The Twelfth Man 2011

13 Speaking of his wonderful book, Womb-well’s ‘Cricket Writer of the Year’ 2010 told members: “ I can’t remember the exact date, but it would not be an overstatement to say that the day I strolled into the Playhouse Cinema, Wakefield in 1960 to watch The Magnificent Seven changed my life.” The Playhouse was in Westgate; in those days the Merrie Citie’s principal banking thoro- ughfare, now more renowned for its bars, clubs and the notorious Friday night Westgate Run, involving a pint in each establishment. A bit out of my league these days. And one afternoon during the school summer holidays, together with two chums, I sat engrossed as Chris, Vin, Harry, Bernardo, Britt, Lee and Chico put Calvera and his band of desperadoes to the sword (well, six shooter). We were back the following afternoon… and the one after that and the Magnificent Seven Appreciation Society (President a certain Y.Brynner esq,) was formed shortly afterwards. And for the next decade or so, members spent many an evening, in cinemas of varying standards of cleanliness and hygiene, watching the greatest Western of them all. By a happy coincidence, Yorkshire were strutting their stuff across the County Championship at the same time, Ronnie Burnet, Vic Wilson and Brian Close leading their own assorted gunslingers to no fewer than seven Championships in ten years. So when, around half a century later, I was given the opportunity to write the story of the men who won those crowns – not to mention two Gillette Cups – there could only be one possible title: Yes, Magnificent Seven . The idea of Yorkshire’s finest cricket telling, in their own words, the story of their careers and the golden era in which they played had been bubbling on the backburner for some time. And once Great Northern Books agreed to publish Magnificent Seven , it was time to go out and meet as many of the surviving players as possible. It was, in some ways, a daunting task for a man who, as a boy, had idolised these players. How would they respond? Would they, like so many sporting gods, have feet of clay? I need not have worried. Close, Illingworth, Stott, Padgett, Platt, Ryan, Cowan, Bolus, Hampshire, Binks, Hutton, Don Wilson, Cope, Taylor and Sharpe could scarcely have been more co-operative or hospitable. They opened up their hearts, minds, memories and scrapbooks to talk about a time that clearly meant as The Magnificent Seven by Andrew Collomosse much to them as it did to the supporters who followed them around Yorkshire. It was, from beginning to end, a labour of love. And thankfully, since Magnificent Seven was published last June, it has been well received in the media. Of far more personal significance, however, is that the players who took part have also, to a man, said how much they enjoyed the book. They cannot begin to believe how much that means. EXTRACTS Don Wilson: had some escapades! One year we were playing Gloucestershire at Bristol, staying in this marvellous hotel with a spiral staircase. And we discovered that the acoustics in the main lounge were wonderful. So after a night out, Sharpey produced his tuning fork and we launched into our repertoire. Unfortunately, the guests didn’t exactly appreciate our efforts and we got thrown out of the hotel. Brian Sellars, the cricket chairman, heard about it and called Fred into the office. “Fred, I hear you’ve been thrown out of this hotel in Bristol…” and went on to read the riot act. But after being rollocked for about 20 minutes, Fred finally got a word in. “By God Brian,” he said. “I must have a strong voice – I was playing for England at The Oval!’ Richard Hutton: Yorkshire was like no other county. Before making my debut in 1962, I’d appeared in a couple of matches for Surrey Seconds as well as playing for Cambridge, mainly against county sides. And the contrast between Yorkshire cricket and cricket elsewhere was so stark. Yorkshire had 13,000 members, the grounds were more full than empty and the whole thing seemed to have so much more vitality than you would find at another county. And there was a great unity of purpose about the Yorkshire team and the way we played. The requirements of the team were far more important than the individual. Philip Sharpe: I could give you a chapter or two on the Black and White Minstrels alone… but then I’d have to leave the country! It all started at the Futurist Theatre in Scarborough in 1962. Then one winter, Don and I found ourselves as part of the ensemble at the Alhambra in Bradford when Keith Leggatt, who was one of the head minstrels, said, “Look,