A gorgeous spring day, and a thrilling game of cricket. Who could ask for anything more?

The auguries were not all good. Our revered founder, spiritual leader and chief scribe had been laid low by a bout of Bird flu, and we looked like taking the field one short. The opposition were late arriving. The auxiliary lunch chef had not bought enough cold meat, and struggled for at least 20 minutes to find out how to turn the oven on, while his pleas for help fell on deaf ears.

Eventually, enough of the Town and Countrymen turned up for Lachlan Nieboer, making his debut as V&A captain, and George Winters to stride out to a distinctly damp wicket and toss the coin. It was a good toss to win, and when George won it, he had no hesitation in asking us to bat.

Nick Emley and Ross Ashcroft opened our batting at a sedate pace against apparently harmless bowling. Emley, heavily encumbered with sweaters and thermal underwear, dropped anchor in the manner of an ocean liner – capable of steaming steadily in one direction, but turning only with the greatest difficulty. The result was 32 singles, just three twos, and two boundaries (from Ashcroft at the other end) during the 23 overs he spent at the wicket.

The stodginess of the pitch and the dampness of the outfield certainly made scoring very hard work. Nonetheless, a lunchtime score of 50 for 2 off 20 overs did not look promising for the home side. Lunch was adequate, and although the meat and pies went too quickly, the cheese did attract the admiration of a handful of connoisseurs who were pleasantly surprised not to be fobbed off with the usual rectangular lump of soap-like “cheddar”.

The Town and Countrymen are a charming and well-mannered bunch, thoughtful enough to bring with them a polypin of excellent Rebellion ale, not to mention Keith’s mum, who is an excellent kitchen helper.

After lunch, the need to bring in the big hitters became ever more pressing as Andy Taylor, who normally comes into that category, perished for a boundary-less 10. Nick and Lachlan then had a misunderstanding over a run, with the altruistic Emley sacrificing himself. Now, could Lachlan and Dennis bring us up to a defensible total?

Lachlan found it hard going at first, but a couple of long hops allowed him to biff a couple of sixes, whereupon he perished in the deep going for a third. In truth, he should have been out earlier in similar fashion but the unfortunate Ollie Winters only juggled the ball into his mouth, leaving him rather sore, but with a most alluring Hollywood starlet’s pout.

Dennis smote and reverse-swept his way to 24, but the best shot of the day was a silkily timed straight drive for four by Nick P-G. When Sunil was caught in the final over, we were all out for 138 – surely not enough.

Lachlan and Dennis opened the bowling in typically mean fashion, and it was Lachlan who made the breakthroughs – two clean bowled and one given out lbw after a thunderous coordinated appeal from bowler and keeper. This kind of teamwork is not normally feasible when N Bird is keeping wicket as he barely notices the bowling, restricting his commentary to matters he understands better, like sex, philosophy and world war. R Ashcroft, however, is a keeper more in the modern mould, always clapping his hands, waking up the fielders, encouraging the bowler, pestering the umpire and generally making himself a nuisance.

At 21 for 3 after seven overs, the V&A were briefly looking favourites.

Gradually, the momentum changed. Jonkers and Bowden replaced Nieboer and de Caires, and No 5 batsman Rob Burnside settled in alongside stylish opener Ally Spry. The pitch was drying out, and the outfield speeding up along with the run rate. Even though Burnside began limping and required a runner, this did not hold him back, and while his partner stroked the ball effortlessly all round the wicket, he grew in confidence, striking Bowden cleanly over long on for six.

At tea, the visitors stood at 95 for 3, requiring only another 44 to win off 15 overs. Martin bit ruefully into some walnut cake and complained that “it’s doing nothing out there”. No one dared voice the notion that it might be up to the bowler to do something with it.

So there we were, short of ammunition, facing almost insurmountable odds, our cause apparently lost. What to do? Attack, of course! Lachlan brought himself and Dennis back on and brought the field in, to no immediate effect. The target shrank to 34 off 13. The game was up, surely?

Then Dennis conjured a peach of a delivery that cut back into Burnside, catching him helpless on the crease, the lbw verdict a formality scarcely requiring the usual Ashcroft histrionics. Still the visitors were much the likeliest victors, especially when moments later, they had reduced the target to a mere 25 of 11 overs, with six wickets still in hand.

But these are circumstances in which true heroes emerge – in this case from across the Welsh border, in the shape of young Duffryn or Dafydd Hubble, a schoolfriend of Ross’s. Most people called him Duffy, like the Welsh songstress, even though he assured your reporter earlier in the day that he was known as Daffy, as in Duck. Ross helpfully called him Wiggle. What is beyond doubt is that he brought some much-needed hwyl to our performance. First, he took a fantastic catch. Ryan Dyer, the dangerous South African, had tonked one easy four, then in Dennis’s last over, he skied one that looked certain to fall between fielders. Who would go for it? Would anyone? At least two V&A fielders retreated politely in the hope that someone else would volunteer, and into the gap rushed Daffy (or Duffy). Moving left, then right, leaning sideways, then forwards, he grasped the ball inches from the ground and was promptly engulfed by his admiring and relieved teammates.

At 115 for 6, with Spry, their brilliant opener, still 58 not out, the visitors were still narrow favourites. But the momentum had shifted.

Now Daffy came on to bowl, and we soon realised he should have come on earlier. Two or three whizzed past the off-stump, then Spry stroked the ball into the leg side, apparently past Christiaan’s left hand, and set off for a comfortable single. He had reckoned without the human panther lurking at mid-wicket. Swooping to pick up the ball in his left hand, transferring it to his right in the blink of an eye, Christiaan was now almost square of the wicket at the bowler’s end. With one stump to aim at, he hurled the ball with deadly accuracy and the unfortunate Spry was left a good yard short of his ground. It was another moment of magic, and this time it had turned the game decisively in the V&A’s favour.

It only remained for Duffy (or Daffy) and Sunil to bowl a few accurate overs under pressure, and the match was ours. In the process, there were two more unusual lbws. George Winters, the only capable remaining batsman, was given out by his brother – and had no complaints. The dismissal of Keith Poyser was more unusual. A loud lbw appeal from Ross and Sunil was turned down by Keith’s father, a most genial and fair-minded umpire, but one clearly unused to this kind of pressure. The next ball, bouncing outside the off stump, hit Keith’s thigh and went through to Ross, who promptly launched into another deafening appeal, promptly supported by Sunil – and the umpire raised his finger! The scorebook says “caught keeper”, crossed out and replaced by “lbw”.

Either way, the Town &Country XI finished on 132, leaving the V&A victors by six runs. Everyone repaired to the Crown, where our ever-generous visitors bought more drinks and there was much back-slapping, hand-shaking and reliving of the great moments of a memorable match.

Man of the Match? For one brilliant catch and a crucial spell of bowling that yielded 3 for 13 off 4.3 overs, the accolade should probably go to debutant Duffy (or Daffy) Hubble. He will be back, for sure – although Andy Taylor’s first action after the game was to try to recruit him for his side against the V&A next weekend. We trust to his sense and judgement to make the right choice.

Despite the Hubble heroics, the champagne moment, and the one that will live longest in the memory belonged to Christiaan Jonkers, a fine athlete to be sure, but one we never suspected capable of producing such a feat as his miraculous, pirouetting slingshot that brought down the opposition’s Goliath. As the assembled company relived the moment in the garden of the Crown Inn, the names of great fielders of the past, Colin Bland, Jonty Rhodes et al, were called to mind. None of them could have outdone that.