By Hughie
October 7 2006

This is the first of an occasional series of short features by Hughie. With a mixture of wit and wisdom, Hughie takes us on a trip down his memory lane. This trip will jog a few memories amongst our more senior readers and be most informative for those too young to remember that far back. I am fairly certain that the first match I saw at Lord’s was the infamous second Test between England and South Africa in 1960. I can’t check up because all those I was with have now passed away. Even if it wasn’t quite my first visit, it is the first match of which I have a clear memory.

The South African bowler Geoff Griffin, having done the hat trick, was no-balled because of his suspect action.

In the exhibition match that followed England’s easy victory he was again no-balled by Syd Buller, allegedly on the instructions of Gubby Allen. Griffin bowled the next ball underarm and was yet again no-balled, this time for failing to inform the umpire he was changing his action. I remember the crowd around me falling about with laughter, but there was really nothing funny about it: Griffin’s career in international cricket was over. He was just 21.

When he returned to South Africa he played just nine more first-classes matches before umpires there made it impossible for him to continue in the game,.

I always used to arrive at Lord’s by underground. My equipment consisted of a school satchel containing sandwiches, a bottle of Tizer or Corona, and a well-thumbed copy of the latest Playfair Cricket Annual. My father could remember when there had been a Lord’s underground station right next to the ground and was annoyed to have to walk all the way from St John’s Wood Station.

The walk down Wellington Road hasn’t changed much, except that where the hospital now stands on the corner before you get to the ground, there used to be a brick wall and if you looked over it you could see railway tracks running through a cutting.

The ground was terribly shabby in the sixties. On the far side of the Nursery ground were some grim structures called arbours where ladies and gentlemen had once taken their afternoon teas. Some of these buildings still contained sinks and gas rings, but by my time they tended to be filled with bags of fertiliser, mowers and rusty tractors. They once encircled the whole Nursery, but the ones along the Wellington Road (where the corporate hospitality marquee now stands), had been destroyed in a storm and turned into a potholed car park.

The oddly named ‘free seats’, which used to be on the site of the Compton and Edrich Stands, were a depressing environment in which to watch cricket. The lower tier was a crumbling, dripping, low-roofed cavern that seemed to be perpetually dark and chilly. The benches were invariably peeling and rotten, presumably so you would feel obliged to spend sixpence on the hire of a battered red and green cushion from the handcart parked behind the stand.

At the back of the Mound Stand was a scruffy little sweetshop and tobacconist called Dark’s. I used to buy a quarter of sherbet lemons or acid drops there. There was much more smoking in public then. My cricket memories of those days include the reek of cigars and Woodbines as well as new-mown grass and spilled beer.

(To be continued)