Both a Gentleman and a Player: The story of Edwin Diver

Portrait of Edwin Diver from his interview in Cricket: A Weekly Record of the Game, 21 December 1899

On 26, 27 and 28 April 1886, during Easter Week, a fairly unremarkable early-season cricket match took place at the Oval between Surrey and Gloucestershire. Surrey dominated and won by five wickets. But the scorecard conceals an unusual occurrence. Two former amateurs, Gloucestershire’s Walter Gilbert and Surrey’s Edwin Diver, were by coincidence both making their first appearances as paid professional cricketers. Neither man had an especially impressive match, although Gilbert took three wickets in one over, while Diver shared a fifty-run partnership with Bobby Abel, who scored a century. But their performances were a side-note as most of the interest in the game came from their almost unprecedented conversion from amateur to professional.

Walter Gilbert’s first-class professional career began and ended with this match. Before Gloucestershire played again, he had been arrested for theft and, after completing a 28-day sentence of hard labour, moved to Canada to begin a new life away from the scandal that brought his time in English cricket to a close. His spectacular fall has been written about several times.

Far less well-known is the story of Edwin Diver, the other debutant professional in that Surrey v Gloucestershire match. Diver was seven-and-a-half years younger than Gilbert and had a much more successful professional career. Unlike Gilbert, whose decision to become a professional was a desperate final attempt to overcome crippling financial difficulties, Diver arrived via a gentler route. He soon became only the second player, after Richard Daft, to play in the Gentlemen v Players match as both an amateur and a professional. And despite his switch of status, he remained highly regarded by the cricketing establishment – when he died, a generous obituary appeared in Wisden. However, Diver’s career came to a slightly untidy conclusion for reasons that are unclear.

Edwin James Diver was the nephew of Alfred Diver, a professional batsman who was a member of the first overseas team of English cricketers, which toured North America in 1859. Edwin’s father James was a college porter at Cambridge University; the family lived in various locations, so it is not clear at which college he worked, but they usually lived near Jesus College. Edwin was born in Cambridge a few weeks before the 1861 census, which records a midwife was still living with the family at their home on Upper Park Street. By 1871 the family, now living at Jesus Lane, could afford to employ a servant. Unlike the Gilbert family, there are no indications that they had financial problems.

At the time of the 1881 census, Diver was an Assistant Master at Wimbledon College in Surrey (although his name is almost illegible on the census return, it is certainly him). He had already established himself as a good cricketer. On one occasion, he scored 131 playing against his employers for the Stygians.

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The Surrey team in 1885; Diver, then playing as an amateur, is standing at the back, second from the left

Working at Wimbledon College allowed him to qualify by residence for Surrey, for whom he played as an amateur from 1883. He averaged in the mid-20s in his first season, playing during the school holidays, and scored five fifties, respectable figures at the time. In his Wisden obituary, the editor Sydney Pardon recalled his early days with Surrey:

“He will always be best remembered on account of his short but brilliant connection with Surrey … A most attractive batsman in point of style, with splendid hitting power on the off side, his success was immediate. Indeed, he created such an impression that in the following year he was given a place in the Gentlemen’s Eleven against the Australians at Lord’s.”

In that 1884 game against the Australians, Diver batted very well when he came in to bat in the second innings with his team needing 45 to win having lost six wickets. He and AG Steel knocked off the runs without being parted. Further recognition came for Diver that season when he was selected for the Gentlemen v Players match at the Oval (although he scored a pair). It is clear that, at this stage in his career, he was starting to position himself among the leading amateurs in England. He never quite progressed though. In his obituary, Pardon wrote: “It cannot be said that Diver ever improved on his earliest efforts for Surrey, but he held his own, playing many a fine innings”. But in fairness to Diver, this may have been owing to what was happening off the field. Around this time, Wimbledon College went bankrupt, leaving him without an income. Diver, like many amateurs, was left struggling to afford a cricket career.

In The Players (1988), Ric Sissons details what happened next. In September 1884, the Surrey Committee made the rather unorthodox decision to pay Diver, still nominally an amateur, £2 per week throughout the winter “as long as he remains in the county”. In cricket terms, this paid off as he scored over 900 runs in 1885, including his first century for the county. In August 1885, Surrey gave him £75 to mark his “retirement” as he gave up cricket apparently to work in an office.

But in April 1886, Diver wrote to the Committee, saying that he was “heartily sick of office work and extremely fond of cricket but not having private means to allow me to continue to play as an amateur”. Therefore he asked to join the Surrey ground-staff as a professional; the Committee consented, although giving no guarantees how often he would play. Diver’s father was irritated, complaining to the Committee who replied to him that “no encouragement had been given to EJ Diver to become a professional.”

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The Surrey team in 1886; Diver, now a professional, is seated third from the left

That season, Diver played 22 first-class matches, although he was less successful with the bat than in previous years. Nevertheless, he was selected once more for the Gentlemen v Players match at the Oval, this time for the professional team, making him one of the very few men to appear for both sides in this fixture, and only the second after Richard Daft.

However, this was Diver’s only season as a Surrey professional. Perhaps the wage paid by Surrey was not enough to make ends meet. But it also appears that he wished to continue working as a schoolmaster. When the season ended, he returned to Cambridge and opened his own school. Cricket wished him luck on his “return to his old vocation” and recorded that he had “taken premises in Trumpington Street”. Around this time, he also played with some distinction for Cambridge Victoria Cricket Club. He enjoyed a remarkable season in 1887: he scored 213 against Royston, then shortly after, in the space of a week, he scored 312 not out against St John’s College and 200 against Biggleswade. Some regret was expressed that Diver had been lost to first-class cricket.

But as recorded by Sissons in The Players, Diver continued to be associated with cricket. He later became the joint secretary and treasurer of Cambridgeshire County Cricket Club; Sissons does not say if this was a paid position, but it most likely would have been, which may suggest that Diver’s school was short-lived.

In 1891, Diver moved to Birmingham, where he played professional football for Aston Villa, appearing in three matches as a goalkeeper and seems to have remained on their books for three seasons. He also played cricket for Birmingham in the Midland League, although it is unclear whether he did so as an amateur or professional. Some clues about his status also appear in the pages of Cricket. In 1891, he played a first-class match for the South against the North; the scorecard omits his initials, indicating that he played as a professional. But at the end of the season, he appeared for “Eighteen of District” against “Eleven of Warwickshire” at Birmingham in a benefit match for AA Lilley. On this scorecard, he is given initials and so must have appeared as an amateur; Sydney Santall, another cricketer who played both as amateur and professional, played in this match as a professional.

In November 1894, Diver married Alice Beasley, the daughter of a publican, at Birmingham Parish Church; he listed his profession as “cricketer”. They had one child, Nora, in 1896 (although from what Diver said on the 1911 census, they may have had another child who did not survive and for whom there is no record). The couple managed hotels after their marriage, moving several times before settling at the Priory Hotel in Walsall.

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The Warwickshire team in 1898; Diver is seated on the far right, his fellow amateur-turned-professional Sydney Santall is standing in the centre of the back row

Living in Birmingham eventually gave Diver a residential qualification to play for Warwickshire, for whom he played before they achieved first-class status. He resumed his first-class career as a professional with the county from 1894, although he only appeared a few times in 1895, the club’s first season in the County Championship. Diver was reasonably successful for Warwickshire from 1896, when he appeared more regularly. He was second in the county’s averages for 1896, but was fifth or lower from then until his career ended in 1901.

Diver had his best season in first-class cricket in 1899, passing 1,000 runs for the only time in his career. His only century came against Leicestershire, but this innings of 184 – out of a total of 276 – was his highest in first-class cricket. The runs came in 155 minutes and he reached his hundred before lunch on the first day. His reward for this form was to be selected once more for the Gentlemen v Players match at the Oval.

At the end of the season, Diver became the first professional to captain Warwickshire when no amateurs were available for their match against Essex at Leyton. As there were so many professionals, the Essex Committee permitted the Warwickshire team to use the changing room for visiting amateurs, but told them they could not use the amateurs’ gate, and instead must take a circuitous detour though the pavilion to use the side gate; they were also not permitted to sit in front of the pavilion. Contemporary reports reveal that two Warwickshire players pointedly refused to follow the instructions, using the amateurs’ gate to cheers from the crowd, and Diver protested to the Essex Committee. Sissons wrote in The Players that Diver went further and led the players along the boundary to enter the field by the amateurs’ gate, leading to a complaint from Essex, the home team. Contemporary reports do not mention this, but do suggest that there was some minor controversy over the events of the game. Sympathy was largely with Warwickshire, and Essex apologised for their treatment of the professionals.

A feature in Sporting Life in December 1899 following his successful season said that Diver claimed of his switch to professionalism that “amongst gentlemen the change made has not altered his position socially”. The article also reported: “At the present time Diver is highly respected in and around Birmingham, being the proprietor of one of the most flourishing hotels in the Midlands.” These two suggestions appear somewhat contradictory: it is hard to see that leading amateur cricketers of the time – men like CB Fry, Lord Hawke or FS Jackson – would have wished to associate with a professional cricketer who was running a hotel.

Diver was also interviewed for a feature in Cricket that December. The writer judged that “Diver’s cricket is of the kind which everybody likes to watch. He does not play a rash game, but on the other hand he never misses a chance of scoring, and while he is at the wickets it is a certainty that there will be some altogether delightful hits.” He commented that Diver hit especially hard on the off-side. Despite his experience in the Birmingham League, he considered that leagues were bad for first-class cricket; he also criticised slow play and defensive batting.

Diver had a poor season in 1900, and played just once in 1901, his final season in first-class cricket. But it is not exactly clear why his career ended as he had only suffered from one poor season and he played a good innings of 31 during his only appearance in 1901. There are a few possible explanations, but it appears the choice was his own and that he was not dropped. Perhaps outside interests prevented him playing more frequently: in October 1900 he had been elected President of Walsall Football Club, which may have taken up his time. He also may have needed to give more attention to his hotel. Or it is possible that increasing financial worries occupied his attention.

The Priory Hotel, Walsall pictured in 1983; the building is now an outlet of KFC (Image: Black Country History)

The 1901 census records him still as the manager of the Priory Hotel in Walsall, with a live-in staff of eight, plus his wife, daughter, and a relative of his wife. But this state of affairs did not last. On 12 November 1901, Diver disappeared without saying goodbye to his wife. The only clue she had came from a guest who told her that “Mr. Diver was seen at Queenstown to go aboard a boat bound for New York”. Supported by their brewery, Alice Diver applied to have the licence transferred to her name, which was approved in court. At the hearing, she explained that Diver was in financial difficulties; she also reported that she had previously managed the hotel during his absences through cricket and had great experience of managing public houses (presumably through her father). She stated that she had no intention of allowing Diver to return. By the end of February 1902, when the licence was permanently transferred to Mrs Diver, she had still not heard from her husband.

It appears that Warwickshire had not entirely given up on the notion that Diver could still play for them despite his disappearance, but an early-season issue of Cricket in 1902 listed him as “not likely to play” during 1902. Instead, Diver surfaced in Norfolk, where he played cricket in Hunstanton during the 1902 season. Shortly after this, he moved permanently to Wales. He played as a professional for Newport in Monmouthshire (Cricket reported that he scored 138 for the club in May 1903), and represented Monmouthshire in the Minor Counties Championship between 1905 and 1914. He also represented South Wales in matches against several touring cricketing teams, including Australian sides.

The only time Diver got in touch with his wife was to ask her to “intercede for him with his late employer” – presumably the brewery – and he never asked her to join him or offered her any financial support. These details emerged when Alice Diver applied for a divorce in early 1909 on the grounds of desertion, and adultery with Mrs Ellen Williams (whose maiden name appears to have been Salathiel) between 1905 and 1908. Williams, who supported Alice Diver’s claim, told the court that she had married a journalist called Samuel Williams who, it transpired, was already married and who then abandoned her. It was after this that she became close to Diver, and he “visited her” several times over the following years. The divorce, and custody of their child, was granted to Alice.

According to an article in the Folkestone Express, Sandgate, Shorncliffe & Hythe Advertiser (7 December 1910), Alice continued to have financial problems after the divorce. In 1909, she moved to Folkestone where she attempted to establish her own boarding house but business was never good enough to keep it running. By the end of 1909, she was heavily in debt and had to close the establishment; in late 1910, she was declared bankrupt and moved to Canterbury where she once more became manager of a hotel. On the 1911 census Alice, calling herself widowed, was visiting the Falstaff Hotel in Canterbury but was still listed as a hotel proprietor. By 1918, she had returned to Birmingham and was managing the Pitman Hotel: a report in the Birmingham Daily Post on 18 June recorded that she had been fined for not keeping an accurate register of food served, and exceeding the allowed amount of fat in meals. On the 1939 Register, she was still a hotel keeper, living in Hereford. She lived until 1959. Their daughter Nora married in 1921 and appears to have moved to Canada.

Meanwhile, in 1911, Diver was living alone as a boarder in Newport, listing himself on the census as a “professional cricketer and Ground Manager” at Newport Athletic Club. He remained as a coach at Newport until 1921, when he moved to Pontardawe near Swansea. Soon after, he died of heart failure, being found in bed on the morning of 27 December 1924. His obituary in Wisden, part of the same edition that reported Gilbert’s death, observed that “without realising all the bright promise of his early days, [he] played a prominent part in the cricket field for many years”.

Unlike Gilbert, Diver appears to have been happy to become professional and did not try to remain as an amateur through hidden payments, other than for a short time after he lost his job as a schoolmaster. He never seemed to believe it had brought disgrace upon him. And despite his “conversion”, he was remembered with affection by the cricketing world, as was clear from his Wisden obituary. Sydney Pardon even wrote the entry himself, a courtesy he did not extend to Gilbert in the same edition. Whatever circumstances ended Diver’s first-class career and caused him to leave his wife – and these may have been financial – he continued to play professional cricket and seems to have managed well enough in his later years. But if Gilbert lived happily in Canada with his family and in a respectable new job, perhaps Diver never quite achieved this peace. Instead he died alone in Wales.

By the time Gilbert and Diver died in 1924, few other amateurs had followed them by becoming professionals. CJB Wood had “converted” to a professional, but later reverted to amateur status. FR Santall, the son of Diver’s old team-mate Sydney, played for Warwickshire as an amateur from 1919 until 1923, then as a professional until 1939. But two examples in the later 1920s made a greater success of their conversion than either Gilbert or Diver.

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  Laurie Charles Eastman
  by Bassano Ltd
  whole-plate glass negative, 25 July 1931
  NPG x150091
  © National Portrait Gallery, London

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  Charlie Barnett (Image: Wikipedia)

Laurie Eastman and Charlie Barnett, two amateur-turned-professional cricketers who played in the 1920s and 1930s

LC Eastman, known to the cricket world as “Laurie”, played for Essex between the First and Second World War. Other than his cricket, little is known about Eastman’s life. He was the fourth child of John and Mary Eastman; his father was a tea merchant in London, although between the 1901 and 1911 censuses, he appears to have been reduced from an “employer” to an employed clerk.

During the First World War, Eastman received the Distinguished Conduct Medal and the Military Medal, but for reasons not made entirely clear in his Wisden obituary, the war ended his plan “to take up medicine as his profession”. Instead, he pursued an interest in cricket, making his debut for Essex as an amateur in 1920. In his first match, he took three wickets in four balls; in his third, he scored 91 batting at number ten against Middlesex at Lord’s. But these successes were not followed up, perhaps because, as his Cricketer obituary put it, his form was “adversely affected if the game was going against Essex”. Or in other words, he did not deal well with pressure on the cricket field.

Eastman played six times in 1920 and another six in 1921, presumably as he could not afford to play regularly. But from 1922, Essex followed the path taken by many counties to secure the services of amateurs with financial worries, and appointed him as their Assistant Secretary. From then on, he played regularly. After six years playing as an amateur, he became a professional from 1927, although there was little fanfare over this, and certainly none of the comment that followed the decisions by Gilbert and Diver in 1886. An aggressive batsman who often opened the batting, he was never a consistent performer. In 1929, he passed 1,000 first-class runs for the first time, a feat he repeated four times in the 1930s with his best return being 1,338 runs at an average of 32.63 in 1933. He never took 100 wickets in a season, his best being 99 in 1935, but generally took respectable numbers of wickets, first with medium-paced swing and later with spin. In the 1930s, he wrote several articles for newspapers in the 1930s without revealing too much or being in any way controversial. His career ended with the war in 1939, his benefit match being one of the last played. Injured by the force of a bomb while working as an Air Raid Warden, he never fully recovered and died after undergoing an operation in 1941.

Perhaps one of the most famous and successful “conversions” was Charlie Barnett. He was born in 1910, the son of a former Gloucestershire amateur who worked as a fish, game and poultry dealer. After being educated at Wycliffe, he first played for Gloucestershire as a 16-year-old amateur in 1927 and turned professional in 1929. In 1930, he married a widow who was 13 years his senior. According to his Wisden obituary, “Barnett retained a certain amateur hauteur in his cricket and his life; the supporters knew him as Charlie, but he always regarded himself as Charles. In the dressing-room he became known as The Guv’nor.”

Barnett was an extremely aggressive opening batsman and serviceable medium-paced bowler good enough to play for England in 20 Test matches. He made his debut in 1933, toured Australia for the 1936-37 Ashes series and scored 99 in the first session of the first Test of 1938, reaching his century from the first ball after lunch. Interestingly, on the 1939 Register, he listed himself not as a professional cricketer but as the manager and proprietor of a fish, game and poultry dealer. He briefly played for England after the war, and retired from first-class in 1948 when he went to play as a professional in the Central Lancashire League.

Unlike other ex-amateurs, we know more about Barnett as he lived until 1993 and was a frequent interviewee in later years, not least on the subject of Walter Hammond. And in many ways, he seems to have been an almost stereotypical amateur type; his Wisden obituary concluded:

“In retirement, he ran a business in Cirencester. A journalist called him a fishmonger. He wrote an indignant letter, saying he supplied high-class poultry and game, not least to the Duke of Beaufort. He maintained his amateur mien: he lived like a squire and hunted with the Beaufort and the Berkeley Vale, always, so it is said, with the uncomplicated verve he displayed at the crease.”

David Foot, in his 1996 book Wally Hammond: The Reasons Why had this to say:

“In the dressing room … Barnett was known as The Guvnor. This was because he’d been to a public school, had a better voice and more authority than most of the committee, and usually won an argument when he went striding in – on behalf of fellow pros with a legitimate grievance – to take on the county club’s management. He didn’t have a great sense of humour and was inclined to be bumptious … [He was] a Gloucestershire man of some social status who was not ashamed to play cricket as a professional … [He] lived in a fine Georgian house, hunted twice a week with the Beauforts and the Berkleys and didn’t stand any nonsense from anyone. The other pros very much respected him”.

But for all his impact, Barnett may be better remembered now for his abiding hatred of Hammond, with whom he had once been close. David Foot’s Wally Hammond: The Reasons Why contains a lot of Barnett’s views of his former captain. Even in the kindly hands of Foot, Barnett’s venom comes through; not a little of it appears to have been a slight sense of superiority, but his main grievance appears to have been how Hammond abandoned his first wife to have open affairs, and his unwillingness to play in Barnett’s benefit match in 1947.

Hammond himself famously switched from being a professional to become an amateur and captain England. But, overlooked by many, he actually began his career as an amateur, playing a few games for Gloucestershire in 1920 before signing professional forms for the following season. Hammond was not alone in switching from professional to amateur. Lancashire’s Jack Sharp did so, and subsequently became both Lancashire captain and a Test selector; Vallance Jupp likewise became captain of Northamptonshire after assuming amateur status. Warwickshire’s Jack Parsons went from professional to amateur, back to professional and finally became an amateur again. But perhaps these are stories for another time…

The Gentlemen v Players Match: “The high-water mark of English cricket”?

The Gentlemen v Players match at Lord’s in 1922

Once upon a time, there were two types of cricketers. The amateurs: men who played simply for love of the game when they had time away from their ordinary lives; or perhaps they were men of sufficient wealth that they did not have to worry about trivial matters such as regular income. And the professionals: men who were employed to play cricket. Once a year at Lord’s, a team of comprised solely of amateurs met a team comprised solely of professionals. This match, known as the Gentlemen v Players, was for many years the most prestigious fixture in the English cricket calendar. After a false start in 1806, the Gentleman v Players match took place every season (apart from during the two World Wars) between 1819 and 1962. It expanded so that equivalent fixtures took place at other grounds as well, including the Oval and Scarborough. What was this match? Why did it take place? How important was it? And what did the participants think of this strange annual fixture?

Lord Frederick Beauclerk in a portrait from the National Gallery
Portrait registered as Possibly Lord Frederick de Vere Beauclerk by Sir George Hayter, pencil, ink and wash, circa 1809-1816, NPG 883(2)

The idea of a Gentlemen v Players match dated back to a time before cricket was even remotely organised, before the MCC became the main authority in the game, and even before the current Lord’s ground had been built. According to Derek Birley in his Social History of English Cricket (1999), the concept originated from Lord Frederick Beauclerk, a controversial, somewhat abrasive, cricket-obsessed clergyman who was an illegitimate descendent of Charles II. In 1798, Beauclerk challenged the leading professionals to a match, but his team of amateurs lost disastrously. The idea was revived in 1806, when the amateur team were named “Gentlemen” and the professionals were “Players”. Beauclerk’s team won on this occasion – by an innings – but the purity of their victory was somewhat diluted as their side included two professionals “loaned” to make the match more even.

There were no further Gentlemen v Players matches until it was revived in 1819. Subsequently, albeit after a rocky start, the fixture continued until amateur status was abolished in 1962. For almost the first fifty years of its existence, the Gentlemen v Players match was dominated by the professionals. Quite simply (and to the modern eye, unsurprisingly) the professional team in this period was vastly stronger than its amateur counterpart, making for an unappealing spectacle. Furthermore, a game between two ill-matched teams offered little incentive for gambling, a huge factor in the attractiveness of cricket matches in the period. Therefore, there was often little interest in the Gentlemen v Players match.

To offset this problem, various attempts were made to increase the competitiveness of the amateur teams. One common ploy was to alter the numbers involved – in 1831, the Players had just nine men, while the Gentlemen had extra numbers on nine occasions (up to as many as the eighteen who were in the team for the 1836 match) between 1824 and 1837. There were two bizarre matches where the size of stumps was altered from the usual 27 inches by 8 inches: in 1832, the Gentlemen had to defend a reduced area of 22 by 6 inches, while in 1837 the Players had larger stumps measuring 36 by 12 inches in what became known as the “Barn Door Match”. Even with the extra assistance, the Gentlemen lost more often than not. From 1824 to 1837, the Gentlemen won only four and lost seven of the games played with alterations to the laws in their favour. Another strategy was for the Gentlemen to include professionals in the team to boost their competitiveness. Apart from the 1806 match, the “loan” of leading professionals happened in seven matches between 1820 and 1846, including in 1838 when the Gentlemen included three “loaned” professionals.

But even with all this help, the Gentlemen were outmatched. In 1842, the match was so unattractive that the MCC refused to take responsibility and it was only played when Frederick Ponsonby raised a private subscription list which covered the costs of what came to be called “The Subscription Match”. In 31 games between 1806 and 1846, the Gentlemen won 11, lost 17 and drew 3 times. Matters improved for a short time when a more competitive Gentlemen team won several times in the 1840s without receiving any help. Equivalent fixtures at the Oval were introduced from 1857, but by then the match had once more become uncompetitive: the Players went twenty matches unbeaten between 1853 and 1865.

W.G. Grace (‘Men of the day. No. 150.’)
by Sir Leslie Ward, chromolithograph, published in Vanity Fair 9 June 1877, NPG D43800

The emergence of WG Grace in the 1860s completely altered the balance, helped by a dispute between northern and southern professionals which meant that the strongest team was not always available to the Players. From 1866 to 1874, the Gentlemen were unbeaten in nineteen matches. Although this change cannot be attributed solely to WG Grace, he scored nine centuries (including two doubles) and four fifties in this period. From then until 1885, the Gentlemen won nine and lost just one of the eleven matches held at Lord’s, which remained the most important game. In this period, there was an increase in the strength of amateur cricket in general as the sport was embraced as a beacon of virtue by the Public Schools and Oxford and Cambridge Universities. It was here that cricket assumed its semi-religious aspects and increased enormously in popularity. Leading cricketers often came from this amateur background, meaning that professional cricket needed to catch up.

This duty happened with the emergence of top-class professional batsmen such as Arthur Shrewsbury and from 1885, the Players usually held the upper hand at Lord’s. Between 1885 and 1914, the Gentlemen won eight Lord’s matches and lost sixteen (with six draws). However, these games were usually fairly close and competitive.

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Various images of Gentlemen and Players teams

When we reach the period with which we are usually concerned – the 1890s to the 1930s – the pattern was settled. Each season, there were several Gentlemen v Players matches. A few were part of festival cricket – such as the annual Scarborough Festival at the end of each season – and not taken too seriously. In these matches, teams were selected based on who was available and interested in playing, and were not too representative of the strength of amateur or professional cricket. While a competitive element remained, the primary focus for these games was to entertain the crowd with fast scoring.

The two London matches were more serious. The Oval match was always the lesser of the two: the sides were usually selected only from the counties not playing on those dates which made it hard to find suitable players for a high-quality game. But for the Lord’s match, all cricketers were available meaning that these two teams almost always represented the best of professional cricket and the best of amateur cricket.

In some respects, throughout this period and earlier, the Gentlemen always laboured under one disadvantage. There were few periods when there were many top-class amateur bowlers. While there were plenty of exceptions to the rule, amateurs generally excelled in batting rather than bowling. Only rarely were amateurs among the top bowlers in England, and even more rarely were they pace bowlers – only JHWT Douglas, Gubby Allen and Ken Farnes in the 1920s and 1930s regularly made it into full-strength England teams as pace bowling amateurs. Instead, the Gentlemen usually possessed extremely good – and often exciting – batsmen. This is not to say that the Players teams did not also possess strong batting – but the cliche that professional batsmen were more cautious and pedestrian than their amateur counterparts held some truth.

Greville Stevens played for the Gentlemen as a schoolboy in 1919

But there were also periods when the Gentlemen struggled to field a competitive team at all. For example, immediately after the First World War, few top-class amateurs could devote much time to cricket. Consequently, Gentlemen teams often contained university cricketers, or even – when Greville Stevens was chosen in 1919 – schoolboy cricketers. As these players tended to be promising rather than accomplished, the results were mixed. At other times, amateurs made one-off appearances having had very little practice beforehand, which made them unlikely to do well. Perhaps the extreme example was when Ian Peebles made his first-class debut in 1927 in this fixture, on the basis of little more than a decent reputation in club cricket and the praise of Aubrey Faulkner.

All of these factors were reflected in results between the wars: after winning in 1914, the Gentlemen did not defeat the Players again at Lord’s until 1934 (in which time the Players won six times and nine games were drawn). The only other occasion they won was in 1938. However, the team was not uncompetitive at a time when there were some strong amateur batsmen; several Test class bowlers also played for the Gentlemen in the 1930s. The team’s overall record between the wars at Lord’s – played 21, won 2, lost 9, drawn 10 – while not impressive is not overwhelmingly poor.

After the Second World War, the Gentlemen won just once at Lord’s – in 1953 – before the last game in 1962; the Players won seven times and there were nine draws. However, there were attempts to improve the fixture; for example, Norman Yardley, who captained England and the Gentlemen in the late 1940s, recalled that he was encouraged to make the game attractive by playing attacking cricket. In this last period of amateurism, there were several good players – such as Peter May, Colin Cowdrey, Trevor Bailey and Ted Dexter – who were nominally amateurs but were paid through unofficial channels to enable them to play cricket full-time. This “shamateurism” – always a controversial topic – caused considerable resentment among the professional players, especially in the late 1950s when there was increasing agitation towards abolishing amateur status. As a result, several players remembered that the last Gentlemen v Players matches contained quite a lot of ill-feeling and “needle”.

In these final years, the number of games had been curtailed considerably. The Oval fixture had been discontinued in 1934; the regular match at the Folkestone Festival ended in 1936. Only the Scarborough Festival continued its traditional match; having previously held it intermittently, it became an annual fixture from 1951 until 1962, the latter being the final match in the series. From 1963, first-class cricket became fully professional, and with the cessation of amateur status, the Gentlemen v Players match ended. Between 1806 and 1962, 274 matches had been played: the Players won 125 and the Gentlemen 68; 80 games were drawn and one (in 1883) was tied.

Fifteen men appeared in 30 or more Gentlemen v Players matches. WG Grace played most often: 85 times between 1865 and 1906. Jack Hobbs, with 49 appearances between 1907 and 1934, comes next followed by Wilfred Rhodes (39 between 1898 and 1927), George Ulyett (37 between 1875 and 1892) and Bobby Abel (34 between 1886 and 1902). However, not all of these selections were for the most prestigious Lord’s game. The composition of teams for other games depended on geographical location and who was free to play; for example Yorkshire players (particularly respected veterans like Rhodes) were often favoured at the Scarborough Festival.

Aside from the “loaned” players mentioned above, there were eight men who played for both sides. Two of these came in the early days: Lord Strathavon appeared for the Players in 1819 apparently because he had placed a bet that they would win, but it is not clear why the mysterious WC Dyer appeared for the Players in 1821 and the Gentlemen in 1825. Three cases involved amateurs who had turned professional: Richard Daft (Gentlemen 1858, Players from 1860), Edwin Diver (Gentlemen 1884, Players from 1886) and Peter Richardson (Gentlemen between 1955 and 1958, Players in 1959). The final dual representatives were professionals who turned amateur: Jack Parsons first played for the Players between 1914 and 1927 then turned amateur and was selected for the Gentlemen from 1929; Wally Hammond turned amateur in 1938 which gave him the unique experience of captaining the Players in 1937 and the Gentlemen in 1938; and Bill Edrich represented the Players in 1938 and the Gentlemen when he became an amateur after the war.

The obvious question is: why did they play this game at all? Even in the 1920s, it had become an anachronism, reflected in lessening interest and falling attendances. Originally, the matches were almost certainly intended to demonstrate that amateurs could meet the standard of the best professionals. This was a common theme in English sport well into the 20th Century – the idea that the best gentlemen sportsmen (by definition from the middle or upper class) did not need regular practice or a financial incentive to excel and meet the professionals on equal terms. As results demonstrated for most of the 19th and the entire 20th century, an amateur team could not in fact meet the standard. Instead, after the heyday of WG Grace, the match was more often a chance for individual amateurs (usually batsmen) to demonstrate their skill and courage against the best professional players. It became less important that it was a competitive match (although it often was) and instead turned into a proving ground.

David Kynaston, in his marvellous WG’s Birthday Party (1990), wrote that the Lord’s match in the late 1890s was:

“… a great and historic contest in its own right. Indeed, at a time when test matches were relatively infrequent and not necessarily representative affairs … the annual encounter at the centre of cricket between the cream of the amateurs and professionals was generally viewed as not only the match of the season, but also the sternest possible test of talent and temperament.”

A photograph of a Gentlemen v Players match at Lord’s in the 1890s, printed in Cricket of Today and Yesterday (1902) by Percy Cross Standing

This is certainly true. In most years at this time, there were no Test matches at all – they only took place in 1890, 1893, 1896 and 1899. Furthermore, it not unknown for the best players to be missing from the Test team. Until 1899, England teams were chosen by the County Committees for the ground hosting the match, which affected selection policy. And it was not unknown for players to choose to miss certain Tests. For example, AE Stoddart in 1890 and FS Jackson and Bobby Peel in 1893 turned down invitations to play for England; Ranji was not selected for the first Test in 1896 as the Lord’s authorities choosing the team judged him ineligible (he made his debut when chosen by the Lancashire committee for the next game); and George Lohmann (effectively on strike) and Stoddart again (upset at criticism over the “expenses” he received as an amateur) missed the decisive final Test of 1896. Similarly, the England teams which played overseas Test matches were selected more on the basis of availability (and cost) than talent, and no overseas England team in this period came anywhere near a “first-choice” team.

Therefore, the only time the cricketing public could be sure to see the best players on display in the 1890s was at Lord’s for the Gentlemen v Players. Unlike the other two annual high-profile games at Lord’s – Eton v Harrow and Oxford v Cambridge – the attraction for the crowds was not social but sporting. The Times in 1891 said:

“It is to the Lord’s match that cricketers look for the crucial test between Gentleman and Players. There is an air of importance about the fixture at headquarters by which even at the cricketing public are affected. They know the depth of the influence possessed by the Marylebone club in whose hands the representative nature of the match reaches a thoroughness that can scarcely be equalled elsewhere.”

In 1898, CB Fry wrote that the annual Lord’s match “is the best one played, being in the true sense of the words a cricket match; a pure trial of skill, free alike from spoil-sport considerations of gate-money and from the artificial interest of the County Championship.” Kynaston, after discussing the various ways that amateurs were favoured and professionals kept in their place in this period, suggests in WG’s Birthday Party that “the rigid social stratification of late-Victorian cricket, reflecting society at large, gave a unique piquancy to the annual match at Lord’s between those quaintly named teams.”

This status was maintained until the First World War; home Tests were still infrequent, only played in 1902, 1905, 1907, 1909 and 1912, although by this stage such international matches, rather than the Gentlemen v Players match, were the most prestigious games. For example, the Yorkshire Post said in 1910: “In the absence of international engagements, these matches are the only media by which the superior merits of amateur and professional cricketers can be recognised.” And Harry Altham, writing an overview of the history of the fixture in The Cricketer in 1921, maintained the traditional interpretation:

“The Gentlemen v Players match at Lord’s stands, in any season undistinguished by the visit of an eleven from Australia or South Africa, as the high-water mark of English cricket. The sides selected to play are almost invariably the best available, and it is the proper ambition of every young cricketer, amateur and professional alike, to win a place in one of them. The history of the match is an epitome of the history of English cricket. For a hundred years there has hardly been a player of real note who has failed to leave his mark on the records. Its rivalry is keen but chivalrous, its atmosphere charged with great traditions of the past, while pregnant with possibilities for the future. It is, year by year, the acid test of our changing cricket standard.”

Despite Altham’s nostalgic views, between 1919 and 1939, the purpose of the match shifted from being a chance to see the best cricketers. The increased number of international matches – 1927 was the last season outside of war years in which there were no home Test matches – made the Test team the priority. Additionally, after the First World War amateur cricket had lost something of its glamour. So now, the Gentlemen v Players match, particularly the one at Lord’s, became used as a form of trial match for prospective England players. It was used to allow potential England captains a chance to demonstrate their tactical ability by leading the Gentlemen. In particular, the match was used as a proving ground in years before tours of Australia, in conjunction with what had by then become regular official “Test Trial” games. For example, the composition of teams in the Test trials and the Gentlemen v Players match in 1923, 1924, 1927 and 1928 shows the selection panel examining candidates for the 1924-25 and 1928-29 Ashes series. And success or failure in these matches – including the Lord’s match – could decide whether a player was included in the team or not.

This was not always a popular approach. The Yorkshire Post, hardly a bastion of the cricketing establishment, lamented in 1932:

“Gentlemen v Players fixtures, instituted so long ago as 1806, have rather lost their hold on the imagination of the cricket-loving public in recent years, almost certainly because the sides have been chosen with a view to the match serving as some kind of Test trial, instead of the two elevens being made up of the best amateur and professional talent in the country, irrespective of all other considerations. Twelve months ago, the choice of the Players side at Lord’s was dictated entirely by England’s International requirements, and the game depended for its interest upon that angle. No one could feel any enthusiasm for it as a trial of strength between the paid and the unpaid players of cricket.”

Throughout the period, amateurs had considerably more to gain from success than professionals. For example, scoring a century as an amateur against the Players’ attack – such as when Greville Stevens scored 129 in 1925 against an attack all of whom had played Test cricket in the previous 12 months – was far more meritorious than scoring one against the Gentlemen’s attack which in some years would contain players who rarely played regular first-class cricket. And success with the ball for an amateur player would also be praised as the professional teams always contained leading batsmen as well as the best bowlers. In many years, the Players team contained the bulk of the England Test side. Therefore, while it was unsurprising that the amateurs often lost, any success among their ranks was viewed as a massive achievement in a way that professional success was not.

Sydney Pardon in his “Notes by the Editor” in Wisden, particularly in the early 1920s after England’s heavy defeat by Australia in 1921, often judged the strength of English cricket by how both teams, and in particular the amateurs, had performed overall in the Lord’s match. Generally, the success of the Gentlemen was preferable to the cricketing Establishment and any lack of depth in amateur batting in particular was sorely lamented. And when past performances were recalled, it was almost always the performance of the amateurs, such as when Sydney Pardon, despairing at how the English batsmen played against Gregory and McDonald in 1921, reminisced about how “W. G. Grace and Stoddart, on a rather fiery wicket, treated Tom Richardson and Mold”.

That the cricket authorities favoured and encouraged amateur cricket is not surprising, given that administrators always came from the upper classes which favoured amateurism or were former amateur players themselves. This is often reflected in press coverage: the main “official” sources such as Wisden, the Times or the Cricketer championed amateur cricket and believed that amateurs were essential to the sports well-being. Therefore, potentially good amateur players in the 1920s – such as Percy Chapman, Douglas Jardine, Greville Stevens, Arthur Carr and Hubert Ashton – were glamorous figures whose performances were closely scrutinised by the press. Chapman’s feat of scoring a centuries at Lord’s for Cambridge against Oxford and for the Gentlemen against the Players in the same season (within the space of a fortnight) was regarded as extraordinary, and had only been done before by RE Foster in 1901.

However, by the 1930s, the match had lost much of its influence and attractiveness. After Pardon’s death, the only other mention of the Gentlemen v Players match in Wisden’s “Notes by the Editor” before the Second World War was when Wilfrid Brookes – discussing the falling numbers of amateurs regularly playing first-class cricket – noted in 1938 that “the victory of the Gentlemen over the Players last July is no weak answer to those who exaggerate the decline in amateur talent”. After the war, there were few references to the match at all by the editor, certainly in terms of suggesting it had much relevance to English cricket in general.

Freddie Brown (Image: Wikipedia)

However, the post-war Gentlemen v Players matches still had their uses as trial matches, particularly for amateur batsmen facing fired-up professional bowlers. Freddie Brown was effectively chosen to captain England in Australia in 1950-51 on the basis of his 122 out of 131 in 110 minutes for the Gentlemen against the Players in 1950. And David Sheppard’s century for the Gentlemen in the final Lord’s match in 1962 was the main reason he was included in the English team touring Australia that winter.

What did the participants think of these games? How seriously were they taken, and did they ever represent a “class struggle”? This is not the easiest question to answer, and there are few indications of how pre-war professionals viewed them simply because most surviving opinions belong to amateurs. The only full-length professional autobiography published before the First World War, by Warwickshire’s Dick Lilley’s, was careful to rock no boats; it gave the standard view of the prestige of the match. The only histories, such as Gentlemen v Players 1806-1949 (1950) by the inevitable Pelham Warner, were very much written from an amateur viewpoint and with the clear opinion that amateur cricket was preferable. The closest we can come to knowing what everyone thought is a somewhat awkward book written in 1987 which we have come across before.

Gentlemen and Players: Conversations with Cricketers was written by Michael Marshall, a Conservative MP between 1974 and 1997 and a junior minister in the government between 1979 and 1981. It combines quite extensive interviews with former amateur and professional cricketers with his own partial history of the fixture from the end of the First World War up until it was abolished. Aside from his obvious, and perhaps unsurprisingly typical, preference for the benefits of amateurism, there are some serious problems with Marshall’s book. His own sections contain several inaccuracies, such as his claim that George Macaulay was dropped for something he did during a Test match in which he did not actually play to his bizarre misinterpretation of how Herbert Sutcliffe was offered the Yorkshire captaincy. He even presents a (probably invented) passage from Fred Root’s autobiography as an interview with JWHT Douglas. But the parts where he talks to old cricketers are more revealing, and several had plenty to say about the Gentlemen v Players match.

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Left to right: Denis Compton (Image: Wikipedia), Bill Edrich (Image: Wikipedia) and Harold Larwood (Image: Wikipedia).

Denis Compton viewed the games as equivalent to a Test Match trial, and told Marshall: “Strangely enough, people today and especially the modern player would think ‘Oh well, that was just a bunfight’ but in fact it was highly competitive.” He believed that his success in a low-scoring match in 1937 led to his Test debut that year. Bill Edrich recalled one match in 1938 where the fast bowler Ken Farnes was fired up by his omission from the Test side and bowled intimidatingly fast against the professionals. He concluded: “Oh yes, those Gents and Players matches brought out some real competition between professional pride and amateur enthusiasm”.

Harold Larwood said:

“The public used to think that, for a bowler like myself, playing against the Gentleman would mean picking up easy wickets. By George, it was different! It wasn’t even easy pickings at the university level … Certainly, in the Gentlemen and Players matches, you couldn’t relax. They were a better test than the so-called Test trials when one professional was rarely going to go all out to do down another. But I thought that the amateurs who came through that Gentleman and Players trial into Test cricket had to be good ‘uns.”

Interestingly, interwar professional players who wrote autobiographies – such as Herbert Sutcliffe and Bill Bowes – made little to no mention of their selection for the Players, suggesting that it did not mean too much. Bob Wyatt, on the other hand, wrote with pride about his debut for the Gentlemen. But there is not enough evidence to make a case either way.

It is possible that the professionals were motivated by the financial rewards, as the wage for the Gentlemen v Players match was higher than ordinary games. From 1871, professionals were paid £10 per match, which compared favourably to the standard fee at most counties for £5 per home game and £6 for playing away. It also equalled the fee for appearing in a Test match for England until that was doubled for the 1899 season. I have been unable to locate figures for later years, apart from a note by Ric Sissons in The Players (1988) that the fee was greater than that for ordinary county fixtures. It is likely to be for this reason, rather than any desire to face the Gentlemen, that Wilfred Rhodes requested permission to miss Yorkshire’s game against Derbyshire in 1919 in order to play for the Players at the Oval; particularly as, when the Yorkshire Committee refused, they turned down a further request from Rhodes that he be given the money he would have received for appearing at the Oval.

Even if the participants were increasingly ambivalent to the fixture, the composition of the teams does indicate how highly (or otherwise) individuals rated in the minds of the selectors, or whichever influential figures made the selections in any particular year. For example, Charlie Parker was never selected for the Lord’s match (and only once for the Oval game). It is not clear who selected the teams: newspapers refer to “selectors” but rarely identify them. But it seems that the Test selectors generally performed the job from the 1900s onwards: for example, a report on 5 July 1909 in the London Evening Standard specified that the Test selection panel had picked teams for the matches at Lord’s and the Oval that year. Additionally, the close relationship between selections for the England team and for the Gentlemen v Players teams suggests that the same people were involved in choosing them. Whichever individuals were responsible, it appears that the MCC chose the teams for Lord’s, and the Surrey Committee for the Oval. For festival matches, it would have been the responsibility of the organisers to find suitably strong teams.

Although when amateur status ended in 1962, the cricket Establishment lamented for a long time, and while the cricket press had long suggested that the professionalisation of cricket would be terrible for the sport, there were few regrets in subsequent years at the ending of the Gentlemen v Players match. The answer to how it affected the sport as a whole depends on your perspective. I suspect that Pelham Warner or Sydney Pardon would believe that all their fears were realised, and that cricket today (in terms of ethos and organisation at least) bears little resemblance to the game they knew in 1920, or in 1900. But for most people, there was little regret at the demise of the amateur. And there have not been too many calls to go back to the old ways.

“Have carefully considered question, and regret to decline”: Herbert Sutcliffe turns down the Yorkshire captaincy

Herbert Sutcliffe (Image: Wikipedia)

After appointing Herbert Sutcliffe, one of the world’s leading batsmen, to the Yorkshire captaincy on 2 November 1927, the county Committee were prepared for a storm of controversy to engulf them. For Sutcliffe was a professional cricketer, and since the earliest days of county cricket, all captains were amateurs. This move by Yorkshire – inspired by the need to refresh their declining team and through the lack of suitable amateurs who were good enough cricketers – was unprecedented. However, criticism came not from the cricket establishment, but from members of the Yorkshire team, Roy Kilner and Wilfred Rhodes, the latter of whom expressed public disappointment that he had been overlooked for the captaincy. A flurry of correspondence in the pages of local newspapers mostly expressed sympathy and support for Rhodes. This culminated in a poll being sent to all Yorkshire members by SE Grimshaw, a Leeds stockbroker who claimed to have received 2,700 replies – the vast majority in support of an amateur captain and, failing that, Rhodes in preference to Sutcliffe – in just three days.

However, this poll and its attendant publicity quickly became irrelevant. Despite a denial by the Yorkshire President Lord Hawke on 6 December that Sutcliffe had replied to the Committee, it seems that his answer must have been in their possession for some time. On 9 December, a Special General Committee meeting was held at which Lord Hawke read out a telegram he had received from Sutcliffe. It said:

“Official invitation received yesterday. Many thanks to you and Committee for great honour. Have carefully considered question, and regret to decline. Am willing to play under any captain elected.”

William Worsley (Image: History of Yorkshire County Cricket 1924-1949 (1950) by JM Kilburn)

Hawke said that, after receiving the telegram, he had asked the 37-year-old William Worsley, a captain in the Army, to lead the side for 1928. The Committee unanimously agreed and wrote a reply to Sutcliffe in which they thanked him for his loyalty to the club.

Worsley had, apparently, been asked to captain in 1924 but was unable to accept. His cricketing credentials were slight, amounting to little more than playing for the Eton first team in 1908 and 1909. He had never played a first-class match nor appeared in Yorkshire’s Second XI. Despite claims that he had been in the Committee’s thoughts for years, no-one mentioned him before Sutcliffe’s appointment or in the ensuing controversy.

The chronology of events around this meeting is unclear. There is no indication of when Sutcliffe’s reply was received, nor when Worsley was approached. Therefore it is uncertain when Sutcliffe changed his mind assuming that he originally planned to accept – which had apparently been his intention even before he sailed to South Africa.

The waters were muddied further by Leslie Duckworth’s Holmes and Sutcliffe (1970). In writing the book, Duckworth spoke to both Sutcliffe and his Yorkshire opening partner Percy Holmes, although it appears he had more discussions with the latter. His account of the captaincy offer to Sutcliffe contains some mistakes. But he includes information not mentioned elsewhere – not even in the minutes of Yorkshire Committee meetings.

Duckworth said that the results of the members’ poll lay behind Sutcliffe’s withdrawal. But this does not quite work: the final numbers were not revealed by Grimshaw until 14 December, five days after the meeting at which Worsley was appointed. And when Grimshaw announced some early results on 8 and 9 December, Lord Hawke must already have known Sutcliffe’s answer in order to have time to approach Worsley and organise the meeting on 9 December. Therefore the poll can have had no bearing on the decisions of Sutcliffe or the Yorkshire Committee in early December.

Duckworth’s next departure from the “official” version is more intriguing: having seen the poll results, “the committee sent Sutcliffe a cable asking if he would consider withdrawing the acceptance of the captaincy.” There are a few problems with this, quite apart from the poll results not having been published at the time. The Committee minutes make no mention of any communication with Sutcliffe other than their letter of thanks for his loyalty; there is no reason that mention of such a telegram would have been omitted – although the Committee minutes were often discreet, they were not for public consumption and frequently contain sensitive items. An official telegram would certainly have been recorded.

Is there any basis for this claim? Could it be that the Committee forced Sutcliffe to withdraw? Duckworth does not give a source. Part of his account is clearly based on contemporary reports: in mentioning the poll results, he gives almost the exact wording from the 1927 newspapers: 90 per cent favouring an amateur and Rhodes preferred “by two votes to one”. But on other details, Duckworth is vague – for example, he said that, in order to be captain, “it had been agreed that Sutcliffe would become an amateur” when this had been ruled out by then. He also wrote as if Sutcliffe accepted the captaincy then changed his mind; contemporary reports are clear that Sutcliffe had at no point officially accepted.

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The most likely explanation is that Duckworth was relying on someone’s faulty memory: perhaps his own, perhaps that of someone else; perhaps, most intriguingly, the recollections of Holmes or Sutcliffe. Holmes would have been fully in the picture: he was a member of the MCC team touring South Africa that winter, and was close to Sutcliffe. To take this a little further, perhaps the poll results were quoted from a newspaper clipping that someone had kept – again, possibly Holmes or Sutcliffe.

If Duckworth’s story came from Holmes or Sutcliffe, the “request to withdraw” claim becomes a strong one. Neither man is likely to have been mistaken over such an important point, even if other details had become muddled in their mind after 40 years. But if such a request existed, it cannot have been an official one from the Committee, or the minutes would mention it. Perhaps Duckworth’s source misremembered the purpose of the “letter of thanks” sent afterwards.

But it may be more likely that, as in the case of the original offer, one or two individuals on the Committee – maybe Richard Ingham again – contacted Sutcliffe privately to suggest he withdraw. Maybe this reflected some behind-the-scenes manoeuvres as the Committee realised the controversy was doing too much damage. Therefore Sutcliffe was pressured into declining the captaincy. While this theory is an attractive one, it should be treated with caution. Duckworth remains the only source for the “request to withdraw”, and it is possible that he simply got it wrong. 

Duckworth’s story – which takes up just two pages of his book – has been influential. Most subsequent retellings unquestioningly repeat it. For example, Derek Hodgson, in The Official History of Yorkshire County Cricket Club (1989) suggested that Duckworth was “no doubt recalling many conversations with Sutcliffe” when he wrote about the captaincy (which perhaps stretches how much Sutcliffe cooperated with the book). Alan Hill wrote in his 2007 biography of Sutcliffe that it was Grimshaw’s poll which “emboldened” the Committee to send their request to Sutcliffe.

Whatever lay behind the decision, when did Sutcliffe make it? On 10 November, when the Press Association reported that he was “distressed” by the criticism, his remarks indicate that he still planned to accept. Many Committee members, asking for everyone to get behind Sutcliffe, also seemed to believe at this time that he would still accept. Perhaps in the quieter period that followed, before Grimshaw’s poll reignited the controversy, someone – either Sutcliffe or his advisers – concluded, on reflection, that it would be better if he declined. It was simply a coincidence that this decision came at the same time as the poll was released. Therefore the most likely reason that Sutcliffe – or the Committee – changed course was Rhodes’ interview which revealed the team were not behind him.

There was widespread press coverage of Yorkshire’s announcement. The Yorkshire Evening Post suggested that the decision was a result of the criticism of both the appointment of a professional and the treatment of Rhodes and noted: “It had been suggested that Sutcliffe himself might not feel it politic to accept the captaincy.” 

An editorial in the Yorkshire Post praised Sutcliffe:

“The previous decision of the committee to appoint a professional captain was such a departure from the county’s traditions that a conflict of opinion regarding it was inevitable, though probably most cool-headed observers will hold the view that this conflict has been carried to unreasonable lengths … Sutcliffe has taken a wise and dignified course in declining an honour which a message sent by wireless when he was on his way to South Africa suggested he was prepared to accept …

The first thought of a true cricketer is the success of his team. So Sutcliffe stands aside and indicates his readiness to play under the captaincy of another, thus showing that sportsmanship does not depend on amateur status. The honour of leading Yorkshire was a big thing to refuse, and no Yorkshireman will forget that it was refused by Sutcliffe in what he believed to be the best interests of the team.”

The Morning Post, very much an establishment publication, thought that the refusal “demands a word of regretful comment”. It said there was “no more charming personality in modern cricket” than Sutcliffe but thought the reaction of his team-mates “confirms our belief it is better to have an amateur captain.”  

Other newspapers were more critical of Yorkshire, although they were unanimous in praising Sutcliffe for his conduct throughout the whole affair. Most concluded that he had made a wise decision. The Committee bore the brunt of the criticism, and the consensus was that both the reaction of the Yorkshire team and Grimshaw’s poll made Sutcliffe’s captaincy untenable. Several newspapers – including Australian ones – regretted that prejudice against professionals had proven too strong to remove class distinction.

Much of the coverage focussed on Worsley, who was something of an unknown quantity, and his meagre cricketing accomplishments. There was quiet acknowledgement that he would struggle, and a few wry comments on how remarkably quickly he had been appointed. Worsley himself praised Sutcliffe, saying he had “been extremely sporting in his behaviour throughout.” 

By now, Sutcliffe was in Pretoria, and he briefly spoke to a representative of the Press Association:

“The only observation I have to make is that I hope my thousands of friends in England, Australia and South Africa will forgive me for declining the captaincy. I am prepared to serve under any captain appointed by the Committee, and my chief aim is to do my utmost for the game in any capacity.”

The report also said that the professional members of the MCC team were “very disappointed, but they decline to discuss the matter.” Sutcliffe later confirmed to the Press Association that he had received Yorkshire’s telegram of thanks, but when pressed by the British United Press correspondent, he became a little irritable, replying: “It’s possibly true that I’ve refused the captaincy of Yorkshire, but I absolutely refuse to make any statement or give any explanations.”

The press reported the opinion of several cricketers, although Yorkshire players finally realised the need for discretion and kept quiet. RES Wyatt of Warwickshire, a fellow member of the MCC team, thought Sutcliffe had done the right thing after all the controversy. He said that while he personally preferred an amateur, he thought Sutcliffe would have been an ideal professional captain. Meanwhile, the Kent captain, GB Legge, and the Leicestershire captain, EW Dawson, spoke of their approval of Sutcliffe’s actions; Legge said that he had regretted Yorkshire’s choice of a professional. GTS Stevens, the Middlesex amateur, told the Press Association he was glad Sutcliffe had refused because his batting would have been affected and he was the best batsman in England. He paid tribute to Sutcliffe’s strength of mind in turning the captaincy down.

Almost inevitably, SE Grimshaw also managed to keep himself in the news. Interviewed after the announcement, he pompously remarked: “I made up my mind straight away. If Rhodes is satisfied, I am. I feel certain, however, that Rhodes will be satisfied with the election of Captain Worsley.” As to his ballot, Grimshaw said: “I think this will show the County Committee that members are not going to be left out when comes to such an important point as changing from amateurism to professionalism and from the principle of seniority.”

The Liverpool Echo summarised the whole situation in an article headlined “The Blight on the White Rose”. The writer mocked Grimshaw’s poll: “We do not believe that in future a ballot will have to be held before the Yorkshire bowling can be changed.” The writer (mistakenly) claimed that the poll did not reveal much opposition to a professional captain. Playing on the idea that many scorecards denoted amateurs by printing their initials but omitted these from the names of professionals, the writer concluded that Worsley’s “chief qualification is that he is entitled to use his initials as well as his bat and pads.”

Others also joked at Grimshaw’s expense. A letter to the Leeds Mercury from “JM” suggested that Grimshaw would hold a referendum every time he was unhappy with the composition of the team or the use of particular bowlers.

As everything quietened down, Grimshaw made one last appearance. The Leeds Mercury carried the final results of his poll on 14 December, which it classed as now irrelevant but still interesting. The newspaper pointed out that many members who had written in were opposed to the whole idea of the poll, but claimed that approximately half of Yorkshire’s members replied. 

2,708 members voted on the first question:

• In favour of an amateur: 2,264 (84%)
• In favour of a professional: 444 (16%)

3,353 members voted on the second question:

• In favour of Rhodes: 2,007 (60%)
• In favour of Sutcliffe: 876 (26%)
• In favour of the Committee (not an option on the postcard): 298 (9%)
• Spoilt cards: 172 (5%)

Grimshaw commented on his results: “I think I ought to point out that many of the votes recorded for Sutcliffe as a professional were owing to him already having been selected by the County Committee.” It is not too clear from where Grimshaw received this insight. Incidentally, the total number of Yorkshire members in this period was around 7,000; if Grimshaw is to be believed, he received replies from just under half of all Yorkshire members in seven days. It is not clear why 645 of the returns did not vote on whether they preferred an amateur or a professional. Nor is it clear whether those who ignored the postcard did so because they were happy with the status quo, because they disapproved of the ballot, or just were not interested. Perhaps indicative of the divisiveness of the poll was that the very same issue of the Leeds Mercury carried a letter criticising Grimshaw, signed as “Anti-Grimshawite”. But no doubt to Grimshaw’s private pleasure, even The Times carried his results.

Having had his moment of fame, Sidney Grimshaw returned to his normal life, continuing to write to local newspapers. Possibly he acquired a taste for controversy as there are at least three other instances of him interfering in other areas in which he was marginally involved. In 1932, as one of the shareholders of Verellen Ltd, a Belgian tobacco manufacturer, he tried to discuss with the company’s directors whether it should continue to operate after posting big losses. They were not keen to share privileged information with him. In 1933, Grimshaw was heavily defeated in several resolutions to wind up Willys Overland Crossley Ltd, a Stockport motor vehicle manufacturer – at one point, his interference was such that he was told he was “out of order”. Then in 1935, he led another attempted liquidation, this time of the lace manufacturer Copestake, Crampton, and Co. The company chairman said that Grimshaw “is adopting this course because of my refusal to accede to his demand for a seat on the board”. He was again heavily defeated, but old habits died hard. According to a report in the Dundee Courier, he demanded a poll of shareholders. When he realised he did not have enough support, he threatened to call more meetings; the board decided to apply for an injunction to stop Grimshaw – at which point the story disappeared from newspapers.

Grimshaw’s wife died in 1934, and in 1939 he was living in Moortown, Leeds with his younger brother and his family; he was still listed as a stockbroker at the age of 64. That same year, he wrote at least two letters, featuring quotes from Mein Kampf, which were supportive of Adolf Hitler, although not in any strong terms. He seemed to view Hitler as demonstrating some new form of Christianity. The last letter of his that is visible on the British Newspaper Archive website is from 25 May 1940. Grimshaw died in January 1956, aged 80, living in Newton Grove in Chapeltown, Leeds; he was last seen alive on 11 January and his body was found two days later. His death certificate says that he died of bronchopneumonia, chronic bronchitis and emphysema but does not make clear who found him. He left an estate worth £83, 10 shillings and 10 pence; the executors of his will were John Henry Nash and Peter Barrett – Yorkshire’s Secretary and Assistant Secretary at the time.

What can we conclude about SE Grimshaw? He certainly generated a lot of press coverage in 1927 and evidently enjoyed the attention. We cannot be certain whether he was applying his experiences as a stockbroker in attempting to steer the course of the Yorkshire Committee, or if he simply saw an opportunity for self-publicity. His actions in 1927, his subsequent behaviour in other spheres, and his extensive letter writing certainly hint at a man who enjoyed attention. Despite subsequent suggestions that his poll derailed the attempt to appoint Sutcliffe, it is unlikely that Sidney Grimshaw was much of a factor in the decisions of late 1927. We cannot know if an earlier poll might have had an impact; or if it might have influenced the participants if Sutcliffe had not withdrawn when he did. But maybe when the Committee members (and perhaps Sutcliffe) eventually saw Grimshaw’s results, they reflected that he had proven their choices correct.

As the dust settled, a lengthy but carefully thought-out article appeared in The Times:

“All cricketers will wish well to Captain Worsley, who has accepted the responsible task of captaining the Yorkshire Eleven. Though there is nothing surprising about Sutcliffe’s refusal, it is a pity in some ways that he felt himself obliged to decline the committee’s offer. One would have liked to see him lead the side, and his general popularity, combined with his skill as a batsman, makes it probable that he would have been a success. However, half the value of a captain is gone if, before he takes up his duties, people begin to question whether he is the right man for the position, and Sutcliffe has been well-advised to recognise this fact.”

The rest of the article discussed professional captaincy. It concluded that while an amateur leader was good to remind everyone that cricket was still only a game, “so far as one can see, there is no hard-and-fast principle involved, and a leading professional, if he has the requisite character and aptitude, may fill the office just as well as an amateur.” The main issue was, in effect, the need to elevate one professional above others which, as in this case, might lead to a dispute.

Everything was quietly brushed under the carpet after Worsley’s appointment. Sutcliffe said little else on the matter. While he was still in South Africa, a summary of a letter he wrote to a friend appeared – probably with his unofficial approval – in newspapers. He believed he would have been supported, but that “undercurrents” had been stirred up that might have damaged both Yorkshire and the whole sport; he had no wish to cause controversy. When he finally returned home in March 1928, he was inevitably asked about it, but simply replied: “My last word has been said. A captain has been selected and I shall loyally support him.” He never spoke or wrote of the matter publicly again, unless he was the source of Duckworth’s story in 1970.

The Yorkshire President Lord Hawke (Image: History of Yorkshire County Cricket 1903-1923 (1924) by AW Pullin)

At the Yorkshire Annual General Meeting in January 1928, Lord Hawke’s embarrassment was palpable. He thanked Lupton for all he had done and assured his audience that Worsley had been in the minds of the Committee for years; he had previously been unable to accept the captaincy for private reasons. Now, he had agreed to help, “realising the county’s difficulties”. Hawke assured worried members that Worsley was a disciplinarian who would play brighter and more aggressive cricket. He concluded his speech by saying sorry about “that little misunderstanding” over the captaincy but it was all happily ended now.

All that was left was for the bones to be picked over. “Second Slip” in The Cricketer Spring Annual for 1928 noted how amateurs were rare in the Yorkshire team which meant that “figureheads” were needed as captains. He thought that Sutcliffe, “very wisely, in our opinion, declined to act.” The Wisden editor, Charles Stewart Caine, had quite a lot to say in his notes for the 1928 almanack, but eventually concluded that an amateur captain was vastly preferable owing to their independence from county committees and fellow players. This was true even if the amateur captain was “of moderate attainments”. In other words, a restatement of the long-standing argument in favour of the status quo.

And the status quo very much remained in force. Although the professional Ewart Astill was appointed as captain of Leicestershire for 1935, he only led for one season until the amateur New Zealand Test player CS Dempster qualified to play for the county and took over. After the war, Tom Dollery captained Warwickshire as a professional for several seasons and led them to the County Championship in 1951. Len Hutton was appointed England’s first professional captain in a home Test match the following year. But it was not until 1960, when Vic Wilson was appointed, that Yorkshire’s official captain was a professional. Perhaps ironically, Sutcliffe’s son Billy, who had been photographed with his father’s bat when he was announced as captain in 1927, led Yorkshire in 1956 and 1957 as an amateur. And it was Herbert who demanded his son’s resignation after underwhelming results on the field.

Billy Sutcliffe captained Yorkshire as an amateur in 1956 and 1957 (Image: Wikipedia)

The events of 1927 were rarely discussed in print. The only indiscreet account was written by Sir Home Gordon in Background of Cricket (1939) when he betrayed Lord Hawke’s nervousness. Rhodes did not mention the affair when contributing a series of articles to the Yorkshire Evening Post in late 1930 and early 1931. His only words on the subject appeared in his biography written in 1960 by Sidney Rogerson. Rhodes’ account mentions Toone’s approach at the start of the season, and talks about how newspapers called for Rhodes to be given the role. But not everything is told as it happened: Rogerson says, wrongly, that Hawke was out of the country at the time, and that Rhodes “kept his own counsel”. More truthfully, he wrote that Rhodes “felt the slight very deeply.” Rogerson obviously spoke to him about it: 

“Rhodes contented himself with writing a long private letter to Lord Hawke during the winter – ‘not that I had any ambitions to captaincy’ – and Hawke replied, ‘We will have a meeting as soon as possible.’ ‘Never any meeting!'”

Sutcliffe diplomatically omitted the affair from his autobiography. That he barely discussed it even 43 years later is evident from Leslie Duckworth in Holmes and Sutcliffe: “I have no doubt that Sutcliffe most carefully considered the position before he sent his cable, but all he would say on his return home from the tour was that ‘the captain has been selected and I shall loyally support him’, which he has always done. But I believe that he now regrets that he withdrew his acceptance and thinks he should have stuck to his original decision.” Unlike in other parts of the book, Duckworth does not feel able to give Sutcliffe’s own view directly but merely his own interpretation; though again notice how he is able to quote a contemporary press report word-for-word.

Sutcliffe privately discussed professional captaincy on at least one other occasion, this time in connection with his old opening partner Jack Hobbs. In Express Deliveries (1949), Bill Bowes tells this story: 

“When Jack Hobbs refused the captaincy of England [this was probably in the summer of 1930 after Percy Chapman was sacked] Sutcliffe was deeply disappointed. ‘Lord Hawke lifted professional cricket from there to there,’ said Herbert, raising his hand from knee to shoulder level. ‘Professional cricketers lifted it to there,’ he continued, raising his hand above his head, ‘– and even Lord Hawke always wanted it back again. Jack Hobbs, for the sake of the professional cricketer, should have accepted.'” 

This would support the idea that Sutcliffe regretted declining the Yorkshire captaincy. Maybe even that the final decision was not actually his; and perhaps that Lord Hawke played a part in his ambitions being thwarted. But Bowes does not directly mention the events of 1927.

Other Yorkshire histories lack detail of the affair. For example, Jim Kilburn (1949) covered it in a paragraph. Derek Hodgson (1989) gave some details, most of which came from Kilburn and Duckworth, and concluded that Sutcliffe was wise to withdraw in order to avoid strife. Anthony Woodhouse (1989) also limited himself to one paragraph; he favourably compared the way the matter was “smoothed over” to the warfare concerning Geoffrey Boycott in the 1970s and 1980s.

The strangest account comes from Michael Marshall in Gentlemen and Players (1988). He completely misunderstood what happened, attributing the decision to appoint Sutcliffe in the first place to the results of the poll by Grimshaw: 

“It was not entirely surprising [given Sutcliffe’s popularity], therefore, when the Yorkshire membership voted in favour of Sutcliffe as captain for the 1928 season. There followed a fascinating sequel which, to this day, is a closely guarded secret in the sense that no records are available for inspection of the Yorkshire committee’s subsequent actions. Yet there was clearly a backlash in favour of amateur captaincy and pressure was put on Sutcliffe to withdraw his name.”

Marshall’s account is wrong on every level. He did speak to Bill Bowes, when the latter mis-identified SE Grimshaw; even more bizarrely, Bowes’ quoted account (which summarised the background correctly) completely contradicted the story Marshall told just above it.

The fullest re-tellings of the tale are more recent. Alan Hill’s 2007 biography of Sutcliffe, although missing a few important details such as the idea that he would become an amateur, contains a full chapter on the incident, drawn from a combination of Duckworth, Marshall and the pages of the Yorkshire Post (which covered the story in far less depth than other Yorkshire newspapers). Surprisingly, the best account comes in a book in which it should not really belong, Alan Gibson’s Cricket Captains of England (1979). Gibson discusses the events on the slightly flimsy pretext that, had he been appointed, Sutcliffe would, in Gibson’s view, likely have become England captain in 1931 and held the role until at least 1934. Gibson is somewhat gossipy, and light on concrete facts, but has a firm grasp on the tale: its background, the plan to make Sutcliffe an amateur, the opposition of his teammates.

After all the words had been written, and the controversy had died down, how did Sutcliffe view the events of 1927? He had an outstanding career, and even now has the highest Test average of any England batsman. He scored over a hundred centuries and after his retirement joined the Yorkshire Committee. While he may have wished that the captaincy had been his, he cannot have had too many regrets. Maybe he sometimes wondered what might have been, and perhaps the failure of his son in the position he himself declined was more painful.

Yorkshire in 1929: Rhodes is seated on the front row third from the left; to his right is Worsley, followed by Holmes and, at the end of the row, Sutcliffe. (Image: History of Yorkshire County Cricket 1924-1949 (1950) by JM Kilburn)

The resolution of the affair left Yorkshire exactly where they had been at the end of the 1927 season: with an amateur captain not worth his place in the team. In 1928, William Worsley scored 274 runs, with a highest score of 60 (his only fifty plus score) at an average of 13.70. The following year, he managed 448 runs with a highest score of 54 (again, his only fifty) at an average of 17.23. Coupled with the loss of Roy Kilner and the continuing decline of the team, this meant results did not improve. Yorkshire were fourth in the 1928 County Championship and a more creditable joint-second (albeit with only ten wins, a number surpassed by six teams) in 1929. Worsley resigned after just two seasons and the young amateur Alan Barber was appointed. Work commitments limited Barber to one season in charge, in which he led the team to third in the 1930 Championship; despite more talent than most of his predecessors, he was a relative failure with the bat.

When Frank Greenwood took over in 1931, he had the best batting return of any Yorkshire captain between 1898 and 1946. Under his leadership, Yorkshire won the County Championship for the first time since 1925; but maybe this had more to do with the success of Bill Bowes and Hedley Verity than his own contributions. His captaincy ended in controversial (albeit hushed-up) circumstances and Brian Sellers took over. The latter led the team until 1947, finally bringing some stability (and occasional batting success) to the Yorkshire captaincy. But that is another story.

“Whom are you in favour of – Wilfred Rhodes or Herbert Sutcliffe?”: Enter Sidney Edgar Grimshaw

Herbert Sutcliffe (Image: Wikipedia)

After appointing Herbert Sutcliffe, one of the world’s leading batsmen, to the Yorkshire captaincy on 2 November 1927, the county Committee were prepared for a storm of controversy to engulf them. Sutcliffe was a professional cricketer, and since the earliest days of county cricket, all captains were amateurs. This move by Yorkshire – inspired by the need to refresh their declining team and through the lack of suitable amateurs who were good enough cricketers – was unprecedented. But while there was surprise, most of the cricket establishment was cautiously supportive. The opposition, when it arrived, came from an unexpected quarter: Sutcliffe’s Yorkshire teammates. First Roy Kilner – and to a lesser extent Maurice Leyland and Arthur Dolphin – expressed strong reservations at the idea. Then, more damagingly, Wilfred Rhodes gave a rare interview in which he expressed disappointment that Yorkshire had overlooked his claims to captain instead of Sutcliffe. The Committee do not seem to have even considered the idea of Rhodes. Their original idea was for Sutcliffe to become an amateur in order to captain and he was only appointed as a professional when this idea proved controversial; they wanted Sutcliffe, who was the “right sort”, rather than any professional, no matter how tactically astute. But Rhodes now became a focus for opposition within Yorkshire to the whole idea of a professional captain.

Up until this point, the correspondence pages of newspapers had been silent on the appointment of Sutcliffe; the story had changed so rapidly over the course of a week that it did not lend itself to considered debate in the letters pages. But the intervention of Rhodes on 8 November opened the floodgates. For example, a letter from GW Hudson of Headingley printed in the Leeds Mercury on 9 November argued that Rhodes should have the job, and Hudson threatened to withdraw his membership if the Committee did not change their decision. This led to a small flurry of letters, many of which took issue with Mr Hudson, and expressed support for the Committee and Sutcliffe. One correspondent, W Peckett, a County member from Halifax, regretted the problems between Sutcliffe and Rhodes and expressed surprise that the latter had commented publicly. Mr Peckett suggested that Rhodes would have been the choice if this had happened a few years before but he supposed he might retire now. A letter to the Yorkshire Evening Post signed “An old, old cricketer” argued that appointing a professional captain was a “backward step” as well as an injustice to Rhodes.

Herbert Sutcliffe

Wilfred Rhodes

The most active correspondence section, however, was found in the pages of the Yorkshire Post, which had been a little slow to take up the whole story, but now published a selection of letters almost daily. The initial batch mainly took the view that Rhodes should have been given the captaincy in preference to Sutcliffe; many added that an amateur would have been even better. GW Hudson appeared in this newspaper on 9 November too, with a very similar letter to that which appeared in the Mercury. At least one other correspondent also threatened to withdraw his county membership unless Rhodes was appointed. Several writers specified that their anger was not directed at Sutcliffe, for whom they felt sympathy. But another correspondent, “HCTB”, although saying that the Committee “appear to have gone beserk”, made the point that many must have been thinking – the team were obviously not united around Sutcliffe and that the alleged slight to Rhodes was effectively asking him to retire.

Over the following days, more letters appeared in the pages of the Yorkshire Post. This second wave seemed to favour the Committee slightly more than the earlier one, although there was still substantial support for Rhodes. Only one writer opposed the idea of a professional captain entirely. Several correspondents observed that no amateurs were available, and one pointed out that those opposed to a professional had failed to nominate a suitable amateur in his place. Another, signing himself “Amateur Player”, suggested that the public did not care as long as the best players were chosen.

In retrospect, the most important letter received by the Yorkshire Post was from a man called SE Grimshaw on 12 November. He wanted an amateur to lead, and so suggested Lupton should continue. But unlike other correspondents he threatened to go further and poll Yorkshire’s members. He received support from his fellow militant, GW Hudson, who had written another letter to the Yorkshire Post to defend himself against criticism. In doing so, he supported Grimshaw’s idea of a poll.

Within a few days, Grimshaw developed his idea. Several newspapers carried the story – probably taken from the Press Association which seems to have been contacted by Grimshaw – on 15 November: Grimshaw proposed to send a postcard to every member of the club if the Committee had not reversed their decision within three weeks. He raised several points of contention: that an amateur had not been chosen, that the members had not been consulted before the appointment of a professional, and that Rhodes had not been asked. 

Bill Bowes in his playing days, pictured around 1932 (Image: Wikipedia)

Who was SE Grimshaw? Many years later, when most of those involved were dead, Yorkshire’s Bill Bowes spoke to Michael Marshall for his 1987 book Gentlemen and Players. Bowes was not in the team when these events took place, and did not refer to them in his 1949 autobiography, Express Deliveries. However, he seemed to know something about the tale, and told Marshall:

“Sid Grimshaw was a retired schoolmaster who was mad about cricket. He had only been a moderate player in the Leeds League but he came and helped George Hirst in coaching youngsters at Headingley. He got to know all the players…”

However, Bowes was wrong about almost every point: Grimshaw was not a schoolmaster, he was not retired and he seems to have had no connection with cricket other than his membership of Yorkshire. Possibly Bowes had mistaken him for someone else. In reality, Sidney Edgar Grimshaw was a stockbroker who worked in offices at 71 Albion Street in the centre of Leeds; this was the address he gave in most of his correspondence with newspapers. He was born in Wakefield on 3 August 1875, although his family moved to Leeds when he was young. His father, Richard Atkinson Grimshaw, was a commercial traveller and later a nail manufacturer, who appears, from census returns, to have left Sidney’s mother before 1901. His uncle – his father’s older brother – was the painter John Atkinson Grimshaw.

Sidney Edgar Grimshaw appears to have played chess at a good local level; the results of several matches by SE Grimshaw appear in newspapers between 1900 and 1906. By 1911, when he was living with his brother and sister in Chapeltown, he was known locally: for example, the Leeds Mercury, reporting his opinions on a financial matter, described him as “Mr SE Grimshaw, the well-known stockbroker, of 71 Albion Street”. In 1916, he married Gertrude Saynor at Chapel Allerton church and the couple seem to have lived in Headingley.

Grimshaw was, in fact, a prolific letter-writer. From 1914 to 1940, at least 40 of his letters were printed in the pages of the Yorkshire Post and Leeds Mercury; most were written from 71 Albion Street, although some were sent from various home addresses. He wrote on many subjects, from politics and economics to religion and theatre. He comes across as a man of strong opinions but before 1927, his writings on cricket were limited: a 1922 letter proposing a new method of scoring in the County Championship at a time when the points system was controversial, (and a follow-up in which he criticised an editorial which failed to take his idea into consideration) and a complaint in late 1924 over the omission of Yorkshire players from the England team. But for some reason, the captaincy question in 1927 moved him to greater lengths than any other issue. Because within a couple of weeks, Sidney Grimshaw dominated the story.

Meanwhile, the letters page of the Yorkshire Post cooled a little, but the arguments were taken up again in the Leeds Mercury in mid-November. Once again there was considerable back-and-forth among the correspondents, generally in favour of Rhodes but also suggesting some more outlandish alternatives such as the return of Geoffrey Wilson or even of Archibald White, who had captained Yorkshire before the war. None of the suggestions would have resolved the issues which drove Yorkshire to such a course in the first place.

After weeks of frenetic reporting and correspondence, everyone paused for breath and there was a period of two weeks in which little changed. It was in this quiet spell that Kilner wrote to AW Pullin from India. Doubtless the Committee hoped that matters would settle down now and allow people to become accustomed to the idea of a professional captain. Lord Hawke may have been wondering how he should address the matter at the Annual General Meeting in January. Sutcliffe also remained silent; the Sporting Chronicle reported in early December that the Committee had still not received a reply from him.

But rumours soon began to circulate that Yorkshire had in fact received a reply from Sutcliffe, which was denied on 6 December by Lord Hawke. Also, CG Gibson, a former Mayor of Leeds and a member of the city’s Chamber of Commerce, who had visited South Africa on business, mentioned when giving his impressions of South Africa, that he had spoken to Sutcliffe, with whom he had played cricket at Pudsey Britannia, offering his congratulations. Sutcliffe told him that he had received no official offer and had only heard of it through the press and so he did not want to comment.

The tranquillity was shattered, and terminally so, on 5 December when Yorkshire’s approximately 7,600 members received a letter and postcard through their letterbox from SE Grimshaw. The letter said:

“Dear Sir or Madam:

No doubt you are aware that there has been a good deal of controversy in the newspapers as to next year’s captaincy. This being the case I think it is only fair that the members of the Club should have an opportunity of expressing their opinions. I have therefore decided to take a ballot of the members and should be obliged by your filling in, signing and returning to me the enclosed postcard.

                                                Yours truly,

                                                SE Grimshaw”

The postcard was simple:

“Yorkshire County Cricket Captaincy

1) Are you in favour of the appointment of an amateur or a professional?

2) If it is not possible to secure a suitable amateur, whom are you in favour of – Wilfred Rhodes or Herbert Sutcliffe?

As it may not be possible to secure a suitable amateur will you please vote upon both propositions?”

Some reports suggested that the members were given a time limit within which they had to return their answers. Although many newspapers carried the story, few offered a comment on it except the Daily News, which criticised the ballot as a “mean proceeding” and an embarrassment to both Sutcliffe and the Committee.

Once more, the letters pages were full. Most of the debate took place in the Leeds Mercury, and some members seem to have written immediately as their letters were printed on 7 December. “Amateur” raged:

“May I appeal to all members of the YCCC to ignore the [postcards] sent out by a Mr. Grimshaw, whoever he is. He may be an inmate of Menston [Mental Hospital] or a millionaire of Timbuctoo—l do not know or care. He evidently fancies himself as the County Committee instead of the present gentlemen, but that is of no interest whatever to anyone but himself. Let us leave this matter to those concerned – the County Committee – and let us give Sutcliffe every encouragement. If Rhodes refuses to play under our new captain, we know our ideas about his character have been sadly amiss.”

He urged all recipients to throw away the letter immediately, advice echoed by several other writers. These letters stung Grimshaw into a reply in which he defended the ballot on the grounds that a committee should carry out the wishes of its members; he denied that it was unconstitutional or disloyal. Correspondents to the Yorkshire Post were similarly unimpressed by Grimshaw: three letters appeared which criticised him on 7 December, and a further one on 9 December; however, two letters supporting him were also published on the latter date.

Despite the lack of overwhelming support for his actions, Grimshaw continued to keep himself in the public eye. On 8 December, he was quoted in the press as claiming to have already had 1,000 replies of which 90 per cent favoured an amateur and two-thirds preferred Rhodes to Sutcliffe. The following day, he declared that 2,700 members had replied in three days, with the proportion of votes remaining the same. He planned to call a Special General Meeting of the club – he said that only 76 signatures were needed to do so but he could easily reach 1,000. He wanted the Committee to rescind its decision and apologise to both Sutcliffe and Rhodes.

It is hard to know what to think about Grimshaw’s claims in the press. That 2,700 members cared enough to reply instantly, and that 900 replies per day could be delivered to him, stretches belief but is not impossible. Nor is it impossible that he had the time and energy to count up the responses so quickly and report his findings to the press. But he was obviously something of a self-publicist who enjoyed his moment of fame. And only he would have known if he was telling the complete truth.

But on 9 December, this poll and Grimshaw’s role in events was to be rendered spectacularly irrelevant…

“Douglas was beyond speech, arms akimbo”: Some stories about JWHT Douglas

John William Henry Tyler (‘Johnny’) Douglas by Unknown photographer (© National Portrait Gallery, London)

If JWHT Douglas was a perspiring cricketer and an uninspired captain, there is certainly no question that he was one of those men who fought to the last. At times, his will to win possibly bumped up against the spirit of the game, if not quite the rules. It was rare for an amateur to play in such a way, but that did not seem to stop Douglas; as others identified, there was something of the style of Yorkshire cricket about him. That might explain why players such as Sutcliffe and Rhodes admired him. Yet his privileged position protected him from any repercussions that would have affected a professional.

We have already touched on Douglas’ habit, which at the time was extremely frowned upon, of expressing displeasure at the verdict of an umpire. Monty Noble criticised Douglas for this during the 1920-21 Australian tour. After noting in one match, with some disapproval, that Abe Waddington had questioned several umpiring decisions, he described how Douglas was out:

“Douglas stood there when he knew he had been given out, and must have known, too, that he was out. Then he pointed to the ground as if to infer that the ball struck it … Of course, the incident occurred just at a time when the English captain may have cherished high hopes of retrieving to some extent the lost hopes of his side. But that does not afford any excuse for his action. He has had sufficient experience of big cricket to know better.”

When this news reached England, journalists and correspondents noted, with some relish, that this was not Douglas’ first offence. The Yorkshire President, Lord Hawke, giving his speech at Yorkshire’s Annual General Meeting in January 1920, criticised those who questioned umpire’s decisions, or lingered at the crease when given out. Although he mentioned no names, his target seems fairly clear.

Douglas was equally combative towards umpires when he was the bowler. First, there was his oft-mentioned habit of gesticulating in frustration when a batsman missed the ball. For example, Herbert Sutcliffe describes one innings he played in 1920 against Douglas who had him in all kinds of trouble as he made the ball swing. Sutcliffe related how for 45 minutes he could barely get his bat to the ball:

Herbert Sutcliffe (Image: Wikipedia)

“Time and again I played at the ball only to miss it. Each time JWHT flung his arms high to protest silently against the foulness of his luck, and finally, at the end of an over about which I had known very little, he came up to me and exploded: ‘Why the hell don’t you get a bite?'”

Sutcliffe relates how he then edged a ball in the next over and was dropped by second slip:

“‘Johnny’s’ face was a picture… I believe that if at Southend that glorious day Douglas had possessed a revolver he would have shot the fieldsman first and then turned his attention to me.”

Sutcliffe tells the story with affection; he liked Douglas. He survived to score a century and carry his bat through the innings. That night, he dined out with Douglas and some other friends but conversation rarely moved beyond how lucky he had been.

RC Robertson-Glasgow also wrote affectionately of Douglas in his Cricket Prints (1943). And he had this to say about his bowling:

“When [Douglas] just missed the stumps he would wave his arms, and often testify above and below. There was nothing theatrical about it. They were the instinctive gestures of abundant keenness and pugnacity. In the Gentlemen v Players, at Lord’s in 1924, he bowled a wonderful opening over from the Pavilion end to [Jack] Hobbs. I think Hobbs played at all six balls and only touched one. The very wickets seemed to shrink. Douglas was beyond speech, arms akimbo. Hobbs, tapping the pitch in his thoughtful way, said: ‘Well bowled, Colonel; well bowled.”

As we shall see later, it is often strangely necessary to double-check stories about Douglas. In this case, Robertson-Glasgow is supported by the Manchester Guardian in 1924; Neville Cardus wrote about the actual game:

“In the day’s first over, bowled by Douglas, a ball kicked sharply and hit Sutcliffe hard in the chest. Hobbs laughed like any schoolboy at the ball’s tantrums and so did Sutcliffe, but not Douglas, for whom cricket is no laughing matter but a stern ordeal by battle.  It was good to see the old fighter in action again, good to see his black hair still gleaming and sturdily filled flannels which he wears like armour. He rubbed the new ball round and round in his hands; as ever, he made vehement gestures whenever he beat the bat and missed the wicket.”

A little digging reveals other incidents. Fred Root, in A Cricket Pro’s Lot (1937) tells a similar tale; in a game for Essex against Worcestershire at Leyton, Douglas beat a number nine batsman over and over again, to his growing frustration (“Fred, it’s a ruddy marvel… the blamed batsmen can’t play well enough to get out.”). Eventually the batsman edged to the keeper.

“Douglas bounded round like a panther… and, his hands flaying like the sails of a windmill, yelled ‘How’s that?’ in his challenging, inimitable manner. Warren [the umpire] was unsighted by the bowler, and had no alternative but to give the batsman ‘Not out’.

‘What?’ screamed Johnny. ‘Not out’ repeated Warren. For a moment there was consternation on the faces of everybody on the field. Then came the outburst. ‘I don’t get a touch above once every pancake day, and when I do they stand there like blasted parrots and say ‘Not out!'”

To make matters worse, the batsman, feeling guilty, tried to get out by playing outrageous shots and ended up scoring a very fast fifty, mainly off Douglas.

Even earlier, there was a possible incident. On the 1911-12 tour, Douglas scored a century against an “Eleven of Australia”, for whom Jack Crawford, the former Surrey and England player, was appearing. Crawford was given not out after giving a catch on the boundary off the bowling of Sydney Barnes when the umpire ruled the fielder had stepped off the field. The syndicated press report published in Britain (for example in the Yorkshire Evening Post on 9 December 1911, or the Sheffield Daily Telegraph on 11 December 1911) stated:

“The Englishmen conferred together in a group, and disagreed with the decision. This caused considerable sensation, and the game was delayed for some minutes.”

This probably did little for Douglas’ image in England, but in fairness reports in Australia (such as in The Argus on 11 December) make clear that Barnes and the fielder, Mead, were the main complainants. Douglas, having discussed it with the umpire, accepted the decision. But not before the Australians Trumper and Armstrong had felt the need come onto the field to see what was happening.

I have no wish to labour this point. But I don’t think it’s unfair to say that Douglas was known for questioning umpires and making what, in the hands (or arms) of others, could be interpreted as unsporting gestures. Even what today might be called sledging. Yorkshire’s Abe Waddington, who was also in trouble for disputing with umpires in Australia, was investigated by the MCC and reprimanded after one ill-tempered game in which he gestured while bowling and argued with umpires. But Waddington was neither an amateur nor a captain of England; he was a professional.

For a little contrast with Douglas’ serious, antagonistic demeanour: in Richard Streeton’s 1981 biography of Percy Fender, Alf Gover recalls how Fender made the crowd laugh in a match against for Surrey against the South Africas in 1929. He defeated a batsman with five successive googlies, then had him dropped at slip by TF Shepherd from the sixth ball. According to Streeton, “Fender raised clenched hands above his head and shrieked: ‘Is there no God?'”

Arthur Mailey (Image: Wikipedia)

There were other accusations of what might be viewed as unsporting conduct at various times. Arthur Mailey, in his autobiography 10 for 66 and All That (1958) recounted how Douglas had accused him in 1921 of using resin to assist with his grip of the ball. Mailey’s reply was to point out how Douglas’ thumbnail was worn away from picking at the seam to assist his bowlers. There was a similar incident, reported in the press, on the 1911-12 tour in which Douglas said in the Adelaide Test that HV Horden and CE Kelleway were using resin, to which the Australian team said it hadn’t escaped their attention that Douglas frequently shook the hand of his wicketkeeper, whose gloves were coated in resin. (Incidentally, Mailey later admitted to using resin frequently and sometimes lifting the seam!)

As Douglas with the bat in his hand was a dour customer, he often provoked a reaction, and at times he was outright accused of being unsporting by spectators. Generally, he seems to have managed quite well, and was reported to smile and wave at Australian barrackers who criticised his slow scoring. But during the 1920s, there was a growing issue with crowds at cricket games; there had been several incidents involving barracking on the 1920-21 tour of Australia, and one or two instances during the 1921 series.

When Essex played Yorkshire in 1925 at Sheffield, Douglas was barracked, leading to a slightly hysterical reaction from the press. Several reports claimed he had said that he would never play at Sheffield again. However, according to the Yorkshire Evening Post (18 July 1925), the crowd was noisy but any comments were generally good-natured and the spectators liked Douglas, calling him “Johnny” and applauding him for a dour defensive innings. The reporter at the game wrote that the only objectionable comment was one “youth” who shouted: “Call yourself a sportsman?” when Douglas was batting slowly. In fact, Douglas played up to the crowd a little. During a drinks break, one man shouted “What about me?”; Douglas pretended to have a jug of beer sent in his direction. Perhaps everyone was a little sensitive after the “Waddington Incident” of the previous season. If Douglas had been upset, he complained neither to the Yorkshire secretary, Frederick Toone, nor the Yorkshire captain, both interviewed in the same edition of the Yorkshire Evening Post.

But this problem was not confined to Sheffield, as the Yorkshire Evening Post pointed out. Major Arthur Lupton, the Yorkshire captain, said that the barracking his team had experienced at Maidstone in the days before the Sheffield game was actually worse. In fact, the very day that the stories appeared in the press that Douglas would not play again at Sheffield, the Lancashire captain, Jack Sharp, was jeered mercilessly by his home crowd at Old Trafford after dropping a catch from the first ball of the game against Middlesex. He subsequently refused to play again at that ground because of the spectators; though he later relented, he retired at the end of the season. That August, prompted by the issue with Sharp, the Athletic News (10 August 1925) suggested that crowd problems had been growing since the end of the war. One of the contributors was Douglas, who “agrees that there are unruly spirits who cannot watch a cricket match without turning it into a bear garden. The leader of Essex holds that it is time something was done to restore order.”

Though Douglas, interviewed at Southend after the stories appeared, denied that he had said that he would not play at Sheffield again (and he did in fact play the only other time Essex had a fixture there before he retired), he had a history with barrackers. Root tells of a time when Douglas was batting at Worcester and was barracked “constantly and insultingly” by one person. Douglas “got very annoyed” and when he was eventually bowled, the small group around the barracker “cheered heartily and threw their hats in the air”. Root continues:

“As he passed me, Douglas said, ‘Fred, I have picked out two over there by the bar. The fellow who has been doing all the shouting is one, and I am after him.’ Without leaving pads, gloves, or bat, he went right over to the offending spectator and, whatever he did, very effectively put a stop to the nuisance.”

Robertson-Glasgow relates:

“When he was barracked for stubborn batting, his obstinacy increased, and once, when someone is in the crowd chanted ‘The Dead March in Saul,’ he stopped play and sat on his bat, refusing to resume till the concert was over. A delightful scene.”

Douglas’ nickname, “Johnny Won’t Hit Today”, was given to him by a barracker in the crowd at Melbourne in 1911-12 when he was batting slowly; David Lemmon, his biographer, suggests that Douglas was rather proud of it but after winning the Ashes told friends in private that maybe it should have been “Johnny Won His Test”.

If he was troubled by barrackers, he rarely showed it. He never responded, as Douglas Jardine once did, by spitting towards the crowd, although nor did he respond quite like Fender. Those Australian crowds (possibly because he was writing newspaper articles on the tour, which made him unpopular there) began jeering Fender in 1920-21, and like Douglas, gave him a nickname based on his initials: “Please Go Home Fender”. As Richard Streeton says: “Fender, being Fender, often ‘conducted’ the shouting”.

Douglas attracted stories that float around and are very hard to pin down. One, told by Sir Home Gordon in Background of Cricket (1939) was that Douglas, who disliked giving speeches while England captain, replied to a toast at a function in 1911-12. Gordon’s version was: “He tersely said: ‘I can’t make a speech, but I will box any man in the room three rounds.'” Alan Gibson, in The Cricket Captains of England, said that he had never been able to establish the context of this story; however he pointed out that if it followed a very well-publicised brawl on 3 February 1912 between the Australian captain Clem Hill and the selector Peter McAllister, it may actually have been a very funny remark.

Unfortunately not though. It is a simple case of Gordon hearing the story wrong. Contemporary press reports place Douglas’ remarks to Melbourne in November 1911; and his actual reply was to quote someone else. He said he felt like Bob Fitzsimmons, a famous boxer, who when he was asked to speak at a function, said “I ain’t no orator, but I’ll fight any bloomin’ man in the room.” Very different from how Gordon reported it, and not Douglas being “terse”. Poor Sir Home Gordon really did not like Johnny Douglas.

Reluctant speaker though he was, Douglas could score the occasional hit with an endearingly self-deprecating wit. In his 1933 biography From Verse to Worse, Lionel Tennyson records a speech he made when he captained the MCC team in South Africa in 1913-14. It reads like he kept a clipping from a newspaper to remember it, so it obviously made an impression. Replying to the mayor of Cape Town, Douglas, after making gentle fun of Tennyson, tells a story against himself.

“I was playing at Melbourne where the railway line runs past one side of the ground. I was batting and trying to keep my end up. One spectator in the Pavilion said: ‘Now Douglas is going in. We shall see the ball fly.’ His neighbour replied: ‘I’ll bet you more trains pass the ground whilst he is at the wicket than he makes runs ” (laughter)

A voice: “Who won?”

Johnny: “The trains won by 23 ” (loud laughter).

Another story, which is certainly in character, concerns Douglas complaining against an umpire. Michael Marshall, in his Gentlemen and Players (1987), carries a quote from Douglas for which he gives no source.

“They said that I seemed to have lost form, to which I replied, ‘Loss of form be hanged!’ When I was relieved of the captaincy of Essex it cost me thirty wickets and two hundred runs a season. The bloody umpire couldn’t say anything but ‘Not out’ when I appealed and they only said ‘Out’ when I was appealed against.”

In fact, this comes from Root’s A Cricket Pro’s Lot

“When playing at Leyton with JWHT Douglas on the Essex side, I jestingly chipped Johnny as to his loss of form.

‘Loss of form be hanged,’ he replied. ‘The responsibility for my poor figures is not “loss of form”. When I was relieved of the captaincy of Essex it cost me thirty wickets and two hundred runs a season. The bally umpires can’t say anything but “not out” when I appeal and only say “out” when I am appealed against.”

It is in a section about the difficulties faced by professional umpires on the county circuit, and how they felt pressured into favouring county captains with their decisions; it was those captains, at the end of each season, who selected umpires for the following season. Unfortunately, it cannot have happened. Douglas did not play for Essex after being removed as captain and did not play regularly after 1928. Root, only writing a few years after these events, is unlikely to have mixed up who he was speaking to. Nor were there many other county captains who would have been so successful with bat and ball who carried on playing after losing the captaincy. So Root, quite simply, made it up and chose Douglas to illustrate his point.

Walter Hammond and Douglas had one spectacular falling out (Image: Wikipedia)

One other incident, pardonably blown up by the person telling it, tells of a dispute between Douglas and Walter Hammond of Gloucestershire and England. The story originated from Reg Sinfield, an all-rounder for Gloucestershire in the 1920s and 1930s who played once for England; he seems to have told David Hopps during the latter’s research for his books Cricket’s Unholy Trinity (1985) and Wally Hammond: The Reasons Why (1996); he also told Michael Marshall for Gentlemen and Players. The basic version has Hammond facing Essex’s slow left-arm spinner Joe Hipkin whom he hit extremely hard into the covers where Laurie Eastman held a catch (which became a more miraculous each time Sinfield told it). The Essex team appealed and the umpire gave it not out as a bump ball, to Douglas’ displeasure. Hammond may or may not have gone onto a big score; but either at the interval or at the close of play, Douglas paid a visit to the Gloucestershire dressing room. “Where’s that so-and-so Hammond? He’s got a bloody sauce, that had to be a catch. Everyone knows it was out.” He may or may not have spoken to Hammond, who may or may not have been hiding behind the door. It varied, depending on when Sinfield told the story.

The follow-up (and Sinfield’s point in telling the tale) was the next day when Hammond, a reluctant but talented bowler, approached his captain (Bev Lyon in Hammond’s biography, but it had to be Harry Rowlands, the captain in the first two versions) and asked to have a bowl. He bowled extremely fast; in Sinfield’s version to Marshall, he bowled as fast as Harold Larwood, bowled Douglas out twice and had him backing away from the wicket. This seems a pardonable exaggeration, but something like it may well have happened, although Hammond never dismissed Douglas in first-class cricket. The most likely candidate game was at Chelmsford in 1928. Hammond scored 244 in an innings in which Hipkin bowled 33 overs. Douglas scored 5 (Hammond 6 overs) and 17 in the second innings, when Hammond bowled 28 overs. But if the Gloucestershire team found it remarkable, it did not draw attention from the press; and the focus for Sinfield and anyone else who told David Hopps the story was that Hammond was stirred to bowl fast for one of the few times in his life.

Percy Fender and Douglas had a long-running feud (Image: Wikipedia)

If there were few people in the cricket world who had a problem with Douglas as a person, there was one man in particular with whom he had an abrasive relationship. That was Fender. It could well have stemmed from that occasion on the journey to Australia in 1920-21, with the boat having barely left England, when Douglas said to Fender (who at the time had not played a Test match): “You know Fender, there is no man in England whose bowling I would rather bat against than yours; and there is no batsman in England I would rather bowl against either.” Unsurprisingly, it left Fender disheartened, as did other incidents on that tour, such as being told just before a Test match that he had been left out of the team.

During the 1920s, matches between Essex and Surrey, whom Fender captained, were very competitive. Douglas and Fender, who most observers agree shared a mutual respect, fought hard and uncompromisingly on the pitch. Their teams battled hard, and they opposed each other personally with bat and ball. Fender admired Douglas and spoke with respect and, at times, sympathy for him when Streeton talked to him for his biography. But he acknowledged that they clashed on the field although he suggested there was no atmosphere between them personally.

Streeton says that, according to Alf Gover, Fender and Douglas had a “curious mixture of antipathy and respect” for each other. “The Tramp”, writing in the Sporting Times (20 June 1925) wondered why, when Essex met Surrey, there was “generally a bit of a dog fight” at that time. He also told a story of a recent game:

“Loud speakers were well in evidence at the Oval the other day when Surrey were flogging the tired Essex bowling about. For a while Johnny Douglas was at a loss how best to set the field to keep the runs down. “You ask Percy Fender—he’ll tell you what to do, Johnny,” roared a hearty Ovalite. Fender, who was batting, waved a deprecating hand.”

Gover tells a similar that when he was bowling at Douglas, he accidentally hit him a few times with rising deliveries. Douglas said to him: “That’s not bowling, Gover”; Fender, from slip, interjected: “You captain your side, Douglas, and I’ll captain mine.”

Even more interesting, Tom Pearce, who became captain of Essex in the 1930s, told David Lemmon that he and Douglas Jardine, who succeeded Fender as Surrey captain, decided before one match to call a truce and conduct games between their counties in a more peaceful way. Lemmon also relates another suggestion, presumably from Pearce:

Evidently it was not unknown for ‘Bosser’ Martin, the famous groundsman at the Oval to decide on which strip would be used [for the pitch] after the captains had tossed and he knew which side was batting first.

More intriguing still is the tale, almost certainly true to some extent and researched by Streeton, that owing to an argument between Fender and Douglas in 1925, Surrey took the field with just two cricketers, Fender and another amateur, when the professionals were delayed before the start of a day’s play, as Douglas threatened to make him forfeit the game if his team did not take the field.

The short version then, is that Fender and Douglas did not get along. But it ended amicably, after Douglas had retired from county cricket. The pair shared a train carriage while returning from seeing an MCC team depart for overseas during the winter of 1930-31. For the first time, the two men simply chatted. Fender recalled:

“Nothing happened that you could put a finger on exactly but we talked about all sorts of things including Australia in 1920-21. For the first time we seem to get close. We were still talking when we got to London and he asked me to go and have a drink – and we had several together. In all the years we had known each other nothing like it happened before. We were both past being competitive by then and this may have helped, but when we parted we both felt, I think, that any past differences between us were finished. It can happen that way with people you have had a bit of a feud with.”

A couple of months later, Douglas was dead at the age of 48. He and his father were travelling by boat, returning from Finland where they had been buying timber for their company (which JWHT was now the titular head of). In foggy weather, their ship, the Finnish vessel Oberon, collided with another Finnish ship, Arcturus. The reason they were so close in fog was that the two captains were brothers who wished to exchange Christmas greetings. Oberon was badly damaged, stove in on one side, and sank within three minutes. The subsequent enquiry was unable to find out exactly what happened to Douglas, as there were conflicting accounts; but it seems he died trying to save his father who was either down below when the collision took place, or who had gone down afterwards as if going to collect something. Another story (which Fender heard) said that Douglas mistakenly thought his father was in a lifeboat and went down below to fetch his overcoat. Neither man was seen again.