by Chris Waters
Several Yorkshire players passed through the depot, including Len Hutton, Herbert Sutcliffe, Maurice Leyland, Arthur Wood, Norman Yardley and Frank Smailes. It prompted Verity to assert: “I reckon we can put out a team from this depot to beat any county side in England – except Yorkshire, of course.” Verity had little aptitude for drill and was not a natural soldier, Colonel Shaw observing that “to watch him stripping a Bren gun, you would think that he had two right hands, mainly consisting of thumbs”. Verity’s forte was in the theatre of tactics, which, according to Colonel Shaw, was due to his ability to appreciate and adapt to cricketing situations. Verity still found time for the odd game of cricket, and in the summer of 1940 he represented Catterick Garrison alongside former Nottinghamshire captain Arthur Carr. In 1941, he played several times in Northern Ireland after the battalion was posted to Omagh. Yardley was also part of the unit and he remembered the rough Irish pitches were “sometimes more suitable for foxhunting”, Verity feasting on flummoxed club players. In his final appearance, Verity took eight for 55 in a 21-run defeat to a North-West Ireland XI.
It is a little known fact that Verity one other time took 10 wickets in an innings. It happened on 28 June 1941 during a flying visit back to Yorkshire, when he captured 10 for 51 for Rawdon against Earby at Rawdon in his last match in England. After Rawdon made 209 for nine declared, Verity routed the visitors for 136. He bowled 12.5 overs with one maiden, and five men were caught, two caught-and-bowled, two stumped and one lbw. Watching was his eight-year-old son, Douglas. “I can see him in my mind running into bowl. He was operating from the Emmott Arms end, and the match was in aid of the Red Cross, I think. It was a wonderful performance, and it gave me an idea of what the 10 for 10 must have been like.”
Rawdon Cricket Club, where Verity played his earliest cricket and where he claimed another 10-wicket haul in his last match in England.
In early 1942, 1st Battalion was posted to India, from where it made its way to Egypt, via Persia and Syria, prior to the Sicily landings. While in India, Verity suffered so badly from dysentery that doctors advised a change of climate. However, he stubbornly insisted on re-joining his men despite not being fully fit. For the rest of his days, Colonel Shaw blamed himself for not demanding Verity go home. In Egypt, where the battalion carried out intensive training, the soldiers took time off one day to play a game of cricket in Cairo. Verity took five wickets against Gezira Sporting Club, and the Green Howards won in the last over. There was one last match before the Sicily invasion – Verity’s final game of cricket. It took place at El Shatt, on the east bank of the Suez Canal, against fellow British servicemen, Verity returning six for 37 to seal another win.
The Green Howards launched their attack on German positions at Catania, Sicily, in the early hours of 20 July 1943. The 1st Battalion was part of the Allied effort and attached to Eighth Army led by General Montgomery. Eighth Army’s objective was to capture the south-east of the island, its airfields and ports. Italian defences were soon swept aside but German ones – featuring crack troops from Hermann Goering Division – put up better resistance. The attack began with a heavy bombardment of the Plain of Catania, low-lying land dotted with water channels against the soaring backdrop of Mount Etna. B Company led the Green Howards’ offensive and Verity was its commander, responsible for around 100 soldiers. After the initial attack, Verity and his men crawled towards the enemy through fields of corn under cover of moonlight. Tracer bullets whizzed over their heads and mortars landed all around them, setting fire to the corn as they crept. Although B Company proceeded as planned, supporting companies were less successful and Verity’s men became exposed. In a desperate attempt to salvage the situation, he ordered a platoon to try to take the enemy’s strongest point, a nearby farmhouse, and another to give covering fire. Almost immediately, Verity was hit by flying shrapnel and his second-in-command, Lieutenant Laurie Hesmondhalgh, killed outright. As he lay in agony amid blazing corn, bleeding profusely from a gaping chest wound, Verity instructed his men to “keep going” and to “get them out of the farmhouse and get me into it”. But it was no good … At around 4.30 a.m., B Company began to fall back and the stricken Verity was trapped with his batman, Private Tom Rennoldson, behind enemy lines. A fresh-faced fellow with chiselled cheekbones and mousy brown hair, Rennoldson, from Durham, had been Verity’s batman for almost three years. Their bond transcended the confines of rank and Rennoldson nursed his captain while sending for a stretcher. It never came … When dawn broke on the Catanian plain, illuminating a battlefield strewn with bodies, Verity and Rennoldson were swiftly captured. Verity was hoisted on to a broken mortar carrier, cushioned with corn, and taken to a makeshift field hospital about a mile away, where he underwent an emergency operation. When they lifted him on to the operating table, a grenade fell from his shirt and Rennoldson was ordered to unprime it. Later, Rennoldson was allowed to share a tin of soup with his captain before the Germans sent him to a POW camp in Austria. He never saw Verity again.
Along with fellow British prisoners, Verity was taken in an open railway truck through Sicily and on through the Straits of Messina, a narrow section of water between the eastern tip of Sicily and the Italian mainland. Eleven years earlier, he’d travelled this same stretch with his England team-mates en route to Australia for the Bodyline tour. Now his destination was the city of Reggio, where the prisoners spent one night in a military hospital. The following day, they were bundled on to a straw-covered goods train and taken to Naples – a journey that took almost two days. During this time, Verity fell increasingly ill and feverish. His bandages were filthy and his wound became infected. The prisoners were taken first to a German hospital, but it was full so they were moved to the military hospital at Caserta, some 16 miles away. Verity was in excruciating pain and part of a rib was pressing on his lung. He underwent another operation and part of the rib was removed using only a local anaesthetic. The operation seemed successful and Verity talked enthusiastically of repatriation, proudly showing fellow prisoners a photograph of his wife and two sons. However, he suffered three haemorrhages and, on 31 July 1943, 11 days after he’d been wounded, he died. Tragically, the Sicily campaign was to have been his last action as it had been intended to withdraw him from active service.
Some 100 miles away, at Chieti prisoner of war camp on the Adriatic coast, Bill Bowes chanced to hear of Verity’s death from a Canadian airman, who’d been shot down over Naples a few days earlier. “Say, there was some cricketer guy at Caserta,” said the airman innocently. The Canadian hesitated over the name before recalling: “Verity … yeah, that’s right, Verity.” Anxious for news of his dear friend, Bowes enquired: “Do you mean Hedley Verity was in hospital at Caserta?” “Yeah, that’s the fellow,” said the airman. “But he’s not in hospital now. He was buried yesterday. He must have been some important guy. The Italians gave him full military honours.” Bowes staggered into the deserted roadway that ran through the camp. Pain sliced through the pit of his stomach. “The wind was cold but I did not notice it. For a long while I walked up and down that road, time stilled, living again the many incidents and hours we had shared together.”
Back home, it was reported that Verity was wounded and missing. The Verity family spent an anxious August awaiting updates. Finally, confirmation came on 1 September that he’d died. It was four years to the day that he’d bowled his last ball for Yorkshire at Hove. “I will never forget the sight of father’s face when he received the news of the death,” said Verity’s sister, Grace. “We had been assured that Hedley had been picked up and was a prisoner of war, and then came the letter from the Red Cross to tell us that he had died in hospital.”
One of the most poignant photographs ever taken: Kathleen Verity and Hedley Verity senior listen as Private Tom Rennoldson recounts Captain Hedley Verity’s harrowing last days in Sicily.
The news shocked Yorkshire and the cricketing world. Wilfred Rhodes wrote to the family: “I know you were proud of him. He was worth it, and
that makes it all the harder to bear.” In another message, George Hirst told them: “I am so glad that I knew him so well and will cherish his memory as long as I live.” The following spring, Brian Sellers led tributes in the Wisden almanack: “His character and disposition never changed amidst all his many triumphs; he just remained Hedley Verity. I feel honoured to have met and played with him.” In the same edition, R. C. Robertson-Glasgow supplied an epitaph that spoke for an empire: “His dignity was not assumed; it was the natural reflection of mind and body harmonised and controlled. He was solid, conscientious, disciplined; and something far more. In all that he did, till his most gallant end, he showed the vital fire, and warmed others in its flame.”
“In all that he did, till his most gallant end, he showed the vital fire, and warmed others in its flame”. R.C. Robertson-Glasgow’s perfect epitaph for the perfect sportsman.
In the months and years after Verity’s death, people speculated what he might have accomplished had he lived. He’d have been almost 41 at the start of the 1946 season, when Championship cricket in England resumed, past it by contemporary standards but not by those of the 1940s. Although the war would have cost him a wealth of wickets, it would not have robbed him of his natural talent. Arthur Mitchell felt Verity would have played for another decade and formed the bedrock of the post-war Yorkshire side with Len Hutton. Others felt he’d have become Yorkshire captain and possibly England captain. J. M. Kilburn believed cricket “lost an enormous influence for good” and thought Verity would have been “influential in the councils of cricket”. Verity’s son, Douglas, believed his father would have stayed in the army as he savoured the camaraderie and teamwork, while Verity himself raised an interesting possibility. During his days in Northern Ireland, he’d told a friend: “After the war, I would like to go into politics to make this world a better place to live in.”
Whether or not Verity would have returned to cricket, and perhaps to further 10-wicket hauls, the statistics show he was one of the greatest bowlers who ever lived. In a career of just nine years, he took 1,956 wickets at 14.90, by far the best average of his time. Of the 38 men who have taken more than 1,900 first-class wickets, Verity’s average is second only to Alfred Shaw, the Nottinghamshire slow bowler of the 19th century, whose 2,027 wickets came at 12.12. However, Shaw played on more bowler-friendly pitches and had a first-class career-span of 34 years. Verity, in contrast, flourished in a decade dominated by batsmen. His total included 1,558 first-class wickets for Yorkshire at 13.70, including 1,304 County Championship wickets at 13.20. He topped the national averages in his first and last seasons and never finished lower than fifth.
Statistics, of course, are all well and good but they overlook in Yorkshire a fundamental question: who was better, Verity or Rhodes? The answer, alas, is blowing in the wind and definitive judgements impossible. Verity averaged 14.90 against Rhodes’s 16.72, whereas Rhodes took more wickets and had greater longevity. Verity also bowled to a bloke called Bradman. “People argue whether my Dad or Wilfred was the best, but you can only be the best in your own time,” said Douglas Verity. “My Dad bowled on the batting paradises of the 1930s, whereas Wilfred bowled on less well-prepared pitches. Dad was more versatile because he could bowl slow or medium-pace. But, then again, I’m prejudiced.”
On the fifth anniversary of the outbreak of war, Rhodes umpired a memorial match for Verity at Roundhay Park, Leeds, along with Emmott Robinson. The game between Herbert Sutcliffe’s Yorkshire XI and Jack Appleyard’s XI was ruined by rain but raised several thousand for the Red Cross and local charities, plus £1,000 to endow a Hedley Verity bed at Leeds General Infirmary. Sutcliffe’s side featured five men who’d played in the 10 for 10 match in the form of himself, Arthur Mitchell, Maurice Leyland, Wilf Barber and Arthur Wood, while Appleyard’s contained another in George Vernon Gunn. A prominent figure in Yorkshire cricket, Appleyard organised many matches at Roundhay Park in the war and his side for this one included several Test stars, including Wally Hammond. One man who’d dearly love to have been there was Verity’s great friend and captain Douglas Jardine, who’d been posted to India after serving at Dunkirk. Jardine had been lucky to survive in France after becoming detached from his men only to be spotted and shown to a waiting destroyer. “We’re bound to be all right now, Sir,” said his batman, “she’s named after your favourite bowler.”
The ship was called HMS Verity.
10
A Feat Without Equal
Throughout the writing of this book I have feared waking up one day to find that someone, somewhere has beaten Hedley Verity’s 10 for 10. Perhaps in some fixture in farthest Zimbabwe, or some meaningless match on the Indian subcontinent. 10 for 10: Hedley Verity and the Story of Cricket’s Greatest Bowling Feat could become the story of cricket’s second-greatest bowling feat, its third-greatest, and so on. Such is the risk when writing about records, even those that may never be broken. However, there is no more striking aspect of the 10 for 10 than the fact that it stands so apart from its rivals. There have been over 50,000 first-class games, and up to four times as many individual team innings, and yet Verity’s record is far out in front. What happened at Headingley on 12 July 1932 was not so much phenomenal as preternatural, a performance that positively defied explanation. To paraphrase cricket historian David Frith’s observation of Don Bradman, the 10 for 10 record is not one in a million, it is much rarer than that.
Just how rare is evident first from the list of 10-wicket hauls. At the time of writing, there have been only 80 in first-class cricket, including two in the mid-19th century for which there is no record of the runs conceded, plus three accomplished in 12-a-side games. Such is Verity’s pre-eminence, only George Geary, the man whose 10 for 18 he beat, also conceded fewer than 20 runs. The third-best analysis on record is 10 for 20 by Premangsu Chatterjee, a left-arm medium-pacer for Bengal against Assam at Jorhat in 1957, followed by leg-spinner Bert Vogler’s 10 for 26 for Eastern Province against Griqualand West at Johannesburg in 1906. The only others to have conceded less than 30 runs all returned figures of 10 for 28. They were pace bowler Albert Moss, for Canterbury against Wellington at Christchurch in 1889, medium-pacer Bill Howell, for Australians against Surrey at The Oval in 1899, and pace bowler Naeem Akhtar, for Rawalpindi B against Peshawar at Peshawar in 1995. Verity’s 10 for 36 against Warwickshire at Headingley in 1931 is also the joint ninth-best analysis of all-time. He is the only man to feature twice in the top 10.
If the 10 for 10 is the Everest of 10-fers, a performance that towers above other high peaks, its supremacy is swelled by the fact that no one has even endangered its summit. In no subsequent 10-wicket haul was the bowler in position to have beaten Verity; e.g., if he had nine for five before ending with figures of 10 for 28. The same is true of those who have taken nine-wicket hauls. The best nine-fer since Verity was leg-spinner Ahad Khan’s nine for seven for Railways against Dera Ismail Khan at Lahore in 1964. However, Khan’s wicket-taking sequence was ruined by a run out in a game Railways won by a record margin of an innings and 851 runs. The next best nine-fer was by Verity himself – nine for 12 against Kent at Sheffield in 1936, when he took the last nine wickets. No one, in fact, has taken the first nine wickets for less than 10 runs to give themselves chance of beating the record. Even other outstanding analyses such as Jim Laker’s eight for two for England against The Rest at Bradford in 1950 did not threaten it; the score was 10 for one when Laker came on to bowl, Trevor Bailey having dismissed David Sheppard.
Verity’s record seems more remarkable as time goes by. Nowadays, 10-wicket hauls are rarer than hen’s teeth, never mind those at such low cost. Again, at the time of writing, there have only been four in the 21st century, the last in England by Ottis Gibson, the former West Indies pace bowler and England bowling coach, who took 10 for 47 for Durham against Hampshire at Chester-le-Street in 2007. Gibson’s was the first 10-fer in England since swing bowler Richard Johnson’s 10 for 45 for Middlesex against Derbyshire at Derby in 1994, its
elf the first in Championship cricket since seamer Ian Thomson’s 10 for 49 for Sussex against Warwickshire at Worthing 30 years earlier. The feat is even more infrequent in Test cricket. Only two men have taken 10 in a Test innings, off-spinner Laker returning 10 for 53 against Australia at Old Trafford in 1956 and leg-spinner Anil Kumble 10 for 74 for India against Pakistan at Delhi in 1999. Laker also took nine for 37 in the first innings to finish with figures of 19 for 90. He is the only man to have taken more than 17 wickets in a first-class match.
The main reason 10-wicket hauls have become scarce is that modern pitches are covered. For all that Verity’s record was not due to the pitch, he could not, as The Times made clear, “have accomplished his outstanding success without its aid”, even if it was “only an accessory after his flight and length, which continually made the batsmen play the strokes they did not wish to after the ball had pitched”. In Verity’s day, spin bowlers flourished on rain-affected wickets and many exceptional analyses were recorded. Quicker bowlers, too, could be more of a handful, with the uncovered surfaces in striking contrast to the placid pitches made possible today by improvements to drainage and groundsmen’s equipment. However, an important part of any 10-wicket performance is luck, and just as bowlers had more chance of taking 10 on uncovered pitches, so, of course, did their colleagues. The chances of George Macaulay – one of the greatest spin bowlers of his era – not taking a wicket at Headingley in 1932 while Verity ran riot were remote. When one considers all the genuinely sticky pitches in Verity’s time, it becomes even more pertinent that no one – particularly a spinner – has challenged his crown. In those days, spinners would often open the bowling and had more chance of taking a 10-wicket haul; nowadays, the best they can normally hope for is an over before lunch, perhaps after pacemen have made early inroads.