V&A XI: Adam Jacot, David Pitlarge, Robin Hayley, Enzo Nicoli, Dominic Scott, Alex Pitlarge, Mo Uddin, Jasper Arnold (skip), Tom Bird, Ian Brown, Vijay Chennareddy
The photo shows us at Turville Park some 20 years ago, with some of the opposition. You might spot a youthful Jonkers (sans whiskers), some Birds, a tea lady, Adam… also Robbie Lawson, the best V&A batsman apart from, arguably, Vib Fonseka, who could have played county cricket but chose instead to run a Ponzi scheme and did 7 years in Maidstone prison. He told me it was much like Boodles: men only, a library, attentive staff, but the wine list wasn’t up to much. There was a chestnut tree in the outfield at Turville which scored 5 if you hit it. The corn on the boundary used to grow to head height and we lost 5 balls once when Vib was batting. The ground is lovely, isolated, a Chiltern gem (see picture). My daughter Maria and my father (then 82) batted together at Turville and were unbeaten. I first played there in 1976 as keeper for the Vice Presidents XI v. Turville Park, a sort of Gentlemen v. Players game, toffs v. gnarled pros. I recall getting a brilliant stumping off Air Marshal Sir Christopher Foxley-Norris, the worst bowler in Bucks. I whipped off the bails in a flash. But it was given ‘not out’, unfairly I thought, because the ball was rolling towards long stop at the time, a mere detail.
Turville batted first. They were rather good. We struggled to contain them, despite the venomous bowling of Enzo and Alex and Lachlan etc. There was a memorable slip catch by Dominic, who stuck out a hand to a flyer. The key to such moments is to pretend that it was inevitable, to feign insouciance. Dominic did a jig of joy and surprise. The pick of our bowlers was Mo, who bowled their best batsmen with two beautiful cutters. Adam Jacot had raised the team and had told Turville that we had a surfeit of pensioners but that did not deter our hosts, who piled on the runs, dropping their youngster and old men down the order. Christiaan and Ben turned up to watch. Christiaan couldn’t play because he had to work in his shop, selling used books. You don’t get Mr. Hatchard doing that.
They reached 230. The outfield at Turville is like a snooker table and the track behaves impeccably. Tom Bird said that even he could stroke an off drive to the boundary on such perfection (which he did, briefly). This is thanks to their groundsman, John. He is also an umpire. He once told me off for bad language. The next day I saw him at the bar when I popped up to the White Hart at Northend. He was telling his chums of the foul-mouthed fellow behind the sticks. He stopped abruptly and whispered – ‘There he is!’ I ordered a pint of Brakespear’s and a whisky. ‘Single?’ asked the barman. ‘No,’ I said, ‘a big fucker.’ John exploded. ‘See, I told you, he’s an absolute disgrace!’
Turville were rather good at bowling as well as batting. They decided, apparently, not to do the Corinthian thing and hand the ball to a wally bowler to let duffers score a few to make a game of it. The pub (Fox and Hounds, Christmas Common) beckoned. Lachlan, for one, commended their tactic and said it was a bit Michael Mouse to toss balls up just to prolong the day. But even against their classy bowling we should have done better than 58 all out. We rather gave up, lost heart. I would like to single out someone who excelled with the bat but it’s tricky. Anyway, when they came to Stonor the roles were reversed. They got stuffed. Geoff Boycott played at Turville, turning out for an advertising team (for money). He was told to ‘show off a bit’ and then get out so the rest could have a go. When he’d made a ton he carried on. He only returned to the pavilion at tea, when he scoffed his and other peoples’ sandwiches. Then he went out to bat again. Like Jonkers, I never made a century. We had the tact to exit early, often for single figures.
