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The History of RBCC on TourChapter 22. Son of Return to Bishops Castle meets Godzilla - Bishops Castle 2006
How long does it take to organise a tour? Forever when it’s Redbat, especially when the last one ended with an afternoon in casualty and a duplicate was on the books. Back to BC please. We’re happy there. How could I refuse? My second / third favourite English place. This time I would be avec the helmet and have a good deal more confidence from the extra protection. Was that confidence in organising 3 games or the ability to hit the ball hard and stay at the crease? Whatever, it was two consecutive years in the same venue. That, after previously resigning from organising anymore tours, ever, ever and 6 stitches in the deepest face cut I’ve ever had on the last visit. I shouldn’t have allowed Dave Muir to buy those expensive balls. Shouldn’t really have fallen in love with the South Shropshire countryside. Any excuse to return, also, the best way to see that man again - The Guru, Jim Gaffney. Deputy Lord Mayor of Bishops Castle, and official clock winder to the Borough. Day one, Saturday was perhaps the reason I keep coming back to these Shropshire Hills, Corvedale. A beautiful setting, where the ground hovers between massive, ancient trees, and the pavilion looks like a Victorian photo from a game at Lord Hawke's house, in Wighill near Wetherby. Somehow, we all managed to show up in the same pub, and, although they decided that most food was off and rain drove us indoors, it felt like the tour was in full swing. We were about to play some cricket, albeit amongst ourselves. Divided into two teams by Skippers Miller and Gummer. We agreed to deploy various methods to get everyone, including sons, into the game. The full touring squad looked at the skies and hoped. It looked a bit grim, to be honest, but gradually it eased and then stopped. A thoroughly enjoyable game somehow did take place, players frequently on and off the park, dodging drizzly showers. Everyone got in some decent match practice and the youths showed some good potential out in the middle. It ended with Matt's 10 just about scoring the necessary 120 to beat Keith's 10. BAL had arrived in time for tomorrows game and all looked set. The match was followed by some welcome beers and a barbecue, as the sun set over the Corvedale pines. We then took the road back to BC and much more of the same. Sunday saw more dark clouds, but as anyone who has toured the Clun area before knows, when there's a wind the clouds often rush down the valleys, but don’t drop their wares until much further east. It stayed dry and lunch in the welcoming Sun at Clun, felt like being back in the local. Homely and comfortable, the beer tasted great. It had to be a quick lunch though, we had a game of cricket to play. Our departure, was rapid, as ever. At Clun CC, changing for the game involves standing on one leg whilst holding on to a car door, trying to pull on your jock strap, whilst avoiding flashing at some old lady / child, and, of course, smoking at the same time. That done you have to clamber into a ditch for a pee and then set up some kind of mock pavilion for yourselves and loved ones under the big tree. One thing is for certain though:- as you go about your pre match business at Clun, others do too. A lengthy gazebo is erected on the hill and piled on top of a table inside is enough fresh egg mayo sarnies and home made cake to even render the stomachs of Two Dinners, myself, JA and er well most of Redbat, full up. With this in sight we headed off to field on the pudding that is Clun CC. To be fair the good people of the village have created a real spectacle here and the ground gets better each time I play on it, problem is so do Clun's team. They are a classic example of a team learning to use their own track well. We fielded pretty badly and they batted reasonably well. We bowled them all out for 167 in 40 overs. Keith Miller taking 4 economical late wickets, by bowling straight and full. The rest was average all round I’m afraid to write. Surely, we thought, 167 was within even our reach? On paper maybe, but on this pudding…? . Unfortunately we batted even worse than we fielded. It was to say the least miserable. We opened with Harry and Lewis who proceeded to look uncomfortable against a wily old fat bloke bowling spinners up hill and, a 22 yr old fast lad roaring down it. We were however, seemingly plodding along quite nicely, riding some luck, when Chris was out. Coming in number 3 I lasted 5 balls before I was bowled for a single, by the spinner! Dave Muir ran himself out for 9. John Harry, as is usual for the Parisian, got his head down for 27 and Danny Whitelock ran out of partners for 10 not out. He had quite skilfully lobbed the ball over the heads of the infield for a few overs but had no tail to wag with him. We were 51 for 3 and 52 for 8. It was all over very quickly, the middle order collapsing horrifically. There were four ducks. A score of 63 all out, chasing 170 was fairly average even for us. Certainly not the form of a team searching for its 100th win, more that of a hung over bunch of out of practice players, being beaten by a home team, at the top of their game. The tea was excellent and it could be argued that too much attention was given to that and not enough to knocking up. Unfortunate really. It should have been a tight spectacle in one of the most beautiful settings for cricket in Britain. What’s worse we probably had the biggest crowd of non partisan spectators ever to watch Red Bat. The campers, who had gradually assembled in Mrs John Osborne's field all afternoon, had brought their picnic chairs down to the boundary edge for a tight finish . They were now outnumbering the many Clun supporters, and with our gang adding 30 or so the crowd must have been around 70 or so with 22 players. We should have had some merchandise on sale ! It was quite a deflated departure from the beautiful setting that is Clun Cricket club. Never mind, the JA Quiz beckoned, and we headed back to BC and Big Nev's hostelry for plenty of his best ale and some brain testers. We all wanted to see if we were still functioning as human beings. A healthy turn out of players, family and friends made for a good quiz at the famous bottom of the hill tavern. Some quantities of beer were imbibed and it made up for the disappointment of the afternoons proceedings. To have a good laugh with good mates is what its all about. Talking of JA's contribution, this is probably a good time to talk swag. The tour tee shirt arrived. I even managed to get mine home. It was as ever, all round good value. The other promised swag, the casual polo shirts, never materialised. Never mind John, one out of two ain't bad! New supplier perhaps? Bank Holiday Monday dawned to yet more cold wind and grey skies. Some rain about, but not persistent. We had one more game to achieve the target of winning our 100th. Surely it had to be today against The Guru's bunch of Hooligans, the Bishops Castle Casualties. The ramshackle bunch of misfits, close family and musicians masquerading as a cricket team. So gathered in Bishops Castle, was a squad of equally under rehearsed cricketers also known as Red Bat, who drifted up to the hill top HQ of BCCC, ready for the seasons ultimate game. Could their target be achieved? Would Matt Gummer be able to part cook his 3 tons of chicken legs in time for the start? Would the rain hold off? For those who have never made it, Bishops Castle ground is high on a plateau at the very top of the town. The view to the north, from the pavilion, is a spectacular vista of rolling English countryside. A beautiful place to be in any circumstances. Even better in one with close friends and family, playing cricket and spending time together. The facilities at the ground are excellent. We had full use of the kitchen for tea prep and the barbecue which was later abandoned, Matt deciding that enough was enough, what with the partially cooked chicken legs and his lack of suitable insurance! It was a cool afternoon, atop the Shropshire hills. The sun was making occasional appearances. The crowds had once again come in their droves. All looked set for the big showdown. Jim certainly had made it clear that his team were better prepared than the previous year. We were feeling confident. The toss was won by Skipper O’Connor. Electing to bat, he sent in the experienced opening pair of Jones and Harry. I will confess to some nerves. The last time I’d walked out to bat here, exactly 12 months previously, it ended in blood, stitches, fearsome bruising, some degree of shock and, serious inconvenience to one or two kind others. This time I was protected by my green Aussie helmet. The best £30 I'd ever spent and possibly the reason for a return to form with MOB X1, thus far this season. The bowling was straight and we were hardly both off the mark when the score reached 20. Mostly extras. The track was far from a batsman's paradise and we knew we had a fight on our hands. I for one was finding it difficult to score. Jon was doing alright, middling the ball and placing it delightfully between the infield. We reached a 50 stand, to some degree of personal satisfaction, and whoops of delight form those still awake on the boundary's edge. Skipper Gaffney was not keen on ringing the bowling changes and we soon got going, marching on to a partnership of 109, John reaching his 50, before holing out to not very long off. Shame really, given the circumstances. A record first wicket partnership here would have been tremendous. Gummer appeared at number 3. Helmeted and not finding it easy to hit the ball, I thought it was time to express myself, as they say on the telly. The lanky spinner was bowling donkey drops into the dust. So I used my feet and took two steps and belted it into the pavilion, one bounce for 4, the next ball sent high over long off, bouncing off the boundary fielder for another 4. The score was rattling along. We had somehow put on 39 with me reaching 54. I faced Jim's eldest Seamus Gaffney , who had belatedly been brought into the attack. A useful ball seamed off a length, and it was too good for me to get an edge. The next was a different matter, in the slot and clumped over wide long on for 6. A great feeling for an old man. The next ball was different, short and low. I shaped to pull it, missed and was plumb LBW for 60. Matt scored 10 before his dismissal replicated mine, and Andy Lee and David Muir took the score onto on 170 for 3. Easily enough to beat the BC Vagabonds. Tea was a help yourself affair. Those with an astute eye spotted the egg mayo early and were fed well enough to have Matt giving second thoughts to his par fried chicken waiting to be barbecued. The wind was also getting up, and not just from the egg mayo (arf), blowing cold from the northeast, causing a lack of lit coals and more sweaters for fielding. I for one was finding it a mite chilly. Nevertheless we strode out once more to break that record, a perennial cloud that was hanging over us like one of these increasing grey bank holiday ones right now. This was a last chance Texaco as far as 2006 was concerned. The Casualties openers were a double of acts of contrasting styles. The lanky spinner had reinvented himself as the quintessential opener. Crested jersey, smart club shirt with collars starched upright, clean spikes and cap and a well used Gray Nichols bat. His partner meanwhile was of the old kit cobbled together with trainers and yokel sun hat brigade. Both could bat though and whilst yokel hit the ball, his correct-looking partner played correctly. They were just beginning to put together some runs, after an economical if fruitless Red bat opening bowling performance from Kennedy and Whitelock, when yokel ran himself out. It was the breakthrough we needed and from then on it was a steady stream of wickets tumbling, BAL being particularly successful with 4 miserly ones in the bag. Such was the relaxed atmosphere that skipper O’Connor was able to save himself for only one last over, choosing the wily guile of Anzani and Harry to roll over the tail. We won by 22 runs and had finally got our 100th win. An achievement of sorts. It was definitely worth a celebration. The Three Tuns beckoned, for the presentation of the Beard Award. Keith Miller the 2005 holder was unanimous in his gifting of the Little Man to the father and son combination of Jon and Arthur Harry. Jon batted well in both proper games (particularly v BCC) and Arthur had fielded brilliantly when his father needed minor treatment (nicotine) off the pitch. Keith singling out his catch at mid off, that afternoon, as being especially worthy of note. Much guffawing of hear, hear, was followed by a short acceptance speech from papa, whilst Junior looked suitably modest. Then we got nicely pissed, nursing bruises, sore muscles and trading anecdotes aplenty. I laughed a lot, safe in the knowledge that all I had to do was stagger around the corner to bed. Thankfully unlike last year, when I drove home cut and distinctly not good! Another Red bat tour over far too quickly. I like the idea of staying an extra night. Its relaxing. It was a surprise then to find Val Moon and Matt Gummer having a party on the outside steps of my rooms. Having staggered down the hill to home, I had drunk enough. I knew drinking red wine then was a mistake. I should have gone to bed, but still one nasty hangover out of 4 isn’t bad. The breakfast at The Porch House was more than excellent to soak it up. Indeed ‘triumph’ would be its notices had it been a West End production. It was definitely required, even before the wine. It was much welcomed at 10 the next morning, a real head thumper of grape and grain, hovering over another grey travelling day. The heavens opened as we departed. Having threatened rain for 4 days we had been very lucky with the weather. By Wednesday night flood warnings were being given for “All areas of Shropshire”. I suspect this may be the last Red Bat tour to Shropshire. Messages were put out immediately post BC. The general feeling was, it’s all very well talking about Red Bat as a concept but, without 11 players on a pitch we aren’t a cricket team. We can’t continue as such without a bit more commitment from our very limited squad of players and the fruits of their loins. Commitment is the word. 11 maybes do not a cricket team make. We had another great tour and the bonhomie and turn out was a reflection, that amongst those of us that really care, there is a great deal of fun to be had. Join In !
Phil Jones |