We come now
to the curious case of the test-match career of David Steele, as strange a
story as English cricket has seen in my time. As the week in 1975 begins,
Steele is a 33-year-old batsman in his thirteenth year for Northamptonshire, the archetypal county
cricketer. This is his benefit year. He is having a good season and has already
accumulated more than a thousand runs, with steady rather than big scores. Over
the years, he had occasionally been mentioned as an outside possibility for England
selection, but not this season, except in a piece by Tony Pawson in which he was
named in a short list of batsmen whose time had passed, along with MJ Smith, David
Turner of Hampshire and Chris Balderstone (who was picked a year later, with much
less success). John Arlott wrote that his being a left-hander would be useful, a
fair point undermined only by Steele’s being right-handed. Arlott was probably
confusing David Steele with his brother, the left-handed Leicestershire opener John
Steele. Some thought that the selectors had done the same.
John
Woodcock prepared his readers for Steele’s appearance. “A bespectacled figure, almost
more white than grey, he is not at all the image of what you would expect of a
troubleshooter.” With the upturned peak on his cap there was a touch of Norman Wisdom about him.
It was this
Steele that walked down the pavilion steps on the fall of the first wicket at
the first day of the test match (having gone via the basement as he was
unfamiliar with the route from the home dressing room). He watched three more depart
(umpire Bill Alley had a very twitchy finger that morning) before he was joined
by Tony Greig on his first day as England’s captain.
Their
partnership was worth a usually unremarkable 96, but after months of being pummelled
by Lillee and Thomson the sight of this apparent pensioner hooking them to the
Grandstand boundary alongside his leader on the counter attack was stirring. Steele
had left the pavilion an ordinary man, but returned a hero, a “symbol of
national resistance” as John Arlott called him. By Christmas Steele was BBC
Sports Personality of the Year. Clive Taylor of the Sun called him "the bank clerk who went to war".
Steele's fall was
as precipitous as his rise. There was no winter tour, so the next tests were
against the West Indies in 1976. Steele began with his maiden century in the
first test and came third in the averages behind Edrich and Close. But he was
not included in the touring party for India that winter, and that was that. He
continued to play county cricket until 1984 and has made a fair amount of money
telling the story of his short but spectacular England career ever since. He appears
not much older than he did that day at Lord’s, though that is largely because he
looked about 70 then.
Here is
Arlott’s account of the first day.
At first,
the second day was even better. In reply to England’s 315, Australia subsided
to 81 for seven. “Not since the war, I think, had Australia suffered such a
collapse on a good pitch against England, in England” reported John Woodcock. “At lunchtime the atmosphere was
like that on VE Day. It was too good to last, of course, but it bucked us all
up at the time”.
Ross Edwards
with 99 (at which point he became Bob Woolmer’s first test wicket) and a Dennis
Lillee’s test-best 73 not out reduced the final deficit to 47.
One thing I
noticed on the YouTube highlights confirmed my view that Alan Knott was
half a century ahead of his time. Then, the standard guards ranged from leg to
middle. Taking an off stump guard was almost unheard of. Ask Arthur Jepson for
an off stump guard and he would have come at you with a stump in hand. Yet, as Jeff
Thomson runs in, there is Knotty tapping his bat well outside off. Genius.
I saw none
of this on television. Canterbury week, starting unusually on a Wednesday,
coincided with the test match. Peter Marson, there for The Times, paints
an evocative picture that takes me straight back there.
The
organisations named in the first paragraph all had marquees at the Nackington
Road End that shimmered through the week. It was gloriously hot, like the summers of our youth ought to be. Deal Beach Parlours had a new ice lolly that summer. I don’t
remember the flavour, which probably had a lengthy chemical formula, but it was
a wonderfully lurid turquoise. I had so many that week that the man in the ice
cream van had one ready each time I approached, the transaction taking place
wordlessly. The gaps in my teeth remind me fondly of the summer of ’75.
I also
remember the rough reception that greeted Hampshire skipper Richard Gilliatt as
he returned to the dressing rooms having declared Hampshire’s second innings
closed a couple of hours later than was necessary to make a game of it. The
winning team in this fixture would lead the Championship. Perhaps the knowledge
of Kent’s successful pursuit against the Australians a few weeks earlier deterred
Gilliatt, who eventually called a halt when he was 97 not out.
Gilliatt
almost had the last laugh. Kent batted testily and quickly lost seven wickets. Cowdrey
batted for 100 minutes to save the game.
Ill temper
marked this round of matches. The heat was getting to cricketers everywhere. Leicestershire protested against a late
Lancashire declaration by having Roger Tolchard bowl an underarm ball at Clive
Lloyd. Ray Illingworth then promoted himself to No 3 to block.
Both these
games tell us that three-day cricket relied too much on captains being willing
to set targets. The restriction of the first innings to 100 overs did not move
the game on sufficiently, but encouraged negative, not wicket-taking, bowling.
Hampshire
topped the table, with Boycott and Hendrick leading their respective averages.
