V&A PLAYERS: N Emley, N Bird [skip], R Ashcroft, D de Caires, M Bowden, R Morris, C Jonkers, C Mounsey-Thear, A Jacot, A Taylor, J Huntington-Whiteley  

A tricky call in the morning, heavy showers forecast from 1 pm. But a chance they would miss Stonor, or at least allow intermittent play. In the event the forecast was sublimely wrong, it rained at 11.30 when we were about to start, and then pissed down at regular intervals until about 1. It cleared and the pm was dry, sunny and clear. Then, when we finished at 5.15, it pisseth down again. Some of us went to Pishill church to thank God for his bounty, for the fine afternoon, for Sarah’s entirely adequate lunch of leftover beef and salads. And to pass the time before The Crown opened at 6. The church has spectacular views of Stonor valley and Park, and a good Piper window. It is a strange T shape which causes problems at weddings when you need to put friends of the bride one side of the nave and those of the bridegroom the other. There isn’t a nave. Rupert Morris, our Humanist minister and opening batsman, told us in the pub that he charges £750 for weddings (very reasonable), £200 for funerals (a bargain), with bar mitzvahs negotiable. I was tempted to undercut him but my wife said I lack gravitas. I don’t know what that is but I gave her the flat of my hand anyway.

The 39ers won the toss and elected to bat, in a truncated 20/20 game because of the expected deluge (later to be upgraded to 25/25 when the sun shone). They opened very slowly, partly because of tight bowling by Christiaan (5 overs, 0 for 14) – Chris M-T was a bit all over the place, 8 wides in his first two overs. The openers scored at around 3 an over until at 31 Chris lured Bahir, their affable skip, into holing out to Martin at point (who buggered his knee in the process and had to take a remedial substance); followed by another M-T wicket (caught behind) next over. The 39ers struggled to score boundaries, the outfield was wet and grassy, but the bowling was good – particularly Dennis’s, who claimed three wickets (2 bowled, 1 caught behind) in a potentially match-winning 3 for 12 off 5 overs.

Looks can be deceptive. We all agree that you can tell whether a chap can bat by the way he walks in and takes guard. A bloke called Vyas, a lone Indian among Sri Lankans (and one German), gave every indication of being a wally, even after his first ball. But then he stroked some terrific straight drives and would have posted an unreachable score if Dennis hadn’t invited an edge to the keeper (Ross). Andy Taylor bowled well when he wasn’t bowling badly, and Adam got the crucial wicket of their big hitter De Mel, neatly stumped or run out depending on whether you want to flatter the bowler or not. Bowden bowled two good overs before being injured. Their innings closed on 116 for 6. Gettable but there was no room for complacency. Their bowling was better than their batting.

I would fail in my duty as match reporter if I did not mention some oafish moments. James H-W did not distinguish himself when alarmed by a catchable ball at point. It was clear that the trigonometry argued he should walk slowly backwards to ensure that this loping ball plopped into his hands. He did not. He tottered forwards. Rupert Morris, fielding at cover, had a dolly which to his credit he palmed. And to his discredit he immediately unpalmed. I know not why, perhaps it stung. But the most inexplicable miss was by Nick Emley at mid-off, a ball that Octavia Ashcroft would have caught in her nap. He did indeed seem to have it in his hands but as the spectators roared their surprise and approval he dropped it. Poor Nick was mortified and beat himself up terribly, it was awful to watch. Jane’s wonderful homemade scones were perhaps consolation.

At lunch the referendum was mutedly discussed. Phrases like ‘fucking catastrophe’ or ‘migrant hordes’ indicated which way a chap had voted. Nick Emley, the unabashed Europhile who loves wine and the French in that order, was visibly distressed which might explain his fielding. My house was split, with myself and eldest daughter being outvoted by the wife and servants. She woke me at 4 on Friday to tell me the news. By that time in the afternoon all the votes were in.

‘We all celebrate diversity’ claimed the BBC this week; quite so, although Frank Field MP said it was the ‘sheer numbers’ that caused disquiet. And looking around the pavilion at luncheon you could see we were being swamped. Adam Jacot de Boinod (Swiss Huguenot), Dennis de Caires (obviously foreign), Christiaan Jonkers (both names alien), Huntington-Whitely (a blatant attempt to sound English when his real name is Kryzanowska), Mounsey-Thear (ditto). James H-W is the uncle of Rosie Huntington-Whitely, the beautiful model with the fabulous body who doesn’t get out of bed for less than 20 grand. James looks like he doesn’t get out of bed, but otherwise they have much in common, apart from the body.

We opened with Rupert and Ross. Rupert, as always, chanced his luck, swishing and missing a good deal. He is good with full tosses, not so good when the ball bounces. Nevertheless he hit 4 nice boundaries, cutting and pulling, in a valuable innings of 29 (off 22 overs), before pulling a muscle and retiring hurt; highly toned bodies are always vulnerable. There was a moment of controversy. I was umpiring during Rupert’s innings when there was a huge appeal for caught behind. Rupert seemed to take a stride towards the pavilion but then saw me decline to raise a finger. The bowler and keeper were incredulous. I do what seems sensible on these occasions: I ask the batsman if he hit it. ‘I don’t think so but It was close’ said Rupert. Not out then. He wouldn’t fib. But he went to Eton so you can’t be sure. The square leg umpire and Ross, batting the other end, heard something. I did not. But as an umpire I am handicapped by deafness and bad eyesight. As well as being distracted by fielders. While at square leg I chatted to their German chappie (from Munich), who had never played cricket before and didn’t know that you’re not supposed to talk while the bowler is running in. We covered various topics while the bowler did his stuff, including the purity of German beer and the Bavarian Reinheitsgebot (1516), and the devastation of Germany in 1945. My German was learnt from war comics of the 50s. ‘Achtung Spitfeur!’ doesn’t cut it these days but you can get by with ‘Schweinhund Englander!’ Mrs Merkel does.

Ross looked in control until he was bowled (for 14). And then came the deluge, not rain but wickets. In quick succession Andy (5), Chris (7) and Dennis (12) all fell, to very good catches. The slow run rate had prompted desperate shots. We were in trouble. But two things had given us hope. Just when we needed 48 off 8 overs and were struggling Chris and Dennis had hit 3 boundaries. In the penultimate over 17 runs were needed to win. Jonkers and Jacot were batting. Then the bowler threw down 6 wides! [Wides were our second top scorer at 18]. Jacot hit a single before being bowled. Enter Emley. Christiaan hit three and Nick scrambled a single, before Jonkers went for the big one but was caught in the deep. I came in for the last over with 6 needed.

I faced the first ball. A Yorker. Dot ball. The second ball was the same but I hit it straight to mid-on and hobbled down the pitch for a silly run. The fielder threw the ball towards the keeper but he failed to gather and I scrambled home. Five to win off 4 balls. A wide was bowled. Four to win off four. Nick stole another run. Three to win off three. I scampered another single. Two to win off two. I said to Nick – ‘Try a blind swipe!’ ‘I don’t do blind swipes’ said this most cultured of cricketers. Instead he glanced a classy shot to the blond German at square leg and set off for the single. I huffed down the pitch, certain I was going to be run out. But the German had fumbled his big moment! Donner und Blitzen! ‘Run!’ I yelled when I reached the other end – and sped back towards whence I had come. Nick scrambled home and we had won!! For us the match was over, but what a fine match and day, when all seemed gloom in the morning. Cricket! Gott im Himmel!