Adlestrop
Sunday June 22 in Adlestrop Strollers won by 67 runs Strollers 198-8
(35 overs; Pittams 86no, Travis 50, Daly 18, Dela Rue 15)
Adlestrop, Daylesford and Oddington 131
(30.4 overs; Macaulay 3-11, Oliver 2-16, Dela Rue 2-28, Broster-Turley 1-33, Travis 1-9, Hodgson 1-25). Although Mr Michael Pittams is the designated match
reporter for this clash, he has been beaten to publication by a certain
lady called Jane Austen - a frequent visitor to Adlestrop Manor.
Mr Pittams' account is still thought to be in the process
of construction. This is Miss Austen's version of the historic events of
June 22:
Adlestrop Park, Adlestrop, formerly monastic land, has been
owned by members of the Leigh family since 1553. The Rev Thomas Leigh (d 1813)
was the uncle of the novelist Jane Austen, who first visited in 1794, and again
in 1799 and 1806. There's only a single mention of cricket in Austen's entire
work in the description of Catherine Morland in Northanger Abbey (1817) , who “was fond of all boys’ plays, and
greatly preferred cricket…It was not very wonderful that Catherine, who had by
nature nothing heroic about her, should prefer cricket, baseball, riding on
horseback, and running about the country at the age of fourteen, to books.” In
1827 her nephew George Thomas Knight was instrumental in getting round-arm
bowling accepted by the authorities (it was under-arm only before that).
The following has been found in an obscure archive and does
appear to be the work of Jane Austen herself, though future scholars may have
their doubts.
The X1 of Fleet Street V XI of Adelstrop, Daylesford and Oddington
I happened to be in the idyllic soundings of The Park in
Adelstrop this Sunday past admiring the livestock on the estate and came across
an extraordinary scene in one corner of the grounds. A cricket match was
setting up and I availed myself of the opportunity to gain insight into this
game which I had hitherto dismissed.
A group of itinerant scribblers from London called the
Fleet Street Strollers were on tour in the area and were playing the local team.
Papa used to tell of the time when the Fleet in London was a noxious open sewer
and that the outpourings of the so-called journalists were no better. I was
hopeful that these Strollers were more fragrant.
It appeared that many had dined on the Friday night at Mrs
Patston’s in Bath whose hospitality is legendary in those parts. No doubt her
table was groaning with lobster, lampreys, quail, larks’ tongues, and blancmanges.
And copious amounts of claret. Few have left with clear heads in the morning.
Mrs Patston herself was present at the cricket, with a vast array of coloured
pencils, keeping score in a red ledger, which by all accounts is extremely
valuable and should not be left in a carriage overnight.
Mr Brodbeck appeared to be the elder stateman and master of
the group preferring to remain distant in the outer reaches of the meadow,
smiling indulgently at the antics of his charges. I chanced to overhear his
speech to the players, advising them on how they must behave “we have no truck
with pride and prejudice on the field. Sense and sensibility must be our
watchwords”. I took note of his wise words and may use them at some point in
the future.
Many had strange accents and appeared to be from a colony
called New Zealand, a land far away of which we know little. They seemed
cheerful enough with much bantering among themselves. Some might even be marriageable with some
rudimentary elocution lessons and tutoring in cotillions and quadrilles to
impress at formal dances. Substantial
land holdings and stock would make them even more attractive. At least one
appeared to be on the hunt for a suitable wife and left the ground with a
bouquet for his possible intended. His colleagues seemed content merely of
offer what appeared to be very bad advice on courting and matrimony.
One was referred to as “Lord”, though he seemed to be of
lowly stock and never actually destined for the red benches of the House. He
liked nothing better than to chide teammates and opposition in booming tones
for their errors from the safety of the changing hut. Later he was to be
dismissed from the wicket for wandering out of his ground.
The older members of the group were thin on top but not
around the waist, evidence of lives well lived. One must hope that a surfeit of
port and oysters does not lead to gout or worse.
Mr Oliver was in charge of team affairs and celebrated
wildly when he won the coin-toss. He is apparently the unluckiest man in Surrey
in the calling of the toss. He declared “It is a truth universally
acknowledged, that a on a hot day you bat first.” An ugly sentence but it may
be improved upon. I have noted it also.
I am not entirely cognisant with the rules of cricket but
it seemed that the Strollers appeared to start very badly given the frequency
with which they went out and came back cursing the opponent’s facility with the
ball. Mr Broster-Turley did not even get to face a delivery, having dismissed
himself with an unwise call.
Eventually Mr Pittams, sporting flowing locks and mutton chops
resembling a figure from Gainsborough and the very tall Mr Travis started to
hit the ball to all parts of the park. It was if Mr Darcy and Rochester had
been brought to life before me. The innings concluded with satisfaction
considering the parlous start. There was much talk of ducks (golden,
diamond and possibly porcelain) though there seemed to be a total absence of
poultry thereabouts.
After the tea interval Mr Oliver led his charges onto the
field. There he did much shouting and pointing at where his players should be,
though they did seem not to heed his words to the letter. Happily the bowlers
and fielders eventually respond to his urging and the wickets tumbled at a
pleasing rate. The match ended with victory to the men of Fleet Street much to
the chagrin of the locals. The Strollers celebrated with ale and more
bantering.
I will endeavour to be much kinder about cricket now that I
have seen the intricacies and subtilties of the game. It clearly requires high
levels of skill and athleticism.
I myself made a discreet exit as I have a meeting with my
good friend Thomas Lord tomorrow in London. He is looking to acquire some acreage
in Marylebone for his new cricket ground. I think I have found the very place
for him. If successful he has promised to lobby the Governor of the Bank of
England to have my likeness etched upon banknotes. Failing that, access for all
ladies in future to be allowed into the new pavilion when it is built. I feel
he may have demurred on that point.
Capt: Glen Oliver. Wkt: Steve Rogers.
Match report: Jane Austen. ………………………………………………………………………………………. From one literary giant to another. Despite the presence of Miss Austen (1775-1817) at Adlestrop Park, the Strollers resident laureate The Hon Michael Pittams refuses to cower in her shadow. This is his account of Sunday's proceedings and while it may not be in the same league as Sense and Sensibility it shows more than a little pride and an abundance of prejudice... Detailed recollections of occurrences on Saturday evening
of the 2025 Cotswolds tour, after Jim’s jurisdiction ended and before my
roommate BROOOSTER-Turley tucked me safely into bed, are hard to come by.
The trend of late is to blame Mike Daly for any loss of
memory or morning-after ill health. I’m not sure how fair that is – yes, those
strong yet supple wrists may pour a hefty slug of red wine – but we all
know that very well and we nevertheless provide our consent each time we pass
him our glass. Surely it’s not fair to retrospectively withdraw that consent
the morning after just because we’ve developed headaches and queasy stomachs?
Consent: it’s nuanced.
A smattering of recollections I can provide from the
evening include dinner table remarks from both Simon Brodbeck and Brad
Trebilcock, buttons gradually being undone as the hot and sweaty evening
progressed towards cooling ice cream, transitioning to the outdoor tables and
cooler air once we’d finished our excellent meal, Jim producing a ‘goon’ bag of
wine to bolster the afterparty (he carries one in his car at all times, you
never know when you might get stuck in traffic), Pittams defeating Trebilcock
in a race around the back garden (Trebilcock completes 5km park runs in around
17 and a half minutes – unfortunately he found out the hard way from me that
1am garden runs are different gravy altogether).
At some point a massive ordnance penetration took place in
Iran, which was sobering news to wake up to on Sunday, and kept the tour party
busy at the breakfast table (between gobbling smashed avo on toast, reading the
latest news articles on the Middle East and shooting dirty looks at Daly for
hoodwinking us into providing our repeated consent to him pouring more wine
into our glasses).
After waiting for my room and car companion
BROOOOSTER-Turley to finish dropping some ordnance of his own it was off to
Adlestrop via Stow on the Wold (sans fire in the skies), both simply darling
locations to which the BROOOOOOOSTER and I navigated successfully, efficiently
and without mishap.
Adlestrop Daylesford & Oddington Cricket Club is a new
fixture on our Cotswolds tour, and they have a picturesque ground nestled among
some farm paddocks and just down the hillock from an eeeeeeelegant manor. That
hillock creates an appreciable slope for the pitch – one crease being at higher
altitude than the other – and perhaps it was this gradient that helped Captain Glen
Oliver to win a second toss in a row (!) and invite Adlestrop to do some
fielding.
Having not been required to bat or bowl the previous day in
Broughton Gifford, Glen promoted himself to open alongside Stevie the Rogerer.
Possibly still slightly punch drunk from his toss win, Glenary was
sensationally bowled first ball by young Josh Harvey, who steamed down the
hillock from the Manor House end and delivered a thoroughly unplayable
in-swinging yorker to skittle our skipper.
First drop Mike Pittams unconvincingly saw out the
remainder of the first over, before a similarly energetic looking youth in Max
Hayman came on to bowl up the hillock. Stevie Rogers kept the first one out
before receiving an absolute brute of a delivery second ball, which he could
only glove to first slip where Alex Beaumont-Dark took a diving catch to bring
Trebley Webley to the crease.
At the non-striker’s end I noticed and was worried that
number five Mike Daly didn’t yet have his shoes on, let alone any protective
equipment – not necessarily the state of preparation you want your ‘Trebley
plus one’ in the batting order to be in.
Trebley looked less worried. Having spent a sleepless night
listening to bedmate Dela Rue’s snoring (something the Geneva Convention would
surely ban but which Strollers tours permit), then a searching examination from
Stair, Freddie and our Lord in the nets, Trebley looked relaxed and seemed to
assume that batting would be light relief in comparison.
Not quite! Hayman’s next delivery sent Trebley’s off stump
cartwheeling. Pandemonium ensues. Swift umpire changes, Jim Hodgson urgently
recalled from his bucolic stroll with Jo, pads and gloves changing hands
frenziedly, Magatha scribbling furiously to keep the scorebook up to date,
Adlestrop crowding the bat for the hat-trick ball…there’s nothing quite like
the panic of a collapse!
Enter Daly (finally dressed and padded) with the sangfroid
of a deepwater vampire squid, to block out the hat-trick delivery with aplomb.
In the fourth over Daly employed those strong and supply wine pouring wrists –
in such heavy demand all weekend, albeit allegedly against his teammates’ will
(perhaps he hypnotised them?) – to crash a short delivery to the point boundary
and we finally had a run off the bat!
As well as cold blood, vampire squid also have very low
resting heartrates owing to their energy efficient lifestyles, and this was
clear in Daly’s calm steadying of the innings.
Highlights from his oeuvre included a Tendulkar-esque
on-drive for four, an also Tendulkar-esque lean-back ramp over slips, and the
mid-pitch profanities he levelled at his batting partner Pittams who did his
best to run the vampire squid out with a particularly abject piece of
calling. Daly’s fortifying innings of 18 came to an end when the opening
bowlers were replaced and Harry Greaves snuck one through from the top of the
hillock – no doubt leaving Daly feeling like a real pillock.
The Lord, enjoying a rare promotion to the middle order,
continued Daly’s excellent job of innings-steadying work and further underlined
his all-round credentials in making a watchful 15, before being stumped for the
second innings in a row. As he exited the batting arena Pittams asked: “Lord,
why didn’t you slide your foot back into your crease, you flog!!???”. A
Dela-rueful shake of the head was all he received by way of response.
From his next batting partner, the BROOOOOSTER!!!, Pittams
received a considerably more vociferous response – specifically a loud “Yes!!!”
– after asking if he might be interested in a second run. Broster-Turley
cordially noted the official request for consent from Pittams, and clearly
provided it by return holler, as this match report will forever be evidence.
The response – transparent, unnuanced and positive though it was – turned out
to be the wrong one. A rocket arm direct hit from Greaves in the deep sent the
BROOOOSTER on his way for a diamond duck (a duck without facing a ball),
continuing Freddie’s proud tradition of running himself out on the Sunday match
of Cotswolds tours.
Around this time Pittams finally found a modicum of timing
and lustily dispatched not one but two deliveries over the fence beyond the
boundary in as lusty fashion as anyone has seen from him since, inspired by the
presence of Wall’s mother, he cleared the pavilion at Warfield in 2019.
It’s not clear what provoked such lust on this occasion –
most likely frustration with the difficulty he was having timing the ball on a
tricky pitch. Blair Travis, hiding down at No 8 as a Strollers safety blanket
after a ton the previous day, made a quick 51 off 40 deliveries, adding 108 for
the sixth wicket with Pittams before missing a lusty blow of his own to be
bowled in the final over.
His Majesty’s Ship Jim Hodgson entered, and then departed,
the fifth duck (and third golden duck) of the Strollers innings. HMS Hodgson
had eaten duck for dinner on both Friday and Saturday nights, so how he thought
that was going to result in any sort of positive batting display is beyond this
scribe. Hodgson is old enough to know better!
This brought Alastair Macaulay to the crease to face the
final delivery of the innings with Josh Harvey on a hat-trick. Harvey, yet
again, was on target…but Stair was up to the task and nonchalantly defended him
into the off side (maybe he’s part vampire squid also?) before sauntering off
to offer his coaching (how to face and survive a delivery) services to Glen,
Brad, Freddie and Jim.
Thus we concluded on 198-8, a respectable total on a
difficult wicket, and a minor miracle after being 3-3 in the second over (and in
an innings which included five ducks!). A delicious tea, the highlights of
which (for this scribe) were the Asian slaw and the ginger loaf, revitalised us
for our fielding stint.
BROOOOSTER-Turley got us off to a good start when he pinned
Alex Beaumont-Dark lbw for 17. Having scored those 17 off just 11 deliveries,
this felt like an important wicket to take. Freddie was specifically
congratulated for capturing the wicket of a fully grown adult male – for
further context see yesterday’s match report. Unfortunately for Alex he hobbled
off, having taken a very painful blow to his toe.
The Lord Dela Rue won an lbw decision of his own to see off
Adlestrop’s No 3 and added a second wicket via a sharp slip catch from Travis
to finish with the demonic figures of 2-28.
The wind had by now picked up, and skipper Oliver elected
to make use of the downwind end to fang down some wrong-armed thunderbolts –
which he did to great effect on his way to figures of 2-16 (although the less
said about his hat-trick ball the better).
HMS Hodgson was less enthusiastic about toiling into the
strong breeze from the other end. Even though the upwind end came with the
silver lining of being down-hillock, Jim is currently going through a confused
process of relocating his run-up (which he appears to have misplaced). The
negative gradient as he approached the popping crease wasn’t necessarily
helping this matter. Jim did find his rhythm and start to look less pained at
the crease, eventually trapping Dan McAuliffe in front to round out an
economical six-over spell.
Despite the opposition skipper’s resistance, the asking
rate was rising. Enter Macaulay (up-hillock but down-wind), who in the short
order of three overs rustled up three victims – two clean bowled and one caught
tall-y at mid-off by Travis.
A win and an early finish were secured when Travis
induced a catch to be hit to Oliver at mid-on. In holding the catch, Oliver
wrapped up a weekend during which not a single catching chance went to ground
for the Strollers. If you think that’s an outlandish stat, hold on to your hat
and wait until you hear that Trebley Webley scored more runs on tour than Oliver!
It’s just as well Paddy Power don’t offer odds on our matches…several houses
would’ve been lost.
Thanks as always to Maggie for ensuring none of us need to
do any scoring, and to Simon and Stair for their organisation of what is always
a fun weekend. I may well consent to go again next year… |
