Herriad vs Wield, Sunday 26th May
Weather - Pleasant warm early spring sunshine!!!
Match summary – Wield surrender our 100% start to the season
The small band of players crossed the A339. In singles, avoiding attention. One held back in the early summer’s heat. “We have been waiting. Two o’clock start,” said their captain. “No, it’s always two thirty,” replied Yorkie. “We have a new format,” answered their captain, “twenty-five overs, tea and another twenty-five overs, retire at twenty-five runs. A short form, it’s the families.” It has come to this. We looked wistfully to the west. Yorkie put us in the field.
Max was lost somewhere deep in the beech woods. So far behind the main party the trail had become indistinct. Frome Snr crouched behind the wicket. A solitary swallow quartered the outfield. Midges and mosquitoes rose in abundance from the moss. Soft underfoot but silent. A song thrush shattered the still afternoon, Simon and Frome Jnr opened the attack. A six sailed through the blue sky over square leg. Robin took a catch at deep point off Frome Jnr, as gently as he’d take his eggs from the farm back home, long ago. Simon opened his account swiftly dispatching two, bowled.
We could see the fear in their eyes. We feared we had lost Max – seeking the shade the mountain lions come down to the woods in the heat.
MHT and Robin took the first change. A red kite circled slowly higher, leaving its tormenting crow behind. More sixes flew from the ground. A peacock butterfly crossed swiftly in the breeze. Max appeared. One of theirs retired. Another six and another retired. MHT injured and Rupert on. Rank long hops and fours scudded across the moss. A telephone rang and Robin answered. A blackbird answered the thrush.
At twenty overs Yorkie rolled his arm. Bowled. Another. A double wicket maiden. Simon returned and Frome Jnr caught at mid on. A retired one returned. Yorkie continued the carnage, caught and bowled. Simon hacked another down, bowled. Yorkie removed the tail-ender from his miserable existence and we returned to the pavilion. 147 all out.
Cake and scones and tea. No sausages, no egg mayonnaise sandwiches. The hunger gnawed at our souls. Nick and Toby open. Nick returned in the third over, caught behind. Frome Snr stepped up and bowled, stepped back again. Jack posed and strutted his shots around the ground, to fielders. Toby retired. The extras came freely, wides, no balls and byes. Simon swung and swung again. And again. And was bowled. Jack dissected the fielders and the runs came slowly. Coaching manual cover drives and square cuts.
A wagtail twitched on the boundary. The swallows flew higher in the heat. Jack retired and Robin arrived. Frome Jnr too and commenced a renewed blood-letting. Desperate to raise the run rate. Fours followed fours. Robin gave himself room and watched as his wicket was smashed. MHT took to the crease. Frome Jnr was bowled. Rupert opened his account. In the confusion of battle friendly fire sent him home. A direct hit from square leg. Yorkie strode to the middle. Twenty-five overs and time was called. Wield was sixteen short. Our unbeaten season had ended. Lying bloodied in the soft moss of the outfield. The horses tied, safe and sound, our journey closed and done. From fearful keen, the winning team, came home with object won. 132-6.
Rupert Cazalet
(Head of Ornithology, Bradley Institute of Nonsense)
