Whereas, seeing the play the day after simply reinforced my view that I had needed to write with care and deliver the eulogy with dignity:
All three members of the cast – Rosie Cavaliero was joined by Holly Atkins and Archie Christoph-Allen – performed admirably, directed well by Lucy Morrison. The set made excellent use of the limited space downstairs, creating a sense of the claustrophobic atmosphere in a home that has become a hoarding nightmare – we have Naomi Dawson to thank for that.
It is an excellent short play. The notion of someone getting emotionally stuck in their past reminded me a little of Kevin Elyot’s excellent plays My Night With Reg and The Day I Stood Still:
Except in Personal Values, the “stood still” syndrome manifests itself in an extreme hoarding disorder and the “syndrome” is family-originated rather than through romance and otherness.
We were left in no doubt as to the growing up era upon which the sisters were reflecting. Rosie’s one chance in the play to show off her ability to deliver a belter of a song was a pivotal scene, excellently done, when the sisters started singing and dancing to Temptation by Heaven 17:
It was preceded by some business, which amused me a lot, around a Casio keyboard which the Rosie character had put up for sale on E-Bay at the behest of her sister and then bought back from herself, because she couldn’t bear to part with it. When she demonstrated the instrument it had the Nightbirds (Shakatak) riff programmed into it:
So very early 1980s, both of those tracks. Mercifully, although I am prone to mentally and digitally hoarding this stuff, I am not tempted to rush out and secure those tracks on vinyl…or am I?
The reviews for Personal Values have mostly been terrific, deservedly so. Headline ones are shown on the Hampstead resource – here’s the link again.
Once again, the Hampstead Downstairs has done the business. Janie and I really like that place. And it’s great to be back at the theatre, even if, for the time being, limiting ourselves to short plays for Pinky’s sake.
Pauline Wormleighton led a long and turbulent life. What do we, her surviving family, learn from that life, now that Pauline has died? I have chosen three quotes that we might use as our lessons from Pauline.
Lesson One — Audrey Hepburn: “The most important thing is to enjoy your life — to be happy. It’s all that matters.”
Pauline, nee Wallen, was born 1 July 1929, a couple of months after Audrey Hepburn. She doted on her absentee father Jack, but had a tempestuous relationship with her mother, Alice. Pauline was close to her older brother John, before he and his family emigrated to Australia, but couldn’t get along with her younger sister, Christine.
Pauline was an unhappy evacuee teenager during the War, yet still learnt to excel at the arts (especially music) and languages. She spoke Swedish, Danish, Norwegian, Portuguese, Spanish, French and German.
I get a strong sense that Pauline sought enjoyment & happiness early in her life.
In the early 1950s, Pauline found glamorous, high-profile work in Europe as a social secretary; first for a Swedish industrialist, then for an eminent Portuguese medical family and thirdly, 1952-1953, for Prince Otto von Bismark, the Iron Chancellor’s grandson.
Bismarks in Library: Otto, Leopold, Gunilla, Maximillian & Ann-Mari December 1953
A few years ago, Janie interviewed & noted Pauline’s memories of those early years – we’ll edit & post that material on-line sometime soon.
Bismark children above & staff below (Pauline right) October 1953
In January 1954, during a supposedly brief stop in England before starting work for Aristotle Onassis, Pauline met Howard Wormleighton. Within 10 weeks, Pauline & Howard were married, while Aristotle was dumped. Let’s hope Aristotle took it philosophically.
Howard had been an heroic prisoner of the Japanese for most of the war; by 1954 he was going places as an insurance executive. Despite worries that Howard & Pauline were unable to have children, in 1955 Hilary arrived and in 1956 twins; Phillipa and Jane. Pauline attributed this “miracle” to fertility charms that Howard brought her from his business travels in Central & South America.
Pauline with Hilary, Phillipa and Janie
Pauline and Howard had a happy marriage, initially in Willesden, near Pauline’s birth family, then in a large family house in Batchworth Lane. Pauline used her social secretarial skills at home and on glamourous travels with Howard on business, while the girls were at boarding schools.
In October 1978, while the couple were in Portugal on business, Howard collapsed and died, while Pauline’s long life was only half done.
Lesson Two – Henry Fielding: “If you make money your god, it will plague you like the devil.”
The 18th century writer Henry Fielding, like Howard, died aged 50-something in Portugal.
Howard’s untimely death left Pauline emotionally bereft. Pauline also became convinced that she was impoverished, although by objective measures that was not the case. I describe the condition as “anorexia of money”, an affliction which Pauline bore herself and inflicted on others, for the rest of her life.
But for the last 20 years or so, it was not even possible to mollify Pauline with cricket, theatre or music concerts. Pauline would find an excuse to reject such treats, often angrily.
Pauline holding court in the Sandall Close Garden, Summer 2009
Pauline could not understand unconditional kindness, nor could she express gratitude or love. The last few years were harder still, especially once dementia took hold of her already troubled personality. But in truth, by that time, Pauline had long since pushed most of the family away. And in truth, most of us took the hint and stayed away.
Still, we should all remember and try to learn lessons from Pauline’s life. This final quote is from her near-namesake, St Paul, in his unifying letter to the Corinthians.
Lesson Three – St Paul (1 Corinthians 13): “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”
The weather smiled on us – oh boy did it smile on us – for the first day of the cricket season.
Even as recently as Wednesday, Janie was wondering whether it would be warm enough for her at Lord’s in early April. She’s never forgotten an icy day at Lord’s in June, on her favourite sundeck:
Anyway, 4 April 2025 was no such day. Glorious sunshine. More than 20 centigrade in the shade. Who said 4 April was too early for the start of the cricket season?
A sizeable crowd at Lord’s for the first day of the championship. We ran into lots of people I know, but there was still plenty of time/room for us to sit a little and wander round the ground a few times. What bliss.
Middlesex batting four down…
Middlesex were doing quite well when we arrived…
…but soon they weren’t.
…Middlesex bowling without joy.Scrubbed up for an afternoon outDaisy took on the chin a minor reprimand earlier, for entering the pavilion sleeveless. The steward ever so politely told her to put her sleeve-endowed top on!It isn’t just youngsters who can do double-selfies, you know.
Stephen Jenkins in Combined Cadet Force (CCF) garb, c1975
Andy Dwelly and I were both at Alleyn’s School between 1973 and 1980. We were in the same class for one year only, in 2AK, 1974/75. But both of us, separately, experienced the phenomenon that was the “teaching style” of Mr Jenkins. In Andy’s case, as a nipper in 1C. In my case, in the third, fourth and fifth years. I have written a little about Stephen Jenkins previously and will no doubt write more as my diary trawl 1975-1978 unfolds.
Meanwhile, Andy has written the following charming, informative and thoughtful essay about the man. I am honoured and delighted that Andy has asked me to publish this piece on Ogblog.
Mayan friezes at Xunantunich, Belize
Some memories of my life around 1973 recently resurfaced and I found myself curious about our most unusual teacher, Mr. Jenkins, or Mr. Murder as he introduced himself to class 1C in 1973. That research led to Ian’s blog and the fact that Mr Jenkin’s given name was Stephen. That was something that I’d either forgotten – or given the distance between masters and boys, never actually knew. That name turned out to be the key that reveals some things about this uncommon individual that are still available to us.
I’m older now than he was when he taught us, and although I’m sure he would have regarded it as gross impudence, I’m going to refer to him as Stephen from now on. I’m interested in the individual and I’m perfectly willing to speculate where actual facts are unavailable. There are known facts though.
Stephen was born in 1920 so he would have been in his early fifties when we first encountered him.
Given his birth year, he must have been involved in the 2nd World War in some kind of military capacity and presumably stayed in the army for some time after. He was in fact Lieutenant-Colonel Anthony Stephen Jenkins. In practical terms that means he probably would have been the commanding officer of a battalion – perhaps three to four hundred men.
If you needed to find him, to hand in some late homework for example, he could invariably be found in the CCF storage rooms in the basement level of the main school.
I was surprised when Ian pointed out that he was appointed head of the CCF in 1975, and was also in charge of a variety of other extra-curricular activities including fencing, wargames, photography, and he was house master of Brown’s as well. I wasn’t in Brown’s, so I don’t know how much of an active part he played in that area of the school, but I can report that in several years of war gaming including some rather good tank battles – I never saw him.
Eric Randall – most in our era would have associated Eric, rather than Mr Jenkins, as the CCF’s leader. Also to note, I (Ian) would have processed this picture through the Photographic Society, within which I was highly active for some years, but I don’t remember ever seeing Mr Jenkins there.
One notable characteristic of the man was that he could rhapsodise for hours on something that most reasonable people would regard as an insignificant detail. On one occasion he got started on the best way to take notes and he carefully went over his personal highly evolved system of note taking and notebooks. This included the one he carried around with him all the time, and the larger one where details got transferred to at appropriate moments. There might have been even more significant notebooks in a strict hierarchy that were used in special ways.
For some reason I have the impression that he used various coloured pens as well. Unfortunately I did not learn much more about the Fertile Crescent that I think was the actual subject of the lesson. I did learn that he had a great many notebooks and I developed a distinct impression that he would soon be checking up on us to make sure we were all carrying small notebooks as well. That last one must have struck a chord as inevitably I do happen to do that these days.
Editor’s notebook and editor’s note thereon: “I think I have spotted a pattern here, Andy”.
He was married in 1969 to a wholly remarkable woman, Thelma Hewitt. She died in 2019 and her obituary in The Times reveals perhaps more than Stephen would have liked about his own life. She certainly saw something special in him.
Stephen claimed a working knowledge of three oriental languages. Tibetan, Mongolian, and Manchu. He also had a personal interest in the Maya and said he was familiar enough with their hieroglyphs and dialects to be able to translate them. He once set me a “project” of finding out what I could about the Maya and marked me down when all I could actually locate were facts about the Aztecs. I’m inclined to take both these claims at face value.
Tikal in northern Guatemala – a magnificent Mayan site
Stephen Jenkins went to Mongolia alone – ostensibly sent by the British Council. He returned several months later in very poor health and only able to walk slowly. He was nursed back to health by Thelma and he must have partly recovered by the time we knew him. Unfortunately the Gobi desert, a few hundred kilometres to the south was used throughout the 60s for above ground nuclear tests by China.
His condition was poorly understood at the time but I speculate that at some point he may have been exposed to a significant amount of radioactive fallout. His death from bone cancer in the ’90s might have been caused by this. I don’t have an exact date although it was probably in or near Wisbech in Cambridgeshire.
I think some of these factors might explain both the slightly fierce personality that he displayed and his disinclination to actually teach. If he had been invalided out of some senior military position he would have effectively gone from a job with a great deal of responsibility and respect to trying to teach a class of thirty or so unruly south London boys in a subject that he had training in, but no very special interest. On top of this he was not entirely well. I have to acknowledge that in terms of actually teaching he was far from the most able. I suspect some very senior strings may have been pulled to get him the position. Of course that’s pure speculation on my part.
What he was interested in was a very esoteric form of Buddhism, UFOs, ley-lines, and ghosts.
Given the Christian-centric nature of Alleyn’s he certainly downplayed his own spiritual beliefs but as he claimed to have been instructed in both the theory and practice of Tantric rituals in Mongolia, I have no doubt that he was effectively a practising Buddhist. The other obsessions (they really were obsessions) seem to have gained their power from this.
It’s very densely written but reading through it certainly gives you a flavour of the man and his era. It’s a reprographic copy of the 1982 edition I think. The pictures are very poor quality but it’s an interesting read. This reveals his age, his language abilities, his interests, and something of what he was doing while he was in Mongolia. He doesn’t give a lot of personal details but they are there. If you want to get it, don’t confuse him with the Cornish poet of the same name. Amazon certainly has.
If you cast your mind back to the actual cultural situation in 1973, ideas similar to his were having a rather public moment. Lyall Watson’s Supernature had just been published. Dr. Who in the form of the third Doctor had spent his final six episodes partly in a Buddhist monastery in Somerset. [Stephen was certainly aware of Dr. Who]. Uri Geller had bent spoons on Blue Peter. The Sunday Times had published a full colour story on Kirlian photography and auras in their Sunday Supplement. These were just the tip of the Age of Aquarius iceberg.
Samding Monastery, Yomdrok, Tibet. Editor’s note: Janie and I have been to Tibet. Really…honestly…
I can certainly forgive Stephen for his enthusiasms and he was working in a situation that surely wouldn’t have welcomed some of his more obscure views. Given the things he was prepared to talk about, it seems strange to claim that he was actually relatively reticent, but he was and we can hardly blame him.
Certainly one or two of the other staff must have been aware at some level of what an odd duck he actually was. I recall that we were occasionally asked by various incredulous staff members what outlandish tale he had come up with in the previous lesson. The one that actually sticks in my mind was his claim that he owned a cat that could talk. I was never able to tell if he was serious with that one or simply playing with our heads. I’m also very fond of his description of the instantly deep frozen mammoths around the size of Alsatian dogs that had been discovered in Siberia – were they actually mammoths?
Thanks Stephen. Godspeed.
Just a final editor’s note…or footnote. Stephen Jenkins clearly had a long association with Alleyn’s School, having been a pupil there and having taught there for many years before his Central Asian adventures/misadventures and his years teaching us.
This is a link to the above archive photograph from 1967, on Mirrorpix, where this image and others are licensable. It depicts Stephen Jenkins with singer/actor Gary Miller and his sons, ahead of a production of Hamlet at the school. Clearly Stephen Jenkins was properly active with the Drama Society at that time. And in the great Stephen Jenkins tradition of going off at a tangent – Gary Miller’s biggest hit was the theme music to the Adventures of Robin Hood. Try listening to the following YouTube and then getting that tune out of your head.
Once again, many thanks to Andy Dwelly for this corker of a guest piece.
Scrubbed up for the Friday evening bash – photo by Jonathan Ellis-Miller
This year’s Ogblog report on this wonderful MCC event is authored by a special correspondent, “Two Loos” Le Trek, who chooses to write up my experience in the first person. My noms de plume are getting out of hand.
Build Up & Day One: Friday 31 January 2025
I received a somewhat excited WhatsApp from Giles Stogdon just over two weeks before the event. He’d learned that we’d been drawn to partner each other. We agreed that we were both pleased with that idea and found an opportunity to partner for an hour of doubles before the weekend, as we have recently spent more time opposing one another than partnering.
…this year I had no trouble banishing the negative thoughts, other than my slight concern that my mobility issues resulting from my cartilage-free hip might hamper me in battle with the high-achievers that populate Group B.
Anyway, I threw myself into practice and match play in the run up to the 2025 tournament:
On arrival – quite late in the morning Friday as our two matches spanned lunchtime – I plonked myself in the pavilion home dressing room, as the tennis dressing room was heaving by then.
The Captain’s place remained available for me…again!
My Ged Ladd persona has written about this phenomenon elsewhere:
Unlike regular matches and tournaments, the club weekend comprises vignette matches, played on the clock for 25 minutes including changeover and warm-up. When the alarm goes, only completed games count.
On Day One, Giles & I got off to a slow yet solid start. We drew our first round robin match, against Iain Harvey & Roger Davis, but managed to prevail in our second match against Nick Davidson & Paul Wickman.
I have scraped my matches (along with some highlights of the whole tournament for the “official” match report) onto YouTube.
If you are sufficiently potty, you might choose to watch some or all of the play in these YouTube films.
A Sufficiently Potty Subplot: A Tale Of Two Shitties
Peter Luck-Hille, a doyen of real tennis if ever there was one, has, in the last year, been through the hip replacement process. He has provided me with lots of helpful advice over the past few months.
Peter kindly offered to lend me his raised toilet seats, which are an absolute must, at least for the first few days or weeks at home, until the recovering leg is comfortably mobile enough for a normal-height toilet seat.
“No point you buying them – you’ll not need them for long”, said Peter.
Peter was due to play in the tournament, so we planned to shift the bulky goods from car boot to car boot on the Friday of the tournament.
But plans sometimes go awry. Unbeknown to me, Peter was poorly in the run up to the tournament and withdrew. Despite his indisposition, he kindly transported the seats to Lord’s earlier in the week, where they adorned the pros office in the run up to the tournament.
Chris Bray accosted me as soon as he saw me and asked, as politely as only he is able, to get those hideous things out of the pros office as soon as possible. He said they were lowering the tone of the place.
“Don’t you mean raising the tone?”, I said, “they are certainly in the business of raising something”.
We agreed that I would shift the items into my car after I had played my Friday afternoon matches.
I didn’t particularly want to be seen struggling through reception and into Car Park No 6 with those items, so I picked what I thought was a tactically smart time to do the deed – towards the end of the rubber after mine, when most of the players who were still around would be watching.
Yet somehow, despite my seemingly cunning timing, I was of course destined to bump into friends while I did the deed. Piers Vacher, for example, and Rob Stain, the latter bringing some nominative determinism to this comedy of embarrassment.
“If only I had my camera with me”…
…said, Rob, kindly.
I changed and stopped over at the flat Friday night into Saturday morning. The loo seats remained in the back of my car, covered with tarpaulin, until I returned to the house on Saturday evening. For some inexplicable reason, I chose not to schlep two loo seats up into the flat on Friday afternoon and then back down again on Saturday.
On arrival at the house, where Janie sanitised them. If she could have fitted them in her autoclave, she’d have autoclaved them.Not their final resting place, obviously, but where Pu & Pi (as they are now named) await action.
The Friday Evening Bash – Concluding With A Differently Potty Tale
Me with Clive Picton, photo by Jonathan Ellis-Miller
On Friday evening, dinner in the Committee Dining Room was great. I sat next to Clive Picton on one side and Tony Joyce on the other – both people I have played with and chatted with over the years but had not caught up with for a while.
The food was very good, as usual. A smoked salmon fillet thing with interesting garnish as a starter, a chicken supreme with mushroom sauce and trimmings as the main and a crumble of some description for afters…
…can you tell that I forgot to grab one of the menus as I left?
The after dinner speech was by realist Lindsay MacDuff, aka The Culture Colonel, then cheese, port, coffee, chocolates and all that. I was quite abstemious by the standards of most, but not THAT abstemious given the special occasion.
I was among the last few to leave, yet knew nothing that night about the curious…some might say potty…incident that occurred at the end of the evening. I learnt about it the next day from Jonathan Ellis-Miller.
The Mouse Cricket Caper is a lovely book, authored by MCC member and realist Mark Trenowden, set in the Lord’s pavilion. The climax of the story depends on an unfortunate incident on the night after the traditional MCC v Melbourne match in July 2013, in which a comedic MCC member named McCrackers gets locked in a pavilion toilet and then, after breaking out of the loo and into the pavilion proper, witnesses the pivotal match between the Lord’s pavilion mice and a team of chancer rats.
In truth, I found it hard to suspend belief at the bit where McCrackers gets locked in the toilet, as I have always imagined the stewarding to be especially sharp about making certain that the pavilion has been vacated.
Yet, somehow, at our event, Nigel Smith and Piers Vacher conspired inadvertently to get themselves locked outside on the Committee Dining Room balcony at the end of the evening. Apparently they were enjoying one last crafty cigarette and admiring the beauty of the ground while doing so.
This picture by Janie from two floors further down, February 2023
Fortunately the story has a happy, albeit comedic ending, as Nigel & Piers were able to alert staff who were still clearing up inside and escape relatively unfrozen. It would have been a long cold night stuck out there, that’s for sure.
I haven’t asked either Nigel or Piers if they saw any rats or mice during their lock-in adventure. In any case, they might not be reliable witnesses to their own perception of murine match play (or lack thereof) at that late stage of the evening’s libations.
Day Two: Sweet Success, But With Cats Set Amongst Pigeons, Will It Be Enough?
Never mind fictional rats and mice, metaphorical cats started to scurry around metaphorical pigeons very early in Day Two – long before Group B combatants started to do battle that day.
In elite Group A, two pairs Rufus Parkes & George Dickson, plus Tony Joyce & Foreman Wickes had shown very strongly on Day One, with Ben Martin & Kate Evers also showing well. On the Friday evening, I suggested that the matches between those three pairs, plus the match in which Ben Martin’s pair would do battle with his dad’s pair, Simon Martin & Ronald Paterson, were to be “the popcorn matches” of the round robin stage.
Unfortunately, as I settled down with my metaphorical popcorn at the flat to watch the stream on Saturday morning…it was more like cornflakes than popcorn in truth…Foreman Wickes sustained a horrible-looking forearm injury during warm up. Foreman bravely laboured through the bout and Paul Cattermull kindly stepped in to take his place in the subsequent matches, but that incident really opened up Group A.
Group D was relatively cat and pigeon free, with two pairs, Adrian Fox & Anton Eisdell, plus Sebastian Maurin & Brian Woodbridge, showing strongly on Day One and continuing to shine on Day Two. There were plenty of close matches though, not least a third pairing, Douglas Brewster and David Shannon, who stayed close to the top two throughout the tournament and pulled off more draws than…[insert your own, potentially politically incorrect, metaphor here].
It was the first Group B match of Day Two that sent my group into a “cats among pigeons” maelstrom, when Davidson & Wickman defeated Lay and Wise in an exciting and well fought round robin match, opening up the group to all manner of possibilities, not least that those two teams might now be the ones to progress.
Similarly, in Group C, two pairs – Piers Vacher & Peter Brunner plus Ben Havey & Sam Walker had shown strongly on Day One, with fancied pair Matt Glyn & Andrew Hinds narrowly defeated by the latter of those pairs late on Friday. But the first Group C game on Saturday, between reigning champions Brunner & Vacher v Glyn & Hinds, was another thriller which ended in defeat for reigning pair.
Is it possible that the near miss on the Committee Dining Room balcony affected Messrs Vacher and Smith the next day? Neither of them recorded a win with their respective partners on the Saturday.
In truth, Nigel Smith might look to his partner, Jonathan Ellis-Miller and wonder what might have been against me and Giles Stogdon that afternoon, had Jonathan tried a less forceful style. Giles and I had agreed that, if we lost the toss, Giles would take Nigel’s serve (which often requires twisting to the backhand side) and I would take Jonathan’s, not least because Jonathan was bound to try and hit my serve to kingdom come. After the event, word is, Jonathan had promised Nigel that he intended to do just that. What could possibly go wrong?
It was actually a very close match, but the percentages were, I’d suggest, in our favour, given the predictable attacking approach. Ellis-Miller hit three grilles in the above short match. I managed one grille but also achieved a chase off when chasing better than half-a-yard. I think it is only the second time I have ever landed on better than half-a-yard to win or neutralise a chase. The other occasion, which won the chase, got me a bottle of champagne in my first ever Lowenthal Trophy appearance in 2019. #justsayin.
Returning to Lord’s in February 2025, Giles Stogdon and I knew that our match against Giles Pemberton & George Richards, towards the end of Day Two, would be a “more or less must win” rubber.
It was a nail-biter of a match which we did, narrowly, win:
Thus, we went home at the end of Day Two with three wins and a draw, but still we knew that we would probably need one or two points off Lay and Wise the next day to qualify.
Day Three: Dénouements Aplenty
I must have been in a state of great excitement first thing that morning. I wanted to watch the stream for a while, not least the first match of the day. Had Pemberton & Richards overcome Davidson & Wickman, it would have resulted in my pair being guaranteed a semi-final place. But it wasn’t to be. We would need a draw or a win.
Janie left for her Samaritans shift while that first match was in progress, suggesting that she might get more sense out of her callers than she was getting out of me that morning. Fair point.
I continued pottering at home and watching the stream, even catching the excellent “father against son” popcorn match…more like a fistful of kikones in my case to be honest… that was S Martin & Paterson v Evers and B Martin…
…which was a very good match. There were strange clattering noises off, coming from the side gallery, as the players left the court (see the end of the above film). Both Simon & Ben Martin deny that it was argy-bargy between them. They have clearly paid off the witnesses, as Andrew Hinds claims, unconvincingly, that the noise arose when he sent a few water bottles flying while trying to do that “pass people in the side gallery” thing. Hard to imagine, that.
As I had done on both the other days, I went to Lord’s via BodyWorksWest, my health club, to do some stretching and warm up ahead of battle. By so doing, I was spared the sight of the second “father against son” match of the morning, S Glyn & Boys-Stones v M Glyn & Hinds, which very unfortunately resulted in the latter pair needing to withdraw, despite having qualified for the semis, when Matt incurred a nasty injury on court. Hopefully Matt’s young body will heal fast. Alex Gibson & Rob Stain qualified in their place and did well to reach the C/D final.
Our last round robin match was, to all intents and purposes, a quarter-final for an A/B semi-final place, from which a draw would have been good enough for us, whereas it was a must win game for Lay and Wise.
It was a really good game. We stayed close, getting to 3-3 and at one stage were a couple of points away from pulling off a win, but it was not to be for me and Giles Stogdon. Still, an honourable third in Group B and getting to within two points of topping our group and a semi-final place, is a pretty decent result.
After a break for some lunch, shower and change, we were ready to watch for the rest of the afternoon. We caught both of the A/B semi-finals, the C/D final and the A/B final.
Did you say you want to see those matches? OK then. All are good, but I would say that the first of the four films below – Lay & Wise v Parkes & Dickson, is the most watchable of the tournament, followed closely by the Evers & Martin v Davidson & Wickman semi-final:
Neither of the finals were quite so tight, but the spirit in the dedans gallery was terrific, with lots of people sticking around to watch, cheer and clap.
So that’s it, for now, for me. No more matches and tournaments until I am all better with my hip – hopefully just a few months.
It was a wonderful weekend – such good fun tennis, plus social time with the wonderful friends I have made through this extraordinary game.
No doubt I shall dream of all that while I sit on one or other of my elevated on-loan-thrones over the next few weeks.
And perhaps, before all the anaesthetics and sedatives have fully worn off, I might envisage teams of rats and mice playing rodent-realers against each other.
Janie and I love the Hampstead Theatre Downstairs. Have I made that point on Ogblog before? [About 40 times – ed].
Here is yet another example of excellent theatre work down there.
In truth, police procedurals don’t tend to float our boats. They tend to be somewhat formulaic and usually more than a little predictable. Perhaps the term “procedurals” is a bit of a giveaway in that regard.
This piece worked well and kept us rapt with attention, through the quality of the writing, directing and acting.
Elements of the conceit of the play required a little too much suspension of belief for me. The play opens with the statement that the average missing person/abductee is killed 72 hours after the abduction, which is supposed to keep us in suspense as the clock ticks down to the 72 hour mark while the central interrogation takes place. But of course such averages are meaningless averages, as almost all cases result in murder very quickly or the death of hostages after an extended period of time. Almost none would reach resolution at the 72 hour mark.
Yet in suspense and rapt with attention we still were, on the back of the quality of the writing, directing and acting. Have I mentioned that aspect before? [Yes, but keep going. ed].
Jamie Ballard, Colm Gormley and Rosie Sheehy all act their parts extremely well. The twists and turns in the story seem credible and natural in their hands. Jamie Armitage wrote and directed this piece. I usually think that writers directing their own work is a bit of a mistake, as a good director can often dredge depths in a piece that the writer cannot find. But in this instance I think the combined role works well. The use of cameras/video, for example, is clearly an integral part of both the writing and the way the story is depicted on stage.
