Hawes...

I read an entertaining article in the Guardian, about match-winning (or match-saving) last wicket stands. When recalling the great exploits of my own cricket career, I’m not overwhelmed by choice. But here’s one…

When I started playing for a team in North Leeds, it was called Cardigan Road Methodists (a lot of the teams we played were attached to churches). By the time I left Leeds the name had been condensed to Cardigan Road, because, though we had a Sikh playing for us, we no longer had any Methodists. Most of our cricket was played locally, in North Leeds suburbs or the surrounding villages. We also had a few regular fixtures further afield.

A favourite fixture was Hawes, in Wensleydale. It was a proper day out for all the family, and cricketers enjoyed playing against a backdrop of Pennine hills rather than smoke-blackened mill chimneys. The only downside was that it took an hour and a half to get there. On this particular occasion - it must be forty years ago - we batted first. Disastrously we found ourselves reduced to 23 for 9. After driving all the way up the Dales, it looked like the game would be over in an hour. The only bulwark against utter humiliation was me, walking out to bat at number 11, and my bowling partner batting number 10 (I didn’t used to score many runs; having one eye probably didn’t help. Me going into bat was generally the sign to put the kettle on for tea).

Anyway, to cut a long story short, we put on a record 102 runs for the last wicket, for a total of 125 all out. My batting partner got a half century, I got 35. I opened the bowling, got five wickets and, against all the odds, we won the game. Every dog has his day!