The first Ashes Test, it was. The match started on a Thursday this year (it was a Wednesday start last year), so I put my name down for just the first two days of the test.
On the Wednesday, I went up early so that I might have a two-hour music lesson with Ian Pittaway. I normally have my lessons with him by Skype; just occasionally having a face-to-face lesson.
On Skype, Ian looks like this:
…but this time, in real life, he looked more like this…
…so much so that I thought I’d gone to the wrong door at first.
Anyway, it was a good lesson and I was also able to cement some of the tips and techniques we discussed as I had more time than I find at home, while up at Edgbaston, to practice .
On to the Eaton Hotel, where a late lunchtime snack was to prove a problematic ask, so I wandered off to the local TGIF for a starter, a coffee and some reading.
This year we have been joined by Peter and Matthew – family friends of Nigel and Viv from Australia. Really good company, well-humoured guys, they seemed to slip seamlessly into the somewhat quirky group that is The Heavy Rollers. Only Harish absented himself from the Wednesday evening feast – he was coming up to Edgbaston on the morning of the match.
I arranged to meet the lads at their hotel, the Plough and Harrow, at 9:30 with a view to walking with Peter and Matthew to the ground.
Day One: 1 August 2019
I enjoyed a delicious and efficiently-served breakfast of kippers at The Eaton, then wandered down to the Plough and Harrow to find an irritable table of Rollers and Guest-Rollers awaiting their breakfast. They had been waiting for nigh-on an hour when I arrived.
Slowly and not altogether surely, one-by-one, their breakfasts arrived. Mercifully, Peter and Matthew were among the first to be served,so we were able to skedaddle around five-to ten, arriving at the ground and getting through security just in time to witness the toss.
The others, arriving by car, were also in reasonable time for the cricket though not the toss. We spent a great deal of time wondering how difficult it can possibly be for a hotel kitchen to churn out breakfasts at some sort of reasonable pace.
Jimmy Anderson was not able to do anything at reasonable pace that morning either – after four tidy overs he went off, never to be seen bowling again – at least, never in that match.
The other England bowlers set about their enhanced roles well; at one point having the Aussies 8 down for not much more than 120. Then Smith and Siddle went about staging a match-turning recovery. I blame Charles, who said he likes Siddle because he plays for Essex and that he wanted to see Siddle score a few. Turncoat. (Charley, I mean, not Siddle).
The picnic was a Dot “Mrs Malloy” special, with enough sandwiches to feed a small army and a great deal of non-perishable food which came in very handy on the Friday (and no doubt beyond).
Pugh, Pugh, Barney McGrew, Cuthbert, Dibble and Grub Me, Matthew, Peter, Chas, Nick & Harish
For reasons known only to himself, Nigel stood aside when a kindly bloke behind us offered to take our photo at stumps that day.
Matthew, Peter and I walked back; I parted company with them at St George’s Church to save a bit of time, as we had agreed to all meet in the Plough and Harrow bar for a couple of jars.
Over those jars, it transpired that Peter and his good lady had taken their honeymoon in Vanuatu, so we spent some time swapping Vanuatu trivia stories over drinks, which was better than another hot topic – bemoaning British and Australian politics.
Day Two: Friday 2 August 2019
I enjoyed an English breakfast, efficiently and effectively served, checked out of the The Eaton and walked to the ground alone today. I discovered all of the others in their seats around 10:40. No doubt they had gone down to breakfast in the Plough and Harrow at 6:30 in the morning or some such.
Our seats, directly opposite in The Raglan Stand, offer an excellent view of the shenanigans from an ideal distance. Several strolls all around the ground, including the back of the Hollies, reinforced my view that my ideal spectator experience is the very opposite of the Eric Hollies.
I did offer Peter and Matthew an opportunity to choose their own Ogblog pseudonyms, but, like most people, they were foolish enough to leave that matter up to me. Hence “Papa Pete Blong Vila” and “Boe Blong Pete” were born. More on them and all of us should appear on King Cricket, eventually.
Dumbo (my car) rode like the wind, but had to do so the long way round due to a closure on the M40. Thank goodness for the sat nav, which turned me round and sent me through Birmingham and the M6 South at the very start of my journey, otherwise the extra 20-25 minutes that the detour entailed might have been an extra hour plus in traffic jams.
Well played, Dumbo
I thought I’d left England in a good position at stumps on Day two, which I had. But in my absence it all unravelled in the next two-three days. Only Australians, neutrals or mentally strong England fans should click here for the scorecard and cricinfo resources on this match.
31 July 2018 – The Day I Forgot That I Hadn’t Forgotten The Tickets
The plan was to have a quiet morning finishing off work bits before setting off towards Birmingham for three nights and three days of Heavy Roller cricketing joy…
…but we all know what tends to happen to that sort of plan.
So I ran around like crazy that morning, fitting in two client meetings, getting my packing done and shovelling down some lunch. Still I managed to leave home at a reasonable hour to avoid the traffic and get to Brum in time to shower, change and join up with the lads.
As I drove past the Warwick junction of the M40, I had a horrible brain flash. The utter conviction I had, earlier in the day, that Chas has the tickets this year, morphed into a distinct memory of Chas handing me an Essex CCC ticket wallet.
“But that must have been my Chelmsford ticket,” I thought, until my memory distinctly remembered the sight of Edgbaston tickets in an Essex ticket wallet. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that I had been an idiot not looking in my ticket draw when packing…even though, in truth, I could not recall seeing those tickets in that draw in my recent ticket trawls for Lord’s matches and the like.
I remember you…not
I decided that I simply needed to fess up to Charles “Charley The Gent Malloy” Bartlett on arrival and we’d work out how I might get replacement tickets issued. I cannot be the first “gentleman with waning powers of memory” to travel to an Edgbaston test without his tickets, so there must be some sort of reissuing procedure and I knew Chas would have his ticket records with him.
I called Chas on arrival – he and The Boy Malloy had just gone down to the bar to meet Nigel “Father Barry” Hinks. Chas’s immediate reaction was that he had all the tickets in his care, including mine, as is usually the case…
…then he went on the same memory journey as I had travelled…he did remember handing me an Essex wallet and he did remember separating out tickets for me, for some reason…
…anyway, by the time I had showered and got to the Plough And Harrow Bar to join the lads, Chas had checked the ticket situation and discovered that he had them all.
We then both realised that the memory flash of Chas giving me my tickets in advance was from last year, when Daisy and I travelled up the night before and had pre-arranged to join the others at the ground for the start of the West Indies day/nighter:
Did the lads give me a ribbing for sort of forgetting my tickets…or rather for forgetting that I hadn’t forgotten my tickets?
Yes.
I tried to counter-rib by suggesting that they had forgotten to book Colbeh, stymieing our dinner plans, but that didn’t work. In fact, it is just as well that I saw Azlan from Colbeh as I walked past, as he said he was pretty full that night so I did genuinely make a booking that might just have saved our evening plans. Chapeau to Azlan for remembering my name from last year and the year before.
Anyway, this year’s pre-match dinner at Colbeh comprised me, Chas and Nigel. The Boy Malloy had arranged to meet up with a friend at the Birmingham Cosy Club, the name of which drew a similar “oo er missus” type reaction from Chas and Nigel to that of the burghers of Leicestershire CCC, when I announced a similar meet up in Leicester a few weeks ago:
The Colbeh Three (as Chas, Nigel and I should now be known) had a superb meal again this season at Colbeh. It is a joy to see how well that place is doing, Nigel and I having been early customers there a couple of years ago when it first opened. I think the food might still be getting better and better. When I got home, Daisy asked me if I had thanked Azlan for recommending the book The Saffron Tales to her, from which she has taken much pleasure and adapted several recipes. I admitted I hadn’t…
…until now. Thanks, Azlan.
Match Day One – On Making The Most Of Plenty: Copious Mrs Malloy Sandwiches c/w England’s Run Scoring
After a hearty breakfast based on kippers, I chose to walk directly from my digs at the Eaton Hotel to the ground. It is a lovely 45 minute walk across Edgbaston.
Ticket scanning and security is so well organised at Edgbaston these days; I was in the ground around 10:30 and heard the toss as I was entering the stand.
I was the first of our group to arrive, but there were quite a few people already seated in our block. Then a young man came along and sat in one of our seats. I said, “excuse me, that cannot be your seat”.
“Yes it is”, exclaimed the young man, “look!” He showed me his ticket. Block 06, Row A, Seat 5.
“You should be in Block 6”, I said, “this is Block 7”.
“No it isn’t”, said a few people seated around me, “this is Block 6”. I really was starting to worry about waning powers now, but turned around and saw, clearly on the wall behind me, the big “7” sign that indicates Block 7.
“It really is Block 7”, I said. “See the sign…”
…then one or two other people chimed in, “of course this is Block 7”.
But for some reason, perhaps an errant steward, perhaps group-think amongst several unconnected parties of people, 15 to 20 people got up and relocated to the real Block 6.
I had a good chortle with a few of the real Block 7 residents about that one.
Then I took the photograph below.
Before The Start On Day One
Then I started to wonder whether the others were ever going to show up; they are usually so keen to get to the ground in good time. Eventually show up they did; slightly frazzled/later than intended. Something about a wrong turn.
Heavy laden, they were, with a picnic fit for Heavy Rollers. Mrs Malloy had gone wild with the sandwiches this year: corned beef with mustard and smoked ham ones for the meat eaters, quorn chicken for the veggies, cheese for everyone and egg mayonnaise for everyone other than me.
Mrs Malloy had also gone wild with her gold-ink sandwich-pack labelling pen, to symbolise the impending golden anniversary of the Malloys.
We ascertained that Those Were The Days by Mary Hopkin was number one in the charts when the Malloys hitched; likewise when Harsha Ghoble was born. Very apt.
…but I digress again.
While we tucked in to the picnic for several hours, England seemed to be tucking in to the Indian bowling quite nicely too.
They say that history doesn’t repeat itself but it does rhyme. In a strange echo of the Charley The Gent run out from 2004, Joe Root was run out, while attempting a second run, by Virat Kohli, soon after tea. That incident and the rest of the day one highlights can be seen on this short reel:
Meanwhile, as England’s fortunes rapidly declined, Charley The Gent was insisting that we finish all the sandwiches today, withholding snacks and sweetmeats for the remaining days. “I have to be able to report to her that all the sandwiches went”, said Charley.
They all went. We were stuffed. We did not eat that evening. We simply met in the Plough and Harrow bar for a couple of glasses. We concluded that, although Charley hadn’t thrown away any sandwiches, England might well have thrown away the match in that last session.
Match Day Two – More On History Not Repeating Itself But Rhyming
After breakfast (I went full English today after last night’s dietary abstinence), again I walked to the ground directly from my hotel.
…which mentions a particular address in Edgbaston, Fairlawn on Westbourne Road, as the home of Pelota, an early form of lawn tennis that most resembled the version that took hold and was possibly the first of that kind.
Fairlawn Or Forelorn?
No longer is there a commemorative plaque and I wasn’t expecting late 20th century modern build flats either; I was expecting a somewhat distressed-looking Victorian villa, much like some of the neighbouring houses, which are mostly used as low key residential care homes or sheltered housing these days. Oh well; I’ve seen it now.
The lads arrived in good time today – no wrong turn.
Charley was a little sheepish; he’d been ticked off by Mrs Malloy for force-feeding us with infeasible quantities of sandwiches. She hadn’t honestly expected us to get through them all, she just wanted each of us to have plenty of choice.
“Can’t win”, said Charley, presumably in the matter of pleasing Mrs Malloy but perhaps he was thinking about the cricket match too.
We snacked while India seemed to establish their innings, until Sam Curran had other ideas and the match swung back to England until Kohli and the tail had yet other ideas…you get the idea.
It all reminded me a little of a couple of the excellent matches I have seen recently between Middlesex and Warwickshire; one at Edgbaston last year…
…with there respective missuses, sitting right at the front of the block before the walkway we needed to use to get out of our Raglan Stand. The others must have walked past them obliviously several times. I stopped and chatted with the Tufties a while and alerted the other Rollers (especially Charley) on my return, enabling him to join the Tufties for a while later in the day.
…bit the dust when The Boy Malloy announced that he doesn’t like Indian food and a search to discover whether Mr Idly has other options revealed very poor recent reviews.
I did some extensive research and due diligence (didn’t these guys used to pay me to do this sort of thing, albeit on slightly bigger and more important procurement matters?) to uncover El Borracho De Oro (subsequently defunked) within spitting distance of the Plough & Harrow. With some difficulty, I managed to book it on-line so we were sorted.
While I was concentrating on all that, England’s fortunes slid again and by the end of Day two we were, one again, convinced that India had the edge.
Here is the ECB short highlights reel from that day:
El Borracho De Oro proved to be a good choice for dinner; the only shortcoming being the music noise. Also for future reference, the portion sizes were a little smaller than we expected so we possibly should have ordered more tapas – we’ll know for next time. It was very reasonably priced for its quality.
Apart from Charley disappearing back to the hotel to sort out an errant duplicate payment that wasn’t and Harsha disappearing to pick up on some work malarkey, it was a very cohesive, convivial and enjoyable evening.
Day Three – A Wonderful Day Of Test Cricket Leaving The Match Finely In The Balance
Back to the kippers for breakfast today, then I left my electricals and Benjy The Baritone Ukulele in the safe hands of Roberto at the Eaton before walking, for the last time this trip, to the ground.
Again the lads were in good time; indeed they got to the ground ahead of me this time. All except for Harsha, who had to deal with his business crisis before coming to the ground. I thought that might be the last we’d see of him, but in fact he turned up about 10 minutes into the day’s play. After a short committee meeting, we decided that he could participate in that day’s prediction game anyway, despite the additional inside knowledge that 10 minutes of play provides.
It didn’t help Harsha.
In fact, I was the biggest winner of the day; actually I showed positive on each of the three days – that might be a first.
Again the match tilted one way and then the other. Despair before lunch as England collapsed. Some respite after lunch as Curran tried to get England to a defensible score. Then joy as India collapsed. Then an impending sense of doom as India recovered somewhat late in the day, leaving the match perilously poised at the end of the day – probably just tilting in India’s favour.
Here is the ECB short highlights reel for Day three:
Chas kindly dropped me at my hotel to help speed me on my way – Daisy had invited some people over for dinner, although they all knew I would be back late. So we said our fond Heavy Roller farewells in the Eaton Hotel car park.
The Epilogue
It took me just under two hours to get back to Noddyland, where the dinner with Deni and Tony was only just underway, so I could shower and catch up with starters before joining the group for the main meal. Daisy has some pictures and I’ll report that separately.
London was sweltering – far hotter/muggier than Brum.
The next morning, Daisy and I did battle on the tennis court first thing. I gave it 120% and needed to do so in order to overcome a very keen Daisy. She felt that she ought to be able to beat me after I had sat around for three days watching cricket, eating and drinking. But I’m made of stern stuff.
As soon as we got home, just before the cricket started, Daisy kindly offered to do my washing from the trip, including the tennis kit in which I had just played. “Just pile it in front of the washing machine, ” she said.
When she came to the pile, she exclaimed, “urgh, what the hell is this? This is disgusting. What have you done?”
I wondered what on earth was the matter. I stepped in to find her holding my recently-worn briefs at arms length. “Have you wet yourself or something?”, she asked.
“No, I’ve just played an hour of rigorous tennis against you in sweltering heat, that’s all. You don’t normally do my washing and you certainly don’t normally see my sweaty undies before they have dried off a bit.”
“I don’t sweat like that”, said Daisy. I wondered whether to offer a short biology lesson but decided against.
Then we watched the cricket match pan out. If I gave the tennis 120%, then Ben Stokes must have given England 150%.
“I wonder whether Ben Stokes gets GBH of the earhole from his missus in the matter of his sweaty briefs”, I thought to myself, before deciding that “GBH of the earhole” was an unfortunate phrase in Ben Stokes’s context.
Just thought this bit of writing captured much of our experiences over our collective cricket-watching years
Chas responded:
The writer’s piece was wonderful and it made my emotions bubble up again! I believe he was absolutely spot on with the analysis of Stokes bowling, the brilliance, the commitment and the ‘gut renching’ dedication to win, no matter of the pain his body was suffering – because it was for the team – definitely some comparison to Freddie!
My major disappointment was not being there on Saturday to see and witness this fabulous and emotional win by England!!
Here is the ECB short highlights reel for the final day; those 90 minutes I witnessed on the TV rather than live:
After a super meal at Colbeh – reported here – and a good night’s sleep at the Eaton Hotel, Daisy and I would have been fit and ready to walk to Edgbaston for an 11:00 start…
…but this was a day/night test match, so instead I arranged to have a music lesson with Ian Pittaway in Stourbridge. It bucketed down with rain on the way to Stourbridge, which made me wonder whether Edgbaston would be fit for cricket by 14:00, but I needn’t have worried. Day/Night One of the match turned out to be a very sunny although slightly chilly affair.
Daisy and I walked to the ground in dry, improving weather. Security was tight but well organised this year, so we joined the others at about 13:40. The others were Charley The Gent Malloy, The Boy Malloy, Nigel “Father Barry” and Harsha Goble.
Mrs Malloy had made a splendid picnic for us all, consisting mostly of an extremely plentiful supply of big bap sandwiches. Chas went into major-domo mode, insisting that we tuck in at regular intervals, saying:
“I cannot report back to Dot that any of these sandwiches remained uneaten.”
The weather forecast for Day Two was not so special – indeed it was obvious that the weather would close in sometime between 19:00 and 20:00 and there would then be no further play that day.
Daisy, Nigel and I went over to Chas and Nick’s hotel on that Day two morning, hatching a plan that we should eat relatively light at the ground that day with a view to eating a good meal together in Colbeh to make up for the session of cricket that we looked likely to lose. If the weather by chance relented, we could always stay at the ground and eat from the selection of increasingly interesting and decent food outlets at Edgbaston these days.
Daisy captures the look of the pink ball on the big screen
Harsha had, unfortunately, needed to return to London for a funeral on the Friday, but was expecting to arrive back at Edgbaston around 19:00.
The rain arrived as expected around 19:30. We had redirected Harsha towards the “dining at Colbeh rather than watching the rain come down” plan.
Much better than sitting at Edgbaston watching the rain
In truth, it was great to have the opportunity to have a meal together and “chew the fat” after the cricket – this aspect (which would normally be absent for a day/night match) is the biggest down side to such match timing…the colder evenings being less of an issue, although…
…Day Three did turn out to be a chilly day.
Daisy and I walked to the ground all three days; Day Three being the most pleasant walking conditions of the three – sunny but a tad cooler than Day One.
We saw an interesting sight on the way to the ground:
An Ethiopian Orthodox Service at St Georges Church on a Saturday
It looked half service, half church fete.
Dawid Malan fielding right in front of us…I don’t think he spotted me!
There was some freezing cold business with lads behind us clearly not dressed for the occasion and divesting themselves of what little clothing they had
Members of the Mexican community behind the Eric Hollies Stand looked more suitably dressed for a chilly day/night match…
…members of the Flintstone community behind the Eric Hollies Stand less so.
The others bailed out before the end of the match, as Chas, Nick and Harish were travelling home that night and Nigel wanted a lift back to the hotel.
We’d all had a good time – three days had just flown by.
Daisy and I stuck it out until the last ball – the first time I had ever seen a whole first class match, let alone a test:
Close to the last moments of the game
Gosh it was cold by the end; we thought about bailing out a couple of times, but then a wicket would fall. We walked back to the Eaton Hotel that night to warm ourselves up, which worked rather well.
A very one-sided match but also a very enjoyable few days.
I started to suspect that all would in fact be well when Chas wrote, 10 days or so before the event:
“I need to see how my first car drive goes on Saturday, I also need to talk to ‘Razor’ and ‘Knuckles’ both Essex members as they offered to take my tickets off me…if I didn’t recover in time – let me see how the drive goes over the weekend and how they respond to the disappointment.”
I replied:
Razor and Knuckles sound like absolutely delightful company; indeed possibly preferable to the original candidates for the roles…
A week later, it became clear that Razor and Knuckles were set to remain in their Essex lairs; Chas again:
To confirm I’ll be bringing some 1st day food up with me on Wednesday. Dot’s happy to provide some sandwiches – corn beef and mustard on soft white and egg mayonnaise on soft white. I have some other stuff (old favourites) and some (new stuff) that looks ok, too!
In fact, Dot’s first day sandwich feast also included heaps of ham on brown and cheese on brown too. We struggled…in a good way, saving most of the other less perishable delicacies (Harish and I had also brought quite a few of those) for the later days.
So, the night before the match it was just me and Nigel dining and at the hotel, as reported here. Chas and Nick “The Boy Malloy” turned up very early on the morning of the match (Nigel and I were still at breakfast). Nigel and I had planned to walk to the ground; Nick and Chas were cabbing it. Harish was a little delayed in traffic, but, still keen to walk, ambled to the ground on his own that morning.
We were all at the ground in time for the toss. Nigel was smarting a bit, in part because the walk was perhaps a bit much for his knees, in part through the indignity of having his minimally-concealed Shiraz-in-a-flask seized at the gate.
I had determined in any case to enjoy the Edgbaston cricket dry during the day again this year, making space for a glass or two in the evening.
The three days of cricket were wonderful. At the end of day one we were all unsure whether England had scored enough runs. At the end of day two we were sure they hadn’t and that Pakistan were close to total control. At the end of day three we knew that England had all-but wrested control back from Pakistan.
We played our traditional sweepstake game all three days; this year, unusually, Harish swept the board, especially on one of the days. I wanted him tested for performance enhancing substances but Harish mysteriously failed to turn up for the tests.
Harish and I were keen to walk to and from the hotel each morning and evening. After that first morning, Nigel bowed out of the walk until the Friday evening. On one of our walks, I think it was Friday morning, Harish and I had a very interesting chat about music. We schemed a tabla/ukulele jam for next time but struggled to work out whether some of Harish’s favourite tabla rhythms could possibly work with western tunes, which are usually relentlessly 4/4 or occasionally 3/4 time signatures.
With thanks to the waitress for taking the picture
I tried the slow-cooked lamb shank this time, while Nigel and Chas shared the full works of grills. Harish tried one of the vegetarian stews. Again, all the trimmings were wonderful, not least the amazing aubergine and mango sauce (not really a chutney, or at least not a sour chutney), which was new to me because, as we were proudly informed by the (other) son who looked after us this time, that sauce is his mother’s own recipe. To paraphrase Nigel’s eloquent recollection in the comments section from our previous visit, that makes it our sort of place.
On the Friday, all of us but Nigel headed home after the day’s play; in Harish’s and my case via the hotel, which had kindly offered safe custody to our vehicles, baggage and (in my case) Benjy the Baritone Ukulele. Nigel swore on the way home that he wouldn’t eat a thing that evening after three days of feasting and it seems he kept his word – Nigel’s subsequent e-mail report:
My plans for a quiet evening on Friday were ruined by Sharon and Kev’s engagement celebration in the hotel function suite, that really did feel like it was taking place in the next room. After the three day grazing, I took the unsolicited advice barely audible from a Ukulele shaped bag suggesting it wouldn’t harm that big bloke to miss a meal or two. That thing does have attitude.
In short, the whole trip was a great success. It’s a bit difficult to explain how or why spending several days with old friends doing so little can be so satisfying and relaxing, but it is. I guess the whole idea of five day cricket is hard to explain to the uninitiated. Nigel again, writing on the Sunday morning, just before the start of Day Five:
We have once again enjoyed a fascinating Test match, which only really began to be resolved during the last session. Into the fifth day and it is still compelling. It would be impossible to explain that to the Georgian Cabbie, seen to register disbelief at Charles’ response to “who won?” at the end of day one.
…about our most heavily rain-affected Edgbaston trip of all.
“The Greatest Thing That Almost Happened’ by Don Robertson is an evocative journey back to the early 1950s. Readers are introduced to a teenage Morris Bird III, considered by some to be one of the most endearing characters in contemporary American literature.
Our Edgbaston trip in 2012 was so lacking in memory that it is now, well, not memorable. Very little that was meant to take place actually did so.
It was as if we had been enticed to this sodden part of the UK to be teased with the promise of things that almost happened. Morris Bird may well have speculated?
Perhaps we were being tested on our resolve as real Heavy Rollers. Could we cut it when things were bad?
I recall my solitary mission to the nearby cricket ground in advance of the others. They were perhaps still somewhere on the M6 arguing about the relative merits of Delta and Detroit Blues genres, while a dozing Nick yearned for some early Metallica.
Knowing Charles’ detailed preparations before any pre match knockabout, the ‘cricket kit’ would have been checked (several times before being unpacked and repacked) in readiness for our long-awaited net. This was scheduled to take place at Harborne CC. To grace this attractive little ground, in leafy suburban Birmingham, was to be a privilege indeed. All a direct consequence of some emotional story- telling from Charles to some unaware individual who was to forever regret their selfless move to the ‘phone with, “I’ll get it”. Charles had become a master of spin. This had little to do with his ability to pick a ‘Doosra’. Detailed and distressing tales would be discharged to whomever got the job of dealing with random emotive requests, mostly for tickets. Much was at stake this time. A chance to display limited abilities for a donation. It would be a wonderful prelude to the main course.
The scene, however, was a precursor to the forthcoming event. The said ground was deserted. The outfield resembled a small lake. If anything had been planned for this evening it had long been called off. Phone calls from office to office relaying the unhappy, but inevitable, news. I couldn’t avoid observing that the early season volunteers, allocated to small working groups tendering the ground, had failed miserably to:
Clean around the area you want to repair with a wire brush to remove loose paint or rust.
Use an old screwdriver to dig out any old jointing material.
Put the nozzle of the sealant gun into the joint, and run a bead of roof and gutter sealant around the pipe.
One side of the pavilion’s guttering resembled a waterfall. Safe to say the kit wouldn’t be making an appearance this year.
I returned to Harborne Hall with heavy heart, but gratified by the familiarity of our accommodation, and its proximity to some decent restaurants on Harborne High Street for later. High quality Chinese food surely? At least we would be reunited and sustained by our past recollections of basic, but friendly, home-from-home accommodation. It was soon to be revealed that this just was a futile memory, unless your home was a Category C prison.
The corridors still echoed with the long past anticipation and apprehension of eager volunteers, about to make their way to various VSO outposts around the world. The evocative black and white photographs of some wiry young men with mullets, and women in cheesecloth skirts, dancing self-consciously with grateful African children, or in makeshift classrooms, adorned the stairways to our rooms. Such warm recollections were soon to be illusions, as the march of commercialism that had begun to engulf this little haven took shape. It was becoming transformed into something neither here, nor anywhere really. VSO were still present somehow, but surrounded by an impression of a low budget boarding house with an identity crisis.
The futile negotiations over extra breakfast toast rather summed up the whole affair. Jokes about when parole became due and “are you in Block H?” were tinged with reality. As Ian has described, we didn’t see any cricket either. Given that was the whole purpose it could be argued things were not going too well.
I recall walking back from the equally uninviting and playless Edgbaston in time for a planned tour of the local graveyard. This was advertised on a display outside the adjacent church amidst notices, it transpired, unchanged for many a decade. I should have twigged on reading the one with rusty drawing pins, congratulating the Mother’s Union for raising £7 19s 11d for Church upkeep. My children have often reiterated their displeasure when on holiday, mostly in France, when I would enthusiastically jump from the car and excitedly head off (alone) towards a remote cemetery or graveyard. This would make up a little for earlier non-events.
Wet through from my walk back, I just made the appointed time only to be met with a resounding silence, where I imagined the throng would now be congregating.
Just me then. The church was securely locked and, without a guide, any chance of an educational tour of the graves was out of the question. So, given I was staying one further night, I returned to the honesty bar at Harborne Hall before lock down and lights out. I left rather early the next morning, not stopping for toast.
This was to be the final ‘non-event’ of the 2012 gathering, so dominated by things that almost happened….
Photo, thanks to Charles Bartlett, probably unconnected…unless Chas was building an ark and starting to populate it during this trip
It rained.
There shouldn’t be much else to say.
It rained for the entirety of our visit.
When I started typing the headline of this piece, I typed “Wet Indies” rather than “West Indies” by mistake. Or was it a mistake? Spooky.
To add to the disappointment of this visit, Charles “Charley The Gent Malloy” Bartlett had, as usual, organised a blinder of a visit, including our front row seats in the Raglan Stand and nets early in the evening on the day before the test, at Harborne CC, just up the road from our residence at Harborne Hall.
We had a roadworks/lane closure filled journey up to Birmingham. Chas had kindly offered to give me a lift from the outer reaches of the Central Line (Redbridge? Gants Hill?), so the three of us (including Nick) had plenty of time to bicker about music choices in the car.
If I recall correctly, Chas and I were both on a bit of an electric blues odyssey at that time, so (two to one) we mostly settled on Bo Diddley and Muddy Waters for that journey. In any case, I’m listening to my playlist of those artistes to tweak my memory as I write.
However, once we were on the M6 scooting through the West Midlands getting close to Birmingham, we saw some dark sky ahead. rather a lot of it. Rain clouds. Wet rain. Very wet rain. We arrived at Harborne Hall in what could only be described as a tropical-style storm. That storm passed pretty soon after we arrived, but we more or less knew that the soaking was bound to have put our nets at risk. We went down to Harborne CC in hope more than expectation, only to have our fears confirmed. Pools on the outfield and around the nets. No chance of a net.
We’d seen the gloomy weather forecast for the first two days of the test, of course, but still we hoped for a further 36 hours.
I remember little about our two evenings in Harborne that year. I think we went to Harborne’s very satisfactory Chinese restaurant, Henry Wong, one of the evenings, I think that first night. Perhaps the others can remember where else we went.
I remember a lot of sitting around at Harborne Hall. I remember the other three deciding to go down to the ground, despite the pouring rain and no sign of respite. I remember staying back, making some notes about Heavy Rollers visits from years gone by, which are now proving to be a most useful starting point for this blogging.
I also remember how much Harborne Hall had declined since our last visit. Not down to Beechwood Hotel levels – those depths would take some plumbing – but still decline. Harborne Hall had been the VSO conference centre, run along similar lines to The Children’s Society’s Wadderton. But it seemed that VSO had sold (or at least put under management and attempted to commercialise) Harborne Hall. The resulting approach had subtracted almost all of the friendly, folksy character of the place, leaving only the distressed gentility and a rather grasping approach to commercialism.
The nadir for our visit was on the final morning, when Nigel made the mistake of asking for an additional slice of toast with his breakfast and was informed that he would be charged extra for that extra slice. Did I see steam starting to come from Nigel’s ears? I don’t remember exactly how this matter was resolved. Nigel probably does recall.
The other occupants of Harborne Hall were now mostly peripatetic tradesmen. We played some pool and I think darts with some of them, at least one of the evenings, during that stay. We more or less held our own. Perhaps they were more inebriated or had failed to mis-spend their youths playing those games any more than we had.
I also don’t remember when we bailed out of this hopeless situation. I don’t think we stuck around too deep into the second day. I don’t even remember whether Chas gave me a lift back to the Essex borders or whether I stuck with my original plan to take the train home after the game.
It was the first time that the first two days of a test match had been entirely rained off in England since 1964. Not even the modern drainage could save play from that type of relentless rain. This telegraph piece has a lovely photo.
Despite the fact that we saw precisely nothing of this match live, it still counts as one of our Heavy Rollers matches in my view, so here is the scorecard. No surprises that the match was a draw, but there was a surprising stand between Dinesh Ramdin and Tino “mind the windows” Best who put on nearly 150 for the last wicket, Tino managing a batting-career-defining 95 of them.
Crickey, I have generated some 900 words, merely to elaborate on the main point, which I managed to get across in the first two words.
Big Papa Zambezi Jeff Tye presenting me with my Heavy Roller shirt– thanks to Charley The Gent Malloy for the image – grabbed from his vid.
I have been encouraged to write up this particular Heavy Rollers visit now, in December 2021, as King Cricket and his partner in crime Dan Liebke have arrived at this test match in their podcast series, The Ridiculous Ashes. This test is Series Three, Episode Three – click here or below:
I haven’t listened to that podcast yet – my plan is to write up The Heavy Rollers experience and then listen.
For reasons I don’t quite understand, I have no photographs from 2009 in the “Charley The Gent” collection – just a video of Big Papa Zambezi Jeff Tye handing out the Heavy Rollers shirts on the morning of the first day:
It might just be that the photos from that year never reached me and therefore are omitted from what I thought was a canonical collection. If Charley furnishes me with photos in the fulness of time, have no fear, they will find there way to this piece.
My log records that it was a bumper year for Heavy Rollers, attendance-wise. Ashes years tended to be like that. Here is the Heavy Roll call (did you see what I did there?):
Big “Papa Zambezi” Jeff Tye;
Nigel “Father Barry”;
Charley The Gent Malloy;
The Boy Malloy;
Harsha Ghoble;
Biff;
Tufty Geoff Young;
David “Peel” Steed;
Dan “Peel” Steed;
Ged Ladd.
Others might well be able to chip in with additional memories, but my recollections of this one are slight and a bit idiosyncratic.
The Night Before – 29 July 2009
On arrival the night before (29th July), I recall that there was a bit of a scramble for the “better rooms” at Harborne Hall, although by that year (our second at the venue) I had concluded that the larger rooms at the top of the old building had some disadvantages to them such that my own preference was for a well-located slightly smaller room. I thus avoided the potentially contentious debate by deferring to my elders while still getting what I wanted.
I’m fairly sure it was this year, 2009, when I ran into my friend Maz (Marianne Tudor-Craig) at Harborne Hall, which, at that time, was still a VSO training & conference venue and Maz was still a VSO-nik at that time. It was strange seeing her in that setting while I was having a cricket break with my mates.
Day One – 30 July 2009
Obviously the single most important event of the day is captured on video for all to see – here’s the link again if you missed it above:
The rest of Day One was a bit of an anti-climax, certainly cricket-wise, as it rained for much of the day. I’m pretty sure that The Steeds would have smuggled in some wine boxes disguised as picnic-bag chillers and a fine picnic to go with it too.
I recall that nephew Paul “Belmonte” was at the ground that day and joined us for a while during one of the many rain breaks.
I also recall that, at one point, I was so “mentally unoccupied” while wandering around in a rain break that I allowed a young blond Npower saleswoman persuade me to change energy suppliers on a promise of, I blush to admit it, £200 off my energy bills for switching. Npower retained my business for several years after that.
In the absence of a 2009 photo in our maroon-coloured shirts, here is a picture of eight of us (only Biff and Tufty Geoff missing) from the previous year in the same place (Priory Stand front row) in our dark-coloured shirts:
Day Two – 31 July 2009 – Ridiculous Moment Of The Match
Forget whatever Alex “King Cricket” Bowden and Dan Liebke tell you in Series 3, Episode 3 of The Ridiculous Ashes, the most ridiculous moment of the match was around our seats at the start of Day Two.
By this stage of our proceedings, Charley “The Gent” was curating a fair bit of the Day Two picnic. As is Chas’s way, he was busying himself sorting out the contents of several bags of goodies at the start of play.
Despite several of us saying to Chas that the day’s play was about to begin, Chas was looking down in his bags when Graham Onions took a wicket with the first ball of the day.
Chas was disappointed missing that ball, but then returned to busying himself with his bags.
Despite several of us warning Chas that Onions was running up to bowl his second delivery, Chas continued busying himself, eyes down inside the bags…
…missing the fall of Michael Hussey for a primary – the second ball of the day.
Naturally Chas then gave the game his undivided attention for the attempted hat-trick ball and several subsequent deliveries of the ordinary variety.
We got plenty of play to see on the second day, although the mood of excitement was lessened because the weather forecast for Day Three was shocking, so (even during the exciting Day Two) there was a sense that the match was inevitably destined to be a draw.
I do hope I can supplement this piece with memories from other Heavy Rollers.
Where did we eat the night before the match? And the evening after Day One? I don’t think we played at all that year, but maybe we did. Hopefully the hive mind of the Heavy Rollers will help.
BENTLEY BRING AND BRAAI CRICKET MATCH – 20 JULY 2008
Big Match Build Up
Hailing a brave new world, the annual Z/Yen v The Children’s Society cricket match had been laid to rest as a fixture. Several of the original protagonists worked for neither organisation. Further, numerous transfers and inter-marriages had occurred over the years. It now seemed more fitting for the match to be renamed appropriately. Ian Harris Invitation XI v Charles Bartlett Invitation XI sounded good. Charles agreed to design a new trophy. Even Dot Bartlett thought that “The Harris/Bartlett Trophy” sounded very grand, but Charles’ ego couldn’t sanction the title that way round, so the new trophy was named The Bartlett/Harris Trophy.
As the day of the big match approached, both captains were busy making their plans of campaign, more or less as usual. Some things never change.
In order to cultivate a rich seam of talent, Ian had engaged the services of Heinrich The Gangmaster, who had in any case long-since moved on from The Children’s Society and was doing a great deal of work for Z/Yen. Ian therefore claimed rights over Heinrich and his entire South African entourage. Since Albus, top talent that he is, had married Fran from Z/Yen and led the way to a classic victory in 2007, it seemed only fitting that Heinrich’s entire gang switched allegiance.
There were fierce salvos of e-mail and a few frosty telephone and face-to-face exchanges, mostly revolving around size and shape of players. “No giants” was the gist of it, but definitions and playing conditions as usual got blurred in the debate.
Heinrich The Gangmaster was trying to be helpful when Ian spoke with him on the telephone. “We can easily put together a winning team”, said Heinrich, “Rubeus is available, for example”. “But Rubeus is a giant”, said Ian, “and I have promised Charles that we’d not field any giants”. “Rubeus is only half-giant”, said Heinrich, unhelpfully, “but what about Lucius and Draco?” “They’re evil”, said Ian, “I can only field players who we can be sure won’t try to take the opposition’s heads off”. “What’s happened to your sense of fun?”, asked Heinrich. “I lost it when you arranged for all of those giants and unhinged people to play against my team a couple of years ago,” Ian replied. “I think I get the message”, said Heinrich.
Meanwhile Charles was taking no chances. To counter the perceived threat, Charles Bartlett had cunningly ensured that he had access to the services of as many Bentley CC players as he might need, plus the festering talent pool of Tufty Stackpole, as well as the Children’s Society people, their friends and relations.
Of course, you wouldn’t guess any of that from the discussions between Charles and Ian. “Not sure I can even get eleven people,” said Charles on one occasion, “been let down left right and centre. Even that Bentley lad, Andy, is doubtful now.” “We can always see if Heinrich the Gangmaster can find us some more South African hired hands,” said Ian. “Funny you should mention that”, said Charles, “as I believe The Children’s Society has a couple of Heinrich’s mob back on their books again”. “But no giants”, said both Charles and Ian in unison.
Meanwhile Dot Bartlett took on the unenviable task of arranging the most important element of the fixture: the catering for the day. She was none too pleased when the original choice of caterers helpfully informed her that the firm had been taken over and that the new owners “wouldn’t get out of bed” for a poxy little catering contract like ours. But Dot scrambled around and found a suitable alternative, little knowing that Heinrich The Gangmaster had his own ideas.
The Day of the Match – Ian Harris Invitation XI Innings
Come the toss, Ian was a little concerned that two members of his team were still missing: Michael and Elisabeth Mainelli. Even more concerned was Ian when he lost the toss and was promptly inserted by Charles, as Ian was planning on opening the batting together with Michael. It was a cunning plan. Ian was to do his regular sandpaper bit, while Michael was to “pinch hit” using the baseball stance and technique which worked rather well against Barnardo’s 10 years ago.
But the Mainelli family arrived just in the nick of time. The Mainelli’s came as a gang of four, including daughter Xenia (only the cruel and misguided suggest that Xenia was named after the business) and their priest, Father Bill (taking no chances this time, we nearly needed the last rites read more than once last time those big Saffers played).
“There’s a zoo, there’s a zoo”, shouted Xenia excitedly as they arrived. “I can see zebra, wildebeeste, crocodiles, ostriches and snakes”.
“That’s not a zoo”, explained Michael, “it looks as though the Saffers have brought some food with them. This looks distinctly like a ‘bring and braii’ to me. If I’d known, I’d have brought some charismatic mega fauna with me as an offering.”
Meanwhile, Elisabeth was protesting that she had no suitable clothing or even footwear, as Michael had forgotten to tell her that she was playing today. A very brief panic ensued, until Heinrich reminded Ian that we could, if utterly desperate, engage the services of Antonius Bloch, his former flatmate. While Charles was remonstrating that Ian’s team was sleezing in a last-minute Saffer giant, Henirich assured everyone that Antonius’s only known sporting prowess was at chess. Indeed, we could se Antonius playing with a rather shadowy-looking figure as we spoke. Ominously, Father Bill was mumbling incantations at rapid speed while keeping a very safe distance from the chess-players.
While Elisabeth was remonstrating with Michael that she would have gladly played had she only been told that she was in the team, Ian was simultaneously rushing Michael into his pads and various protective clothing, all the while speaking in tongues about “pinch hitting”, “run rates”, “leg side”, “cow corner” and such like.
The problem was, of course, that in the intervening years Michael had seen a fair smattering of cricket and even been to see some 1st class matches, so he had seen how batting was supposed to be done. So Michael ignored all this strange instructions and simply knuckled down to emulate the technique he had observed.
Several years seemed to pass as Michael and Ian’s opening partnership got underway. The entire crowd fell into a deep and profound slumber, except for Heinrich the Braaier and his Assistant Braaier, Severus.
Suddenly there was a terrifying roar, the sound of a wild beast in agony.
“Nnnnnnnnaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh”.
“Jou dom stuk kak, Severus”, yelled Heinrich, “I’ve told you before, man, don’t put live wildebeeste onto the braai”.
“I didn’t, man, that yell was Ian saying ‘no’ to a run”, said Severus, sheepishly.
“Sorry man. Score still nought for nought then?”, asked Heinrich.
“Something like that”, said Severus.
No amount of pleading managed to persuade Michael to try a scoring shot, despite his pinch hitting role, but eventually he was put out of his misery and Matt joined Ian at the crease. Matt didn’t find it much easier than Ian and Michael to get the ball off the square of the pudding-like wicket. Eventually Matt decided to play a straight one, played across it, and Charles Bartlett had clean bowled Matt of all people! Some say that Charles did himself some permanent damage celebrating that wicket, while others insist that the damage had been caused a long time ago through Charles’ strange habit of not wearing a box when batting.
Charles Bartlett in action, me umpiring. It’s Chas’s photo, thanks Chas, but clearly he didn’t take it!
A few of us were clearly taking it seriously that year. The diary and e-mail correspondence suggests that we had a net on 27 May at Lord’s – me Chas, Matt and Adam Hinks:
Just a note to remind you all that we are netting this evening. See you at HQ Indoor School in whites just before 18:00.
Adam – FYI – I’ve bought and am bringing my helmet after our last net together! Although, having seen Mr Flynn on Friday, I’m not sure I’ll be trying to hook the head-high stuff anyway!!
Chas typically complained about aches and pains the next day:
Great being at Lords last night, but am I the only one suffering from multitude of aches and pains from the cricket net?
And he calls me a wuss.
The planned 10 June net was cancelled by Lord’s; the diary says that we had a net with bowling machine 15 July (presumably the rescheduled gig.) I think that was just me, Chas and Matt, after which both of them claimed that they didn’t much like the bowling machine, so I don’t think we did that again. But the machine experience got me SO ready for battle. I think Moses (Hallam Moseley) was the coach that day. Either him or Jamie Thorpe, whose left-arm bowling when without the machine tended to cause me all sorts of problems.
A large Z/Yen contingent sallied forth to Brentwood in Essex, late July, to contest the new Bartlett-Harris Cricket Trophy. A Charles Bartlett Invitation XI (curiously similar to the old Children’s Society team) took on an Ian Harris Invitation XI (not discernibly different from the Z/Yen team of old). Z/Yen’s highlight of the day must have been Monique’s superb batting. But before that the lowlight of the day must have been the opening batting partnership between Messrs Harris and Mainelli; that managed to send any spectator who remained awake to sleep. Stick to the day job, fellas. But things were very different in the field, when those two teamed up for Ian Harris to take a sharp catch off the bowling of Michael – the first time he had ever bowled in his life. Ian also took several wickets with his moon-balls, including both Bartletts (father and son) in the same over. So perhaps Messrs Harris and Mainelli might choose to give up the day job in favour of cricket after all. As is so often the case, Ian’s team came second, but in any case The Children’s Society always wins, on this occasion to the tune of several hundred pounds raised towards that good cause. And a really good time was had by all; players and spectators alike.
I composed much but not all of a lengthy report on this match, from build up to part way through the first innings. Then I must have run out of ideas or steam. It builds on the style of the 2006 Tufty Stackpole report, which Charles Bartlett likes a lot.
different from the Z/Yen team of old). Z/Yen’s highlight of the day must have been Monique’s superb batting. But before that the lowlight of the day must have been the opening batting partnership between Messrs Harris and Mainelli; that managed to send any spectator who remained awake to sleep. Stick to the day job, fellas. But things were very different in the field, when those two teamed up for Ian Harris to take a sharp catch off the bowling of Michael – the first time he had ever bowled in his life. Ian also took several wickets with his moon-balls, including both Bartletts (father and son) in the same over. So perhaps Messrs Harris and Mainelli might choose to give up the day job in favour of cricket after all. As is so often the case, Ian’s team came second, but in any case The Children’s Society always wins, on this occasion to the tune of several hundred pounds raised towards that good cause. And a really good time was had by all; players and spectators alike.