by A. W. Pullin
"We were about 350 miles out of Colombo, and had not seen another ship. It was Sunday night, about nine o'clock, and church service had just concluded. I was looking over the side of our vessel, in company with W. W. Read, Fred Morley, and others of our party, when I saw in the near distance a full-rigged ship coming before a brisk breeze straight toward us. I looked a moment and then exclaimed, 'My word, she's coming too near to be pleasant; there's going to be an accident, if they don't mind.' I had scarcely got the words out of my mouth when the prow of the vessel crashed into our steamer, near the engine-room, tearing her plates and leaving an ugly gap large enough to drive a coach and pair through. Then she sheered off and lay to.
"What my sensations were I cannot describe. Inwardly I bade every one at home good-bye . Ladies were fainting and praying, passengers and crew rushed hurriedly about, while the captain called calmly for 'the boats.' I seized and donned a life-belt; others did the same. The lifeboat and other small boats were launched, and preparations were made to leave, as it was thought, the sinking ship. But the ship was not sinking. By the mercy of Providence the great rent in her side stopped about half a yard above the water-line. The sea, too, was as calm as a mill-pond, and remained so during the four days that it took us to put back to Colombo.
"We had four hundred souls on board, the sea was infested with sharks, and one shudders even now to think what would have happened had the blow gone below the water-line or had the collision occurred in a stormy sea. The ship that collided with us was the Glen Roy, about 1500 tons burthen, and we towed her back to Colombo. We were detained there nearly a week for repairs. A vote was taken by the passengers as to whether we should wait for the ship to be made seaworthy again, or go by another boat, and we decided to wait.
"That collision practically finished poor Fred Morley. He had several ribs broken when the Glen Roy struck us, but the nature of his injuries was not known until we got to Melbourne. One day I found him crying like a child in his bedroom. When asked what was the reason he said, 'I don't know what is the matter with me, but there is something seriously wrong somewhere.' I spoke to Mr Bligh, and he had Morley examined, with the result that the fracture of the ribs was discovered. We missed his bowling sadly during the tour. But the effect was much worse than that. The accident laid the seeds of a fatal illness. Morley did not live long after his return to England."
The Colombo experience was not the only narrow escape Barlow had. "On the 1881 trip we had been out to supper across the river at Sydney, and being detained just missed our boat. It was moving off when we reached the wharf. We were annoyed at our ill-luck. But that boat never reached its destination. It was split open in a collision and sent to the bottom, and several of those on board found a watery grave. I think Providence must have been watching over us on that occasion also."
In his three trips to Australia Barlow never missed a match; that is to say, he played in every game in which the three teams took part. It is probable that no other Anglo-Australian cricketer can say the same. In one of the last matches he hurt his foot badly, and had a man to run for him. He wished to be able to say he had played in all matches; otherwise he would have stood out
The 1881 trip was made vid San Francisco. It was there that a celebrated baseball-pitcher pitched the team out for a small score in the first innings. The late Ed. Peate and George Ulyett, in their "Talks," mention that in the second innings, so far from objecting to the style of the "pitcher," they hoped he would be kept on throughout, and the pitcher "nearly pitched his arm off" while Ulyett and Barlow were making 166 runs. Of that incident Barlow says—
"Ulyett and I took twenty half-crowns to one that we would not put 100 on in the second innings before we were parted. We won the bet easily enough; before I left the score was 166. On that tour, when at Sydney, playing against the Combined Eleven of Australia, there was another curious batting success. When Ulyett and I went in to open the second innings, George said, 'Now, Dick, I'll be Mr Hornby; let's see if we can't put 100 on before we are parted.' 'Right,' said I, 'we will.' And we did; the score was 122 when the first wicket fell. Ulyett made 67 and myself 62.
"The first eleven a-side match I played in in Australia commenced on December 9, 1881, against New South Wales, and I was batting for about four hours for 75—the top figure on our side. As I was walking back to the pavilion a gentleman stepped over the rails, and with ceremonious politeness handed me an old cricket-belt with the remark, 'I thought we had the champion sticker in Alec Bannerman, but you win the belt. Take it.' I took it, and have it to this day."
Barlow considers his best bowling feat in Australia was at Sydney on January 30, 1883, when England won the rubber. The Australians had to go in at the finish to score 153 to win the match. Alec Bannerman and G. Giffen had twenty minutes' batting against them overnight, and not a run could be scored. The next day Murdoch and his men were got out for 83, and England won by 69 runs. Barlow's analysis worked out to the following remarkable figures: 34-2 overs, 20 maidens, 40 runs, 7 wickets. "For this feat," says Barlow, "I was presented with a silver cup and other mementoes, and some enthusiastic admirers of the Old Country carried me shoulder high off the ground and collected ^30 for me. This was very kind of them, though the 'chairing' business is rather embarrassing.
"I had another experience of that kind at home earlier on in my career, when Mr Hornby and I did a big performance for the first wicket for Lancashire. It was in a match against Yorkshire in 1875, when we had to make 148, and knocked them off without being separated. I need hardly say I did not get most of the runs. This was at Old Trafford. After the innings the crowd rushed at us, and we bolted. In those days the players had much farther to go to their dressing-room than the gentlemen, and Mr Hornby escaped in time. But I was too far away to save myself, and was carried in shoulder high. Afterwards my friends collected and gave me ^10 for the performance."
Of the famous 7 runs' defeat of England by Australia at the Oval on August 29, 1882, Barlow has an explanation which has not previously been given to the world. He says—
"I admit England ought to have got the runs at the finish, but in my opinion they ought not to have had even so many as 85 to get. Mr Hornby was our captain, and he went out, in my judgment, a bit too soon on the second day. The ground was wet, and Peate and I could not stand, while the ball was like soap. I had to get the groundsman to fetch a spade to get the mud out of the bowling-holes so that I could fill them up with sawdust. In the first innings of the match my analysis was 31 overs, 22 maidens, 19 runs, 5 wickets. In the second, 27 runs were hit off me, and I could not get a wicket. I ground my teeth with vexation time and time again; and if ever I swore in a match—to myself—it was then. There was some nervousness on the English side at the finish, but I was not nervous, even though Spofforth did bowl me for a duck. This match, by the way, enables me to make a statement—not boastfully, but as a fact of interest. I was selected to both bat and bowl first for England (also for the Players v. Gentlemen the same year). That is what no other representative English cricketer has been called upon to do in England.
"Next to Alf. Shaw, I am entitled to say I have clean bowled Dr Grace more frequently than any other bowler did up to 1895. The feat< I mavte^ vou, ^ richly coveted by bowlers, for W. G. is such a champion. In 1888 at Liverpool I bowled him twice, for 4 in the first innings and 16 in the second. I remember that in this match a gentleman who had come from Manchester to see the match bet me a new hat to a shilling, after I had bowled W. G. in the first innings, that I did not repeat the feat in the second. I took the bet, and won it."
Most cricketers have good umpiring stories to tell—when they can think of them. This of Barlow's is one of the best:—
"The 1886-87 team to Australia played against twenty-two of Cootamundra on November 29, 30 of the former year. The mayor of the place stood as one of the umpires. One of the local batsmen hit the ball to Johnny Briggs at cover-point, and he whipping it back with his usual deftness and accuracy to Sherwin, the o
ther batsman, who had thrown in his bat, was easily run out. But he made no effort to go, though Sherwin said, 'Out, my dear fellow, out.' No one had dreamed of appealing to the umpire, but at last we did so. All the answer that could be got from his worship was, 'D—d good bit of fielding that, wasn't it 1' This novel reply produced a convulsion of merriment; and Shaw generously allowed the batsman to have another innings."
Barlow carries on a private business in athletic requisites at his home in Blackpool. He formerly had a larger business at Manchester. One day when in that establishment a man came up and asked him if he kept a full supply of cricket requisites. "Certainly," was the response. "Then," gravely demanded the man, "wrap me up a bottle of arnica, a paper of court plaster, and an arm-sling. I am going to play in a cricket-match this afternoon against Jack Crossland."
Here is another good Crossland story :—
"Some years ago, at Nantwich, Mr Hornby's eleven was playing against a local eighteen. Crossland was bowling, and on one of the local batsmen coming in, the first ball struck him on the knee. The next hit his finger. The batsman dropped his bat and walked away to the pavilion. 'You're not out,' was the remark made to him as he left. 'No,' was the reply, 'but I know if I stop there I soon shall be out, so I'm off,' and off he went."
One item more and this desultory "Talk" must close:—
"In 1889 we had here at Blackpool the most extraordinary exhibition of cricket I have ever seen. It was a match, Barlow's Eleven v. Twenty-two of Blackpool. My team included Mr A. N. Hornby, Mr J. Eccles, Frank Sugg, F. Hearne, G. G. Hearne, Pougher, Albert Ward, Watson, Pilling, Nash, and myself. We were all out for 15 runs. And this to local bowling!"
296
THE LATE GEOEGE ULYETT.
EARLY in the year 1898 one could have taken a lease on the life of George Ulyett. Yet at midsummer he was dead. Colds were contracted and could not be shaken off. He paid what proved to be his last visit to Bramall Lane during the progress of the Yorkshire v. Kent match on June 13. It was a bitterly cold day for the time of the year. Ulyett contracted another cold, pneumonia supervened, and at the end of the week cricketers the world over were shocked to hear of his death. He died on June 18, 1898.
This Talk with George Ulyett took place early in the same year. It had to be arranged by stratagem. Ulyett was the most obliging and genial of men, and would talk of cricket by the hour whenever he could get any one to talk to. But to talk about himself to a journalist with the idea of his conversation being recorded was more than his modesty was equal to. Several appointments between us were made, but there generally came a postcard or a telegram expressing regret that he had been called out of town. At last, with the aid of A. F. Smith, the Yorkshire umpire, "Happy Jack's" modesty was circumvented. "Want to see you on business, 12 to-morrow." This was the purport of Alf. Smith's wire to his friend George. The writer accompanied him. Ulyett saw the game at once, quietly cracked a bottle of champagne, and began to talk. This was at the Vine Hotel, Sheffield, of which Ulyett was at the time the licensee.
The late K. L. Stevenson once said that " wit and a good exterior " presented life in a nutshell. He might have had "Happy Jack " in his mind when he penned the aphorism. It was impossible to be dull, it was scarcely possible to be serious, in George Ulyett's company: that he had a "good exterior" the many thousands who have seen him on duty "At the Sign of the Wicket " need no telling. Alas, that such a fine fellow should have been so suddenly cut down 1
"George Ulyett, commonly known as 'Happy Jack.'" This was the great Pitsmoor cricketer's terse description of himself. George Ulyett was rather proud of the liberty which his friends the world over took with his baptismal name. The real Jack Ulyett is his elder brother, the groundsman at Bramall Lane. But George got his new and public christening more than twenty years ago. In Sydney and in Melbourne, in Brisbane and Adelaide, at Lord's and at Sheffield, among kinsfolk in Africa and cousins in the States, there was only one "Jack" Ulyett, and his name was George.
"How did I get rechristened 'Happy Jack '?" remarked he. "Ton my word I don't quite know, but I believe I owe the service to Charlie Ullathorne. In the dressing-room at one of my earliest matches, when things had gone badly with us, he jokingly remarked, 'Look at George there, he is the only jovial man of the company; we shall have to call him 'Happy Jack.' And they did from that time."
George Ulyett was born on October 21, 1851, at Crabtree, Pitsmoor, which is within a mile or two of the house in which he died. The first cricket club of any pretensions that he was a member of was Pitsmoor. There was a rule of the club that no one under eighteen years of age should play. Ulyett, when sixteen years of age, was proposed as a member by the secretary, a Mr Pickersgill. The committee declined to elect him because he was not of the required age. "In the next two months," George laconically remarked, "I grew to eighteen years, and was duly elected."
"Here is a photo of the team. The great rawbone, angular-looking, untamed colt in the background, with his sleeves rolled up, is your sixteen-year-old humble servant; the bearded player in the front is the real Jack Ulyett, looking older than he does now. The trade I was brought up to was in the rolling-mill. I was so fond of cricket that I usually got the sack about a dozen times during the summer for going away to play in matches, but my employer was generous enough to always take me on again.
"It was in 1871 that I first really took up cricket as a professional. In that year I went to the Bradford Club, and was engaged by them for that and the two following seasons. I was supposed to be a bowler, but of course I could not bowl a bit, and I never did much at batting and fielding any time during my twenty years' career. They used to play me in the Yorkshire team for my whistling.
"While at Bradford I had the good fortune to take part in a performance against the United South at Bradford that was much talked about. The South wanted, I think, 66 to win. I bowled the Big'Un [*W. G.'] at 34, and the other 6 wickets fell to Allan Hill and myself without a run, the batsmen not even crossing the wicket! That performance was one of the chief causes of my getting into the county team.
"I paid my first visit to London in May 1875. It was to Prince's Ground for a North v. South match—there were seven matches under that title that year—and I went up with Allan Hill, Tom Emmett, Eph. Lockwood, and others. When we got there we found that Mr Prince had got twelve men up. 'W. G.' then said, 'Young 'un, you have twelve men, can you stand as umpire? do you know anything at all about it?' I said 'Yes,' of course, and so I put on the white robe. While batting 'W. G.' jumped out to hit a slow ball, but jumped too far, and the ball hit him on the foot. 'How's that 1' 'Out' was my reply. The doctor looked at me—you should have seen him look !—and said, 'What?' I replied as coolly as a judge, 'Out,' and out he had to go.
"When he had gone there was some talk about the incident, and I said I would prove between the innings that I was right in my decision.
"I went into the pavilion at the close of the innings, and found 'W. G.' and others sitting in solemn conclave awaiting me. 'W. G.'still looked things unutterable. He said,'You made a great mistake in my decision.' 'I don't think so, Mr Grace,'was the reply. 'But I am certain,' he said. 'Was not the bowler making the ball turn so much?' (indicating the break with his hand). 'Yes,' I said. 'Well, that wouldn't get a wicket, would it?' he asked. 'But, sir,' said I, 'the ball pitched on your foot. The bowler didn't tell me whether he was going to turn the ball or not, and your foot didn't give it the chance to turn.' 'W. G.' stroked his chin and smiled, and turning good-humouredly to me, said, 'All right, youngster, you'll manage.'"
Ulyett's first appearance with Yorkshire took place in 1873 in the match with Sussex, on July 14, 15, and 16, at Bramall Lane. He was not long in getting into a scrape.
"We went down to play the return match with Sussex at Brighton the next week. Two Bradford gentlemen, members of the Bradford Committee, were there. They asked four or five of 'the boys' to go down in the evening to where they were staying, but none of us turned up. About 10.30 P.M., as I was
coming off the pier alone, I met the two gentlemen, who said they had waited in until nearly ten o'clock for us. They would have me go back with them, and I stayed in their company until about 12.30. On returning to my lodgings—which I had difficulty in finding, as it was my first visit to Brighton—I found I was locked out, and though I nearly 1 at tied the door down I could get no admission. That was a nice how d'ye do. Fortunately a tobacconist next door thought I was knocking his door down, and he came out to see what was the matter. On telling him who I was and that I wanted to get to the Yorkshire cricketers, he kindly took me through his shop to the back, and provided me with a ladder to get to the window of the room where I knew Alf. Smith and Andrew Greenwood were sleeping. I clambered up the ladder and startled my two companions out of sleep. They thought it was a case of burglars, but steadied their excited nerves on recognising my whisper. They let me in through the window, the friendly tobacconist took the ladder away, and I was safe.
"Well, the news of this escapade leaked out, and at the match at Sheffield the following week I was carpeted before the County Committee. I had been up the biggest part of the night on this my first county excursion. They had it down in black and white, and I must answer the dreadful charge. It was the same with the Bradford Committee—I was in a dreadful mess with them! But when I was able to show that I had been in the staid and excellent company of two members of the Bradford Committee, the charge of raking out was withdrawn, and I was exonerated. Of course I didn't tell the County officials about the ladder escapade, though my colleagues did not forget to call me Jack Sheppard for some time afterwards."