“I am exceedingly sorry, and it shall not occur again”: Abe Waddington and the Establishment

Abe Waddington photographed around 1922 (Image: Yorkshire County Cricket Club (1997) by Mick Pope)

Abe Waddington was a Bradford-born left-arm swing bowler who began playing for Yorkshire in 1919. Scarred by his experiences during the First World War, he was never a typical county cricketer. Quick to anger and always willing to stand up for himself, he became a dominant figure in the Yorkshire dressing room and a crucial part of the team on the field. Most importantly, he was an immediate success when given an opportunity after first-class cricket resumed. After another good season in 1920, he was fast-tracked into the England Test team through a combination of optimistic hope that he could recreate the success of his fellow left-armer Frank Foster from ten years earlier, and a lack of viable alternatives given how weakened English cricket had been by the war. But he was an abject failure as part of the England team that lost 5–0 to Australia in 1920–21.

That was the end of Waddington’s Test career and he did not come near representative cricket again. He never played in the Gentlemen v Players match at Lord’s, the most prestigious fixture outside Tests in this period, and only appeared for the Players in end-of-season festival matches at Scarborough (in 1920) and Folkestone (in 1925). And over the following seasons, Waddington’s career went into a strange kind of limbo. Although he took over 100 wickets in 1921 (at the more-than-respectable average of 18.94), a later edition of Wisden judged his form that year to be modest. The review of Yorkshire’s season in The Cricketer maintained that Waddington’s form in the early part of the season was poor — he took only 38 wickets in May and June — but he recovered later.

Waddington’s best season statistically came in 1922, when he captured 133 wickets at 16.08. Finally, Wisden found some words to praise him, albeit faintly: “Waddington was, on occasions, more successful against strong sides than he had ever been before. He had days of astonishing success and once, at least, bowled with a bewildering swerve that recalled George Hirst at his best.” That season, he took eight for 34 against Northamptonshire, the best first-class figures of his career, a spectacular seven for six to bowl out Sussex for 20 and eight for 35 against Hampshire. The Cricketer review noted that Waddington was at his best on difficult batting wickets, but had a qualification: “At his best … [he] was at times unplayable; but he was subject to off days, and he has never yet shown his best form at the Oval.” That sense of underachievement against the best teams was perhaps best captured by Neville Cardus’ lament in 1921 that Waddington was “ever raising hopes that real greatness will come from him, only to disappoint again and again”.

And, although no-one could have suspected it at the time, 1922 marked the turning point of his career. During an inconsistent 1923 season, by which time he had fallen well down the pecking order of Yorkshire bowlers behind George Macaulay and Roy Kilner, he had just begun to find his form after a poor start when he slipped while playing at the Fartown Ground in Huddersfield against Leicestershire. The resulting shoulder injury ended his season, apart from one brief, abortive come-back match, and he was never quite the same bowler. Given his already known limitations, there was no way for him to reach to the top again. When he returned in 1924, he took only 69 wickets and his average climbed above 20 — high for a Yorkshire bowler in this period. The Cricketer stated: “Waddington was disappointing, and seems to have lost a good deal of his pace and devil, though he still maintains a beautiful delivery.”

But in many ways the final years of his career were overshadowed by events in the 1924 season, when his and Yorkshire’s ultra-competitive attitude on the field crossed over, in the eyes of the cricketing establishment, into lack of sportsmanship and outright dissent.

From late in the 1922 season until almost the end of 1926, Yorkshire were the dominant team in English cricket. Solid but unspectacular batting was backed up by incredibly strong bowling. The Yorkshire attack was regarded as almost unhittable; allied to strong and well-placed fields, even in benign batting conditions Yorkshire in the field could dry up runs from almost any team and dismiss them cheaply. Waddington was not a leading member of the attack but was strong back-up to Kilner and Macaulay; he, Wilfred Rhodes and Emmott Robinson were there to keep on the pressure so that the opposition had no chance to relax.

But there were some issues for the Yorkshire team. For example, unlike some of the southern counties, Yorkshire’s first-choice eleven was almost entirely professional. The only amateur was usually the captain, at best a nominal leader whose responsibility was largely disciplinary. The tactical direction for the team was set by Rhodes, the senior professional, and the leading bowlers. This troubled the amateur establishment.

Yorkshire in 1924. Back row: Edgar Oldroyd, Roy Kilner, Herbert Sutcliffe, George Macaulay, Maurice Leyland, Emmott Robinson, Billy Ringrose (scorer). Front row: Abe Waddington, Wilfred Rhodes, Geoffrey Wilson (Captain), J. S. Stephenson, Arthur Dolphin, Percy Holmes (Image: The Cricketer Annual 1924–25)

Furthermore, the Yorkshire eleven became increasingly truculent; there were several minor incidents in 1922 and 1923, from the team deliberately missing their train in protest at a decision to finish one game early, to accusations that the bowlers deliberately scuffed up pitches. And the team’s ultra-competitive attitude began to anger the souther, amateur-dominated counties such as Middlesex and Surrey. Rumours swirled about incidents involving Yorkshire; the Times correspondent wrote in 1924: “The fire now breaking out has been smouldering for some time. Last season I heard all sorts of hints and rumours, but nothing definite.” And there are just enough hints that the Yorkshire captain, the ineffectual Geoffrey Wilson, was struggling to control the team; nor was he too happy with the ultra-competitive nature of the team of which he was in nominal charge. But as they became more dominant on the field, the team became increasingly unpopular off it, except with its own supporters, which still followed Yorkshire passionately and — particularly at Sheffield — extremely vocally.

The chief culprit for causing upset to the opposition was George Macaulay; his aggressive attitude towards batters, including verbal attacks, annoyed many opposition amateurs. But the catalyst for a huge backlash in 1924 came from an incident involving Waddington. If part of the issue concerned the perception of Yorkshire by other counties, Waddington’s personality played a major part.

Martin Howe wrote of Waddington, in his 2010 article for the Yorkshire yearbook: “Abe resented the class and hierarchical distinctions of the game — for example, the rule that professionals should touch their cap to any amateur player and the dominance of gentlemen amateurs in the governance of cricket. His antipathy had been fuelled by his experiences of the officer class during the war and, perhaps, by the haughtiness of his captain on the the tour of Australia.” Howe mentioned J. W. H. T. Douglas’ habit of leaving the team alone while he attended social functions, but one other incident — presumably told to him by Waddington’s relatives to whom he spoke in writing the article — when Douglas “publicly admonished” the fast bowler and professional Harry Howell for daring to address Rockley Wilson as “Rockley” rather than “Mr Wilson”, as professionals were expected to do when talking to amateurs. And yet this might be a garbled recollection of something which actually applied to Waddington himself.

An article by the journalist (and later the editor of Wisden) Sydney Southerton in 1928 recalled an occurrence from the 1920–21 tour:

“The … story concerns ‘Abe’ Waddington, E. Rockley Wilson, and P. G. H. Fender. The Surrey captain, I should say, is known among cricketers as ‘Percy George.’ Waddington, in the pavilion one day, was warmly discussing some incident, and repeatedly referred to Wilson as ‘Rockley’. After a time, J. W. T. Douglas, the captain, interposed with ‘A little less of the Rockley, please.’ Waddington, in apparent surprise, retorted ‘Why not? He calls me Abe.’ ‘Who calls you Abe?’ asked Douglas. ‘Why Percy George,’ returned Waddington very neatly.”

Howe also suggested that while playing for Yorkshire, Waddington was prepared to slow the over rate, argue over umpire’s decisions which he believed to be incorrect, and “sledge” opposition batters — something that was considered unsporting at the time but something of a habit of the Yorkshire team. He also had a reputation for reacting badly when decisions went against him. Newspaper reports from the 1920–21 tour singled him out for this, but noted that Douglas was equally guilty. The latter also had a reputation from throwing up his hands in frustration when bowling, behaviour hypocritically acceptable for an amateur captain but a target for criticism in the case of Waddington.

A short section of film showing Waddington bowling in close-up from the early 1920s

No doubt Waddington was aware of these different levels of acceptance and resented them. But his irritation might have been heightened because of where he had come from, because he did not have a typical background for a professional cricketer. He could quite likely have played as an amateur if he had taken a position at his family business — and many players from other counties would have done so. Perhaps the security of that family background also gave him more confidence to make himself heard than would have been typical for a professional who needed to keep his social “betters” mollified. Herbert Sutcliffe wrote of Waddington in his 1935 autobiography: “He always was a genial fellow in the dressing room; a man with a rare personality, proof of which is shown by the fact that whenever there was a discussion of any kind in the dressing room, Abe generally ruled it, to all intents and purposes, the chairman.” Such confidence would not have been found in many professional dressing rooms in 1920s England; yet alongside men like Sutcliffe, who had been an officer in the war, Waddington somehow fitted in perfectly; his philosophy and temper exemplified the Yorkshire attitude that made the team so successful in this period.

Many of these issues came together in 1924. The seeds for what happened were sown when Yorkshire faced Middlesex — a team dominated by amateurs and perhaps the county that most represented the traditional English cricket establishment — at Lord’s. Roy Kilner, Macaulay, Herbert Sutcliffe and Percy Holmes were all absent, playing in a Test trial. Middlesex lacked Patsy Hendren and Jack Hearne, important players, but managed to find quality amateur replacements. The threadbare Yorkshire bowling was taken apart; Waddington conceded 116 runs from 42 overs and Wilfred Rhodes was struck four times for six, including twice in successive deliveries. Yorkshire were defeated by an innings and 152 runs. This was the beginning of an unaccustomed slump for the champion county; including the match at Lord’s, Yorkshire won just three and lost two of ten games. Therefore the team were under some pressure when they faced Middlesex once again, this time at Sheffield in early July.

Unlike the previous encounter, both teams were at full strength. On the first day, in front of a crowd of 20,000, a series of tactical mistakes by Yorkshire helped Middlesex to score 358. But this was utterly overshadowed by an incident in the first hour, which the Yorkshire Post described as “an unseemly outburst on the part of a section of the crowd.” The spectators were furious when the highly experienced umpire Harry Butt turned down an appeal against Greville Stevens from Abe Waddington’s bowling. The umpires took the view that Waddington had inflamed the situation by his reaction to the decision. He certainly had a habit of gesticulating in anger in such situations. However, the way the crowd reacted to Waddington — and how he played up to them — made the situation far worse, and amid considerable tension, play was halted until everyone calmed down. The Middlesex amateurs were notably shaken up by the experience.

On the second day, in front of 11,000 spectators, Yorkshire lost three quick wickets — those of Emmott Robinson, Macaulay and Waddington — to lbw decisions. Again, it appears that the reactions of these players, particularly Waddington, caused the crowd to erupt. The Yorkshire Post related how the “popular side of the ground made no attempt to conceal their resentment at the decision in particular which dismissed Waddington. The jeering which followed was unseemly and uncalled for, and as a factor of disturbance to the batsmen no less than to the attacking side, it was especially to be condemned.” On the final morning, after Yorkshire were bowled out just short of Middlesex’s total, Middlesex batted for most of the remainder of the day to secure the draw and a crucial three points for their first innings lead, which took them to the top of the Championship table. But Alfred Pullin (“Old Ebor”) called the match “a sorry exhibition of ill feeling and bad manners.”

After the game, the umpires complained to the MCC about Waddington’s behaviour. The Yorkshire Committee were informed and the Selection Committee met on 14 July. According to the minutes of the meeting, after the committee read a report from Geoffrey Wilson, Waddington was summoned and the complaint was read to him. The player was cross-examined and then asked to leave the room while the committee discussed the matter. They concluded that they would invite the MCC Cricket Committee to fully enquire and hear from all sides. The minutes record: “This was considered only fair to Waddington who was himself most anxious that the enquiry should take place at once.” The committee also resolved to see what could be done about the behaviour of the spectators at Sheffield.

While the matter was under discussion by the MCC, Middlesex announced that they would not play Yorkshire in the 1925 season; the match in question had already been set aside for Roy Kilner’s benefit. The MCC Committee met to discuss the matter on 21 July; the brief minutes make it clear that the enquiry was only held because Yorkshire would have found it hard to summon the umpires and other witnesses to judge for themselves. The chairman pointed out that other than in the matter of their appointment, the MCC did not get involved with umpires but only acted on behalf of the county captains who picked them. The treasurer, Lord Harris, wrote a report, which was sent to Yorkshire.

The Yorkshire Committee met on Saturday 26 July. They agreed to reprimand Waddington, but were equally concerned with repairing the damage to their relations with Middlesex: Lord Hawke and the Secretary, Frederick Toone, said that they would look into the matter of the fixtures for next season. It was also agreed to make a statement to the press:

“The Cricket Sub-Committee have, as requested, held an enquiry into the umpires’ report of Waddington’s alleged unsportsmanlike behaviour in the Yorkshire v Middlesex match … [The Sub-Committee] reports as follows:

As regards several incidents reported by the umpires, it is obvious that the evidence is flatly contradictory. The Sub-Committee are, however, satisfied that an umpire of Butts’ experience, impartiality, and strength of character would not take the extreme step of reporting a player without having received extreme provocation, knowing the tendency of players to gesticulate when a decision does not please them. Butts’ report is confirmed by his colleague Reeves. They are unable to accept Waddington’s claim of complete innocence. The Committee realise that under the circumstances of the moment — i.e. that there was much excitement certainly among the crowd and possibly on the field — Waddington may have been affected thereby, and may not have appreciated how easily any motion of dissent from a decision can induce excitement. Therefore, if a decision lay with the MCC, and not, as it does, with Waddington’s employers, they consider that a serious warning to Waddington that he must control his feelings would meet the case.”

The Yorkshire Committee agreed to write in thanks to the MCC and to inform them that their recommendations would be implemented. They also agreed to “suppress any unseemly conduct” from the spectators on the Yorkshire grounds. Waddington, after meeting Lord Hawke, wrote to the secretary of the MCC:

“Dear Sir,

I beg to express my regret that any action of mine during the Yorkshire v Middlesex match at Sheffield should have caused unpleasantness, and should have had the effect of my being reported by the umpires. I am exceedingly sorry, and it shall not occur again.

Yours obediently,

A. Waddington.”

Perhaps it is relevant, however, that Waddington was never dropped from the Yorkshire team at any point in the proceedings. After some cagey diplomacy, it was confirmed in August that next season’s fixtures with Middlesex would go ahead. And yet it is not hard to imagine Waddington’s private fury at having to make such a public apology. The repercussions were considerable though. Relations between the Middlesex and Yorkshire teams were frosty at best until the Second World War, and their matches were often keenly (and bitterly) contested. And it cost Geoffrey Wilson the captaincy; he was replaced for 1925 by A. W. Lupton, a former major in the British Army, who imposed a little more discipline on the team, restoring their popularity with other counties without sacrificing their competitiveness. In the shorter term, it also cost George Macaulay — who somehow became the focus of all the criticism of Yorkshire despite Waddington’s role in the Sheffield controversy — his England place; having been on the fringes of the Test team, he was dropped (admittedly after an anaemic performance in the Headingley Test against South Africa) and left out of the MCC team that toured Australia in 1924–25 despite topping the first-class bowling averages for 1924.

As for Waddington, he was never in contention for a Test recall, and his season was disappointing. The Cricketer stated: “Waddington … seems to have lost a good deal of his pace and devil, though he still maintains a beautiful delivery.” Even so, Yorkshire sneaked home to win their third consecutive County Championship after Middlesex crumbled under the pressure of leading the table at the end of the season. As Yorkshire found some late form to win nine of their last sixteen games, Middlesex lost a crucial game against Gloucestershire. Despite being expected to win easily — Gloucestershire had not beaten them since 1906 — and having bowled the home team out for 31 in the first innings, Middlesex lost by 61 runs after the young Walter Hammond scored 174 not out and Charlie Parker took a hat-trick in each innings. But reviews of the season — especially in The Cricketer, edited by the former Middlesex captain Pelham Warner — were critical of Yorkshire and suggested that Middlesex were the better team.

The remainder of Waddington’s career was something of an anticlimax. He took over a hundred wickets in 1925 — a considerable achievement in a good season for batting. His 109 wickets cost 20.24, and Wisden said that “Waddington enjoyed a well-merited success”. But even then, his bowling was not quite what it once had been. His decline was even more marked in 1926, when he took 78 wickets at 23.30; Wisden again noted his loss of form but expected him to recover. The Cricketer suggested that part of the problem was that he “seemed to rely too much on the leg theory” (i.e. directing the ball at leg-stump with a ring of fielders on the leg-side). Waddington was not alone in being less effective, and Yorkshire struggled to bowl teams out that season. But in 1927, he managed just 45 wickets at 32.02; Wisden judged that his “work was only occasionally worthy of his reputation”. And The Cricketer said: “Waddington showed a drop in his former all-round form. A bowler of his type is severely handicapped in a wet season. He still has his beautiful action, but his arm has begun to drop slightly when delivering the ball.”

It transpired that 1927 was his final season in first-class cricket. The Yorkshire selectors, aware that the team was in decline and that changes needed to be made, opted for a radical approach and decided to offer the captaincy to Herbert Sutcliffe, a professional, after the incumbent, A. W. Lupton, resigned. Their thinking was that by jettisoning the amateur captain, who was never worth his place on cricketing skill, the team would be strengthened. The ensuing controversy rumbled over several months before the committee quietly reversed course and appointed another amateur. But lost in the furore was another important decision. In September 1927, the selection committee, in the wording of the minutes from the meeting, “throughly thrashed out” the team for the following season. The result of the deliberations was that Waddington and Arthur Dolphin, two of the “three musketeers” associated since their shared First World War experiences, would not be required regularly for 1928. In effect, they were dropped. The committee offered them an £8 per week retainer for when they were not needed, although they had to agree to be placed with a Yorkshire club. This was a standard rate but compared unfavourably to the wages for capped players of £11 for each home game and £15 for each away game; especially when the team usually played two games per week.

Dolphin accepted the terms but Waddington did not. He seems to have taken his time to decide, and it was not officially announced in the press until December that he was to retire from first-class cricket, although he had already made it clear that he did not want to be attached to a club as a reserve. Therefore, his career with Yorkshire was at an end, and he told the press that he had been approached by several clubs. The same announcement that said he was done with Yorkshire revealed that he had signed with West Bromwich Dartmouth Cricket Club in the Birmingham League. In January, he was given a grant of £1,000 by the Yorkshire Committee for his services. This was a provision of the regulations for Yorkshire players — long-serving players who had not had a benefit were generally given at least £50 for each season they had played. Waddington had not been granted a benefit before his release.

Roy Kilner in 1922 (Image: Wikipedia)

As it happened, he might have played quite regularly in 1928 had he accepted the terms. The sudden death of Roy Kilner (the third of the musketeers) just before the 1928 season left Yorkshire desperately short of bowling, and Waddington would almost certainly have been recalled had he been available. As it was, Waddington paid tribute to his former team-mate in the press and was a pall-bearer at his funeral, alongside several of his Yorkshire team-mates.

In August 1928, Waddington signed for Accrington in the Lancashire League. West Bromwich Dartmouth had hoped to retain him, but a change to the league rules made it impractical — the authorities wanted to make sure professionals lived in the area and attended their club for several weeknights for coaching purposes. Waddington, still living in Bradford, could not do this. He played for Accrington in 1929 and 1930; he took 79 wickets at 14.46 in his first season and 57 at 16.17 in his second. These were decent, but not spectacular, returns. At the end of the 1930 season, although he had offers from other clubs, Waddington retired from professional cricket to concentrate on the family business.

But for a man like Waddington, that was not the end of his adventures…

“Some Irresistible Days”: The Emergence of Abe Waddington

Abe Waddington in 1920 (Image: Wikipedia)

Bill Bowes called it Yorkshire’s “dressing room pot pourri”: the combination of unique individuals which made Yorkshire such a formidable force between the wars. And the unique backgrounds of those players must have made it an interesting environment. Nominally led by an amateur captain — at least until Brian Sellers took over with an iron fist in the 1930s — the players brought their own varied experiences to the team. Nor were they typical professional cricketers: Wilfred Rhodes, the vastly experienced all-rounder and the tactical driving force for the team; the sunny and cheerful Roy Kilner; the dour, thrifty pair of Edgar Oldroyd and Emmott Robinson; the refined and ambitious Herbert Sutcliffe, who had been an officer in the First World War. Even among such a varied assortment, perhaps the dominant character was the remarkable Abe Waddington. Sutcliffe later wrote of him: “A genial fellow in the dressing room; a man with a rare personality, proof of which is shown by the fact that whenever there was a discussion of any kind in the dressing room, Abe generally ruled it, to all intents and purposes, the chairman.” Waddington had a good, but not quite great, career for Yorkshire and yet cricket was only ever a small part of his life. His adventures took in golf, football, brushes with the law and tragedy.

Abraham Waddington (he was registered as Abraham and generally used that name, but he was occasionally recorded as Abram) was born on 4 February 1893 at Clayton in Bradford. He was the first child of Sam Waddington and his wife Mary Iredale; Waddington senior was a butcher but his own father, like Iredales’, had been a publican. Certainly by 1901, Sam Waddington was running his own butcher’s business but the 1911 census reveals that he soon diversified; by the latter date his occupation was “bone boiler and fat refiner”. There was a little history behind this. The business being run by Sam in 1911 had been established in 1882 by Sam’s brother, Priestley Waddington, and Richard Jarrett; it used animal waste products to extract oil and fat. Some time before 1911, Sam joined the business and invested some money to keep it going. He was successful enough that the firm, P. Waddington’s, is still in business at the time of writing.

By 1911, Abe Waddington was living with Richard Jarrett and working as a fat refiner. An article by Martin Howe for the Yorkshire County Cricket Club Yearbook in 2010, for which the author spoke to Waddington’s nephew and great-nephew, suggests that Waddington initially worked as a lorry driver for the family firm. But he quickly made progress as a cricketer. At the age of eleven, he was already playing for Crossley Hall, where the family lived, in the West Bradford League; in 1905, he had moved to play for Sandy Lane, another West Bradford team, and then to Lidget Green at the age of thirteen. In these early years, Waddington was fairly successful with batting but gradually bowling became his stronger suit. After one final season back at Crossley Hall, he moved to play for Laisterdyke in the Bradford League between 1910 and 1913; his most spectacular success was figures of eight for 12 against Bingley in 1912, and in his final season, his club won the league.

Waddington’s form had begun to impress others and for the 1914 season he was signed as a professional for Wakefield in the Yorkshire Council; that season he took 98 wickets at an average of 12. One of his team-mates was the future Yorkshire player George Macaulay, and in 1914 Waddington progressed to Yorkshire’s second eleven, where he played alongside several men who became stalwarts of the first eleven in the 1920s. So far, Waddington’s tale was a fairly conventional one of steady progress through the system and towards the full Yorkshire team.

But then the First World War changed everything, and it had an enormous impact on Waddington.

Waddington did not immediately sign up when war broke out; he continued to play cricket, returning to Laisterdyke for the 1915 season (and taking eight for 28 against Undercliffe). That season, many of the best cricketers in England played in the Bradford League, which was offering the only professional cricket in England during wartime. But that December he joined the Bradford Pals battalion of the West Yorkshire Regiment. This was the initiative of Lord Kitchener: that people from a particular area could sign up with their “pals” and serve together.

After training, Waddington was despatched to France. The main focus of the British army was preparations for the offensive that became the Battle of the Somme. And on the first day of that battle — one which came to have macabre associations for so many people — Waddington was stationed at Serre. On the morning of the attack, 20,000 British soldiers were killed, either cut down by machine guns, or trapped on the barbed wire of the German trenches and easily picked off.

Major Booth in 1912 (Image: Wikipedia)

Roy Kilner in 1922 (Image: Wikipedia)

In the madness of the British attack, Waddington was hit by shrapnel and badly injured in the legs and hands. Wounded, he took shelter in a crater. In one of those mad coincidences which crop up surprisingly often in life, Waddington found, sheltering in the same crater, another Yorkshire cricketer. This was Major Booth, a second lieutenant in the Leeds Pals and a Yorkshire and England cricketer. He too had been wounded by shrapnel, but far more seriously than Waddington; he had been struck in the shoulder and chest and he was dying. Booth was something of a hero to Waddington, who had seen him play and even played against him during the war. And it was Waddington who cradled dying Booth as night fell, until the end inevitably came. Waddington was rescued from the crater that night, but Booth’s body was left behind; it was not recovered for nine months, and it was only identified after so long because he had been carrying an MCC cigarette case he had received for touring South Africa in 1913–14.

We do not know what Waddington saw or experienced in that crater on 1 July 1916, but it is almost impossible that it did not affect him deeply. Most likely he was never quite the same again. He later visited Booth’s sister after the war to tell her how he had died, but Annie never accepted her brother was gone. She kept his room as it had been, and always left a light on until she left the house where they both had lived in 1956.

After spending time back at home to recover from his injuries, Waddington transferred to the Royal Flying Corps. We do not know whether he saw action again, but he did have time to play cricket, taking over 200 wickets (at an average under five) playing for the Aldershot Depot team, which won the Aldershot Championship. He was also invited to play cricket at Lord’s for the British Army against the Australian Imperial Forces team in 1917 but could not obtain leave.

Like many who fought in the First World War, it is likely that Waddington was traumatised by his experiences. But there is only one hint. Two of Waddington’s team-mates in the Yorkshire team of the 1920s, Roy Kilner and Arthur Dolphin, also fought in the Battle of the Somme and were in the Leeds Pals; Kilner was particularly close to Booth, who had been the best man at his wedding, and had been injured by shrapnel shortly before the action in which Booth and Waddington were hurt. During their time playing for Yorkshire, Waddington, Kilner and Dolphin called themselves the “three musketeers” owing to their shared experiences. When Kilner died from illness in 1928, Waddington said: “I am very much upset. Roy Kilner, Arthur Dolphin, and myself were the closest pals. We were in the 93rd Brigade together with Major Booth. I saw Roy coming out of the line the night he was wounded. Next morning I was hit, and I did not see him again until 1919, when came together in the team. We have been the Three Musketeers in every sense. Dolphin and I have lost our best friend.” George Macaulay, another Yorkshire played badly injured during the war, also seems to have been close to Waddington. In his 2010 article, Howe also suggested that Waddington’s later”antipathy” towards the amateur cricketing authorities “had been fuelled by his experiences of the officer class during the war”.

When the war ended, and following his demobilisation (on his birthday) Waddington resumed cricket with Laisterdyke for the 1919 season. But as Yorkshire were struggling to put together a strong team, particularly in regards to bowling, after losing players to illness, retirement and the war (including the loss of Booth), the county selectors cast around desperately for reinforcements to the team. According to Howe, Kilner and Dolphin recommended Waddington; but he must already have been on Yorkshire’s radar given that he was on the fringes of the team in 1914 and attended trials at Headingley in 1919 (without apparently making too much of an impression). However, in a foreshadowing of what would happen to Cecil Tyson in 1921, Laisterdyke were not keen to release Waddington. Only when their most important games were concluded did they consent for Waddington to play for the county team.

Yorkshire’s poor form in May and June prompted growing worries, and so Waddington was selected for some trial games in July. On his first-class debut, he took four for 26 from 26 overs against Derbyshire and followed up with nine wickets in a match against Essex. Providing the cutting edge that the team needed, Waddington’s presence improved Yorkshire’s results immediately. By the end of the season, Yorkshire had won the County Championship and Waddington had taken 100 wickets at an average of 18.74. Wisden commented that Waddington had been crucial to Yorkshire’s success and complimented his bowling action and good length.

It was Waddington’s bowling action that made people sit up and pay attention. He was a left-arm pace bowler who swung the ball, sometimes sharply, from around the wicket. He also bowled an off-cutter and sometimes bowled leg-theory — bowling at or outside leg-stump with a ring of leg-side fielders and using the natural angle of his delivery to force catches into this “leg trap”. It was the theory which led to “bodyline” bowling but there was no suggestion that Waddington ever bowled particularly short; his aggression came out in other ways. His model was George Hirst, and on his day Waddington could be just as devastating as Hirst had been. But whether he took wickets or not, everyone agreed how good his bowling looked aesthetically; Neville Cardus purred that his action was “gloriously rhythmical”.

Waddington bowling to Jack Hobbs when Yorkshire played Surrey in 1922; Hobbs edged the ball for four and Waddington can be seen showing a characteristic burst of irritation.

But there was one strange occurrence during the season, perhaps connected to Laisterdyke’s reluctance to release Waddington. In mid-August, the Yorkshire Secretary Frederick Toone reported to the selection committee that “circumstances had arisen which necessitated the giving of a cap to Waddington”. The committee acquiesced, but this was an unusual intervention by Toone as Yorkshire caps were awarded purely for performance and resulted in a substantial pay increase for the player. Possibly Yorkshire realised that to keep Waddington available for selection, they would have to offer him a cap. Or perhaps he had threatened to return to league cricket where he would be better paid unless offered more money. That would have been quite in character and an appreciation of his own financial worth impacted the end of Waddington’s career. And the selection committee faced similar juggling acts with Tyson and Edgar Oldroyd in 1921, as well as frequent demands from the team for wage increases.

Having been played experimentally over two days in 1919, County Championship matches reverted to three days for the following season, and Yorkshire struggled to bowl the opposition out. The weakness in the attack would only be addressed by the emergence of George Macaulay and the development of Roy Kilner’s spin bowling from 1921 onwards, but in 1920 Yorkshire relied almost entirely on Waddington and Wilfred Rhodes. Wisden noted that the former again performed well, but there was just the slightest hint at criticism in its comment that he had “some irresistible days against the weaker counties”. The best of these came in two matches against Northamptonshire: in the first, he took eleven for 54; in the second he took thirteen for 48 (including a first innings hat-trick in an analysis of seven for 18). In all first-class games, he took 141 wickets at 16.79, an improvement on his debut season.

As one of the few new players to emerge since the end of the war, Waddington quickly attracted attention because during the winter of 1920–21, an MCC team was to tour Australia and play five Test matches. The England team, like that of Yorkshire, had lost several leading players to retirement or to the war, and building up a team capable of competing in Australia occupied the attention of the selectors. Waddington’s record in the two seasons played since the war meant that he was seen as an inarguable choice. However, the selectors had little information on which to base their decisions, and the strength of the Australian team was something of an unknown. The English strategy largely consisted of trying to recreate the winning formula from the last MCC tour to Australia, in 1911–12. One the two leading bowlers from that tour, Sydney Barnes would not accept the terms offered and so the selectors chose Cecil Parkin, whom they believed would be similarly effective. The other key bowler in 1911–12 was the left-arm pace bowler Frank Foster, who had retired owing to injury. Waddington was chosen — as was recognised before and after the tour — in an attempt to replicate Foster’s success. But he was a different style of bowler and for Waddington, the tour was an abject failure which altered the course of his career.

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Some of the MCC team visit an Australian vineyard. Left to right: two unknown locals, Frank Woolley, Wilfred Rhodes, Abe Waddington and Herbert Strudwick

Waddington’s first problem in Australia was injury and illness. The opening of the tour was disrupted when the MCC team had to quarantine after a case of typhoid on their ship. And after playing against Western Australia in a match reduced to one day by the length of the quarantine, Waddington was forced into hospital for several days suffering from abscesses under his left arm that required an operation (and his progress was followed closely by the English press). He returned just before the first Test, playing a first-class game against an Australian Eleven and removing the top three in the Australian batting order. He also scored an unbeaten 51 from number eleven, and despite not adding to his three wickets, he bowled tidily enough. When he followed this by proving his fitness in two minor games — he took seven for 29 in an innings against Toowoomba and eight for 33 in an innings against New South Wales Colts — he was selected for the first Test. He began well enough, bowling Charlie Macartney for 12 on the first morning, but that was his only wicket of the game. He was economical in a good team performance in Australia’s first innings — England dismissed them for 267 — taking one for 35 from 18 overs, but he was powerless when Australia’s second innings yielded 581 runs. Nor was he particularly trusted by England’s captain Johnny Douglas, bowling just 23 overs (albeit conceding only 53 runs). England lost by the crushing margin of 377 runs, setting the tone for the series (which Australia won 5–0).

Unsurprisingly, Waddington was dropped for the second Test, but was given another chance in a minor match — this time he took eight for 15 against a Ballarat XV — but he did not play in the third Test nor in the first-class match against Victoria. His only games in this period came against Hamilton and District (match figures of five for 42) and Geelong and District (two for 42). And yet, having played just two first-class matches during the entire tour, Waddington was recalled for the fourth Test. He batted as a nightwatchman on the first evening but bowled just five overs in the entire match (all in the first innings), conceding 31 runs. It is not clear if he was carrying an injury; his fellow swing bowler Douglas bowled only five overs in the first innings and five in the second, entrusting most of the attack to the spinners (in what were helpful conditions) and the fast bowling of Harry Howell. But Waddington did not bowl at all in the second innings as Australia scored their target of 211 for the loss of just two wickets.

Waddington kept his place for the first-class match against New South Wales two days later, but again was sparingly used, bowling only 18 overs in the match on a flat pitch. His only two wickets came in the second innings as time was played out. Dropped for the final Test, Waddington continued to pick up wickets in minor games afterwards, taking three against Albury and District and sixteen in a game against Benalla and District XV, drawing the somewhat damning words from Wisden that he was “always deadly against weak batsmen”. He appeared in the final game of the tour, a first-class match against South Australia, but took only one wicket in the match from 25 overs.

Wisden later described his tour as “a sad disappointment”, a fairly accurate description, but the press at the time were politely silent. Although he had the scant consolation of heading the MCC bowling averages in all games, in five first-class matches he had taken only seven wickets at 46.71 and in two Tests he had one for 119. A slightly wise-after-the-event article in the Sheffield Daily Telegraph argued that Waddington had not been viewed as an England bowler in Yorkshire:

“In the county team Waddington was not much behind Rhodes, last summer, but he is not a howler who inspires confidence. He is somewhat erratic, and gives one the impression that he bowls above his natural speed. It is obvious that he takes a lot out of himself. When in the humour, and on a suitable wicket, he can be very destructive. But if tired, and on a wicket that helps the bat, he has hardly the craft to puzzle the batsman and thus becomes expensive if kept on. He is a valuable man to have on the side, yet not quite good enough for continuous service in very important contests. He has enthusiasm in boundless quantities, but his physique is not one to stand the strain necessitated by his kind of bowling.”

Few fragments survive concerning Waddington during the tour, but Jack Hobbs did mention him in some articles he sent from Australia that winter, printed in the Yorkshire Evening Post but originally featured in the London Star. He described how Waddington had introduced someone to the team who spent an evening with them; but he was arrested days later for impersonating the Lancashire cricketer Harry Makepeace; Hobbs related that Waddington was “upset” to have introduced the team to a “wrong ‘un” but was teased afterwards. Yet Hobbs said: “I might mention, however, that Waddington is exceedingly well liked by the rest of the team; in fact, he is one of the most popular men I know.” He also related how someone loaned Waddington a car for his personal use while he was in Brisbane; although he managed to reverse it into a lorry at one point, he apparently returned it in fair condition. The car was the subject of a prank by Waddington’s fellow players, who secretly emptied the petrol from the car as “Waddy” was filling it one morning, only to return it when he went to fetch a mechanic.

When he returned home, Waddington was questioned by the press on whether Douglas had bowled himself too often, but managed to dead-bat the journalist; he did subtly criticise the umpiring, noting that Bob Crockett stood in all five Tests but the other umpire changed constantly; there had been some discussion of umpiring in the English press. Other players denied there had been problems within the English team (although there had been an attempt mid-tour by the manager Frederick Toone to replace Douglas as captain). There was also an odd feature in an Australian newspaper by someone who claimed to have spent time with the MCC team; he wrote of Waddington: “Impetuous by nature, but capable of Improvement with age.”

However, there had been a few complaints about Douglas in England too, most notably the way that he used his bowlers. Howe — presumably relying on family memories — wrote that Waddington had struggled with the role demanded of him by his captain, to contain batters, which he had never done before. He was also frustrated by the heat and his lack of opportunity in the major matches. There were also a few suggestions in later years that he bridled at the way Douglas treated the professionals on that tour.

In any case, it was a chastened (albeit perhaps angry) Waddington who returned to England. After such a promising beginning to his career, the tour had ended any suggestion that he was a bowler of international class. He had been ruthlessly exposed on the highest stage and he ceased to be spoken of as a leading cricketer. Over the following years, he became far more known for his combative and hostile attitude on the field than his bowling successes. And in 1924, he almost brought the entire Yorkshire cricketing citadel crashing down with his temper…

“Why do you rub ’em all up the wrong way?”: Who was the real Charlie Parker?

Charlie Parker (Image: Wikipedia)

Charlie Parker, the Gloucestershire left-arm spinner, is famous for two reasons: being third in the list of all-time first-class wicket-takers and for allegedly assaulting Pelham Warner in a lift. While his 3,278 wickets in a 32-year career are indisputable, the lift incident has a more dubious provenance. Although something probably happened involving Parker and Warner, the entire story has a slightly questionable basis, even if it is an entertaining one. A little unjustly, the “assault” has overshadowed the rest of Parker’s life and career. David Foot wrote about him at length in Cricket’s Unholy Trinity (1985), and it is from this admirable book that most of our information about Parker comes. Foot’s major source about Parker was Reg Sinfield, who was as close to Parker as any of his Gloucestershire team-mates. The result is a very well-informed biography, but even Foot could only uncover a shadowy outline of who the man actually was. However, we can use other sources which were unavailable to Foot, such as the census, to illuminate some aspects of Parker’s life, including one major incident which Foot did not discuss — possibly as he was unaware of it, but more likely because he discreetly omitted it.

Charles Warrington Lennard Parker was the first of nine children to Lennard Parker and his wife Sarah Jane Kitchen. The marriage was clearly hasty — Parker was born at Prestbury, near Cheltenham Racecourse, less than nine months after his parent’s wedding. He was raised in a family home which they named (ironically) “The Workhouse”. Although Foot records that Parker’s family were farmers, Lennard Parker was actually an agricultural labourer who later became a nursery gardener. Foot relates how Parker “won a place at Cheltenham Grammar School”, presumably through a scholarship.

As for the rest of the family, Foot states that at least one of his sisters was musical, one of his brothers was nicknamed “The Poet” and most of the family did well at school. The family also had a clear love of golf. The 1901 census records the 18-year-old Charles working as a golf caddy and by 1911, Arthur had become a professional golfer, while two of his younger brothers were caddies. Arthur later became the golf professional at the Cotswold Hills Club, and Charles always enjoyed the game. Incidentally, several of the Parker siblings lived past 1960, and Emily lived until 1981 (Parker’s parents wrote on the 1911 census that they had ten living children and one who had died; there is no record of a tenth who was alive on that date).

That 1911 census records Parker as a professional cricketer. He first played for Gloucestershire in 1903, recommended to the county, according to his Wisden obituary, by W. G. Grace. In this period before the First World War, he was a medium-paced swing bowler of limited effectiveness. Between 1908 and 1914, he took over fifty wickets each season and generally averaged in the mid-twenties with the ball; it was a respectable record but nothing more, and he made little impression.

Foot is a little vague about what Parker did during the First World War, except to say that he was turned down twice by the army before joining the Royal Flying Corps. We can add a little more detail to these bare bones. On Christmas Eve 1914, Parker married Daisy Helena Gardener at Cheltenham Parish Church. She was the youngest child of a boarding house owner; the marriage certificate records Parker living at their Cheltenham lodging house in 1914. After this, according to his Royal Flying Corps record, he worked as a colliery stores clerk. He may have moved to Yorkshire in this role. We certainly know that his first child, Pauline, was born in Hemsworth, near Wakefield, in March 1917. But for Daisy, it was not an easy pregnancy. She was seriously disturbed by the presence of Zeppelins while they were living in nearby South Kirkby, to the point where she had a breakdown and had to return to her parents in Cheltenham after giving birth.

On 1 January 1918, Parker joined the army, but by February he had transferred to the Royal Flying Corps (Daisy’s address when he signed up was in Cheltenham; presumably that was his address too, but it is not listed). There is no record of where he served during the eleven months of the war in which he was a member of the armed forces, but it seems likely that he was in France. He was moved to the Royal Air Force Reserves in March 1919 and officially discharged in April 1920.

When county cricket resumed in 1919, Parker made a change to his bowling style; he abandoned swing, slowed his pace and concentrated on spin. This made an enormous difference. Of his 3,278 first-class wickets (taken at an average of 19.46), 2,811 came after the war at an average of 18.43. In every season between 1920 and his retirement in 1935, he took over a hundred wickets; five times he exceeded 200. For a man with such a record, it is strange that he only played one Test match — against Australia in 1921 when his figures against an extremely strong Australian team were 28–16–32–2. The “lift incident” is often cited as the reason, but that is not quite a convincing claim as he was picked for England — but left out of the final eleven — after the alleged assault took place. In reality, the picture is slightly more complicated; there were sound cricketing reasons for Parker’s repeated omission.

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Parker photographed around 1925

Before the war, Parker never approached Test standard, and afterwards there was always someone in the way who was a better batsman and fielder. For example, in 1920 and 1921, Wilfred Rhodes and Frank Woolley were ahead of him in the reckoning; their records as left-arm spinners were superior to Parker (Rhodes took 1,459 wickets after the war at an average of 15.63 and Woolley, although his career as a front-line bowler was over by 1924, took 1,231 at 20.75). More importantly, both men were worth their places in an England team as batsmen as well — Rhodes averaged 32.61 after the war, Woolley 43.25. And between 1924 and 1926, Roy Kilner was preferred as England’s left-arm spinner (his post-war bowling average was 17.99); he too was an all-rounder. When Parker was finally picked in 1926, he was omitted from the final team by Arthur Carr in a move that went a long way to costing him the England captaincy. The amateur Jack White then held a Test place for a few years; he was England’s vice-captain on the 1928–29 tour and a better batsman and team-man than Parker, although probably an inferior bowler (post-war bowling average 18.41). After 1930, Hedley Verity, whose county record dwarfed even that of Parker (his bowling average was 14.90) was the first-choice left-arm spinner until the Second World War. When other spin bowlers, such as Parker’s Gloucestershire team-mate Tom Goddard or a succession of amateur leg-spinners like Ian Peebles and Walter Robins, are added in to the mix, there was little room for Parker.

Perhaps for similar reasons, Parker was never chosen for the Gentlemen v Players match at Lord’s. He played in the lesser Gentlemen v Players match at the Oval in 1926, but otherwise only represented the Players at festival games. Nor was he ever selected for a Test trial; the closest he came to any recognition was being chosen to represent “The Rest of England” in the annual end-of-season match against the County Champions (in 1922, 1925, 1927 and 1930). And his only overseas tour was an unofficial one, a private tour of South Africa organised by Solomon Joel in 1924–25. Nevertheless, for all these times that he did not play, it is worth pointing out that in three successive home Ashes series (1921, 1926 and 1930), he either played or was selected without making the final eleven.

Charlie Parker bowling (Images from Cricket’s Unholy Trinity by David Foot)

Nevertheless, there were some question marks over Parker’s ability which might account for his lack of representative cricket. Partly, this was because he played most of his home matches at Bristol, a notoriously poor pitch in this period, which offered too much help to spin bowlers. Between 1919 and 1935, he averaged 17.37 at home and 19.55 away. Thoughtful critics had other reservations. These included Parker himself: Foot relates that Parker always believed Rhodes was his superior and worried that he was less effective against left-handers; he particularly brooded after being harshly dealt with by Frank Woolley on more than one occasion. Foot also documents other limitations: that he “spun the ball better than he flighted it”; that Jack Hobbs never had any trouble facing him; that he was reluctant to vary his pace or line.

Bob Wyatt, never shy of offering a technical opinion in later years, also spoke to Foot about Parker, discussing the decision to leave him out of the playing eleven for the final Test at the Oval in 1930 (when Wyatt was captain): “‘Charlie Parker was a magnificent bowler, you know,’ went on Wyatt. He paused before completing a sentence which I assumed had already finished. ‘… if the batsmen let him.'” Wyatt explained how he believed that Parker did not like to be attacked by batsmen:

“You had to know how to play him. I think I did. I used to go after him. Move down the wicket, if I could, and hit the ball back over his head. No, he didn’t like that. It could affect him. His next delivery might be short, then. His length might suffer. Wally [Hammond, Parker’s team-mate at Gloucestershire] could get quite irritated when a batsmen attacked Charlie and he lost his control as a result.”

For all these reservations, there is no doubt that Parker was one of the best county bowlers in England between the wars. However, he was also a somewhat dour character who was not easy to get along with. And whether he attacked Warner or not, this may have accounted for his frequent non-selection. Alan Gibson summed this up in his Cricket Captains of England (1979): “The reasons why Charlie Parker, of Gloucestershire, played only once for England (in 1921) are clear enough even to anyone writing, as I am, from the west. He was a poor fieldsman and a difficult man.”

Perhaps the war made a difference, as it did for so many others. Foot wrote of Parker in 1919: “He was back from the war, gloomy of feature and fluent of tongue. There was plenty for him to talk about: the human folly and wastage of the trenches, and friends from Cheltenham and Tewkesbury he had lost forever.” Foot went further:

“The war hadn’t so much changed Parker as solidified his opinions of life. As part of his developing self-education he read with a ferocity noted by his teammates. The sweeping events of 1917 absorbed his interest. No one ever went so far as to call him a Commie but his admiration for the Bolshevik triumph was never disguised. Charlie’s family tilled the soil in their modest way; his sympathy for peasant radicalism was honest and straight from the gut. And the war had also made him more outspoken, though some would say his invective, when aroused, was in the championship class from the day he first took the tram from Temple Meads to the county ground.”

He was not afraid to confront the Gloucestershire Committee on behalf of the other professionals, and Foot suggests that on at least one occasion, he managed to negotiate a pay rise. While the other professionals were rather intimidated by the County Secretary, “Parker would bang on the door and stride in.” As a result of what Foot calls his “class complex”, he rarely deferred to amateurs, as professionals were still supposed to in the 1920s and 1930s. “The result was that he sometimes bristled unnecessarily and this looked very much like a form of discourtesy.”

“‘Why do you rub ’em all up the wrong way?’ a Gloucestershire pro once asked him, discussing Parker’s brittle relationship with a great many of the amateurs.
‘Because of their privileged backgrounds. What do those buggers know about life?'”

On more than one occasion, Parker was summoned before the County Committee to explain himself, or to be disciplined for insubordination — although despite several threats, the county never dismissed him for his behaviour. But the attitude was not limited to the cricket field. On one occasion in 1926, Parker and several of the Gloucestershire team were invited to take part in a match organised by the owner of a local coal mine. At the dinner after the game, their host made some disparaging comments about miners in a speech; Parker jumped to his feet and gave a speech of his own in which he eviscerated the man, to the shock of everyone present. And once, when he and Sinfield were invited out by a music professor in Nottingham, he openly questioned the expert’s opinions, making Sinfield very uncomfortable. On the walk back to their lodgings, Sinfield said: “You shouldn’t have done that, you know.” Parker replied: “The old fool just didn’t know what he was talking about.”

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Parker in the 1930s

But he got on well with Bev Lyon, one of Gloucestershire’s captains and verbally attacked Wally Hammond on one occasion when he criticised the former’s captaincy. The only time he and Lyon briefly clashed was when the latter had arranged to have Parker flown from London to Bristol, to play for the county in the event that he was not picked for the fifth Test of 1930. Parker refused to co-operate, prompting an angry outburst in a newspaper from Lyon, who had enjoyed the publicity associated with the enterprise; but he was criticised by the local press for daring to question Parker’s loyalty to the club.

There are tales of occasional flashes of ferocious temper, of grumbling in the dressing room, of standing up to Gloucestershire’s amateur captain or the Committee. Of team-mates treading carefully around delicate topics such as his omission from the England team at Headingley in 1926. Reg Sinfield told Foot of a time in 1935 when Parker, at the conclusion of his final first-class match, was being baited by a drunk opposition supporter in a bar; he grabbed the man by the collar and punched him in the stomach, leaving him gasping while he and Sinfield left the bar. There was one story about Parker which came from his sometime team-mate Graham Parker, in his history of Gloucestershire. The county was a notoriously poor fielding side — and Charlie Parker was no exception. On one occasion, he watched Alf Dipper, George Dennett and Percy Mills, three senior professionals never noted for their agility and probably into their forties when the story took place, ineffectually and reluctantly chasing a hit off his bowling. He stood with his hands on his hips and proclaimed: “There go my greyhounds.” He was quick to blame fielders for missed catches, no matter how difficult, and for any runs conceded.

Not everyone was critical. For example, Wyatt, who captained Parker a few times, told Foot: “He was certainly quick-tempered but I didn’t find him difficult. One had to treat him gently and encourage him.” And R. C. Robertson-Glasgow, who was always charitable about cricketers, said of Parker in an article written in 1939: “[He] was more apt [than Jack White] to allow his temperament to break through his outer crust, and he was given, in moments of stress, to ‘making allusions,’ which were apt but far from puritanical. A very great artist.”

Parker was also a man whose interests extended beyond the cricket field, and not just into politics. Foot wrote on more than one occasion that Parker was self-educated (although this does not quite square with his place at Cheltenham Grammar School, which was hardly an educational backwater); colleagues averred that he could quote from the Bible and the classics, and was familiar with symphony music. But the combination of superior alternatives to Parker in an England team, the question marks over his actual ability and his difficult reputation — even ignoring any incidents with Pelham Warner in a lift — make it perhaps understandable why he played so little representative cricket. And he would not have been the only cricketer in the 1920s to lose out on a Test place for reasons unconnected to ability.

For Gloucestershire, Parker was immense in the inter-war period. Even so, apart from a few years on either side of 1930, the county were often in the mid-to-lower reaches of the County Championship and generally struggled financially. One match illustrates both his effectiveness and the problems that he had playing for his county. This was his benefit match, which was the game against Yorkshire in 1922. Although rain restricted the first day, Parker made the game memorable by taking nine for 36 on the second. At one point, he took four wickets with five consecutive deliveries, all of which were bowled. In fact, he hit the stumps with all five deliveries but the second was a no-ball; he took a hat-trick with the next three (this almost set an unequalled record; to date, no-one has taken five wickets with consecutive balls is first-class or List A cricket). This gave Gloucestershire a lead of 106 on first innings but Rhodes bowled out the home side for 58. Yorkshire carefully knocked off the runs on the third day to win by four wickets. The game raised £1,075 — a fraction of what a professional at a county like Yorkshire or Lancashire would have made.

At the end of the 1934 season, Parker asked for either a second benefit or a testimonial in view of his long service; the Gloucestershire Committee turned him down. This must have been a blow; although he was never in serious financial difficulty, he rarely had a lot of money to himself. Reg Sinfield remembered, when talking to Foot, that Mrs Parker rarely attended her husband’s cricket matches; one one of the rare occasions she did, Parker borrowed some money from Sinfield to take her out to dinner.

The decision not to award another benefit may have contributed to Parker’s sudden decision to retire after the 1935 season. According to Sinfield, Parker was finding it increasingly physically difficult to keep going. He was 52 years old, and despite a good record that season of 108 wickets at 26, he knew that it was time to stop. There was no announcement at the end of the season, and he kept Gloucestershire in the dark; The Cricketer Annual for 1935–36 stated that he was “still indispensable” to the county. In December, there was widespread surprise when Parker was named on the first-class umpires list for the 1936 season.

He duly took up his new role (having done a little coaching for Gloucestershire as well) at the beginning of 1936. But after seven games, his season was tragically interrupted.

A Pathé feature on Gloucestershire before the 1935 season, showing Parker bowling in the nets

Parker’s wife is largely absent from Foot’s biography, other than the mention that she rarely watched him. After the birth of Pauline in 1917, she and Parker had three more children: Zara (1924), Charles (1927) and Geraldine (1931). There is no indication whether or not Mrs Parker had any other mental health problems after those she suffered in 1917, but that must be a possibility.

In the 1930s, Mrs Parker bought a greengrocers shop in Bristol, borrowing some money from a friend called Mrs Rice to get it started and employing a manager, the 55-year-old Arthur Robert Branson, who originally lived at Mrs Rice’s house but later moved to live in the greenhouse of Mrs Parker’s house. Around June 1936, Mrs Rice had asked Mrs Parker if she could pay back the money, but she had been unable to. This played on Mrs Parker’s mind and she began to suffer from what Branson called “ill health” and “fits of giddiness”. On 9 July, Mrs Parker was seen entering Mrs Rice’s house, where she took a pound note belonging to Mr Rice. Detectives were watching — suggesting that this was not the first time something had occurred — and she was arrested. Branson bailed her out and when he asked her why she had done it, she said that “her head went wrong and she did not know what she was doing”.

Mrs Parker came to the shop, but later left to get her handbag from her home. When Pauline arrived at the shop, Branson told her what had happened, and she went to the house to find two notes from her mother. One note was to Pauline — saying: “Mr. Branson is the best friend I have ever bad. He is the perfect gentleman. I cannot face the Court with such disgrace. Sorry. Mum.” The second was to Branson, telling him how to dispose of her property. It suggested that the detectives had accused her of stealing from Rice for six months, which she denied to them and to Branson. She said that the children would be “better off with their father … let the children go to their father.”

That evening, Mrs Parker’s body was found floating in the River Avon; on the bank, next to her hat and handbag, was a postcard, with another message to Branson: “Tell Pauline to look after the children. I am a failure. Love, Daisy.” She was just 47.

At the inquest, it was revealed that she had died from heart failure caused by the shock of entering the cold water. Other than the doctor who had conducted the post mortem, Branson was the only witness. No-one appears to have questioned the bizarre arrangement which saw him living in Mrs Parker’s greenhouse. The Australian-born Branson was himself an interesting character. His real name was Arthur Robert Chong; his father was a Chinese immigrant to Australia. Chong/Branson joined the Australian army during the war, but settled in England afterwards. In the 1920s or 1930s, he adopted his mother’s surname of Branson. Despite his strange living arrangements, he was married with children on his own, and by the time of the 1939 Register was living with them rather than with other families.

The conclusion to the inquest was moving. As the coroner was summing up, Parker stood up at the back of the room and asked to give evidence. He related how his wife had been badly affected by the Zeppelins in 1917; he said, “She was a very virtuous woman and I cannot understand it all,” before breaking down in tears and returning to his seat. The jury rejected Branson’s claim that the request from Mrs Rice for the money had caused Mrs Parker’s suicide, and returned the verdict, endorsed strongly by the coroner: “We further find that deceased took her life during a fit of depression caused by recent events and ill-health.”

It is curious that she left no note for Parker; the phrasing of her other messages might indicate that she did not live with him anymore. That she felt the need to steal money — probably more than once — might also be evidence that she had separated from Parker, as might Branson’s presence in her greenhouse. It is unclear what exactly was going on, or what really drove Mrs Parker to her sad end. In any case, perhaps that particular part of the story is better left without being disturbed any more.

Foot, unsurprisingly, says nothing of this, presumably out of discretion. He, or at the very least Parker’s team-mates, would likely have been aware of what happened; Mrs Parker’s death was widely reported. Instead, Foot refers to it indirectly (although he was apparently misinformed about how many children Parker had): “There are numerous reports of how, after the death of his wife, [Parker] knuckled down to looking after his son and daughter [sic]. He was too proud and independent to look around for any help. He got the meals and washed the clothes. He was father and mother, and he clearly did it very well.”

Parker resumed his umpiring after the inquest, and continued in the role until the 1939 season was curtailed by war. According to Foot, he “did his job with unsmiling efficiency”, turning down vociferous appeals but, according to one player, he “displayed a faint bias in favour of bowlers”. When the 1939 Register was taken, Parker was living with three of his children (whose names are obscured on the records currently viewable, indicating that at least until very recently, all were alive) at Vernon Lodge in Bristol, and listed his occupation as: “Cricket Umpire, now unemployed. Last winter, metal stamper, aeroplane works”. Pauline was living in Ramsgate, Kent, working as a factory hand.

After the war, Parker took up a role as coach at Cranleigh School in Surrey; for at least part of the time, his youngest daughter seems to have accompanied him. He lived in a council house and was popular with his neighbours, although he kept very much to himself. The boys whom he coached liked him; although they knew he had once been a cricketer, they never realised how famous he had been. He died at Cranleigh, aged 76, in July 1959. The Manchester Guardian, one of many newspapers to print obituaries, related how in his later years, he loved telling stories against himself. Pauline died in 1994; I have no further information on the other children; some may still be alive.

There is no doubt that Parker has not been well-served by the focus on the Warner incident. And he was not particularly well-served by the cricket authorities — not in terms of non-selection, but in how he was taken for granted by Gloucestershire and not well rewarded for a long and successful career. Even his name was not especially respected: during his playing days, he was listed on scorecards as C. L. Parker, rather than his full initials, C. W. L. Parker, which is how he is recorded today. But even modern databases are not accurate: his third name is spelt as “Leonard” when it was actually “Lennard” (after his father, who was in turn named after his mother, Ann Lennard). Also forgotten — and unmentioned by Foot — is that he wrote semi-regularly for local newspapers, including after his retirement as a player. But perhaps these many omissions and injustices are a strangely appropriate legacy for a complicated and sometimes troubled man who was far more than he seemed.

“A master of detail, he thought of everything”: Sir Frederick Toone, the Fascist Manager of England?

Sir Frederick Charles Toone by Bassano Ltd
Whole-plate glass negative, 6 May 1929
NPG x124562 © National Portrait Gallery, London

Between 1903 and 1930, probably the most influential figure in Yorkshire cricket was not a player but the quietly anonymous secretary Frederick Toone. He was the guiding force behind the scenes, taking care of finances, organisation and many other tiny details that made Yorkshire the most successful county both on and off the field. If Lord Hawke was the public face of the club, Toone was crucial to its day-to-day running. Largely forgotten now, he was one of the most important figures in English cricket during the 1920s. But there was one aspect of his life to which little attention was paid and which subsequent histories have perhaps deliberately overlooked. During his most influential years, he was an active member of the British Fascists.

Frederick Charles Toone was born on 25 June 1868 in Leicester, where his sporting achievements were largely limited to running, rugby union and club cricket. He left a job in the printing trade to become the Secretary at Leicestershire County Cricket Club, a position he held between 1897 and 1902. In that time, membership of the county increased from 500 to 1,800. But following the resignation of the long-standing Yorkshire Secretary Joseph Wostinholm in 1902, Toone applied to succeed him. From many applicants, the final choice was between Toone and the Essex cricketer E. H. D. Sewell. When Toone was chosen, Sewell applied for his old post at Leicestershire — some early reports said that he had taken the job — but lost out there to V. F. S. Crawford who, unlike Toone, was able to combine the role of Secretary with playing as an amateur for the cricket team.

Toone held the position of Yorkshire Secretary until his death in 1930. A. W. Pullin, in his History of Yorkshire County Cricket 1903–1923 mentions his achievements at some length: doubling the county membership; centralising control of the county’s management, which had previously been split between the clubs on whose grounds Yorkshire played; improving and extending the grounds; and expanding and better organising the players’ benefit matches.

At first, Toone kept a low profile. He gave an interview to Cricket magazine in March 1911 which managed to say very little except to praise Lord Hawke (“I should like to say at this stage, if you will kindly permit me, how we all love his lordship”) and talk about how good the Committee were (Toone calls them “my Committee”). He also discussed matters such as the lack of amateurs playing for Yorkshire, cricket’s fluctuating popularity and Yorkshire’s youth recruitment processes.

Frederick Toone pictured in 1911 (Image: Cricket, 30 March 1911)

Toone lived in the Horsforth area while he was Secretary, and became a locally important figure. In 1911 he was chairman of the Horsforth Urban Council, and was made a County Magistrate for the West Riding in the same year. During the First World War, he helped to organise charity cricket matches, and held the rank of Secretary, then Captain and County Adjutant in the West Riding Volunteers. He was also Sectional Commander of the Special Constables at Horsforth.

After the war, Toone became more prominent. Pullin wrote in 1923 that “through Mr Toone’s grip of managerial and controversial questions, backed up by the personality and persuasiveness of Lord Hawke, Yorkshire has an influence at Lord’s second to no county in the first class ranks.” Toone’s ability was recognised when he was asked to manage the MCC team in Australia for the 1920–21 Ashes series. While the tour was a catastrophic failure on the field — Australia won all five Test matches — Toone’s management was praised. But it is here that we can begin to see a little more of the steel which he must have possessed to be such a successful administrator. With results going badly, Toone tried to replace the captain J. W. H. T. Douglas. Nothing came of it, and Douglas continued to lead the team. The source for this tale is Percy Fender, Toone’s preferred choice to take charge. Richard Streeton, to whom he told the story, wrote in his 1981 biography of Fender:

“Some years later Fender was amazed to learn from Fred Toone, the MCC manager, that after England had lost the first two Test matches, Toone had asked Douglas to consider standing down to allow Fender to lead England in the third Test at Adelaide … [Toone] seemed himself to have been the prime mover behind this suggestion. It had the support of [Jack] Hobbs and [Frank] Woolley, but it was indicative of the lack of unity in the party, perhaps, that [Wilfred] Rhodes did not appear to have been consulted about the suggested change.”

Toone in fact had a difficult relationship with Wilfred Rhodes. In 1920, the Yorkshire professionals complained about the pay for their three away matches against Oxford University, Cambridge University and the MCC; unlike other counties, Yorkshire paid less for these matches than for away County Championship games. Toone promised to look into it but told the Committee that nothing need be done. Rhodes was under the impression that Toone had also said that, as the complaint came from him, it was not justified. Rhodes’ dislike of Toone hardened on that 1920-21 tour when another story got back to him: that Toone had said to Abe Waddington, another Yorkshire cricketer selected for the 1920–21 tour, that “Wilfred’s finished”. Rhodes came to believe that Toone was responsible for the loss of his England place after one Test of the 1921 Ashes series — although as Toone was not a selector, nor particularly influential with that season’s selection panel, it is hard to see how he could have managed this.

This was not the only time they clashed. Toone suggested, at the start of the 1927 season, that Rhodes should resign as Yorkshire’s Senior Professional — and perhaps by implication, retire from the team — as Yorkshire manoeuvred to appoint Herbert Sutcliffe as their next captain. Rhodes did not resign, and was later openly critical of the appointment of Sutcliffe, which was soon rescinded. According to Rhodes’ biographer Sidney Rogerson:

“What [Rhodes] hated was anything that smacked of shifty dealing, and … [he] held firm to the view that ‘Toone was not straight’, that he would say one thing in Leeds and another at Lord’s, give one answer to the captain and his professionals and quite another to the secretariat of the MCC or his opposite numbers from other counties.”

Frederick Toone photographed around 1923
(Image: History of Yorkshire County Cricket 1903-1923 (1924) by AW Pullin)

Others were much happier with Toone, and his influence increased. In 1923 the British government appointed him to a committee which investigated crowd safety at sporting events following trouble at the 1923 FA Cup final. The MCC asked him to manage the 1924–25 tour of Australia. Like the previous one, it was not a success on the field — this time England lost 4–1 — although Toone’s performance as manager was again praised. However, not everything was quite as straightforward as it appeared at the time.

In 1991, an article in Sporting Traditions by Andrew Moore of the University of West Sydney revealed that while in Australia both Toone and the England captain Arthur Gilligan came to the attention of the Commonwealth Investigative Branch, who had been informed by intelligence agencies in London that both men were members of the British Fascists. There is also some evidence that Toone and Gilligan may have distributed literature in an unsuccessful attempt to boost fascism in Australia. Unsurprisingly, it has been Gilligan’s part in this, as the glamorous England captain, which has attracted the attention of historians. But it is likely that Toone, universally recognised for his administrative and organisational skills, was a far more effective force in trying to establish fascist groups in Australia; Gilligan would have offered little but fame and enthusiastic speeches.

It should be said that the British Fascists were never a major force — certainly in comparison to Oswald Moseley’s (unconnected) British Union of Fascists — and were generally little more than an anti-communist, anti-left-wing organisation partially inspired by Mussolini in Italy. Their outlook was right wing and traditional; their members included people from the aristocracy, high-ranking officers in the armed forces and at least one other cricketer — the Middlesex bowler F. J. Durston. There is little to indicate at this stage that they professed too many views which fascism later came to embody. One of the early leaders of the British Fascists made an explicit link with the Boy Scouts movement — upholding the “lofty ideals of brotherhood, service and duty”. The historian Martin Pugh, in a study of British fascism between the two world wars, writes that: “Historians have found it hard to take seriously the ‘British Fascisti’, as the organisation was initially known, regarding it as a movement for Boy Scouts who had never grown up.” Pugh suggests that “Many members undoubtedly joined in the hope of finding something mildly adventurous, but had only a superficial grasp of its politics”.

Gilligan (left) and Toone (right) holding commemorative plates presented to them in Sydney on behalf of the MCC team for their sportsmanship during the 1924–25 tour (Image: Sydney Mail, 4 March 1925)

This view is supported by later comments of both Gilligan and Toone. The former wrote an article after the Ashes tour called “The Spirit of Fascism and Cricket Tours” for The Bulletin, a publication of the British Fascists. He wrote: “In … cricket tours it is essential to work solely on the lines of Fascism, i.e. the team must be good friends and out for one thing, and one thing only, namely the good of the side, and not for any self-glory.” Toone, on the next MCC tour of Australia, gave a speech in which he was asked to give a definition of cricket. He used a quotation — which he did not attribute or acknowledge not to be his own — by a golfer called David R. Forgan which apparently dates from 1899 but was quite widespread in golfing circles in the early 1920s. Nevertheless, it reinforces how Toone might have viewed both cricket and fascism:

“It is a science, the study of a lifetime, in which you may exhaust yourself, but never your subject. It is a contest, a duel or melee, calling for courage, skill, strategy and self-control. It is a contest of temper, a trial of honour, a revealer of character. It affords a chance to play the man and act the gentleman. It means going into God’s out-of-doors, getting close to nature, fresh air, exercise, a sweeping away of mental cobwebs, genuine recreation of the tired tissues. It is a cure for care, an antidote to worry. It includes companionship with friends, social intercourse, opportunities of courtesy, kindliness, and generosity to an opponent. It promotes not only physical health but mental force.”

Incidentally, Toone re-used this quote in an article for the 1929 Wisden, and it has since been falsely attributed several times to him.

But if Gilligan and Toone shared this “Boy Scout” view of fascism — that it simply embraced fellowship and the outdoors — the intelligence services were concerned enough to monitor them closely and pass on information to Australia. That the two most important figures on the 1924–25 tour were effectively trying to recruit fascists would have reflected badly on the MCC had it been widely publicised. However their association with the British Fascists was no secret: for example it was reported in the Sheffield Telegraph (somewhat inaccurately) that the two men were enrolled as members on the journey home from Australia, and Gilligan spoke publicly on his fascist views in 1925.

The British Fascists all but vanished after 1926. However, as late as 1927, Gilligan was still associated with them, giving a speech at an event in Ealing. We do not know how long Toone continued his association. Neither Gilligan nor Toone were adversely affected by their membership though; Gilligan captained an MCC team to India in 1926–27 and many years later served as MCC President. As for Toone, he was asked to manage his third successive MCC tour of Australia in 1928–29.

In contrast to his previous two tours, Toone’s third visit to Australia was a resounding success as England, under the captaincy of Percy Chapman, won the series 4–1. Toone was particularly praised by Chapman and Australian critics. The players also appreciated him, for example when he forced an apology from an Australian official for falsely accusing George Geary of having left the field without permission during a game. In July 1929, Toone was rewarded with a knighthood “in recognition of his great work in helping to promote the best relations between the Commonwealth and the Mother Country”. Had he lived, he would almost certainly have been asked to manage the 1932–33 MCC tour instead of Pelham Warner; more than one historian has suggested that many of the controversies of the “Bodyline” series could have been avoided had Toone been in charge.

While basking in the acclaim for managing such a successful tour, Toone wrote an article that appeared in the 1929 Wisden. It was a modest piece, which attributed much of the smooth running of his three tours to the arrangements made beforehand by the MCC. He wrote that the manager’s role was to carry out the arrangements for travel and accommodation made by the MCC, and that his first duty was “to see that the comfort of the players is properly provided for”. This involved looking after every detail and ensuring that their health was taken care of, for example by having a masseur available. He also wrote of the “avalanche of letters” that needed to be dealt with, and “a mountain of data” about the itinerary for the tour. Additionally, he had to arrange and liaise with various bodies about the social arrangements — always an important part of any tour in the period.

Shortly after this, Toone became ill and died at the age of 61 on 10 June 1930, leaving a wife, a son, and two daughters. Tributes poured in, not least from Lord Hawke, mourning his old friend, and the Yorkshire players Herbert Sutcliffe and Wilfred Rhodes (the latter perhaps somewhat hypocritically). Toone’s obituary in Wisden states: “A master of detail, he thought of everything, and the fact that he went three times to Australia as manager of the teams sent out by MCC since the War clearly showed the extent to which he enjoyed the confidence of the ruling body of the game.” His obituary in the Sheffield Daily Telegraph stated: “He was the model of tact, and no-one was more dexterous smoothing out difficulties. He had many friends, who will all miss him —not least those members of the Press who frequently came contact with him and to whom he was always a courteous and an invaluable helper.”

He was equally appreciated in Australia. One tribute said that Toone “had the confidence of all sections of cricketers in England and Australia, and it was due greatly to his tact and ability that the tours since the war were such a success, not only financially, but in cementing the cordial relations that exist between the governing bodies in England and Australia.” It noted that “his bedroom in the various hotels in which the team stayed was converted into an office, and he carried on his work so unobtrusively that it may have been thought that he was merely travelling with the team, instead of being its manager.” But perhaps less fortunately given his political background, the same tribute stated: “It was not only as a cricket manager, but as an Imperialist, that Sir Frederick would be remembered.”

If some of this smacks of hagiography, there seems little doubt that Toone was an exceptionally capable and energetic administrator. But if he was the toast of the Committee members, scratching beneath the surface reveals some less comfortable aspects of his time as Yorkshire Secretary.

Toone attended most meetings of various Yorkshire committees. The tone of these sometimes comes across as something of an “Old Boy’s Club”. Pleas for financial assistance from old professionals were often dismissed out of hand while the main Yorkshire Committee discussed arrangements for entertaining the Lancashire Committee when they attended the Roses matches. In the case of William Bates (who then played for Glamorgan), the finance committee refused to send him £56 of his benefit money until he wrote to them “civilly” after they objected to the tone of his request. The finance committee also insisted that the benefit money of former players should be completely under their control, even consulting solicitors to ensure this. Benefits were refused unless players signed an agreement which allowed Yorkshire to retain two thirds of the money collected which they would invest on behalf of the player. This arrangement was the source of much resentment among Yorkshire’s players, and may well have been driven by Toone’s reforms of the Yorkshire benefit system.

Terms for Toone were more generous: a wage of £600, plus travel expenses for the train from his Horsforth home; in 1920, he was also given a car, worth £400, that was sold after his death. A testimonial for him in the 1920s raised £3,500, which included subscriptions from Ceylon and Australia. When he was ill in 1930, his medical bills were paid, and the cost of his funeral was covered: a total of over £200. His widow was also given a grant for several years. Yet when Roy Kilner’s widow asked Yorkshire in 1930 (after Toone’s death) for money from her husband’s benefit fund to cover the cost of the education of her second child, it was turned down.

Toone was therefore well rewarded for his years of service. Yorkshire too undoubtedly benefited from his reforms and improvements. His time as Secretary was a period of huge success both on the field — Yorkshire won the County Championship eight times during his 27 years at the club — and off, where the county became very wealthy. Whether the players were as fond of him as the county or MCC officials is perhaps a little more doubtful. But it says much about the period that, other than Rhodes, there is not one single dissenting voice in any written source about Toone, even though he must have been resented by many of the players whom he served to keep in their place.

“Sutcliffe is not the senior professional in the team”: The players put a spanner in the works

A photograph taken after the announcement that Sutcliffe would be captain. From the left: Sutcliffe’s daughter Barbara (holding her father’s first bat), his son William (Billy) and his wife Emily. (Image: Sheffield Daily Telegraph, 5 November 1927)

On 2 November 1927, the Yorkshire Committee voted by the narrowest of margins to appoint Herbert Sutcliffe as captain for the 1928 season. This was a momentous decision: Sutcliffe was a professional and, for reasons of precedent and social prejudice, county captains were exclusively amateurs and had been since the earliest days of county cricket. Yorkshire announced the decision with some trepidation, but reaction was generally positive and there was no overt criticism from the cricket world. Even establishment figures were cautiously favourable. However, there were two clouds on the horizon. First, when the idea had been secretly proposed to Sutcliffe, the intention was for him to become an amateur in order to captain the team; the Committee, scared by the criticism of the plan when it was leaked to the press, opted for him to retain his professional status. Second, when it was announced that a professional was to take over, several sources – including Jack Hobbs, Sutcliffe’s opening partner for England – questioned why Wilfred Rhodes, Yorkshire’s Senior Professional, had not been asked. An anonymous source told Central News – falsely, as it transpired – that Rhodes did not want to be captain, but if this was an attempt to quieten speculation it was about to be foiled spectacularly.

In the following days, when the cricket world had reflected on the idea of Yorkshire having a professional captain, some indications emerged that not everything was as settled as it seemed. A few newspapers carried a photograph of Sutcliffe’s wife and two children: William Herbert Hobbs Sutcliffe held the bat his father had used when he first played in Pudsey. But the Sheffield Daily Telegraph quoted the suggestion of an “inside source” that there was still some doubt that Sutcliffe would be captain. The same article revisited the idea, forgotten in all the excitement, that Sutcliffe had agreed to become an amateur before leaving for South Africa, although it said he was agreeable to be the captain while a professional. But it said that he still planned to turn amateur as soon as possible, although the Committee preferred that he remained professional for the moment. 

Roy Kilner in 1922 (Image: Wikipedia)

Amid the reaction to the announcement, the Yorkshire players had been silent. However, not all of them were in the country at the time: Roy Kilner, Maurice Leyland and Arthur Dolphin were en route to India where they had been engaged by the Maharajah of Patiala to coach for the winter. Not all was well for two of these men: Dolphin, Yorkshire’s wicket-keeper, had been told at the end of the season that he was not required by the county in 1928. Kilner, according to his sister Mollie, had been unsure whether to go to India and was not his usual self; she believed he had felt some kind of premonition of disaster. Then, shortly after his departure, he was rocked by news that his uncle Irving Washington, a former Yorkshire player, had died at the age of 47. Kilner’s biographer, Mick Pope, suggests that he was suffering from depression as he toured India that winter, and several of his actions indicate that all was not well.

The three Yorkshire players arrived in India on 4 November, and it appears they were told of Sutcliffe’s appointment by a reporter almost as soon as they arrived. Judging by their unguarded reaction, they may have been “ambushed” with the news; their obvious shock suggests they had not heard the developments while they were travelling. This reaction would have a crucial bearing on subsequent events. 

Apparently literally having stepped off boat, the players were spoken to by the a man who most reports described as the Bombay correspondent of the Daily News. Taken unawares, they did not take the most diplomatic course. The most outspoken was Kilner, who said:

“I am very sorry for amateur cricket in Yorkshire, and that this should have happened. The appointment is one which I cannot understand. Sutcliffe is not the senior professional in the team. He is a post-war product, and has not the experience of Rhodes, Dolphin or myself. The disappearance of the amateur player from Yorkshire is to be regretted. Sutcliffe himself is a batsman. I wonder whether he will be able to handle the bowling? Captaining a county side is a big responsibility and it remains to be seen whether Sutcliffe can carry on. Experienced amateurs are scarce in Yorkshire, but I think an amateur skipper is to be preferred. All of us regret the passing of Major Lupton. If the appointment is a sign that the amateur has begun to disappear from county cricket it will be bad for the game. Whether this means Rhodes has definitely decided to retire I don’t know. It is a bad day for amateur cricket in Yorkshire.”

Leyland was more cautious, agreeing with Kilner that an amateur was preferable, but adding: “It is the cricket which counts and not so much whether a professional or amateur is captain.” Dolphin simply expressed regret that an amateur could not be found.

These criticisms by Kilner were extraordinary, going much further than the amateur cricket establishment had done in condemning the whole concept of a professional captain. Some of his points are less than convincing: his complain about a batsman being in command overlooked the fact that all previous Yorkshire captains were nominally batsmen and very few teams were led by bowlers. Additionally, although he mentioned Dolphin as a senior professional, he would have known, having been travelling with him, that his career as a regular Yorkshire player was over. The impression is that he was simply opposed to having Sutcliffe as captain.

Poor Kilner may well have been caught off guard. His gloomy state of mind cannot have helped. But while it cannot have been his intention to stoke up controversy, his remarks were widely reported the following day (5 November) in England. The prevailing consensus that Sutcliffe was a wise and widely-respected appointment was shattered after just three days. Few were impressed that these players felt the need to opine: the Leeds Mercury regretted Kilner’s “acid” comments. Several people believed that his remarks were so out-of-character that he must have been misquoted.

When Kilner discovered the reaction at home, he seems to have been appalled. From India, he wrote several letters, including one to Abe Waddington which Mick Pope believes reflected his melancholy state at the time (although it may merely have been a little reflective because Waddington, like Dolphin, was no longer required by Yorkshire). One letter, sent to AW Pullin from Patiala on 27 November, directly addressed Sutcliffe’s captaincy and the controversy over his own comments. Pullin reproduced part of it in the Yorkshire Evening Post on 24 December:

“I am sorry my remarks (which were very few) were not reported as spoken. I think I can rely on you to let the public and all sportsmen at home know my views on Yorkshire cricket. No matter who captains the team I play for, it will always be my first aim to play the game and to be honest.”

Pullin merely observed that it showed how careful everyone in sport should be when commenting to the press. By the time Kilner was writing, matters had already moved on apace. But these were Kilner’s last public comments on the matter, and the last that the cricketing public heard from him. On the voyage home from India in March 1928, he became increasingly ill with what was diagnosed as “enteric fever”. He died at the age of 37, late on 5 April with his wife beside him at Kendray Fever Hospital near Barnsley. Forgotten, in the outpouring of grief surrounding his death, was his role in events surrounding Sutcliffe, with whom he never had a chance to discuss the captaincy affair. 

Meanwhile, Sutcliffe and the MCC team arrived in South Africa on 7 November. Sutcliffe was questioned about the captaincy by a correspondent of the Press Association, but “declined to add anything to his previous statement”. Stories began to appear in newspapers about the composition of Yorkshire’s team for 1928: it was reported that Waddington and Dolphin would not play; one journalist suggested that Arthur Mitchell would play in the place freed up by the appointment of Sutcliffe (In the event, he did play in 1928, and very successfully, but took the place vacated by Kilner’s death). Frederick Toone continued to fight a rearguard against the leaks coming from the Committee, and denied anything was settled about the composition of the team.

Wilfred Rhodes in the late 1920s

On the evening of 7 November came the turning point in the whole affair. Whether or not he was emboldened by the reaction of Kilner, or whether he was genuinely upset, Wilfred Rhodes gave a statement to the press: “The captaincy of the Yorkshire Cricket Team has never been offered to me, the honour, apparently, having been passed over my head. I knew nothing about the matter until I saw the appointment of Herbert Sutcliffe to that position in the Press.” This contradicted the earlier story that he did not want to be captain and was happy to play under Sutcliffe. Rhodes expanded on this in an interview with the Press Association:

“I am not given to discussing matters of this kind in the press but I feel in fairness to the general public, as well as to myself, that I have to say something to contradict statements which appeared in the newspapers last week that I was unwilling to captain Yorkshire. I had not announced my retirement from cricket, and that could not have been the reason why the captaincy was not offered to me. Sutcliffe’s appointment was a great surprise to me. I am a great admirer of him, for he is a splendid cricketer and a very good fellow. My point is that I cannot see why he should’ve been selected as captain when there are four to five professionals senior to him in the team. One could not help thinking that after playing so long the Committee would have given me first chance of refusal of the captaincy. It almost looks as if my services will not appreciated.”

The anonymous interviewer stated that the last sentence was said with a “wistful” look on his face. According to the interviewer:

“[Rhodes] said nothing which belittled his colleagues in the Yorkshire team or glorified himself. Indeed, while he was full of praise for the Yorkshire team, he was very reluctant to talk about himself at all, and undoubtedly it is only the feeling that he has been slighted by the Yorkshire Committee which induced him to express his views.  Rhodes has been connected with Yorkshire cricket for nearly 30 years, and he has always enjoyed the confidence of his captain and committee.  He indicated to me today that he had no knowledge that Sutcliffe was to be appointed captain, and that his own views were not sought.”

The interviewer asked if he would be willing to play under Sutcliffe; Rhodes said “I do not expect to play many more years for Yorkshire,” but later pointed out that JWHT Douglas continued to play for England when Lionel Tennyson took over. On the subject of professional captaincy, Rhodes said:

“I do not think I will discuss it but I think it is a great pity that there is not amateur follow Major AW Lupton who was very popular with us. We shall be sorry to lose him. This is my last word on the subject. The matter is not in my hands, and I have told the public what I wanted them to know.”

If anyone had previously been in any doubt, it was now clear that the players were not in favour of Sutcliffe’s appointment. Given how infrequently players became openly embroiled in controversy in this period, it is remarkable to have so many directly quoted opinions like this.

A few newspapers began to question if Rhodes had been treated fairly. For example, the Leeds Mercury seemed to be getting to the heart of why Rhodes was not considered when it summarised the original plan for Sutcliffe to become an amateur – the plan that had been abandoned by the Committee. The Sheffield Independent noted that four of the team had openly criticised the appointment and that the “rank and file” of the club membership were divided on the issue. The writer maintained that Sutcliffe was an excellent choice but conceded that, even though his playing days were nearly over, perhaps Rhodes should have been approached as well. He wondered if there had been too much secrecy in the matter. 

Cecil Parkin (Image: Wikipedia)

Another famous name, one with a history of calling for professional captains and a flair for generating controversy, got involved at this point. Cecil Parkin, the Lancashire cricketer, had spectacularly ended his England career in 1924 by criticising his captain, Arthur Gilligan; he also wrote the article which provoked Lord Hawke’s infamous “Pray God” speech. Parkin now weighed into the Yorkshire debate, writing in the Sunday Post that, for all the respect he held for Sutcliffe, “Rhodes was the man for the captaincy… the obvious choice”. In a slightly muddled article, Parkin’s odd suggestion was that the 56-year-old George Hirst should have been asked. Nor could he quite decide if his own controversial views on professional captaincy had been finally vindicated, or if it would in reality be too difficult for a professional to lead other professionals. He thought Rhodes was correct to speak his mind – Parkin was no stranger to rushing into print – but believed he would play “without malice” for Yorkshire in 1928. He concluded, enigmatically: “And you may take it from me that there will be developments next year. ‘Nuff said.” This strange article was too confused to contribute much to the debate other than a supportive comment piece in the same issue by his sports editor; it merely revealed that Parkin was not particularly well-informed about what was happening at Yorkshire. Once more, he may well have been simply trying to stir up a reaction. ‘Nuff said indeed.

In any case, the intervention of Rhodes cast the whole plan into turmoil, just a week after it had been announced. Around this time, there seem to have been some silent, behind-the-scenes movement. Reports appeared of a belief in “influential circles” that Sutcliffe would decline the captaincy owing to the openly-expressed reservations of his team-mates.

Sutcliffe himself remained silent, with a dignity that many of the other participants perhaps lacked. Asked in Cape Town on 10 November by the British United Press for a statement, he said: “I have not yet received by mail an official offer from the Yorkshire authorities of the captaincy of the Yorkshire County cricket team for next season.” Questioned about reports that he was “delaying” his acceptancy (presumably a veiled reference to the reports that he would turn the captaincy down), Sutcliffe replied: “Until I have received the official offer I decline to make any statement whatever.” Presumably by “official offer” he meant a letter; he had certainly been contacted by the Committee, so there was no doubt they wished to appoint him. The following day, the Press Association reported Sutcliffe saying: “I certainly do not intend to make any further statement until after I have received the official invitation from the Yorkshire Club authorities. I shall make no statement until I return to England.”

Perhaps his desire to wait for a formal letter was to allow him time to think. It seems that he still planned to accept, and was merely biding his time to reply to some of the criticisms after he was officially made captain. The Press Association seemed to confirm that with an accompanying report which said: “Sutcliffe has been much distressed by the newspaper comments on his appointment. The question of his acceptance of the captaincy has never been in doubt but naturally he has to wait for official information.” This report was carried by the British Press on 12 November; on the same day, Sutcliffe batted for the first time on the MCC tour of South Africa. He was run out for 9 on the first day of the match against Western Province, by his long-time opening partner Percy Holmes.

Lord Hawke and Wilfred Rhodes in their playing days (Image: Daily Mirror, 15 September 1908, Page 9)

Meanwhile, members of the Committee began to stir. The Sporting Chronicle rang Lord Hawke and quoted parts of Rhodes’ press interview to him: about his long service, how he had earned the first refusal on the captaincy and felt unappreciated. Hawke, perhaps betraying his growing frustration with the whole affair, replied: “What can I say to the press on such a subject? I am fearfully fed up and I have written a letter to Wilfred Rhodes, but I have nothing to say to the press.” It is not totally clear if this was a letter of apology or rebuke, or something else entirely. There is no official record of the matter. Rhodes, arriving home from Leicester, was questioned by the Leeds Mercury about whether he had received this letter, but refused to say anything. Another newspaper also approached him; he would neither comment on Hawke’s letter nor confirm that he had received one.

The Committee member Clifford Heskith also showed irritation when speaking at the annual meeting of the Barnsley Cricket Club, of which he was captain. He complained about the press lacking discretion in approaching members of the team for an opinion, believing that “endless trouble may be caused.” He called Sutcliffe “a gentleman and a sportsman and will prove to be an excellent captain.” But he regretted the absence of an amateur, and stated: “It would have been better had Sutcliffe’s colleagues swallowed their private views.”

There was also at least one slightly awkward incident as divisions within Yorkshire cricket widened. On 15 November, at the annual dinner of the Yorkshire Cricket Council in Leeds, H Turner of Halifax was proposing the toast of the County Cricket Club. In his speech, which was given in front of Rhodes, George Hirst and at least one member of the Yorkshire Committee, he said: “Before abandoning the amateur status of the captaincy every avenue should have been searched and an extreme effort should have been made before the committee made its decision, which I think has been a little hasty.” Turner said that an amateur would have been better, and claimed that there was one in the team who was “a man and gentleman, who should have been asked to captain the team if only for twelve months, and for whom everyone had the deepest respect and regard.” It is not clear to whom he was referring: perhaps Rhodes, perhaps an unnamed amateur (although candidates were thin on the ground, which led to the situation in which the team found itself). The Committee member Edwin Barber replied to the toast, possibly through gritted teeth, saying that Yorkshiremen were good sportsmen and would support whoever was captain; otherwise he said that he had nothing to say about the matter as “the question was a very delicate one”.

The Yorkshire Committee were almost certainly beginning to regret breaking tradition, and even more so of not even considering how Rhodes might have felt. The only reason Sutcliffe was appointed is that the men behind the idea expected him to captain as an amateur; Rhodes was not the “right sort” to become an amateur. When this conversion was judged unacceptable, Sutcliffe was still the only candidate and so it was he who was asked to become the first professional captain. Most likely Rhodes did not even cross their minds as an option. And it was this, more than anything that was causing an already controversial concept, the professional captain, to threaten the harmony of the team and cause consternation among members. Asked for his opinion on Rhodes, Richard Ingham had replied: “I have nothing to say. Not one word. It would tend to embitter the controversy. Let it drop for a few months. Time will straighten things out.” But no-one was letting this drop: it was now open season, and any sensible discussion was over. Now it was the turn of the members to have their say.

“That’s Roy’s Chinaman … It is one he trusts to luck with”: How Yorkshire invented “t’chinaman”

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  Roy Kilner (Image: Wikipedia)

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  Maurice Leyland (Image: Wikipedia)

Did the name of the “chinaman” delivery originate from one of these two Yorkshire cricketers?

It is fairly easy to establish that Ellis “Puss” Achong had, in reality, no association with the delivery known to cricket as the “chinaman” (an off-break bowled by a left-arm wrist-spinner); that he was not actually a wrist-spinner; that the first left-arm wrist-spinner predated him by approximately 30 years; and that the famous story of how Walter Robins was dismissed by him was so unremarkable at the time that no-one commented on it. But this leaves a question unanswered. If the delivery was not named when Achong dismissed Robins, where did the name come from? It is possible that the answer is Yorkshire.

The Yorkshire connection with left-arm wrist-spin goes back to 1910 when Wilfred Rhodes was fascinated enough by its possibilities to practise it himself. But two Yorkshiremen have occasionally been credited with the naming of the “chinaman” delivery, Roy Kilner and Maurice Leyland of Yorkshire.

Roy Kilner first played for Yorkshire before the First World War and remained in the team until his premature death in 1928. Beginning as a batsmen who bowled left-arm finger-spin occasionally, he was encouraged by Rhodes and George Hirst to take up bowling seriously to ease the workload on Rhodes as the left-arm spinner. He made a huge success of it, playing for England and becoming one of the leading bowlers in the country. Essentially an orthodox left-arm spinner, he sometimes bowled wrist spin for variety and practised it frequently in the nets. I can’t help but wonder if he was encouraged in this by Rhodes; interestingly, given Yorkshire’s later suspicion of wrist-spin as expensive and untrustworthy, no-one seemed to discourage it. Writing in 1929, Neville Cardus said that Kilner had told him that “the next development in bowling was going to be left-handed ‘googly’ bowling”. In Mick Pope’s biography of Kilner, Roy’s brother and occasional Yorkshire team-mate Norman claimed that it was Roy who invented the name “chinaman”.

Maurice Leyland was Kilner’s team-mate in his last years with Yorkshire. Like him, he began as a batsman, but following Kilner’s death before the 1928 season, and at a time when Rhodes was contemplating retirement, began to bowl regularly. There was a notion in the Yorkshire team that he could become their main left-arm spinner. He was tried in this orthodox role a few times but did not quite fit the bill; Hedley Verity eventually assumed the position. But by 1929, Leyland was occasionally bowling left-handed wrist-spin and googlies; as time progressed, he took increasingly to this style, particularly as he tended to be used when the other bowlers had failed.

When Leyland died in 1967, his Wisden obituary recorded:

“According to Bill Bowes, Maurice claimed he was responsible for the term ‘Chinaman’. Because his chances of bowling were few, he began bowling the occasional left-hander’s off-break instead of the normal and natural leg-break. Whenever two batsmen were difficult to shift or something different was wanted someone in the Yorkshire team would say, ‘Put on Maurice to bowl some of those Chinese things.’ Roy Kilner explained, ‘It’s foreign stuff and you can’t call it anything else.’”

At the same time, DCF Burton, the former Yorkshire captain, wrote in the Cricketer:

“It was always thought in Yorkshire that the ball called ‘The Chinaman’ originated from Maurice. A left-arm bowler, he sometimes bowled an enormous off-break from round the wicket which, if not accurately pitched, was easy to see and to get away on the leg-side. In later days, laughing about this, he would say it was a type of ball that might be good enough to get the Chinese out if no one else. Hence this ball became Maurice’s ‘Chinaman.’”

It would make sense for Kilner to have passed the delivery on to Leyland (and it would be wonderfully romantic had it been Rhodes who passed it onto Kilner. But that is wild speculation, and there is enough of that around the “chinaman”). Other than Llewellyn, Leyland seems to be the first bowler to regularly bowl “chinamen”. However, few people give much credence to his claim to have invented the term. For example, in Twirlymen, Amol Rajan writes: “Whether Leyland really did adopt the term before Achong’s dismissal of Robins in 1933 is doubtful, but he was certainly bowling the ball in the 1920s.” In his Strange Death of English Leg Spin, Justin Parkinson assumes that the term came from someone who was bowled out by Achong. In Arm Ball to Zooter, Lawrence Booth suggests that only a few people believe Leyland’s version of the story, and while it is possible, “the romance belongs fairly and squarely to Achong”. ESPNcricinfo sticks firmly with the Achong version.

Kilner bowling in Australia in 1924–25 (Image: Wikipedia)

And yet… this romance has blinded cricket historians. There are numerous examples of writers talking about the “chinaman” delivery long before Achong played first-class cricket. And it must have been one of the Yorkshire team who named it, the most likely candidates being Kilner and Leyland: most references make an association with Yorkshire, and there are enough to place this firmly beyond doubt. For context, Achong made his first-class debut on 22 January 1930 against the MCC touring team of which Hendren was a part; on CricketArchive, the only other record of him prior to this is a match between North Trinidad and South Trinidad in March 1928. He made his Test debut against England on 1 February 1930.

The earliest “chinaman” references I can find, although there may be more, come from the 1926 Ashes series. In a report on the fourth Test at Headingly, Robert Crockett, the Australian Test umpire, writing for the Adelaide Advertiser, stated:

“Kilner tried to tempt Macartney with a high, slow off-break. ‘That’s Roy’s Chinaman,’ said one professional. I asked him why, and he replied, ‘It is one he trusts to luck with.’”

Later that year, Neville Cardus, who seems to have formed quite an association with the word, enters the written record. In the Manchester Guardian in 1926, Cardus reviewed Arthur Gilligan’s book about the 1926 Ashes, Collins’s Men (18 September 1926, page 16). Commenting disparagingly on a passage that Gilligan wrote about George Macaulay, in which he claimed that the latter could bowl every type of ball “from the yorker to the googly”, Cardus said:

“Who has ever seen Macaulay bowl the ‘googly’ in serious cricket? And if he did, what would a certain other member of the Yorkshire XI have to say about this sudden use of ‘t’Chinaman’?”

Presumably, the other member of the Yorkshire side was Kilner.

Therefore, by 1926 at the latest, there is an association between Yorkshire, the “chinaman” and Roy Kilner. These two references, though, do not necessarily suggest a left-arm wrist-spinner; the Crockett version simply states a “high, slow off-break” (which could be a wrist-spun off-break from the left-hander but not necessarily) while Cardus seems to associate the “chinaman” with a googly (as Macaulay was a right-hander). Maybe, at this stage, it was more of a nickname for an unusual delivery, an experiment that could go wrong. Or possibly Cardus misunderstood.

The next reference that I can find (and there could be others) was in 1929, after Kilner’s premature death. In an article published in the Manchester Guardian on 29 April 1929 (on page 5), Neville Cardus (or “Cricketer”, his pseudonym in that newspaper), wrote about Learie Constantine’s debut for Nelson in the Lancashire League. Describing the bowling of Abe Waddington, the former Yorkshire left-arm pace bowler who by that stage of his career was playing for Accrington, Cardus states:

“He got one of his wickets with a leg-spinner —  the ball named ‘t’Chinaman’ in the Yorkshire team, and much dreaded by those who used to field close to the wicket when Waddington was attacking.”

We now have the association with left-arm wrist-spin. At the tail-end of his career, Waddington lost much of his effectiveness as a pace bowler, and may well have experimented with bowling spin; although Cardus suggests that he was not especially good at it. The early dates of these occurrences make Kilner, rather than Leyland, the prime suspect in identifying who originated the description and associated it with unusual deliveries. At the time, Leyland was still a junior member of the Yorkshire team, and he did not take up bowling seriously until after Kilner’s death.

There are other, later references to “chinaman” bowling. Though not widespread, it was used in the 1930s and the implication is that people knew what it meant. The association with Leyland was quite strong. For example, Frank Stainton wrote in the Hull Daily Mail (Friday 17 July 1931):

“At 67 Leyland bowled … at the Pavilion end, and in his second over he disposed of Nichols, that left-hander chasing Leyland’s “Chinaman,” as he calls it – the left-hand off break, which to Nichols turned from the leg stump – and being smartly caught at the wicket by Wood.”

The following year, the same writer said in the Leeds Mercury (6 May 1932):

“Leyland pleased [the writer] because of the fact that he has evidently gained considerably more control over what he humorously calls his “Chinaman,” the left-hander’s off break. For the most part he pitched it accurately and turned it considerably when bowling over the wicket, and it is evident that once he masters this ball he becomes infinitely more difficult as a bowler.”

A photograph from the Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News on 21 September 1934 showing Ernest Tyldesley being bowled by Leyland’s “chinaman”.

There was another reference that season to Leyland’s “chinaman” in the Sheffield Daily Telegraph (27 August 1932), and there are several others throughout the 1930s. A search of the British Newspaper Archive reveals several obvious references to this when searching for “Leyland” and “chinaman” but nothing for “Kilner” and “chinaman”.  If Kilner created the name, it seems that Leyland was more widely associated with it in the 1930s. However, it does seem to be a term associated almost solely with Yorkshire.

Cardus mentions the “chinaman” again, this time in Australia as he reported on the 1936-37 Ashes series. In the Adelaide Advertiser on 17 September 1936, he wrote:

“Sometimes he [Leyland] bowls – “when,” as he will tell you, “the score is about two hundred for nowt. The captain, he says to me, ‘Bowl a few, Maurice,’ and I replies, ‘Yes, skipper, and Ah’ll try t’Chinaman.’” The “Chinaman” is a weird sort of “googly” invented by Roy Kilner (a left-handed cricketer like Leyland); I can only imagine that it was described as “t’Chinaman” because of some dark Oriental powers supposed to reside in the delivery.”

The use of “chinaman” was not consistent until the 1950s; for example, it was not being used in 1934 to describe the bowling of L O’B Fleetwood-Smith, the first bowler to have success internationally with chinamen and googlies (The Cricketer talks about his off-breaks, googlies and wrong-uns. In 1938, he was a “left-arm googly bowler”). A cursory and by no means scientific search of newspaper archives suggests that the term entered general use with Dennis Compton after the war, and then with Johnny Wardle, yet another Yorkshire bowler; by 1963, readers were writing to the Times to enquire where the delivery’s name originated.

Another article worth quoting was printed in the Yorkshire Evening Post on 8 May 1948, at a time when Denis Compton was developing his “chinaman” and the term was becoming fairly widespread. The Yorkshire coach, Arthur Mitchell, who played for Yorkshire in the 1920s and 1930s, was asked about where it came from. He said:

“We first heard of it when Roy Kilner began turning his wrist over and making the ball turn from the off. Up to then Yorkshire’s left-handers had been the orthodox spinners (with the left-hander’s natural break from leg) or seam bowlers. Roy’s off-break was a bit different, a name had to be found for it, and I suppose it seemed that the ‘Chinaman’ was as good a name for it as anything.”

Perhaps the most interesting reference I can find to the “chinaman”, and which may help to explain what happened with Achong, is a report (probably syndicated from Australia) to an event during the “Bodyline” tour of Australia in 1932-33 in the Nottingham Journal (2^nd February 1933). During the MCC match against “Queensland Country”, the Yorkshire and England opener Herbert Sutcliffe was stumped off the bowling of Hunter Poon. The report stated:

“Now and again cricketers refer to a googly as a “Chinaman.” After to-day [Sutcliffe] will be able to tell his friends that he was completely bamboozled by a “Chinaman,” for Poon, who had the Yorkshireman stumped, is of Chinese origin.”

Although the writer does not use “chinaman” as others were using it, suggesting it was still a niche term, he was aware of it and here we have a writer making a “humorous” link between a cricketer of Chinese origin and the already-named “chinaman” delivery. This seems the most likely explanation of Constantine’s response to Robins’ comments (if they ever actually happened): making a link to what already existed separately.

Perhaps it is time to summarise and hopefully put some of these stories to bed. Based on available evidence, the use of “chinaman” did not have any association with Puss Achong, and was not coined by Walter Robins. The term predates Achong’s cricket career by at least four years. Achong did not bowl a “chinaman” or googly; if he did so as a variation or experiment, Cardus would almost certainly have spotted it and commented as he loved to identifying left-arm “chinamen” and googlies. Achong’s dismissal of Robins and the exasperated retort did not popularise the term in Britain as it was already in widespread use and seems to have been popular long before the story itself was.

The creator (or probably creators) of the name “chinaman” were almost certainly in the Yorkshire team in the 1920s, and used it to describe unusual bowling, or bowling that could go wrong enough to be only good enough to dismiss foreigners. Possibly from the outset it referred to the stock delivery of a left-arm wrist-spinner, or it evolved to mean that. There was an association with Roy Kilner and more particularly with Maurice Leyland.

It seems more likely that, if it the “bloody Chinaman” remarks were ever made at all, either Robins or Hendren made them in disgust at their dismissal, and were referring to the bowler in a derogatory way. Constantine (who seems the most likely to give such a reply, and to be the source of the tale) made the comment knowing that there was a delivery called the “chinaman” and linking it with Achong as happened with Poon in 1932.

Or maybe no-one said anything at all, but it made a clever story years after the event when everyone knew what a “chinaman” delivery was.

While it all makes an interesting story, I can’t help wondering if it is time to find a better name for this delivery. For however it arose, I don’t think it was ever intended to be complimentary to the Chinese. There are unmistakable elements of racism in the use of this name. Having an association with an “inventor” of Chinese extraction may have given it a little legitimacy. As that association is an imaginary one, there is little left to make it a worthwhile label in 2017. Can we not find a better name?

The Llewellyn? The Kilner? It worked for Bosanquet and the “Bosie”.

Maybe not.