The Twelfth Man 2015

22 back there playing in a Test match for England. A winter’s day in 2014 in the north of France. The sky is grey, with the promise of rain but it is mild. The breeze is kind. There has been much rain of late and the fields stretching down to the village of Longueval are sodden. The earth, ploughed and left for the winter, glistens in great clods, which cling together to form a grey quagmire across to the distant track, named Wood Lane. The field climbs towards Wood Lane, some 300 yards ahead. To the left, its ascent is more pronounced, rising gradually over several hundred yards before culminating in the dark, brooding mass of High Wood. The wood, diamond-shaped and 75 acres in area, squats at the top of ground that falls from it on every side. It commands a clear view for miles in all directions. From a distance, the trees appear dense, implacable – one dark, solid mass. Closer up, light and space is evident among them. Rough lanes, long redundant, snake through the trees. And there are ponds. Ponds formed by decades of rain falling into bomb craters. Upon this wood – High Wood – British soldiers launched a series of raids between July and September 1916. With its view of the surrounding landscape the wood was considered a major military objective. But German soldiers were well established there. Many hundreds of lives had already been lost in the quest for High Wood when, at dusk on 21 July 1916, General Sir Henry Rawlinson ordered another attack. Wood Lane, snaking down from the wood’s south-eastern corner, was the object of another sustained British bombardment. For hours, shells rained down upon it. The onslaught failed, miserably, to knock out the German machine-gunners positioned at either end of the lane. Nevertheless the infantry were still ordered to advance towards them. Across a muddy field already teeming with their fallen comrades, the men advanced. They crested the slope to emerge into the line of fire. Exposed and helpless. Across this field did Private 611 Percy Jeeves of C Company, 15th Battalion Royal Warwickshire Regiment, begin to walk. Upon this field he was either buried alive or blown to bits. No trace of him was ever found. Beneath this field forever lies Percy Jeeves. This article was first published in Issue 8 (Winter 2014) of “The Nightwatchman”, and is reproduced with their kind permission and that of the author; images courtesy of Pitch Publishing Sad Demise of a Great Cricket Club by Norman Hazell MBE When I was a boy a favorite question asked around sporting circles was: “who is the best all-round cricketer in the world?” and the pet answer was: “I don't know, but he bowls left-handed, bats right-handed and comes from Kirkheaton”. Another not so common one and with a reference to ‘Our Wilfred’, was “what was it that Wilfred never managed to do, but Sydney Barnes did nine times?” The answer, of course, was to take all ten wickets in an innings. On one occasion, Sydney achieved this while playing for Staffordshire against Yorkshire at Wakefield’s College Grove ground. That was back in 1907, when in Yorkshire Second Eleven’s innings of 86 all out, Barnes bowled unchanged returning figures of 16-8-26-10. Yorkshire, aided by dodgy weather, managed to achieve a draw. At that time the Wakefield ground was always well attended, justifying a regular match at a fine, happy club. Cricket had first been played at College Grove in 1847, for many years playing in the Yorkshire Council, with an Eleven also in the West Riding League. On leaving School I played regularly with Wakefield Boys. We often had a girl in our ranks. She went on to emigrate to New Zealand where she made a tremendous impact on Women’s cricket. I particularly remember playing at Shaw Lane and wonder whether I met ‘Dickie’, or Michael Parkinson? They were very happy days and the Wakefield Club went on to achieve great success under the leadership of Vic Wilson, when his bowling strength included Michael Cowan and Sonny Ramadhin. In that season, 1968, not surprisingly, Wakefield went through the season unbeaten, crowned Champions of the Central Yorkshire League and also taking the Championship play-off. The power behind the throne was Peter Hodson. Indeed he quite literally poured his own money into keeping the Club he loved functioning. He had been a fine left-arm fast bowler during the time I played. There was no doubt about his enthusiasm. One season he even brought a young Imran Khan from Sussex to help keep Wakefield’s position and how proud was he, when Philip, his son joined the Club and showed great ability. While at University Philip not only got a ‘Blue’, but also topped both the batting and bowling averages. His father would have been so proud to see Philip have a great year as President of MCC. Sadly as I have seen happening all across the West Riding, many famous clubs have disappeared. On Monday, 28 August 1989, on my way home from work in Leeds, I called at College Grove to witness the end of the last-ever game to be played there. A Yorkshire League game, Cleethorpes batting first, had scored 188 for six and they duly bowled out Wakefield for 105. Many of the Club’s old players were there watching. Leaving them I went up the stairs into the visitors dressing room and asked the skipper if I could have the ball. He was surprised, but when I told him it was the last ball that would ever be used on this 142-year-old ground, he threw it to me with a smile. Taking it to work next day, I had it cleaned, and then in the tool room had a small plate made and engraved with the date. The joiners made me a small plinth on which it could stand and I took it home, biding my time. A few weeks later, invited by John Jackson a local insurance man to speak at the Annual Dinner of West Yorkshire Insurance and Valuation Association, choosing my moment carefully, as I took the ball from my pocket, I held it up to ask if anyone present could give me a valuation on ‘this object’. There were many puzzled faces in that hall, before they saw me throw it to Peter Hodson and I then explained that whatever value they might put on my ball, to Peter I thought it would be priceless. A few years later, attending his funeral, Philip his son told me of the way his Dad had indeed treasured that old ball. A last link with Wakefield Cricket Club.