by John Wisden
NAIDU, TORAM SHESHRAO, who died on April 1, aged 93, was believed to have been the oldest Indian first-class cricketer at the time of his death. Naidu had made his debut for Central Provinces and Berar against Douglas Jardine’s 1933-34 MCC tourists, falling to the Kent leg-spinner “Father” Marriott for a duck. He did better in the second innings, making 32 in a useful stand with his captain, C. K. Nayudu. Naidu played six further first-class matches in a career that stretched to 1951-52, scoring 56 against Hyderabad in December 1945. He was a long-time friend of the former Indian board president N. K. P. Salve, who died on the same day.
NEBLETT, CLEMENT EVERTON, died on holiday in St Vincent in March, aged 61. Clem Neblett was a powerful left-hand batsman and right-arm medium-pacer whose heavy scoring for the Police club in his native Guyana merited more than six first-class matches before he emigrated to Toronto in 1978. He soon became one of the leading all-rounders in local club cricket, and captained Canada in the ICC Trophy tournaments in England in 1982 and 1986. At the time of his death, Neblett had been resident in the United States for nearly 20 years.
NIMBALKAR, BHAUSAHEB BABUSAHEB, who died on December 11, the day before his 93rd birthday, will always be remembered for an innings of 443 not out in 1948-49. Nimbalkar was closing in on what was then the world record – Don Bradman’s 452 not out for New South Wales against Queensland in 1929-30 – when the opposition refused to play on. Kathiawar had been bowled out for 238 on the opening day at Poona, and when Maharashtra reached 826 for four by tea on the third, the Thakore Saheb of Rajkot – Kathiawar’s princely leader – ordered the Maharashtra captain, Raja Gokhale, to declare. If not, his team were going home. Gokhale offered to stop after two more overs, to allow Nimbalkar a chance of the record – but Kathiawar simply packed their bags and left. “Their skipper felt the name of his team would figure in the record books for the wrong reasons,” said Nimbalkar. “I was left stranded in the middle of the ground.” Only at tea had Nimbalkar been told how close he was: “Had I known, I would have gone for the runs.” He had hit 46 fours and a six during more than eight hours at the crease, but there was, though, some consolation. “I got a personal message from Sir Don Bradman,” he said. “Even though he had the world record, and I had only the record in India, he still rated my innings as better.” Strangely, Nimbalkar never won a Test cap, although he averaged more than 56 in a long Ranji Trophy career that stretched into the 1960s; his only taste of representative cricket was an unofficial Test against a Commonwealth XI in 1949-50, when he batted at No. 9 in both innings. “I don’t know why the selectors sidelined me all the time,” he said. “What really hurt me was that some less talented players got a chance to represent the country.”
NORTON, GERALD IVOR DESMOND, died on July 18, aged 93. Ivor Norton was a talented slow left-armer who captained Malvern College in 1938. He had a long club career, and also played two first-class matches for MCC. In the first, in Dublin in 1958, he took four for 44, then five for 26, as Ireland – needing 97 to win a rain-affected match – hung on for a draw at 82 for nine. Two years later, back in Dublin and now 41 years old, he took six for 57 and two for six, to finish his brief first-class career with 17 wickets at 7.82. Norton’s captain in both matches was George Chesterton, another distinguished Malvernian who died in 2012.
PAGARA, THE PIR (Syed Shah Mardan Shah II), who died on January 10, aged 83, was the spiritual leader of the Hurs, a Sufi Muslim community in Pakistan’s Sind province. The Pir was also an early patron of Pakistan cricket, embracing the sport despite the fact that the colonial government had hanged his father during an insurrection in 1943. He refounded the Sind Cricket Association, and entered their team in the Quaid-e-Azam Trophy: in his only first-class appearance he captained Sind against Bahawalpur in November 1953, scoring one and 15. Two seasons later, his own XI took on the touring MCC A-team at Hyderabad. He sponsored several promising cricketers; one of them, the Test fast bowler Mohammad Munaf, once hit him in the groin in the nets, and was dismayed to see a crowd of angry Hurs approaching with raised sticks. The Pir staggered to his feet and restored calm by assuring his followers he was all right. In later years he founded his own political party, the Pakistan Muslim League F (for “functional”).
PAGE, GLENYS LYNNE, who died on November 7, aged 72, was a left-arm spinner who played twice for New Zealand in the inaugural women’s World Cup, in England in 1973. In her first match, at St Albans, she took six for 20 as West Indies were skittled for 61. In December 1971, Page had taken eight for 54 for Auckland against Canterbury, and a few days later added seven for 55 against Otago.
PARR, FRANCIS DAVID, died on May 8, aged 83. There were some sound judges, Herbert Strudwick among them, who saw Frank Parr keep wicket for Lancashire in the early 1950s and concluded that a rival might be emerging for Godfrey Evans’s England place. Instead, Parr’s career ended after 49 matches when he became victim of the martinet Cyril Washbrook’s promotion to the Lancashire captaincy. Washbrook took vigorous exception to Parr’s immersion in jazz music, a world that could hardly have been more different from his captain’s view of county cricket.
Parr employed the hands that were so dextrous in the wicketkeeper’s gloves to play the trombone and, if his cricket career did not reach the predicted heights, his life as a musician proved more fulfilling. In the late ’50s, he was a member of the highly regarded Mick Mulligan Band, with George Melly as lead singer, and also played on stage with Louis Armstrong. Parr was a scruffy bohemian with a relaxed approach to personal hygiene and a penchant for cigarettes and whisky. According to Brian Statham, he “looked what he was: a spare-time musician”; Melly felt he “concealed a formidable, well-read intelligence behind a stylised oafishness”.
He was born in Wallasey, on the Wirral, and made his Lancashire debut at Fenner’s in 1951. The following summer, in only his second Championship appearance, he caught the attention of Strudwick at The Oval. And while his keeping to the spinners was a work in progress, he was acrobatic by the standards of the time, especially for a tall man. He was selected for MCC against Yorkshire at Lord’s in 1953, and asked whether he might be available to tour the West Indies that winter. But he was not selected, and by July 1954 his first-class career was over.
The reason was simple: the intransigent Washbrook had taken over as captain from the easy-going Nigel Howard. He was enraged when Parr arrived for a House of Commons reception wearing a blue shirt and, when Parr produced an untidy performance at Bristol, it was just the excuse he’d been looking for. As the team prepared to head to Edgbaston, Washbrook told him: “Frank, you’re going home.” Exiled to the Seconds, Parr began to play better than ever, leading to discussions about a move to Worcestershire. He might have thrived in the relaxed atmosphere of New Road, but Washbrook put paid to those ambitions with a letter to Worcestershire calling him a “grave social risk”. Parr was devastated. “It’s probably when I took up serious drinking,” he said.
He moved to London and joined the Mick Mulligan Band, whose chaotic years on the road are detailed in Melly’s book Owning Up, which devotes six pages to Parr. He continued to play cricket with a wandering team of jazz musicians called The Ravers, keeping wicket immaculately beyond the age of 60. In his final years, he lived in a council flat not far from Lord’s, where the writer Stephen Chalke was a visitor: “He was a good man, intelligent and sensitive, who lived in a state of complete and utter squalor, existing on coffee, whisky and the odd sausage.” Parr was a regular at ex-players’ evenings at Old Trafford, where Jim Cumbes, the former Lancashire chief executive, recalled: “He used to walk in without fuss, very unobtrusively, looking for the bar. He’d order a large scotch, however early it was. He was always good company.”
PATEL, SANTILAL KARA, who died on November 11, aged 90, was a South African administrator, notably as treasurer of the (non-white) Natal Cricket Board for 14 years from 1977-78, after which they united with the “white” association as the integration process cranked into gear. He was involved with Durb
an’s Bharat club for more than 50 years.
PAWSON, HENRY ANTHONY, OBE, died on October 11, aged 91. Tony Pawson was one of the last of the brilliant all-round sportsmen who emerged from the public schools and bestrode English sport in the first half of the 20th century. He had a good war, became a successful cricketer and footballer, and world champion fly-fisherman; he later combined a career in business with journalism for The Observer and 14 books. Small and self-effacing almost to vanishing point, he would hardly be noticed amid the bustle of a press box. “Modesty” did not do his demeanour justice: Pawson exuded, if anyone cared to notice, a kind of serenity.
He was the son of Guy Pawson, who captained Oxford in 1910, then joined the Sudan Civil Service: the first fish Tony almost caught was a Nile perch so large it almost caught him. As a 15-year-old at Winchester, he made 237 in a colts match at Lord’s, and in 1940 he emerged, said Wisden, as school cricket’s “batsman of the year” – a cutter and hooker “with a vigilance in defence beyond his years”. Thrust into the war, he was commissioned in the Rifle Brigade, attaining the rank of major, saw active service in Italy and North Africa, and was mentioned in despatches. His exploits included taking part in the bloody battle of Fondouk Pass in 1943, a tank attack he compared to the Charge of the Light Brigade. Once, a bullet passed through his forage cap. Having survived all that, he not surprisingly revelled in the joys of post-war cricket. However, his approach to sport, as well as his status, was amateur. Called up by Kent straight after demob in 1946, he made 90 on debut against Hampshire, and was soon given his cap and told by his captain Bryan Valentine he was in for the season. “Sorry, skipper, I’m off fishing,” came the reply.
Pawson appeared intermittently, but often successfully, for Kent until 1953. His batting never lost its youthful vigour, and his nifty singles were much appreciated by the spectators (though not by some of the old pros). But his remark to Valentine set the tone: he had too much else to do. At first, this was university: he made 135 in the 1947 Varsity Match, and the following year emulated his father by captaining Oxford to victory at Lord’s. Pawson was also a fine footballer – a Blue, an England amateur international, and an Olympian in 1948, before making two appearances for Charlton in the First Division in 1951-52. Asked if he might turn out occasionally, he agreed – assuming that meant the reserves – in return for tickets to the Christmas Day match against Spurs. At the game, the manager, Jimmy Seed, asked him if he fancied turning out on the wing in the return fixture next day. Advised merely to have a pre-match whisky to steady his nerves, he scored the winner. But his main football fame was as the speedy right-winger of the sensational Pegasus team of Oxbridge types that won the Amateur Cup in 1953.
On weekdays, Pawson rose to personnel director of Reed International. In 1968, however, he became cricket and football correspondent of The Observer. Although very part-time, he was game enough to head off from a Test and cover a First Division match immediately afterwards. His writing was elegant rather than glittering, but his work could reveal the competitive steel that underlay his bland persona and apparent dilettantism. For the Cricket Writers’ Club collection of essays, Cricket Heroes, he chose Douglas Jardine. He explained: “Whatever your attitude to a game, if you play at any level, you should play to win, with every fibre of your being devoted to doing well.” And Pawson lived up to his motto in 1984, becoming – at the age of 62 – the first Briton to win the world fly-fishing championship, catching 23 trout in three four-hour sessions on the River Tormes in Spain, the ultimate triumph for his understated skill and determination.
PEART, ERROL, was shot dead in Miami on December 2. He was 59, and had been trying to prevent a robbery at the car wash he owned. Peart, a Jamaican-born opener, was the leading run-scorer for the United States in the 1990 ICC Trophy in the Netherlands with 209, including a century against East and Central Africa.
PERERA, JAYALATHGE BERNARD NIHAL, died on November 9, aged 56. Bernard Perera was one of the Sri Lankan players who took part in an unauthorised tour of apartheid South Africa in 1982, which in effect ended his chances of an international career (the players were originally banned for 25 years, although this was lifted after eight). He went on to coach the national women’s team. A hard-hitting batsman and fine fielder, Perera was Sri Lanka’s twelfth man in their first official Test, against England in Colombo early in 1982, and toured Pakistan shortly afterwards. But he could not break into the side – despite making 56 not out for the Board President’s XI in England’s warm-up game – and signed up for the rebel tour later the same year. His only century came on that trip, in his final first-class match: 102 against a strong South African XI, who won by an innings at Cape Town thanks in part to Graeme Pollock, who fell to Perera’s off-spin for 197.
PERERA, SOMACHANDRA SARANAPALA, died on October 3, aged around 86. Chandra Perera was a Sri Lankan cricket historian and statistician, dubbed the “Walking Wisden” by friends. He used to collect scraps of information and keep them in cardboard boxes, which came in useful in 1999 for a 600-page collection of trivia and statistics called the Janashakthi Book of Cricket, which covered 165 years of the game in Sri Lanka. Perera also produced several books on Sri Lankan schools’ cricket, and numerous souvenir programmes for touring teams.
PILLING, HARRY, who died on September 22, aged 69, was 5ft 3in and thought at the time to be the smallest player in county cricket. But his height proved no impediment during the late 1960s and early ’70s, when Lancashire were the best one-day side in the country. Pilling’s frequent partnerships with Clive Lloyd – more than a foot taller – provided an engaging study in contrasts. Once, the story goes, the two were standing together between overs. “Pilling,” said the TV commentator, “is the one in the cap.”
Pilling began his cricketing life with Staley in the Saddleworth League and, after leaving school, joined Lancashire in 1959 aged 16. Not that the game brought great security: for much of his career he had to find work when the season finished. He made coffins, was an apprentice butcher, put the handles on umbrellas, and worked in a cotton mill. He even shovelled coal. “I was No. 1 shoveller,” he boasted. “Three shovelfuls to a bag – not bad for somebody of my size.” When he joined the staff, he was a leg-spinner standing only 4ft 7in and weighing little more than five stone. Jam and bread, he said, had been among his most regular meals. And the Old Trafford he walked into could be unpleasant: the atmosphere was shaped by autocrats such as Cyril Washbrook (“an arrogant professional who wished he was an amateur,” reckoned Harry), and it would be nearly another decade until Lancashire’s modernisation was led by Jack Bond. “They called them the good old days,” said Pilling, “but they weren’t always.”
For three years he played for the Second Eleven and, when the call came for a first-class match, it was unexpected. “Stand up and give Pierre a round of applause,” ordered coach Stan Worthington. Pilling – who had a haircut his team-mates thought made him look like a Frenchman – said: “It were embarrassing. I had to climb off bus past ’em all clapping.” Pilling played under three captains before Lancashire settled for Bond in 1968. He created a side, partly by accident, which was ideal for the newish game of one-day cricket. Lloyd and Farokh Engineer arrived, Bond was interested in fielding as an attacking strategy, and young locals such as David Hughes and Jack Simmons were, in Pilling’s words, the “kamikaze pilots” who thrashed lower-order runs. The result was Sunday League titles in 1969 and 1970, and a hat-trick of Gillette Cups from 1970. Pilling – now a top-order batsman – was Man of the Match in the first final, despite fearing the format would kill his career. “I was a nicker and a nudger,” he said. “I wasn’t a big strokeplayer. I thought the one-day stuff was just crash-bang-wallop.” As it turned out, his skills of deflection and placement, and his square cut, were perfect attributes: he was the first player to reach 1,000 runs in the Sunday League. “We all adored him in the dressing-room,” said the fast bowler Peter Lever. “He was the essence of Lancastrian cricket. It was almost as if he would die
for his team-mates.”
Pilling scored more than 15,000 first-class runs, but never played for England. He came close twice, in 1970 and 1976, when a pair of hundreds in July looked likely to win him a place against West Indies. He remembered driving with the radio on, listening to the squad being called. “They went past ‘P’ and I thought: ‘That’s that, then.’ I’d have loved to have played. Just to get one cap and be given the chance. But I wasn’t everyone’s favourite person.” The dressing-room whisper, perhaps apocryphal, was that Washbrook – who had been an England selector – had warned: “Forget it. He’s a drunkard.” Pilling gladly admitted to liking a few pints, and grinned that he would add a couple of miles to his petrol claims on away trips to pay for them. In truth, he liked too many, and it was after his career ended in 1982 that his drinking became particularly damaging. He described his local pub as “all effin’ and blindin’ and gum boots”. His best mate at Lancashire had been John Sullivan, a former amateur boxing champion, and the pair caused mischief for years. Their dressing-room nicknames of H. Dirt and J. Filth summed up their relationship and pursuits. “We were in a club one night,” said Harry, “and some bloke tried to touch John up in t’toilet, so Sully smacked him once and he were flat out on t’stones.”