The retirement of Paul Weekes severs the last link, as far as the playing staff at least is concerned, with Middlesex’s golden period of the mid 70s to 1993. There must be some satisfaction that he has been allowed to retire, as opposed to being simply ‘released’, but here is not the place to dwell on the precise details of the end of his career. Instead, I am pleased to be able to express what his play has meant for me.

It is not easy to say why certain cricketers become our favourites. With others, it is more obvious: Titmus, for the longevity and timelessness of his skills; Daniel, not only for his pace but his heart and strength as well; Gatting, for reliability and explosiveness. These last few weeks, at least one member has been pondering what it has been in the contributions of  P.N.Weekes that he will especially miss.

By chance (because I watched much less cricket then), I saw his first hundred, 117 against Somerset on Saturday 13^th August 1994. Of course, he was supposed to be the next off spinner, in a world-class tradition that stretched back nearly to the war, although it only covered two men. The trouble was that Emburey, having been made to wait by Titmus, was similarly reluctant to retire.

But that hundred established Weekes in my mind as part of another tradition – the ability of the side to fight back. That had been a characteristic of Brearley and latterly Gatting’s sides. In reply to Somerset’s 248, we were 123-6 when Weekes joined John Carr. They added 264, just seven short of what remains the county seventh wicket record. (Mark Feltham had gone in as nightwatchman, relegating Weekes a place in the order.)

Four weeks later, the pair added 270 for the sixth wicket against Gloucester (what was it about these West Country sides?) which was – and is – the county record. This I did not see.

Two seasons later, on 8^th June 1996, I witnessed his 8-39 against Glamorgan at Lords, his career best then (and I think it so remains, I do not have the figures in front of me). Towards the end of that season, at Uxbridge, now opening the batting, he scored two hundreds in the same match against Somerset (again), Caddick, Shine and all. I witnessed the second, which was as inevitable a hundred from the first ball faced as I have ever seen. I can still picture shots through point, played with savage power, off front and back foot.

Yes, “opening the batting”, I said. The simultaneous loss of Haynes, to retirement, and Roseberry, to the land of his fathers (ill-fatedly and temporarily), had left us with two slots to fill. Pooley was one answer and Weekes, at the county’s need, the other. A personal feeling is that this did not help his off spin. A finger spinner is expected to bowl long spells, indeed to relish them, often in heat and on good wickets. It is easier to do this with several hours of rest as a reward than it is facing the prospect of padding up to go immediately to the wicket. As indicated above, he did this with some considerable successes.

Latterly, he returned to his natural position in the middle order, with a marvellous late flowering as an opener in one-day cricket. For his final seasons, he and Dalrymple have been the same cricketer twice, as it were, two off-spinning all-rounders. Again as a personal reaction, this has not been entirely to the benefit of either. Oddly, while both have struggled to make frequent impacts with the ball in championship cricket, they have been match winners in the shorter form of the game. (The same case could perhaps be made for Peploe).

But it is not for any of these performances that I will remember the cricket of Paul Weekes. Because, you see, I have realised why I shall miss him, why, when scanning a Middlesex card I have looked for his score before some of his more illustrious team mates. It is because Paul Weekes has played cricket with a smile. He has given frequent indication that he is doing something he enjoys and is fortunate to be doing so. I will remember him arriving late in the Long Room to go out to field and, in mock desperation, sliding on his backside along a table and scrambling through forty-five degrees to get out the door. Or sharing a joke with Owais Shah, thirty yards apart, on the leg-side boundary. Or just the perkiness of his walk and – if the word is appropriate – his Chaplinesque smile (though he was no clown).

There are those, mostly ex-test cricketers, who decry county cricket. They see the player who does not rise to their level as a failure.  They propose, in various ways, to render him extinct. Paul Weekes, in himself, has been a powerful counter to such selfish, blinkered arguments.  Paul was a loyal, determined, resourceful county player who has given of his best in answer to the varying demands of his side. His enjoyment has been my enjoyment and I hope this appreciation is worthy of him.

Dingy Bags