The Twelfth Man 2019

The essence of Scarborough: the outfield in use at tea-time. Photo courtesy of Jeremy Lonsdale Features T o step into Scarborough Cricket Ground is to step into a time capsule. Take any vintage photograph of cricket at Scarborough and you can al- most imagine it to be recent. The only clue would be the attire of the crowd and the players; such is the timeless quality of the place. I have been going there, on and off, since staying as a five year-old with my grandmother in a boarding house in Trafalgar Road. If I stood on the cistern of the lavatory of the top floor of our ‘digs’ and looked through the gap of the open frost- ed-glass window I could just about see across to the pavilion. I didn’t know much of cricket then, but it looked interesting. It is the 1970s and early ‘80s that I remember most about Scarborough, especially at Festival time; a fixed fortnight in September that seems in my memory to have always had set- tled weather. Then I used to come daily by train - the summer-service through train from Doncaster was at 08.15, rolling along in a proper eight coach train with compart- ments, round the wooded valley at Kirkham Abbey, speeding over the wide plain past Rillington and West Heslerton to Seamer where the hills close in again for the final run into Scarborough. At that time, the station would be packed with trains arrived from all over Yorkshire. Today, it is a Trans-Pennine Express (a misnomer if ever there was one) three-car train that makes the run - the only train in the cavernous old station. To wait at York these days for the 08.40 train is to see six coaches arrive from Leeds but invariably, and irrespective of how many people are waiting, three coaches are detached for other purposes. The chances are you’ll stand to Scarborough. Memo: the cricket fixtures come out in No- vember - it should be possible to plan to have ample trains on a few days in July and August. From the railway station, with a clear tang of salt in the air, it’s down Westborough, across Aberdeen Walk and along to the Castle Road roundabout. Onto North Marine Road the pace quickens and anticipation builds as crowds become thicker. Be- yond the Albert pub and down the hill toward the main gates the pavements are thronged with peo- ple. You can always tell the crick- et-watchers. Everyone is individu- ally dressed but there is a certain uniformity in what they wear: attire for all weathers, some in replica shirts, lots of floppy sun-hats or peaked caps, usually with a White Rose or ECB Three Lions emblem, a bag for the packed lunch and, if they are wise, an umbrella. In the narrow passage leading to the turnstiles the space is packed - members through one turnstile; paying spectators through anoth- er. Emerging from the turnstiles onto the crest of the popular bank, the ground is suddenly laid out be- fore you - small, compact, yet ca- pable of holding some of the best crowds you’ll find in county cricket, a real amphitheatre where you feel right on top of the game. MY LOVE OF CRICKET… AT SCARBOROUGH Continuing our theme about the Scarborough Festival our Editor, Chris Barron provides a personal perspective on much-loved traditions