Cricket in England, April 2024

Kent v Surrey, County Championship, 19-22 April 2024

It was such a good plan. I would begin in Canterbury with two or three days under the Spring sun before heading west to Bristol to watch at the County Ground for the first time since leaving for New Zealand in 1997. Then a day at Lord’s, where I had last been that same summer, when I put on my suit for a day in the pavilion on my Kent member’s privilege. But England was grey, wet and, above all, cold this April, so my return to English cricket after a five-year interval ended up as two (slightly-less-than) half-days at St Lawrence, where champions Surrey were the visitors.

It was wet on the first morning, but I made my way up the Old Dover Road regardless. I am drawn to this place of memories and happiness whenever I return to Kent, especially today, when tributes were to be paid to Derek Underwood, who had died a few days before.

With no score to show, the big screen was playing a reel of highlights of Underwood picking off some of the best: the Oval ’68 (how well I remember that long afternoon waiting for the puddles to be erased from the Oval outfield and the black-and-white tension of the last hour); Australia in ’72, with Knotty taking a smart catch or two; Eddie Barlow yorked in the 55-over final at Lord’s in ’78.

There was supposed to be a tribute before the start of play, but with the delay they decided to hold it at midday instead (it embraced Ramon Subba Row too). I hope that they do it again when the ground is full and the sun is shining, but at least the few who were there had mostly seen him play. None of the players obviously. For them Derek Underwood would have been as distant a concept as Tich Freeman was to us. But Alec Stewart was there. He played against him and will have let the Surrey team know something of the man.

Those of us who stood and remembered all had stories that we wanted to tell. Mine was of another grey and wet day at St Lawrence, much like this one, forty years before. There were even fewer there that day, but I was one of them. Mark Nicholas was another, one of Underwood’s victims as he made a nonsense of Nick Pocock’s gleeful acceptance of Chris Tavaré’s offer of 179 off 59 overs. You see, rain had got under the covers, and it was bows and arrows against bombs. At least Underwood’s passing was the cause of some fine writing, Nicholas again to the fore. I’m pleased that I was there, in the cold.

There were things to do to pass the time. For an extra fiver, there was a tour of the ground, conducted by a young volunteer called Sam, one of Canterbury’s official guides, but doing this recreationally. He was excellent. I learned more than I expected to, given that I have been steeped in the place all my life. It had never occurred to me to find out why it bears St Lawrence’s name. Thanks to Sam, I now know. He was the second Archbishop of Canterbury after whom a leper hospital on the site of the ground was named, replaced by a mansion called St Lawrence House, which was demolished early in the nineteenth century, creating space for the cricket ground.

The fiver also gave access to a teatime talk in the Chiesman Pavilion (which surely should be renamed the Stevo Pavilion: the great man was present, ready for recall) by Kent’s curator, Ian Phipps. This is intended to be a regular feature, the starting point of each being an item or two from the club’s collection. Here, we went back to the origins of cricket in the county by looking at one of the sticks into which notches were cut to record the scores. Afterwards, I chatted to Ian and he showed me the scorebook in which Colin Cowdrey’s hundredth hundred was recorded in the copperplate hand of Claude Lewis in 1973.

Kent are to be congratulated on these initiatives, which I encourage anybody going to Canterbury to take advantage of. Now, more than ever, there is a need to celebrate cricket’s story and heritage.

Last time I was there, on the final pre-Covid day of cricket in 2019, I was a bit concerned for the old ground, which looked a little tired and uncared for. I am pleased to report that it now has more sparkle about it. There are new seats around the ground and the Frank Woolley no longer looks as if it might crumble out of use. They have done a good job of integrating the new buildings on the pavilion side of the ground; the new dressing rooms are a great improvement on the old. As Andrew Miller notes on a piece that has appeared on CricInfo while I was writing this, even the new apartments look as if they belong; what was there before was only a car park, after all (Miller appears to have had the day in the sun that I was hoping for, but was denied). Only the magnificent old analogue scoreboard over the Leslie Ames Stand, installed in 1971 if my memory is correct, looks as if it may be reaching the end of its life. The biting northerly introduced a random element by blowing the numbers about in a way that would please the North Koreans who run the Basin Reserve scoreboard. Neither this board nor the big screen can be seen from the Ames Stand, but as this is given over to a bar and hospitality boxes, I doubt that anybody notices.

When the covers were rolled back, I experienced culture shock. Living in New Zealand I have become so used to a first-morning pitch being a palette of greens that one comprising colours of the desert rather than the forest came as a surprise. Perhaps this made the scheduled use of the Kookaburra ball in this game somewhat superfluous as a equalising factor between bat and ball. County cricket, under threat as it is, must be able to sort the good players out from the moderate. Dobbing seamers producing unplayable deliveries in the Spring does not do this, but neither do centuries from mediocre batters against emasculated bowlers. It cannot be beyond the wit of science to produce a ball that combines the qualities of Dukes and Kookaburra. Failing that, a machine like those that choose the Lotto balls could be loaded with an equal number of both and present the fielding side with the ball of the day after the toss.

Zak Crawley might as well not bother if I am in the crowd. I have seen him bat “at the ground” five times including this day; only once, in the second innings of the Greatest Test of All, has he reached double figures (25 in that case). Here, he nicked off to third slip on five off Dan Worrall, who followed up by trapping Ben Compton lbw to reduce Kent to nine for two.

Daniel Bell-Drummond is club captain this year. At 30, his chance of the international preferment for which he was mooted as a youngster has probably gone. This is to Kent’s benefit if he continues to bat as he did here. From the start he showed the touch and eye of a man who has made two centuries already this year. He hit six fours in his first 34 runs, this off perhaps the best attack in the Championship. He was more measured thereafter, but not troubled. It was a surprise when he was out three overs before the close, lbw to Tom Lawes. If he follows in the tradition of Johnson, Ealham snr and Jarvis, to name but three, giving service to county alone, it will have been an honourable career.

It was a treat to watch cricket once more with my Blean correspondent, and to discover that the jokes and observations that originated in the glory years of the seventies have stood the test of time, as has our ability to clear the seats around us with the tedium of our conversation. But some things change, and we both found that the intense cold could not be shaken off as easily as it was in our (potato) salad days. It took us both the rest of the day to restore our body temperatures to normal.

This was my first time back to Kent since my mother passed away in 2021, so there were things to do and people to see. Nevertheless, a bright warm day would have brought about a change of schedule, but the weather continued to be delivered fresh from the Arctic.

We returned on the fourth morning with a short day in prospect. In the interim, Surrey had created a lead of 299, with centuries for Sibley and Lawrence. Kent resumed on 120 for five. It could all have been over very quickly, but the prospect of brevity was an incentive in these conditions. In fact, we found a place inside the Cowdrey Stand, where the bar was closed but the room open. It was much the same as watching from behind glass in the Long Room at the Basin Reserve. The company was similar too. Somebody was doing the stats and keeping us in touch with progress elsewhere. Football is a common topic. Given our location, and small numbers, a statistically unlikely number of the Basin faithful support East Anglian teams, creating an edge to proceedings when an Old Farm derby is in the offing.

There was an excellent discussion in Canterbury about the moral obligation on supporters to attend on days like these that could be all over quickly. It was agreed that it was an imperative for people in the city itself, and probably for Herne Bay and Whitstable, given the improved bus services. Those from the more remote coastal settlements were to be commended, and someone who had come down from Greenwich almost received a standing ovation. One odd trait shared in both locations is that applause continues to be offered as normal, even though we are behind glass and the players can’t hear us. A player who has done really well on a cold day at the Basin will know because the sliding windows of the Long Room will be unfurled like the unmuting of a Zoom call.

The money people who condemn the County Championship to the extremities of the season, and who plot to streamline/optimise/rationalise (or whatever business euphemism is in fashion) the number of matches, and the number of counties don’t know the currency that this stuff is counted in.

The cricket was better than expected, Kent fell only 33 short of making Surrey bat again. Ben Compton went quickly, but Joey Evison and Matt Parkinson put on 74 for the seventh wicket in 31 overs, taking us into an unexpected afternoon session. There was little that was spectacular, but I enjoyed it enormously. Two batters refusing to accept any inevitability about the result against a determined attack. I am pleased that Kent have signed Parkinson, more so that they are both picking and bowling him, even when he goes for a few. This will pay off as the season draws on.

Arafat Bhuiyan batted as all No 11s should, and took a six and two fours off successive deliveries from Kemar Roach, which few have done. Parkinson was out to the second outstanding short leg catch by Jamie Smith, and that was that. A pleasant day in good company.

The biting weather persisted, and I went down with the usual cold I get whenever I return to the old country, so I did not attend the County Ground in Bristol. I could have made a token visit but want what memories I have yet to form of cricket in England to be of shirtsleeves and lemonade, not bobble hats and Benylin. Lord’s was rained off, so I did not have to work my way through the 21 steps that the Middlesex website takes you through before sending you to the MCC website to buy the ticket.

I hope to be back one day, before too long, at a time of the year when the focus can be on enjoying the cricket, rather than the preservation of life. A gritty seventh-wicket stand and the chance to say goodbye to a hero will sustain me for now.