TEST TENSION

Evening Star, Issue 20058, 26 December 1928, Page 2

TEST TENSION

AH IMPRESSION [Specially Written for the ‘ Star,’] Heat! t Sizzling waves of heat under a smoky sky. Thronging crowds from the ceaseless stream of traffic in the sun-baked streets. Outside, the busy snap of traffic officers, a blind race for the gates from each of the unloading cars. Inside, comparative peace, for there are more than 40,000 people about the green circle, and few to come. In a few minutes, now, the test battle will be renewed. One vast ribbon of humanity closes the field. Five stands, to the west and north-west, hold the privileged ones, and over them float the flags of Britain and her greatest cricket foe. Then begins the famous stretch of “The Hill,” a gentle slope, thick with democracy, speckled with white, for coats are off to the climate, newspapers are reinforcing hats, and women are many in the crowd, summer dressed. For this is Sydney, and Christmas is not far away. The light southerly, which stretches the flags, eddies through the ground and covers the watchers with sunburnt, trodden chaff. “Hi, hi! Stop that! ” yells the crowd as a crate of beer trundles by. All about swarm the newsboys. “Noos! Noos! Kippax not out!” and “ Ober Gow murder trial! Somepn to read while you wait! ” they bawl. But there is little waiting now. “ Duckworth, he walked down the pitch and he said Kippax didn’t know, how ho went.” So the morning’s incident is discussed. Then from the stands a faint stir of applause, from the other side of the “ Hill ” catcalls. White coated, white hatted, the umpires have appeared. They walk over towards the wicket, amidst yells. A pause, and Chapman and his men walk slothfully on to the green. They gambol aimlessly, toss the ball about, dive for it with flabby muscles, a contrast to their tension when set in the field a moment later. Then: “ Yo-ow-ow-urray.” It is Woodfull and Ponsford from the pavilion, the former walking steadily, determinedly, Ponsford lounging across the grass with his loose gait. There are no flourishes or preliminaries. Everything begins with businesslike punctuality; hardly are the batsmen at the crease than Larwood is walking back with the ball in his hands, frowning at the ground, and the field is in place. The bowler turns and comes (lying back at the pace of a quarteriniler, the ball rockets down on the off stump, and Ponsford lets it go. _ “ Ya-aa-ah Boo!, Owszat? ” is the ironical query from 5,000 throats as the ball strikes Duckworth’s gloves, it is obvious that the crowd does not mean to forget. Larwood turns again, and begins his walk towards a spot 30yds from the crease. “Hey, hey! Where yer off to, ’Arold? ” booms the Hill. The bowler wheels, and comes back with purpose in every muscle. The dust rises as his feet strike the ground. The next ball Ponsford refuses to touch, the third flies over his head, the fourth strikes his pads. Pandemonium again. “800-00-oo! Howsat? 800-00-oo!” “ They’re not petting any runs, are they? ” brightly says the young woman behind me. Ponsford turns the next bail to leg prettily, and they run a single. Hie Victorian then stands meditatively rubbing bis leg where the ball struck him, while Woodfull refuses to recognise the fact that this is a ball game. Then “ Over.” White. Tall, portly White, loosening his muscles with a round-arm swing. Then White, tossing the ball carelessly in his loft hand, strolls round the wicket, and sends down slow breaks. Here, you see, is the bowler who is troubling the batsmenOn a perfect wicket, in the first innings, they shuffle about uneasily, changing their minds about every stroke. Only one run comes off the over.

, Over the ground there floats the skj ; sign “ Two shillings for every boundary • bit,” but it is a vain_ appeal. There are no demands for hitting from the t quiet crowd. This is the tense atmosphere of test cricket. Larwood again. The second ball is - pitched short, and strikes Ponsford or , the glove. You see him rise on Ins - toes with the pain of it. He wheels , about, tosses his hat away, aiidimi patiently shakes off his gloves. 1 hen ' ho walks from the ground and out of , the test, but the crowd docs not know it. “Do they have to hit the wicket? innocently asks the maiden behind me. “Who’s next? Hendry? Hendry! ; Good old Hendry! They’ll never get . him out! ’’ ’ To Hendry, yon gather from ins demeanour, test cricket is just so much Christmas shopping. A boro, Vut lets get through witli it. Then a yell as he almost succumbs to slips first oalL “ It’s no good a grumbling. They don’t sympathise with Ponsford, though they did ’ave a look at ’is ’and.” Another bullet from Larwood, and Hendry ducks. “Hey, hey, play the game Larwood ! ” “Oh, Ponsford, ho can write a couple of wires and make some notes while he’s in there. It’s up to him to make a score against Larwood.” Another single'. “This is cricket, this Is. Rut you should have seen 00-oher!” This at Larwood’s latest, the ball flying away from Wooclfull’s, shoulder for a bye. Each time that Duckworth touches the hall there is a howl of “ How’s that? ” “ Hoo-roo-ray! ” A boundary at last. Hendry cover drives White for four. “Rooy! , They’ll never get him out!” “Just another one, Billy!” Woodfull is skipping out to White, changing his mind and skipping back. “ Oh, just one, just one, like ’Endry.” The batsmen hit freely when facing Larwood, but the field is like a wall of steel. There, in the country, is Sutcliffe, turning boundaries into singles with a flick of his wrist. At last they catch him napping and run two. “They say there’s always one Cor the throw if the man’s not set.” “Good old Hendry!" “ Larwood’s off. Tate’s got the ball.” This is Tate. Big, impervious, ambling up to the wicket, and then, in the final instant, springing to life and sending down a beauty. Vet. surprisingly, the batsmen seem to film liis howling. “One hundred up! Good old Hendry! Keep on going.” “ When they are out, are they allowed to come, on to the fie’ I again?” the maiden wants !■> Inn--. “And if they’re not, what do Mmy do? Do they read the papers? ’ “Hoo-roo-ray!” This is. cricket, test cricket, .n Svu ney.