THE KEYED-DP CROWD

Hokitika Guardian, 18 August 1930, Page 2

THE KEYED-DP CROWD

TEST MATCH DRAMA

GIRL FORGOT TO POWDER HER NOSE.

LONDON, June 13

Intent and still, gripped by an excitement that grows with the hours, we sit in massed tiers around this fateful arena of smooth grass. We have conie from the ends ,of the earth; but at this moment we have forgotten our homes and even our names; we sit here on this summer’s day utterly absorbed in the drama which is being played out before our eyes, writes a critic. In front of me sits a clergyman, twisting his hat round and round in his hands without even knowing he is holding it.

THE UNPOWDERED NOSE

Near him is a girl who has not powdered her nose for an hour. Behind me is a man who is humming the same snatch of song over and over again—a man who is completely unconscious that he is hulking a sound. The mall beside me has been slowly tearing a slip of paper to pieces, and dropping the hits around his feet. '

i r A COMELY SETTING !!•' . i :>

What a picture is this historic ground on a Test match day! Lord’s has an air of majesty j about it; Lie Oval, huddled among metropolitan houses, is like a cheeky Cockney; but Trent Bridge is gracious and comely in its pleasant setting of trees and mellow, ■ red-roofed houses—a place that has charm in every inch of it. It is hard in these crowded moments to take the mind back to the hours before- the first momentous ball was bowled, but there are some memories, which will,, last even after the hn.al;,ball of ‘ ffll.. • • I - rememherv that strange scene in the. darkness;,., off the night, .pftectric torches ;, placed {;on the grass shone their'{'beams, of. iight on to. the sacred pitch ; against, .their glow. Was,. silhou-etted-the figure of a policeman, pacing up and down all night long beside ;the wicket.

... I rememlier the coming of the dawii; fcpol and misty, and the .policeman’s salute tortile veteran,.Air Walter Marshall;;-who walked- out in the dim -light tosee that his beloved wicket had come to no harm.

‘All right, constable V ’ he asked “Yes sir,’! said the sentinel. Mr Marshall sighed with relief.

“PATSY’S SMILE.

I remember the steady massing of the crowd : men In plus fours, girls In summer frocks, sun-tanned men from overseas, endlessly clicking their way through the turnstiles... > , I remember' the slow prologue of the drama. For an hour we watched the grass cutters monotonously running backwards and forwards across the velvety turf, and hear their lazy drone filling the air. Tlie giant roller stood with massive dignity by the pitch. Near it. the stumps lay streaks against the green of the grass, waiting to he knocked the ground.

The stands were full. Impatiently, in a silence that was electrical, we waited. We looked at the pavilion across the field.—that most graceful of pavilions, with the trees standing like sentinels on either side of its sipping ronF cr.fr red tiles.

We watched the players walk through the gate—men who looked uncannilv calm. .

“Good lucky,* Patsv/tr to Hendren. v. Patsy smiled, cheerfully. We noted that, some of the Englishmen’s wives had come with, them to cheer them on.

v We cheered a big man in a light grey suit who walked out. to look at the wicket,, for that man was Mr Chapman. Every now and then we glanced up at the sky. Not that We were afraid of rain, but—well, we just wanted to make sure; The skv was misty grey, but there was a hint of :radiance in it which told us that the sun was anxious to shine; and the air was as warm and pleasant as it should be on a summer’s day.

With a strained patience we talked to one another—that eternal cricket talk which you hear at every Test match: ‘‘l remember seeing Hobbs when lie knocked that century ” “Do you remember Ranji?” “I was in Sydney when Victor Trumper ”

CHAPMAN’S JOY

Then a touch of drama. Chapman, towering over Woodfull, spun his lucky half-sovereign into the air in front of the pavilion—that original coin which he got out of a Christmas pudding in Australia, and which has never failed him yet.

“Heads.” said Woodfull. quietly

They both bout down. It was tails. Chapman waved his hands with a sohoolbov-like gesture of triumph—and from the massed stands came a thunder of joy.

Down the pavilion steps came the white-flnnneled Australians, led by the imperturbable Woodfull. Then came the immortal Hobbs and Sutcliffe.

Side by side, swinging their bats a little jauntily, they strolled into the middle of the field. The crowd was cheering them: they did not seem to hear. Habibs faced the bowler. Crack! The

ball was speeding across the turf, and both the batsmen were running.

The first run of the first Test had been scored off the first, ball.

The tale of the batting disasters is told elsewhere. When Hammond and Woolley disappeared the clergyman threw his hat down on the ground. “Confound it all!” he. groaned. But from my right came one long chuckle of joy. I turned to look at the man who dared laugh. He was a sunburnt man from Australia.