Tag: fives

Revives For Fives, An Afternoon Of Hard Ball At Lord’s, 28 February 2022

I have been plotting for some time to revive the game of fives (specifically the variant known as Rugby Fives) within my orbit. My fives heyday was when I was at Alleyn’s School in the mid 1970s. Only a small sample of my documented exploits have yet been writ on Ogblog, including the account of my latterly-award-winning quarter-final appearance against Johnny Eltham during my sporting annus mirabilis of 1974/75.

An Uneventful Day Playing Fives, 9 June 1975

Anyway, I started to hatch a plot several years ago – 2018 when at Falkland Palace playing real tennis, to be precise – where Ewan Lee informed me that he was teaching his pupils to play fives on squash courts. The slightly different size and colour can be compensated for with a special ball, he told me. Squash courts are good for fives and vice versa. It occurred to me that Lord’s, with two squash courts, might be a very good place for fives.

Let’s not talk about why it took me three-and-a-half years from idea to actual plan and fruition. Let’s just talk about the fruition.

Early in 2022, I ordered a selection of fives equipment (several sizes of gloves & inners, plus a couple of those special balls) as a donation for players at Lord’s to share. Most of the gloves were “white-labelled” but you can buy, for a few bob extra, gloves labelled for the old school, so I treated myself to a personal Alleyn’s pair.

What would Mr Tindale have done? What would Mr Banson have done?

The equipment arrived 25 February and I had a provisional arrangement to have an initial go with Jack Clifton (one of the real tennis pros) and Janie on Monday 28th February.

What a glorious day it was.

I had arranged to play real tennis at 14:00. Janie and I arrived a little early for that session, enabling me to show her the (very) basics of fives for quarter of an hour or so before my game. It transpires that 10-15 minutes is sufficient for the addiction factor of the compelling game that is fives to kick in. Janie said she’d practice on her own for a while and come and watch the tennis a bit later. She did show up to watch the tennis for quite a while, but not before she’d warmed up her hands a fair bit for fives.

After I’d come a close second (which seems to be my regular placing post-Covid) at tennis, Jack, Janie and I had a good introductory knockabout on the fives court.

Jack took to the game very quickly indeed – I’d suggest that anyone who is a natural sportsperson for hand-eye co-ordination ball sports should be able to pick up fives and find pleasure in it rapidly.

Janie’s new-found addiction was slightly mitigated by her concern for her hands and fingers when playing a hard-ball game. As a podiatrist, she does need fully-functioning hands for work and worries about even the slight bruising that is inevitable (especially at first) even with padded gloves. I remember a similar conversation when she tried wicket-keeping.

Jack and I tried a couple of short games before the former returned to the pros office to do some work. “But for you, this too is work”, I said, but to no avail. Janie and I played for a while longer, while waiting for the next pair of combatants to finish their tennis match, as I had semi-lined up one of them to have a go at fives.

Graham Findlay, an Old Fettesian and increasingly handy real tennis-player, had previously told me that he used to play rugby fives at school. I should have guessed that he would have been very handy at the game; he’s very handy at games.

Both of us were able to boast an interval of 40 to 45 years since we had last played fives.

You can just see Graham in the background checking out the fixture list

Janie volunteered to watch and shoot some hand-held video from the squash court viewing gallery.

The first three clips show the progression of our warm up and refreshing our memories about the rules.

I had remembered the serve rule, but forgotten that lefties normally serve from the other side
Graham claims not to be remotely into it yet, then plays a classic leftie’s winner
Graham practices some serves from the left-hand side of the court

The next three clips show some highlights (or should I call them lowlights?) from our match: A Very Old Fettesian v An Alleyn’s Very Old Boy. Hold on to your hats:

The first rally of the match and Graham is unquestionably “too good”
Graham goes 3-1 up, Janie advises and I somehow scramble a winning rally
At 3-2, Janie advises some more and I pull off a classic shot to confound a leftie

We should draw a veil over the rest of the match. After all, fives is a quintessentially good-natured, sporting, fair-play game. It’s not about the score. It’s not about winning or losing. I’m sure, dear reader, you understand my points…or shortage thereof.

Graham wondered afterwards what Dr Colin Niven (a former teacher of his at Fettes and a former Head at Alleyn’s) would make of it – would he cheer for Fettes, Alleyn’s or just give three cheers for the sport?

I’m also interested to see if we can arrange rematches of classic Alleyn’s fixtures. Johnny Eltham – are you reading this? It’s been a while, Alan Cooke & Rohan Candappa, how’s about pulling together four for doubles again? I even wonder whether Chris Stendall and/or Jumbo Jennings might be up for it, if anyone can track them down.

BRING IT ON!

A Truly Thrice Awful Day In My School/Sporting Life, 18 June 1975

The summer of 1975 was my sporting annus mirabilis at Alleyn’s School. This was the summer in which I considered winning a tournament quarter-final to be an uneventful day

An Uneventful Day Playing Fives, 9 June 1975

This was the summer in which I took a hat trick at cricket; at the culmination of a league-winning tournament in which my class, 2AK won all but one of the league matches:

The Day I Took A Hat Trick At Cricket, Alleyn’s School, 9 July 1975

But when you are as sporadic at sport as I am, no amount of enthusiasm nor occasional high achievement is going to protect you from the bad days.

18 June 1975 seems to have been such a day. And not just for me.

Just in case any readers are as sporadic at reading finely crafted handwriting as I am at sport, let me transcribe that 18 June diary entry for you.

We lost in cricket league. Boo hoo. Some hot revision. Had to catch 37 train home. Out of fives competition. TV Ascent of Man, Only On Sunday. England out of Prudential Cup.

That loss in the cricket league will have really hurt at the time. I have all of the scores neatly recorded in the back of my diary (I’ll write up the tournament at some point) so can confirm that we lost that game to 2BM by three runs (90 played 93). They were the other form team in the league – we had beaten them once before in our run of six wins at the start of the tournament. A seventh win on 18 June would have confirmed the tournament for us, but that loss kept our main rivals in the race – we were to face them once more a couple of weeks later.

It appears that I not only had to vice-skipper the cricket team that day but I also had to play my fives tournament semi-final. I dont record who my fives nemesis was that day, but I have a feeling, thanks to John Eltham’s extraordinary memory for our school’s sporting legends, that it was Neil Hodson.

The 18 June 1975 diary entry, I must say, is extraordinarily bleak, even in its brevity. “Some hot revision”, I sense, was my juvenile attempt to record that sense of being hot and bothered all day at Alleyn’s. Clearly even my preferred route home from school on that day of sporting disaster was confounded.

Then, to cap it all, “England out of the Prudential Cup”, that first cricket world cup that I had been following avidly since the very first day of the tournament.

The Very First Match Of The Very First Cricket World Cup: I Was There (In Our Living Room), As Were Tom And Jerry, 7 June 1975

And let’s be honest about it. England hadn’t just been knocked out. England had been soundly thrashed by Australia of all teams. Soundly thrashed – click here to see the scorecard.

England’s nemesis that day – a left arm swing bowler named Gary Gilmour. 1975 was to be his annus mirabilis too. But Gilmour’s sporting heights were mirabilis electi while mine were mirabilis ordinarius.

The Ascent Of Man was clearly compulsory television viewing in our household that summer and quite right too. But what was Only On Sunday? I had to delve deep for this one, but Only On Sunday turns out to have been a comedy pilot for a sitcom set in the world of village cricket. I don’t suppose that screening the pilot on the day England were thrashed out of the cup did much for its chances, despite the top notch writing team and cast. Others cashed in years later with a similar idea, Outside Edge.

I wrote the words “boo hoo”, cynically I suspect, but I wonder whether or not the 12-year-old me really did cry at some point during that day or evening. I must admit that, writing this up now, aged 56, I welled up a little imagining my much younger self going through and then reflecting on that awful sporting day.

An Uneventful Day Playing Fives, 9 June 1975

Phil Bishop & Dave Fox playing Rugby Fives, RFA Website, GPL

Without doubt my favourite game in the early days at Alleyn’s was fives. Specifically at Alleyn’s we played Rugby Fives.

It was the only sport at which I was good enough to represent the school and no doubt that selection only came through my comparative ability with the left-hand as well as the right. Let’s not call this ambidextrous, in my case more like ambiclumsy. In any case, my doubles partner was Alan Cooke and he was good. I probably got my team berth more on the back of Alan’s skills than my own.

Still, I wasn’t bad and there are lots of references to my successes and failures throughout my diaries, especially 1974 & the first half of 1975.

But looking back today, early February 2016, I thought I should write a short piece about this simple entry I found for 9 June 1975.

Uneventful day.  Beat Eltham 11-5, 11-5 in Q-Finals.

Now in my book, John Eltham was good at sport. Really good at sport. I’m not sure John played fives much, but he was generally good at sport.

I was not good at sport. Really, really, really not good at sport. There was the occasional success, of course, not least one goalkeeping tale of derring-do that I have promised not to blog about…

…for the time being…

…until I can find the reference and/or unless the promised hush money proves not to be forthcoming…

…but my point is, looking back, I don’t see how the two sentences in the above quote could possibly be talking about the same day. Beating John Eltham at any sport made it an eventful day. Heck, just having got to the Q-Finals of any sport made it an eventful day for me.

But perhaps my young mind, turned by some fleeting success, was by then looking beyond a semi-final appearance to greater glory than that achieved.

The diary is silent on fives for the rest of the term apart from a fleeting mention of my semi-final loss a week-or-so later, with no mention of the score or the opponent – click here or below – clearly I couldn’t even bear to write down that particular losing result.

A Truly Thrice Awful Day In My School/Sporting Life, 18 June 1975

Anyone care/dare to own up to ruining this poor kid’s day by destroying his one chance at glory in the internal fives competition? I fancy a rematch.

Postscript One

John Eltham, on seeing this posting, e-mailed me the next day to say:

You modestly left out the fact that we had at least two national Rugby Fives champions in our year ! Hodson & Stendall.

Indeed we did, John. And indeed Jumbo Jennings latterly. I’d forgotten about Neil Hodson in that context.

I have a strange feeling that it might well have been Hodson who beat me in the semis – I have always had a sense of unfinished business with him and I probably would have been too gutted to report the loss. Whereas Chris Stendall was, like Alan Cooke, an old mate from primary school; I took my (more often than not) losses against them on the chin and regularly recorded those in the diary.

Postscript Two

After writing the above line “I fancy a rematch” and posting this piece, I then knelt down to put the 1975 diary back in the box under the bed and then…felt my left hammy twinge when I got up again. Perhaps a fives rematch at the age of 53 is not such a good idea after all.

Postscript Three

For reasons of his own, Rohan Candappa presented me with a trophy commemorating this historic fives victory, in December 2018, described here:

An Award-Winning Evening During Which I Hung Out With The Alleyn’s Old Boys Crowd, Sripur Restaurant, 6 December 2018
From left to right: John Eltham (just in picture), Rohan Candappa, Paul Driscoll & Ollie Goodwin

A Marathon Day Of Court Sport; Fives At Alleyn’s School And Fridge Ball At Woodfield Avenue, 4 December 1974

diary-december-1974-smaller

What a sporty day Wednesday 4 December 1974 must have been for me. Just in case you cannot read what the day’s entry says:

11th in chemistry.

Fives lost 15-3 to Wrightson & Weber, beat Mason & Candappa 15-7 and beat Pavasi & I Goodwin 15-3, 15-0.

Fridge ball 533.

Some of this perhaps needs explaining. “11th in chemistry” is and perhaps will remain a bit of a mystery. 11th in the year would be quite good; whereas 11th in the class more predictably mediocre in that subject. It’s not well explained in the diary; much like my answers in the chemistry test, no doubt.

No, it is the fives and the fridge ball that caught my eye for further exposition.

Four Sets Of Fives 

I have already written up a bit about fives – in a piece about a so-called uneventful day the following June – click here. But if you cannot be bothered to click, you should simply be aware that, at Alleyn’s, we played Rugby Fives and you should also be aware that Alan Cooke became my regular doubles partner, so I’m sure those doubles matches were teamed with him.

Looks as though Cookie and I warmed up as the afternoon went on; perhaps this was a breakthrough afternoon for our nascent doubles pairing. Earlier references to fives in my diary seem to be singles games.

Apologies to David Pavesi – firstly for the surprising mis-spelling of his name, as we knew each other well from primary school as well as at Alleyn’s. But also apologies to him and Ian “Milk” Goodwin for the drubbing. Why we played a second set against those two after a convincing first set I really cannot imagine. Perhaps they requested another chance. Perhaps we four wanted to play some more and everyone else had disappeared.

Fridge Ball

I suppose I do need to explain the magnificent and extraordinary sport of fridge ball, just in case the reader is unfamiliar with the game.

I realise at the time of writing (2016) that fridge ball has rather a lot in common with my current passion, the ancient game of real tennis – click here for one of my pieces and links on that game. 

In short, fridge ball is to table tennis what real tennis is to modern (lawn) tennis, but instead of a medieval courtyard, which is the theatre of play for real tennis, the theatre of play for fridge ball is a modern kitchen. Fridge ball is played with a ping-pong bat and a ping-pong ball.

Sadly, there are no photographs of the 3 Woodfield Avenue, London, SW16 fridge ball court as it looked in 1974, but there is a photograph of the court from 2012, when the house was being refurbished in preparation for letting – see below.

a347adaceb2a2e211f1e854e1054c2e38fe278f3_645_430

In front of the visible wall (to the left of the picture) stood a large 1960’s-style fridge-freezer; the surface against which the ball has to be hit. The floor surface back then was linoleum of a rather insipid hue. In the photograph you can actually see a layer of blue glue awaiting some fancy modern flooring substance, the suitability of which for fridge ball was not even tested.

The game, simply, is to hit the ball against the fridge door as many times as possible, ideally getting some interesting bouncy business off the floor and/or the jauntily angled pantry door (shown open in the photo but naturally closed for play) and/or the panel doors below the sink,and/or divider doors (just out of shot at the bottom of the photo, which at the time had helpfully unobtrusive recess slots rather than potentially rally-ruining handles).

If the ball is accidentally hit to the left of the fridge (to the kitchen entrance), the ball is out and the rally is over. If the ball is hit to the the right of the fridge (an entrance that leads to a little laundry area and side door to the house), the ball is out and the rally is over. If the ball is hit above the fridge, gawd help you because the ball will probably get stuck behind the fridge and is the devil’s own job to retrieve. Needless to say the rally is over but also, almost certainly, your enjoyment for the evening, as mum and dad take matters into their own hands to terminate the game at that juncture.

If you hit the ball hard enough for it to get some action off the back surface or the cooker, the ball is still in play but that is a dangerous tactic given the strange bounces you might get back there. Aficionados of real tennis might enjoy the idea of hitting the grill/grille – a winning shot in realers but merely part of the ongoing fun/difficulty in fridgers.

Where you can see drawers at the back of the court/right hand side of the photograph, in my day there was a recess under a surface there and a stool kept in that space.  If the ball went into that recess it was out and the rally was over, making the back of the court even more treacherous than it would be today.

A second bounce does not necessarily terminate the point, although most second bounce situations tend to lead to the ball not bouncing at all and ending up dead, which thus ends the rally.

It really is a magnificent game, full of skill and playable as an addictive solo game, not entirely unlike the pinball addiction that subsequently grabbed me for some time. Indeed given the size of our family kitchen, it worked best as a solo game.

But here’s the thing.

Fridge ball 533.

Just think about that for a moment. A 533 stroke rally. That is a remarkable score.

I think there was also a playing condition that allowed for externalities (such as mum wanting to do the washing up or dad wanting a cup of tea), such that the player could catch the ball in the non-bat hand (not scoring a stroke for the catch, btw) and then continue the rally once the interruption was over. Frankly, I can’t imagine having had the run of the kitchen for long enough to score 533 without such a playing condition. Not on a midweek evening after playing four sets of fives at school.

What a marathon sporting day.

Does anyone reading this piece remember playing fridge ball with me or similar games in their own (or other people’s) homes? I’d love to hear all about it if you did.

Egg, Sports, Drama, TV & A Heap Of Truly Geeky 11-Year-Old Alleyn’s Boy Diary Stuff, Two Weeks – Late January To Early February 1974

A strange mixture of interesting, baffling and mundane diary entries in this chunk of my second term at Alleyn’s.

27 January To 2 February 1974

Sunday 27 January 1974 – Still no Mr Freed [Hebrew classes]. Grandma Anne’s. Made dad a blue moon egg.

Monday 28 January 1974 – Cricket with Banson v good batting and bowling.

Tuesday 29 January 1974 – Art good. Classes good.

Wednesday 30 January 1974 – Fives with Cookie – from 11-3 down to 16-14 up. He one [sic] other game.

Thursday 31 January 1974 – BAD DAY IN ALL

Friday 1 February 1974 – Maths test. Form drama, The Cave. PE basketball match.

Saturday 2 February 1974 – scool [sic] morning. Afternoon played filter paper.

“Blue moon egg” – my dad liked fluffy omelettes and I learnt how to make them when I was still quite small. They were (are) difficult to get absolutely right in terms of fluffiness – a bit like making a soufflé in a pan – but if I got it right, dad would announce that the egg was a blue moon egg.

I’ll talk about cricket in January at Alleyn’s separately in more detail elsewhere. At this seminal stage of our cricketing careers, I suspect that Barry Banson held back on head-cuffing as his modus operandus for “encouragement”.

In the matter of fives (Rugby fives), to be fair on Alan Cooke (aka “Cookie”), it is clear from other diary entries that I was usually the victim of his more able performances. During that early effort in January 1974, I must have found a little something extra to turn a match around thusly. Interesting that we were already playing to 15 rather than to 11. I’m pretty sure that our “proper” junior matches were played to 11.

When a bad day is all in block capitals, it must have been pretty bad. I might well have thought it needed no further exposition, as I would remember the details of its badness for the rest of my life. However, I can now report categorically that I have no idea what made that particular day bad. I can only say with some certainty that, at the time, that Thursday had not been a good one.

By Friday all was well again, with Drama Friday to enjoy and a basketball match in PE. I’m struggling to work out what “The Cave” might have been. I have already asked “Sir” (Ian Sandbrook) who is equally baffled.

There is a play called The Cave by Mervyn Peake which was written in the 1950s but not formally published until after 1974. It is possible that Alleyn’s had some “for school” copies of that piece, as some of the resources we used were not formally published books. Ian Sandbrook says:

The Mervyn Peake hypothesis has some merit as I think the English Dept did consider the Titus Groan trilogy as a candidate for the Mode 3 English Syllabus – although that is perhaps rather a fragile link.

If anyone out there remembers, then do chime in.

The late John Clarke (chemistry teacher) would no doubt have been proud of me playing with filter paper on Saturday after school. Just the sort of thing he would have wanted (perhaps even expected) boys from his chemistry class to do.

3 To 9 February 1974

This week has some even more obscure or difficult references in it. Some of it is handwriting related but some items are simply, to my mind now, truly weird things to write in one’s diary.

Sunday 3 February 1974 – Classes, Freed in March. Bechat Hamazon [grace after meals] v good.

Monday 4 February 1974 – cricket great bat good eye a hit bowl straight and good catch 4 v good, 1 good, 1 bad.

Tuesday 5 February 1974 – Art painting on wall. Classes good. Alf Garnet [sic] good.

Wednesday 6 February 1974 – Fives v Cookie. Man About The House v good.

Thursday 7 February 1974 – Very bad day. Horrible H’s in bad mood. I got the bad.

Friday 8 February 1974 – Monitor for entrance exam. Learnt some magils and /`read] a chapter second WW. Timeslip v good.

Saturday 9 February 1974 – scool [sic] in morning. Changed shoes Tuf /` + reinforcers 400] Dr Who v good.

“Freed in March must mean that I was told that I would transfer from Miss Aarons’s class to Mr Freed’s in March. Not that I was due to be released in March, nearly 18 months before my bar mitzvah. That wasn’t going to happen. Why I was so keen to mention the grace after meals I have no idea. I vaguely recall the Brixton Synagogue Hebrew Class including a sweet, calorific elevenses with Danish pastries, challah bread, jam and the like. This was partly to motivate attendance and partly to teach the meal graces in a happy context. I’ll write more on this topic in a specific piece or two and direct it towards the several friends from that era with whom I am still in touch, 50 years later. I think Andy Levinson was the only other Alleyn’s boy from our year who also attended those classes.

I’m not entirely sure what all of the Monday cricket entry means, but the England selectors might want a look at that young man, based on my description.

The Tuesday diary entry suggests that the art teacher, Mr Brew, liked one of my pieces. This wouldn’t be the last time that Mr Brew took to my crude drawings, despite my near hopelessness. My Dad, being a genuinely good artist with a steady hand and fine eye, tutored me a little at home, rendering me a bit less than useless and very keen.

Alf Garnett was the main character in Till Death Us Do Part – a comedy that wouldn’t pass muster in the modern era because, although it was ridiculing racist and misogynistic opinions, the Alf Garnett character spouted them with abandon. Here is the episode I watched that night with my parents:

Wednesday – the fact that I say “fives v Cookie” without mentioning the score tells you that Cookie must have won – probably won well.

Man About The House was a much gentler comedy than Till Death Us Do Part. Below is the episode we watched that night.

Interesting to read that 1st year pupils did monitoring for entrance exams. I have no idea what “learning magils” means. It might have been some homework for my bar mitzvah class. Also unsure what the second world war reading was about, as for sure we were studying ancient history that year. Perhaps just reading for general interest.

I had to Google “Timeslip”, but when I did so remembered that children’s programme. Unlike the above two shows, which first broadcast the above episodes on the day of the diary mentions, Timeslip was first broadcast three or so years’ earlier. Below is a short trailer which might trigger some of your memories:

I had to Google Tuf to realise that my note about changing shoes included a brand name. Back then, the brand was meant to be indestructible footwear for kids…

Image borrowed from this site where you can buy…

When the going gets Tuf, eh?

“Reinforcers 400” can only be a reference to buying a packet of 400 hole reinforcers. This might be the geekiest diary entry ever and surely confirms my membership of the Dull Men’s Club. We’re only a few weeks’ in to my diary and no doubt there are some well geeky entries to come.

Dr Who very good – who knew? The Doctor was Jon Pertwee at that time and Invasion of the Dinosaurs was the mini series at that time. Here is a short explaining how that season of Doctor Who worked:

Some of this TV stuff might be in colour for you (and for me now) but in 1974 the Harris household was still strictly black and white.

I’d forgotten all about hole reinforcers…I wonder whether I can find some in my draw and repair some damaged holes in my file pages?…

Image borrowed from this Amazon trader – click here.