As is traditional, our team, non-players, supporters, kids, dogs etc. also met pre-game in their pub, about an hour before the start. It is always interesting on tour when the opposition is first met.

A certain degree of 'sizing up' takes place, each team approaching the opposition tentatively for information on the game and the standard of the team - most especially about the abilities and pace of the opening bowlers. Rumours fly around the pub about how last week 'Big Les' or whoever - sat menacingly in the corner - took six for ten in rolling over the next village for 35 all out. These lot, however, seemed generally keen on a good game and gave off the aura of understanding exactly where we were coming from: hungover but happy and looking forward to a good afternoon on t' park, testing out our very mixed abilities and hopefully maximising their potential.

The weather was bright, very windy and therefore cool. Two sweater weather, if I recall. Showers were forecast and looked likely, as we left the pub for the ground some five minutes away. I had not drunk any beer and felt strangely that there could be some runs in it for myself, if concentration could be maintained. I said goodbye to Barbara, who had to return home to finish some work, took a deep breath and entered the shed of a pavilion that was to be HQ for the afternoon. Our changing room was dark and smelt of all year round use.

It was decreed by the toss that Red Bat should field first. The wind was by now very blowy and made bowling difficult. Wickets fell reasonably regularly (info reqd.), Keith Miller coming in for some very serious treatment form an ex-Northampton batsman, now in his fifties but very correct whilst hitting poor old Keith back over his head for a stream of boundaries, including a six that all but cleared the pavilion. Keith was in fact carrying a serious shoulder injury, and should never have been bowling , he later found out. They posted a good total of (240 in 40 overs?) at tea.

Tea is often the best part of a tour game, when a mauling has taken place. I have no memory of this tea at all. Red Bat have, on occasion, had some of the best ever teas in tiny villages in the Cotswolds or Somerset or Norfolk or Shropshire. Traditional English teas made by ladies in traditional English villages that were mentioned in the Doomsday book, next to pitches that Constable may have painted had he been alive. This was not one of those games - the setting was decidedly 'townie'. This was the public rec ground and although the wicket was good, the outfield was the soccer pitch in winter, and the surround was fenced in concrete. The rain was blowing over in cigar-shaped dark clouds and thunder could be heard in the distance. Miraculously it spared us for the whole afternoon.

I was to open for my first knock on tour. Not ideal, but playing for MOBXI, I had been opening regularly and scoring a few, by building an innings and therefore the confidence to play some shots. Giles Pott was my opening partner. He went cheaply for two but I had middled a couple and felt like the pitch was playing truly. All I needed to do was concentrate, play straight, keep the ball on the deck, not get run out or stumped, take each ball as it comes, play shots and time them, not get impatient, take all runs when available etc., etc.! And maybe I could get a 50 - something I had done many times before, but no-one had ever made a ton for Red Bat and that goal didn't even cross my mind. The immediate task at hand was to get some runs on the board for the team and at 8 for one there was a lot of work to do. John Harry came in number three, a proper batsman who had made hundreds for other teams in the past and was probably the most skilled batsman ever to play for Red Bat. He and I could post a reasonable total if we stayed in. We both knew this and encouraged each other in the middle to do just that. Gradually confidence built and we both began driving through the covers, mostly on the ground and often reaching the boundary. We took as many quick singles as the field, moved back to save the big hits, allowed. I was also employing my famous pull, hook or paddle down to fine leg. A shot that has served me more than well over the years.

So much so that I often bat to a leg slip and a fine leg ten yards apart ready for that uppish one. Indeed, it was a mis-timed pull, when I offered my only real chance, on 40-ish, to leg slip, who spilt it from his left hand.

John and I built our partnership quickly. Going to a personal 50 felt great, the cool weather helping to keep the strength up. The rest of the team were snuggling up warm in the pavilion, and I could see them peering out, applauding and encouraging us. John was eventually out for 41 in a partnership of 93 in 17 overs.Unfortunately Dave Lloyd was LBW first ball and although there was plenty more batting to come, the momentum would have to be maintained if a very unlikely victory was to be won. So who better than David Muir? Number five and ready to keep up, Dave came in and set about punishing the bowlers, causing me to take severe 'hitting the deck' action.

Dave made 19 and took centre stage for half and hour or so, allowing me to relax a little and enjoy the unlikely situation, for Red Bat, of 155 for 4. What happens next is a bit of a blur, save for the fact that the bowling seemed to get very easy and every ball seemed to whizz away through the off-side for four.

Heaven! In my mind I knew I must be in the 80s and that a few more off the middle would get me to 100. There was no scoreboard, but the encouragement from the boundary was getting such that I sniffed victory. Keith Miller came in to bat and told me to relax, which I thought was based on the fact that I'd run him out several times recently. This was to be no exception - I called poor old Keith for an impossible single and he had yet another innings curtailed by me, trying to get to the strikers end. This focussed my concentration again, and I think a two, followed by another took me past the magical 100 - to 101 in fact. No-one was more surprised than me. The crowd went wild, a standing ovation all around the ground, including the opposition - the umpire being especially complimentary. Next ball I attempted to cut, on off and middle, and was stumped.

Returning to the pavilion to enormous cheers from my team-mates, all I could do was chastise myself for getting out when staying in might have ensued victory. In the pavilion when the sheer enormity of my feat sunk in, I was elated, the first ever Red Bat ton. Back in the friendly pub the party began and much beer was drunk. A fantastic game against like-minded souls who were full of praise for my innings. We lost but who cares? Red Bat on tour, absolutely unbeatable for fun.

Editors note: Phils’ innings lasted 129 mins, he faced 102 balls and hit 15 fours.