The Picador Book of Cricket

by Ramachandra Guha

  Bannerman kept up his barn-door defence while Massie went on hitting. It seemed that Hornby could do nothing to shift either man. But at 47 he brought on Barnes, the Notts medium-pace bowler, for Studd, and Massie hit his first ball high and straight to Lucas in front of the pavilion. To everyone’s chagrin except the Australians’, Lucas dropped it. Massie had then made 38.

  The 50 went after 40 minutes. There had been nothing like this rate of scoring in the match so far.

  Massie was still prepared to hit the ball in the air. For Peate, Hornby stood deep at long off, twenty yards in from the long gasworks boundary, but Massie soon landed the ball over his head for another four. If Hornby had been standing on the edge it must have been a catch, but he hadn’t credited Massie with such strength. Peate had to come off, and Hornby tried his sixth bowler, A. G. Steel. Massie reached his 50 out of 61 in 45 minutes, and in Steel’s second over he carried the score past the Australians’ entire first innings total, still without loss. The time was one o’clock. The wicket was beginning to dry out a little, and Steel was getting some turn from leg, the first bowler, in Massie’s opinion, to get any movement from the sodden pitch at all. Everyone else had cut straight through. Massie decided that he’d better knock him off, and he raised his bat to swing at the first ball of Steel’s next over. The ball was leg-stumpish and looked like one to hit, but it was Steel’s faster ball and Massie came down too late. The leg stump went down to thunderous applause as the crowd relieved their mounting frustration.

  66 for 1, last man 55. Massie had hit 9 fours, 2 threes, 3 twos, and only 7 singles. It was one of the best attacking innings ever played.

  That the Australians meant to go on hitting if they could was clear when the massive George Bonnor, 6 ft 6 in tall and acknowledged to be the biggest hitter in the game, came in next in front of Murdoch. But Hornby now made a shrewd move. Although Steel had done so well, he replaced him after one more over with Ulyett. Off the fast bowler’s fourth ball, Bonnor was clean bowled middle stump. 70 for 2.

  Bannerman fell at the same total, caught at cover by Studd off Barnes, to the accompaniment of another great outburst of cheering. This brought the two best Australian batsmen, Murdoch and Horan, together. Ulyett had done his job, the run-up was still difficult, and Hornby at once brought back Peate, Ulyett having bowled only one over. Murdoch hit Peate for four, but the slow left-hander turned one away from Horan, and Grace at point took an easy catch.

  Giffen came in next, and Grace moved in closer, hands outstretched before him. Peate bowled the identical ball, Giffen reached out but failed to smother it, and again Grace pouched the catch. 79 for 5.

  The bearded Blackham came in to stop the hat-trick. Another beard was almost sitting on the bat, but Peate tried a little too hard this time to produce the unplayable ball and it dropped short enough for Blackham to pull it for four. 83 for 5, though, was a deplorable setback from 66 for 1. The advantage gained in that wonderful opening stand was gone. With five wickets to fall the Australians were only 45 in front. There followed a determined attempt at consolidation by Murdoch and Blackham, who added 20 runs together before a sharp shower drove the players in. The time was a quarter to two, and lunch was taken.

  After a break of an hour the game restarted. Peate continued from the gasworks end, and the last ball of his first over kept low and found the edge of Blackham’s bat. Lyttelton took the catch and the Australians were 99 for 6.

  Next man in was the twenty-one-year-old S. P. Jones, the youngest player on either side. Murdoch put up the hundred with a single to leg, and Jones cut Barlow, in his second spell from the pavilion end, for a two and a four in the same over. Then for the next nine overs the run-getting almost subsided as Murdoch, playing with the utmost caution and determined to set England a formidable task, monopolized the strike. He took only seven runs in this period, and then, with the score at 113, came the incident which so incensed the Australians.

  Murdoch skied a ball from Barlow towards a vacant space at square leg and the batsmen ran. Lyttelton raced after the ball, threw off a glove, and aimed at the batsman’s wicket, but Jones had backed up well and was easily home. Grace strode forward to gather Lyttelton’s throw. As he did so, Jones, after grounding his bat, left his crease to pat down some spots on the wicket. Grace immediately removed the bails.

  ‘How’s that?’

  Jones was young and inexperienced and it was possibly foolish of him to leave his crease before Grace had thrown the ball back to the bowler. But he had grounded his bat, and there was no suggestion that either he or Murdoch was attempting another run. The appeal was made on technical grounds only – the ball had not come to rest in the wicketkeeper’s or the bowler’s hand, so strictly it was not dead but still in play.

  Umpire Thoms, at square leg, was the man on whom the decision rested. The laws of the game gave him no alternative.

  ‘If you appeal for it, sir – out.’4

  Murdoch expressed his disapproval openly at the wicket. That Grace was within his rights was not disputed, but his action was seen as sharp practice and a dirty trick. It might be within the laws of the game, but it wasn’t cricket.

  Those who knew Grace and played regularly with or against him would have taken more care. Grace was accused of taking advantage of the inexperience of youth, but no doubt he felt it would teach the young fellow a lesson. He was thoroughly pleased with himself and was quite unmoved by the general show of disapproval. No doubt he himself would have accepted such a dismissal without bitterness, and called himself a fool.

  Psychologically it was the end of the Australian innings. They had no stomach for it any more. Spofforth was soon out, and Murdoch followed. His innings, too, had a somewhat unsatisfactory end. Garrett hit Steel hard to the off and the batsmen ran two. Hornby was seen to be about to pick up the ball, and, since his injured arm would prevent him from throwing, Garrett called for a third run. Meanwhile Studd, seeing the danger, had backed Hornby up. Hornby passed the ball quickly to Studd, who flung it at Lyttelton, and the wicketkeeper removed the bails with Murdoch still out of his ground. It was an adroit piece of work, but very hard luck on Murdoch. His patient 29 had held the Australian innings together after Massie’s fall.

  The Australians were all out at 3.20 for 122, leaving England only 85 to win, with almost a day and a half to get them. It was an easy task.

  The manner of Jones’s dismissal, however, had given the Australians a cause. There was deep despondency in the dressing room, but it was dramatically dispelled by Spofforth. His confidence was infectious, and it was now that he uttered one of the most famous phrases in the history of cricket.

  ‘This thing’, he said, ‘can be done.’

  It is worth examining just how formidable a task it was that faced the Australians. The England side was stacked with batting. First there was W.G. himself. In the previous Test match at the Oval two years earlier he had scored 152, and he was still beyond comparison as a batsman. There were Hornby and Barlow, the Old Trafford run-stealers of the Francis Thompson poem. There was George Ulyett, one of the best all-rounders of the day, whose scores in the Test series in Australia the previous winter had been 87, 23, 25, 67, 0, 23, 149 and 64, and who had been top scorer in the first innings. Maurice Read, of Surrey, and W. Barnes, of Notts, were two professional batsmen who had already scored heavily against the Australians, including a partnership of 158 in the Players’ match only three weeks earlier, when Read had made 130 and Barnes 87. C. T. Studd was the most successful batsman of the year and the only man to score two centuries against the tourists. Then there were two more great amateur batsmen in A. P. Lucas and A. G. Steel. Even the wicket-keeper, the Hon. Alfred Lyttelton, was a batsman in his own right who had opened the innings against the Australians and made good scores against them. These four amateurs, Studd, Lucas, Steel and Lyttelton, had been members of the Cambridge Past and Present side that had beaten the Australians ten days earlier. Only the No. 11, Peate, was not an accomplished batsman of the high
est class.

  Yet Spofforth insisted that it could be done.

  The fluctuating fortunes of the day had already played havoc with the emotions of the crowd. For one man, indeed, the excitement had proved too much. When the Australian innings ended, forty-seven-year-old George Spendler, of Brook Street, Kennington, who was seated on the terraces, complained of feeling unwell. He got up, and almost at once fell to the ground, suffering an internal haemorrhage. He was carried to a room next to the pavilion and examined by several doctors, but already poor George Spendler was dead.

  Hornby had handled his bowling with real insight and tactical skill; but writing down his batting order in a manner that would please everybody was clearly beyond him. In the first innings he had solved the difficulty to some extent by relegating himself to No. 10. Now he rightly resolved that he must lead the side from the front. He must open himself with Grace.

  Spofforth began at his fastest from the gasworks end, forcing Blackham to stand back for the first time in the match. The time was 3.45. Unless England batted very slowly, the likelihood was that they would win well before six o’clock, the scheduled close of play.

  Spofforth had slept very little the previous night, rehearsing ways of getting this formidable phalanx of batsmen out a second time. Now, as he bounded up to bowl from his curiously angled run, starting several yards to the offside of the batsman, he seemed with his sinister visage and sinuous figure to have converted the science of bowling into a black art. Several times he bounced the ball deliberately straight at Grace – the first recorded instance of intentional bodyline bowling in Test cricket – but the wicket was still slow and Grace was unperturbed. Spofforth reverted to his normal pace in England of fast-medium, at which speed he could get much more work on the ball, and Blackham stood up close. Knowing how closely Grace always watched his hand, Spofforth wrapped his fingers round the ball in all kinds of odd ways, trying to disguise his intentions. And always he carried the threat of that immensely fast ball, delivered with no apparent change of action.

  SPOFFORTH’S FIELD AT THE OVAL, 1882

  These positions were adjusted to suit the styles of individual batsmen

  It was a magnificent sight to see Spofforth bounding up to the wicket and into that final leap, the match in the balance, faced by the ponderous, upright figure of W. G. Grace. Close in at silly mid-on stood Boyle, ready to pounce on any ball that the batsman failed to keep down. Behind the batsman’s back stood Horan at short leg. Bonnor and Jones were at slip, Murdoch and Bannerman together at point. Six men close in on the bat. Garrett was at cover, Massie at mid-off, with Giffen the only outfielder at long on, a carefully set snare for any batsman who swung at Spofforth’s slower ball.

  But the runs began to come. Garrett, fast-medium with a high action, bowled from the pavilion end, and Hornby set the score moving with a single. Grace broke his duck next ball, and two more singles came from Spofforth’s second over. Grace was very nearly caught and bowled by Garrett, and then Hornby cut Spofforth sweetly for four. The score had reached 15 after eight overs when Spofforth clean bowled Hornby with a break-back, hitting his off stump. That left 70 to win.

  Barlow, the best defensive batsman in England, came next. The second ball he received was very similar to the one that bowled Hornby. Barlow was good enough to get an inside edge, but he could not keep it out of his wicket. 15 for 2.

  Everyone had said that the Australians would be bound to make a fight of it. But an England defeat had not seemed even remotely possible. Now, as Ulyett joined Grace, the crowd began to wonder. In the next few minutes, however, the tension was quickly relieved. Grace drove Garrett for three and Spofforth for two, and then took seven runs from Spofforth’s next over, driving him to leg in confident style to the accompaniment of loud and almost frenzied cheering. The score reached 30 for 2. Spofforth tried everything – topspin, checkspin, break-back, cut and swerve, with every variation of pace imaginable, but Grace and Ulyett were equal to all he could offer. ‘I’d better try the other end,’ said Spofforth.

  Spofforth went down to the pavilion end, replacing Garrett, and Boyle took over at the gasworks end. It made no difference. Both batsmen went on hitting hard and freely. Ulyett did not always look safe but he was lively and aggressive, while Grace was evidently determined to stay there until the match was won. The 50 went up after 55 minutes, and England were coasting home; 35 to win, Grace and Ulyett well set, and six high-scoring batsmen to come. Bookmakers in the crowd were offering 60–1 against an Australian victory.

  The wicket seemed as dead as ever. But there was no sign yet that the Australians had given up. Right from the start they had bowled and fielded with tremendous zest and keenness. In spite of their disappointments they had recovered their natural good humour. And in spite of their hopeless situation they seemed not to suffer from nerves. Blackham was still standing up to Spofforth, ignoring the risk of giving away byes. He was only able to do it because of their agreed signalling system.

  Spofforth ran up to bowl to Ulyett, eight paces, arms windmilling, then the final high action, the bicep almost brushing the ear. It was the really fast one. Blackham saw the signal, but Ulyett didn’t spot it. He picked it up fairly early, but the ball skidded through and he got a touch. Blackham took the catch low down outside the off stump and England were 51 for 3.

  Ulyett had put on 36 valuable runs with Grace, restoring England’s impregnable position. Now he made way for Lucas. 34 to win.

  This thing can be done, said Spofforth again. This thing can be done. And he was admirably supported by Boyle. It was Boyle, indeed, who took the next and vital wicket. He held one back, Grace drove hard and a little too soon and didn’t quite middle it, and Bannerman took the catch at mid-off. A yard higher, a yard to left or right, and it would have been four runs. Instead it was 53 for 4, last man 32.

  With their champion gone, the crowd began to think the same way as Spofforth. I told you so, they muttered, through lips that were almost blue with cold, I told you so. These Australians are never beaten. They watched in agony as the Australians gathered together in animated clusters, already apparently scenting victory. But surely such a thing was impossible. 32 to win, and 6 good wickets still to fall. No – defeat was impossible.

  Lyttelton came in to partner Lucas. England mustn’t lose another wicket just yet. Both men played with grim concentration. Lyttelton just managed to deflect Spofforth’s faster one off his stumps, and the batsmen scampered three lucky runs. Then he hit a two and two singles, putting the 60 up. The time was a quarter to five. An hour and a quarter still to go, a whole day tomorrow, and only 25 to win.

  The ground had dried sufficiently for Spofforth and Boyle to get more and more movement and life out of the pitch, but Lyttelton and Lucas held firm. Lucas took a single, and then Lyttelton turned Spofforth neatly to long leg for four, bringing the score to 65 and leaving only 20 to win.

  Spofforth and Boyle now tightened up and put on the full pressure. The ball seemed impossible to get away. As maiden over followed maiden over the tension grew unbearable. The crowd lapsed into a heavy silence, and the tinkling of hansom cabs along the Harleyford Road could be clearly heard. The remaining batsmen, watching through the closed windows of the committee room, shivered with a mixture of cold and fright. Every cricketer knows what it is like to wait for his knock in a tight corner when he can’t keep warm. A. G. Steel’s teeth were chattering; he could not keep his jaw still. Barnes’s teeth would have been chattering too if he had had any, but he wore false teeth and had taken them out.

  At this crucial point, Hornby decided to change his batting order. Everything he had done so far in the match had been right. He had followed his instinct, and he was bound to do so again. C. T. Studd was next man in, Studd, the man with the highest average against the Australians that season. But in the first innings Studd had been bowled by a Spofforth breakback for 0. Hornby decided to put Steel, his Lancashire colleague, in next, to promote Read, who had carried out his bat for 1
9 in the first innings, to put Barnes in after Read, because these two had done so well together in the Players’ match, and to hold Studd in reserve at No. 10. If all else failed, surely Studd would pull out something special to make sure of the match.

  Studd, waiting with his pads on, felt so cold that he asked the Surrey secretary for a blanket. With this wrapped around him he marched up and down the committee room in nervous agitation, still shivering with cold.

  Few cricket grounds can have equalled the drear, chill atmosphere of the Oval that afternoon. From the small brick pavilion the players looked out on a leaden, sombre scene that the light and the weather had drained of all colour. Surrounding the cockpit of the playing area was a panorama of grey, relieved only by the low white sight screen at the far end of the ground. To the left of the sight-screen rose a tiered wooden stand whose occupants, exposed to the elements, huddled together for warmth. To the right of the sight screen a marquee was almost hidden amongst the throng of people. Behind rose the three-headed monster of the gasworks, ugly and strictly functional, dwarfing the tall chimneys of the riverside factories at Lambeth. Even the brick façades of the occasional cluster of houses that broke up the skyline, with their varying elevations and outlines and their dingy, backstreet drabness, seemed to stare on the scene with a cold indifference.