Hillside (Reigate) V Aberdour

[Rogernoble]

Hillside Reigate v Ab​erdour

Nick Ranson of Reigate suggested this new feature so I leave the floor to him for the first contribution.

The summer of 1951 in memory was bright and sunny. Yet the prospects for the cricket XI did not look very good, to my way of thinking. Our best bat, Jeremy Norman Tarrant Jones, left at the end of Easter term for Lancing. And I as next senior was appointed captain—see the team photo. 

Hillside School Cricket XI 1951.jpg

We had the usual fixture list, as I remember—Aberdour, Homefield, Banstead Priory and others I don’t recall—and I didn’t relish presiding over our coming defeats. And so the Saturday came when we went over to Aberdour. Now Aberdour in my experience had a special place: it was the team which had in my first year in the XI a fearsome fast bowler named Southgate. I was an opening bat, and was promptly bowled for a duck by a ball so fast (it seemed) that I never even saw it. The second year we played them was no better; and Southgate made his way through the heart of the batting order—Chapman, Walker, Gubbins, Pegler—and had us all out for some absurd amount. Their batting was more than able to quickly overhaul out total. Aberdour wins again.

 In 1951, Aberdour had the prettiest cricket oval of any school we played. Surrounded by trees, it was in perfect scale with our skills and determination. This was an away match, and so in no sort of expectation we debussed, changed, lost the toss and were put in to bat. Now, at this point, I don’t exactly remember our score, but it was close to, or at, 100 runs all out, and we broke for tea. Southgate had gone! It wasn’t a bad score at all.

 Aberdour started well and were soon taking charge of our bowling: our “fast” bowler (Spanton?) was making little impression and they were barely into the middle order when they got towards a score of seventy something with several wickets left. Then suddenly bham! Two wickets fell for nothing much, and with some 30 minutes left to play, we were faced with a couple of tail-enders who had received orders to dig-in and dead-bat anything we bowled. I crowded the batsmen successively with seven fielders within 5-10 yards and took silly mid-off myself. I made what I thought was a good catch at one point, but Mr. Gillard, our accompanying master, denied the appeal. We were now at nearly 90 runs and we had gone through our regular series of bowlers about twice. In desperation I turned to Whitely and gave him the ball for the next over. Whitely was not a recognized bowler. In fact, he wasn’t usually given much opportunity to practice, and though you might have called him a “slow off-spinner”, that would have been stretching it.The sun was setting behind Whitely’s bowling end as he shuffled up to the crease and twirled his arm. At that point, everything seemed to revert to slow motion. All of us turned our heads to watch the flight of the ball. Up, up, it went, high into the light of the setting sun. The batsman stood quite still, staring at what I do not know. Blinded by the sun? Anyway, the ball floated over his clasped hands and landed on the top of the stumps, to all our amazement. We had just witnessed the most famous occasion when the Whitely “dolly drop” was used to potent effect. The shock was tremendous: the last batsman crept in through our mob of surrounding fielders and was quickly dismissed as he shuffled forward to block another Whitely ball, lost his crease and had his wicket smashed with a echoing “Howzat?” by our wicketkeeper Masefield. It was over: we had won by four runs with a few minutes to spare.

 Going back on the bus, we were quiet: no big celebration and when we drew up outside our main classroom block, I saw Mr. Bannister up on a ladder, sno-ceming one of the outside walls of Tower house. Seeing us return, he slowly climbed down the ladder to hear the bad news. When he gained level ground, I said: “We won by four runs.” There was a moment’s pause as he digested this news and then his face beamed a huge smile, and he led into the Annex on the side of the house which was used both for meals and classes, and asked me tell him the whole story. We sat there for a while as I went over the drama. I think it was a joyful day for him, as for us.

 The Aberdour jinx was broken. For the rest of the season I have no memory, and certainly no other match had the meaning and importance which that had. I still think from time to time of the Whitely effect and how it gave a decent man some satisfaction one late summer afternoon.

 Nick Ranson.