Colonel Mustard, due to a nasty attack of the Bends, is replaced at very short notice this week by the highly esteemed Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Mustard is currently recovering in a hyperbaric chamber from whence he dictated a message in Morse Code by tapping his Churchwarden against the thick metalwork, to the world press. The entire script sadly is too tedious and boring to relate here, but starts with lots of random dots and dashes. In translation it begins with a terrible warning, with regard on how easy it is to go down and the importance of making sure that you come up for air…
Sir Arthur begins his first Bays’ report. Well hurrah for that!
In the dark and dusty study, Holmes stood leaning somewhat forward, with rather more than a half full balloon of the finest gungai in hand, whilst at the same time, examining a small wooden artefact with a fine patina, on the rather crowded mantle-piece. Dr. Watson, sprawling expansively in a rather well-worn, wing-backed leather armchair, rustled the recently ironed pages of the Times broadsheet with a slight degree of iritation. Suddenly, making the languid doctor jump, Holmes shouted quite harshly in the direction of the scullery.
‘Mrs. Hudson, my dear woman, there are but two hours before the cricket team of the name Bayshill will introduce themselves to the field of play. It is probably for the best if you fabricate the chosen teas now for goodness sake,’ Holmes both observed and castigated at the same time. Picking up his Meershaum and tapping it on the Purbeck marble mantle he shook his head sadly.
‘I’ve only one pair of hands, given to me by the Almighty and I can only go so fast, master,’ Mrs Hudson replied in her apologetic working-class best, having appeared immediately, almost spirit-like, and with just about enough servility to prevent a terrible thrashing and the immediate loss of employment.
‘Forgive my unjust impatience Mrs. Hudson, but the players of The Bays are well-known for their proclivity for ingesting and imbibing unnaturally large quantities of foodstuffs and libations. There is a Band of Nine of them, no less, the same number perchance as the Muses of Greek mythology and indeed the more mysterious realms of the Norse Worlds,’ Holmes retorted, now speaking mainly to himself.
‘Any dietary requirements for the team, Mr. Holmes?’ Mrs Hudson managed to ask in now whispered tones, not wishing to interrupt Holmes’ mumblings.
‘Not as far as I know woman, there’ll all be happy and so they should be, to eat the same vittals as the next man,’ Holmes responded with a detached air, before taking an appreciative large sip of brandy and then looking somewhat quizzically at the newspaper hiding his friend. ‘John, this single ash bail I have in my hand, is purportedly from around 1770, when cricket used but two stumps for the bowler to aim at. It is already of quite some age and one day perhaps, it’ll reside in a museum. What do you say?’
‘I would never dare doubt your theories my dear Holmes, but it’s just any old piece of turned wood, I have to say. It wouldn’t attract the masses, but then, what in all of Christendom do I know?’ Dr. Watson replied, his answer laden with the kind of submissiveness that gave the inevitable nod of appreciation to Holmes’ superior intellect and indeed logic.
‘Pardon me for asking master, but there are some in the team I’ve heard, who have their certain peccadilloes and prefer particular things,’ Mrs. Hudson persisted, whilst meticulously avoiding eye-contact with the master sleuth.
‘Confound them! The bounders should be grateful for what they get. Do my Irregulars ever complain about any morsel of food they’re gifted ? I think not.’ Holmes managed to ask and answer. ‘If they are hungry and I’m sure they will be, they’ll eat what they’re given and be damn well grateful. Now, where was I, ah yes, this bail John, it takes on a greater significance all because of the wonderful Lumpy Stevens.’
‘My dear Sherlock, I feel I have to stop you there. Who the deuce is this Lumpy chap?’ Watson interrupted, gaping in wonderment, newspaper now cast firmly aside.
‘Why Watson, you disappoint me. I would have thought a man of the turf; a sporting man such as yourself would have known all about Lumpy Stevens and indeed his formidable adversary, John Small. They were, in cricketing terms, the Holmes and Moriarty of their day. Stevens the great bowler and Small the master batsman. On the 23rd May 1775, at Hambledon, Lumpy thrice bowled John Small out with a delivery that passed clean between the two stumps without dislodging a bail, such as this one I now hold before you. But then like Moriarty, Small avoided the fate he deserved and to add insult to injury, went on to win the match for his team. The addition of the third stump was inevitable and the rest is history, as the saying goes.’
‘Well Holmes, you’ve done it again. You astound me,’ Watson replied nodding in appreciation. ‘Well then, if you know so much about cricket then, who scored the first century?’
‘Come, come Watson, every cricketer worth his salt knows that was one John Minshull, who stroke a sublime 107 in the month of August, 1769. Only to be bettered though, by our man Small a couple of months after the controversial ‘Lumpy bowling’ match incidents. Your namesake John cracked 138 then and joined the ranks of the greats. He rightfully sits alongside Fuller Pinch and the great man himself; WG no less.’
The ground of Overbury is not unlike Hambledon, in that it contrives to be everything a cricket pitch in England on a glorious late spring day should be. The Cotswold stone picture postcard village, with fields of dun strutting horses surrounding it, lazily intones both tradition and history.
The Band of Nine by now had arrived, but were not, I feel I must stress, as dangerous as ‘The Speckled Band’ I have previously described in some other more well-known text. Somewhat
inexplicably on this day, the fixtures secretary for the Bayshill had managed to arrange for a large white cross to be affixed to the aquamarine sky, to aid directions to the ground. Usually ‘x’ marks the spot is placed on a map, but the Bays operate in different ways to other clubs.
Holmes in the meantime, had espied Captain Pritchard and his worthy and most subservient crew of eight, close behind, doffing their cloth caps at intervals and tugging furiously on forelocks (if they still were lucky enough to have them). The Bays team arrived at the clubhouse, with but a single objective in mind. Now, to Holmes and the more observant of us, from the captain’s slightly swaggering gait, it could be determined that here was a man of some importance and certainly a man, who was quite aware of this. The slightly wrinkled brow, also hinted at the times of stress he had suffered in the past and now he appeared to be a man entering the latter stages of useful employment. A man now responsible for the lot of many perhaps! The burden of such responsibility already heavily etched into the well-used frame of the captain, but this belied the terrible mental tumult within.
What indeed was the plan? How were the ‘Mighty Bays’ going to beat Overbury with its history and traditions? The captain hadn’t dared to inform his team of the course he was to audaciously plot. It was after all, very simple really. Holmes in heavy Victorian tweeds and distinctive deerstalker, nodded approvingly from the far boundary. He alone knew the plan, for he, the master sleuth had hatched it himself. A diminutive and grubby boy in full school uniform, more of an urchin really, had quietly passed a small piece of paper with neat copper-plate writing to the visiting captain in the equine coach park. Old Pritchers, at the time hadn’t suspected a thing. None but the most observant would have noticed the smoke rings from a Meershaum quite some distance away, disappearing to evaporate upwards into the trees.
‘What are we doing captain?’ one of the crew ventured.
‘We’ll bat first and show Overbury what they’re made of,’ Pritchers replied with a smile now on his face. All stress and worry apparently lifted, ‘They’ve lent us two of their finest and we’ll make the most of their talents.’
Holmes was on Copper Knob, the train back to London, with ‘The Case of the Band of Nine,’ as he later described it, wrapped up. A ball hadn’t been bowled, but his work was done. He knew Overbury couldn’t help but beat themselves. Chuckling to himself he thought of Lumpy Stevens and then the Lumpy Bays. ‘Exquisite, exquisite!’ he managed, before leaning back and nodding off to the rhythmic beat of the steam engine’s pistons.
G Griffiths, one of Overbury’s finest opened with Nobby the Nobster, one of Bays’s nearly finest. Griffiths (8 fours & one six) bludgeoned the ball here there and everywhere making a fine 51 without breaking sweat or even wind. Nobby made a quick nine (2&0), before departing to the pavilion, bowled by Hari. Holmes was already no longer under the white cross, moving rapidly towards The Smoke. Horner, Virtual Pipe Smoker No 2, managed just 7 (bowled Simmons), before Old Pritchers (5&1) himself strode to the crease and did the
captainly thing. 42 crisp and tasty runs were cracked carefully all over the equine-infested area, before he was bowled by Stallard.
Toffee Crisp Wayman managed a worthy 37 with seven fours, before he caught by Simmons off Townsend. Keeper, Steve Liley faced two before swatting across the line and departing to Townsend, to be followed by Jamie Liley who faced 5 before contriving the ball back onto his stumps to the same bowler. Alex Van Dyke hit a quick 21 (2&0) off 25 before Guthrie amassed one off 3 to go to Townsend.
Wilf Gittus guesting for the Bays hit his highest score of 20 off 17 with four 4s. The score on a double Nelson after 30 overs and that was it – 222/9.
Returning to the pavilion and the earlier discussions between Holmes and Mrs. Hudson, nothing more need be said. Well almost… Bays keeper, Steve (order of the Abbot) Liley found nothing but a carrot-stick to his liking, but fortunately provided his own tea, in case it turned out as it did. (It has done so hundreds of times before in the past 37 years…) Yes he had cheese and beetroot sandwiches, so the day was not lost. Please don’t fret! Another younger player (name not provided) also found nothing to his liking, but again provided his own vittals. So of the Band of Nine only 7 partook of the tea. Who cares? Well I don’t (as scribe) for one, but as long as people are aware that a variety of tastes and diets need to be catered for, then that’s all that matters. Or alternatively, let cricketers make their own teas! That’ll show the lazy bs!
Returning to the cricket.
Scorer and Stallard started Overbury’s innings. Bay’s opening bowlers, Tom Liley and Angus Guthrie throttled any run chase from the start. With the score creeping along slower than Brian from the Magic Roundabout could have mustered, Scorer (not so aptly named) left the field inexplicably on 38. It turns out that it was a retire on 50 runs or 50 balls – it was the latter. Some time later Stallard, went the same way with just 23 off 50. The Bays have lost in the past to batting that drags the viewer into the arms of Morpheus, but today the opposition surrendered to the same fate. Rose went for 10, bowled this time by guest player Gittus. Then Jamie Liley bowled Gregory with his first ball for 6 off 10. Jamie then has a stumping chance missed (you see I did put that in) and was very unlucky with an LBW shout that looked clearly out – back foot in front….) Simmons made 27 before being caught by Guthrie off Van Dyke. Jamie Liley was then very unlucky not to pick up a caught and bowled, with the ball falling a little short for the catch.
Naal and Townsend batted the overs out, with Overbury 63 runs short of the total required.
Bayshill and 2 of Overbury’s finest had overcome Overbury. Post-game drinks were dispatched at the Worcestershire ground and at various hostelries across Gloucestershire. Jamie Liley (Man of the match) wore the ‘Farmer’s Hat’ and repaired to Spoons in Tewky to dispatch a pizza the size of cart wheel. Hurrah!
Much later that evening, Mrs. Hudson had finally put her feet up and now relaxed, happy in the knowledge that her efforts earlier in the day had been appreciated.
Shortly after the door latch of 221b lifted a few minutes before midnight, Holmes with cape tight about himself ascended the stairs, two by two. Mrs. Hudson awoke with a start and within seconds greeted the great sleuth armed with but a single question.
‘How did it go master?’ she intoned expectantly.
‘Exactly as I planned Mrs Hudson. The Band of Nine with a little help overcame the difficulty of Overbury. My scheme worked perfectly. The Bays left victorious and were happily unaware of the reasons for their triumph. Even their captain seemed confused by my well-written note, but then again, all teachers always take notes seriously and act upon them. It’s one of those things,’ Holmes cheerfully responded.
‘No, Mr. Holmes. How were the teas received?’ Mrs Hudson asked expectantly.
‘Oh, the teas. Well, they were eaten all right. Apart from a few players who brought their own. God only knows why,’ Holmes considered.
‘And you can’t work that one out?’ Mrs Hudson whispered quietly. ‘So much for the greatest mind!’
‘What was that Mrs. Hudson?’ Holmes asked with a frown spreading across his face.
‘Breakfast at 7 Mr. Holmes. It’ll be the usual fare. I don’t want you to miss out, as that would be unfair.’