A BALLADE OF CRICKETERS' NAMES

New Zealand Listener, Volume 32, Issue 808, 21 January 1955, Page 8

A BALLADE OF CRICKETERS' NAMES

BY

ALAN

MULGAN

Nise of persons and places have long fascinated poets and lovers of poetry. They are part of the magic of words. Francois Villon wrote a "Ballade of Ladies of Old Time," which Rossetti translated: "Tell me now in what hidden way is, Lady Flore the lovely Roman," and Rossetti in "The Blessed Damozel" made such music himself: With her five hand-maidens, whose names Are five sweet symphonies, Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen, Margaret and Rosalys. Henley’s ballade on names, though of lighter weight, is rich in the charm of association: Sentiment hallows the vowels of Delia; Sweet simplicity breathes from Rose; Courtly memories glitter in Celia; ind savours of quips and hose, Araminta of wits and beaux, Prue of puddings, and Coralie All of sawdust and spangled shows; Anna’s the name of names for me. Men’s names have not been overlooked. Gilbert Murray tells us that as a boy in Australia he so fell in love with the title Marquis of Lorne, when that nobleman married the Queen's daughter, that he went about repeating the words over and over. And W. J. Turner, Australian educated if not born, in a .poem called "Romante," wrote that when he was at school, "Chimborazo, Cotopaxi," took him by the hand and stole his soul away. But has anyone written a ballade, or any kind of verse, on cricketers’ names? Is there any poetry, or special significance of any kind, in such names? Would Jack Hobbs, by general consent one of the greatest of players, have been any different at the wicket, or appealed more strongly to the public, if his name had been more euphonious? A friend and I were looking at a new book by an Australian on the procession of Australian batsmen through the years*, and he exclaimed: "Victor Trum-

per! What a fine name! It sounds like a trumpet call!" That set me thinking. Since cricket, regarded as an entity-play of all grades, grounds of all. kinds-is the most beautiful of games, the most verdant, the most suggestive of poetry and music, in this summer holiday season with tests literally in the air, are we not justified in lingering over the names of players? A few months: ago in a Spectator article, John Arlott, that well-known commentator, considered the attraction or otherwise, and the curiousness of cricketers’ names. Making up elevens of "Euphonics" and "Crakes," he included "V. Trumper" in the "Crakes." I would partly disagree. It is hardly fair to give Wilfred Rhodes and Philip Mead their full names on the other side, and leave out the "Victor." "Victor Trumper"’ does sound like a trumpet call. It fits the man. "He was the originating genius of a new outlook in batsmanship," says A. G. Moyes in the book before me, "and those who saw him in his most gracious days can never forget. Then all too soon he passed away, and I am sure all the trumpéts sounded for him on the other side." There was something sweet as well as brilliant and breath-taking about Trumper. His comrades loved him. Writing of Archie Jackson, that marvellous boy who perished in his prime, whose batting was "all beauty," the nearest thing to Trumper in style, Moyes recalls an old test player watching his bat: "Oh, Vic.! Oh, Vic.!" I doubt if anyone would exclaim: "Oh, Don!" Moyes’s story is the history of Australian batsmanship from Charles Ban-

nerman, through Trumper and Brad-man-three signposts-to the present. The famous are here; the men who rose and fell; those who rose but preferred their careers to test glory. Bannerman, father of Australian batting, had a good challenging name. Arlott brackets "Hobbs" and "Bradman" for dullness, but I am not sure about "Bradman." There is a suggestion of fortitude and steel in the sound. When we judge Bradman as a player we should remember he bore the dangerous burden of captaincy, which Trumper did not. I am indebted to John Arlott for setting out a string of varied names, some redolent of days in the sun, some harsh, some amusing. Grace, I suggest, owed something to a name associated with virtue and style. There is a story of an Australian boy being asked by his Sun-day-school teacher how to get grace, and replying with the names of two bowlers, one for each end. Arthur Shrewsbury, who opens with Grace in the "Euphon-

ics" eleven, as Grace would have wished, had a sweet-sounding and -historic name, but there was nothing sweet about his treatment of bowlers. They thought the risks of a Ranjitsinhji or a Trumper gave them a chance, but Shrewsbury played as _ carefully when he was 150 as when he started. "Philip Mead" suggests the fair English landscape, but he was a dour lefthander, nothing like so attractive as Frank Woolley, who showed the very reverse of "woolliness" in his style. On the other hand, Lionel Palairet’s name well suited one of the most beautiful stylists of his time. And does not "Ranjitsinhji" call up even from that distant past the flame of Oriental magic about his bat? "Noble" was a good name for that tall, grave player, one of the greatest of all-rounders, and one of the most astute of Australian captains. ‘"Armstrong" suited admirably the giant who, directing the thunderbolts of Gregory and Macdonald, slew England in 1921. "Trot" (Harry and Albert) points to comedy, and there was a touch of it in the rotund Harry when he visited New Zealand at the end of his career, and in Albert’s personality. Albert hit a ball over the pavilion at Lord’s, and, in his own words, bowled himself into the bankruptcy court by doing a double hat-trick in his benefit match. Does "Macartney" suggest Cardus’s comparison between that player’s batting and Mozart’s music? Moyes mentions a fine New South Wales opening batsman named Rock, who belied his name by scoring fast. And what name could be better than Tyson for a fast bowler? It is fluid and yet strong: the fierce energy of delivery is in the first syllable, and the ball’s velocity in the second. The curiosities are many, such as the Rev. Duodecimo Platt (Harrow); Cadwalader (Philadelphia); Pigg (Cambridge); Goatly (Surrey); Gaukrodger (some county); Pougher, of Leicestershire (pronounced "Puffer’), who was mainly responsible for the Australian's total of 18 against the M.C.C. in 1896. Arlott, from whom I take these, recalls such pun-inducing names as Fielder, Batson, Scorer, and Driver. I can add to these a boyhood memory of a bowler in Auckland called Trapp. Arlott included in his "Crakes" Kortright, reputed to have been the fastest of bowlers. The Players were once plainly intimidated (and defeated) by a fast bowler named Knox. Asked why he flinched, Bobby Abel replied simply that he had a wife and children. Similarly one may amuse oneself among New Zealand names. "Fisher and Downes,’ naming what was perhaps the most famous bowling combination in interprovincial cricket, has a pleasant sound; it would go well into a line of verse. "Dan Reese" has a suggestion of flowing skill, which indeed Dan possessed. "Roger. Blunt" sounds better than "Blunt" alone. He might have been one of Francis Drake’s men. Boxshall, Canterbury’s round wicketkeeper for so long (and New Zealand’s) was well named. "Sutcliffe," borne by two great plavers, is a beautiful name, but to my mind "Bert" doesn’t go well with it. "Bert" has a flavour of Cockney cheekiness. ‘The test is. how they bat, bow! and field, but that need not stop us. from spending an idle hour weaving the romance, or otherwise. of names into the tapestry of our favourite game-the batsmen as they flicker to and fro in memory, the changing over of the field, the sun on the grass, and the lengthening shadows of the contributing and approving trees.