The Decline and Fall of Almost Everyone!
At fifteen, Derek Pigg was already developing as a useful
medium-pace seam bowler, especially on the green wickets which
seemed to predominate in the Skelton area. These could be found
at ‘Spouts’ (on the Guisborough Road), Tom
Kingston’s Field (off the ‘black railings’) and
the slopes of the Recreation Field (Hollybush). It was 1955.
We knew, of course, that there was ‘proper’ cricket:
North Skelton (behind Boocock’s), mighty Loftus (with an
enclosed ground!), Skelton Castle (sheep may safely graze) and
even the minute ground at Priestcrofts (near Boosbeck) boasted
two teams.
The Castle selection policy of that day had to give preference to
‘employees of the Estate’ and, from memory, the team
featured at differing times:
Wilf Foster, Freddie Parvass, Roland Whitaker, Joe McGrail, Barry
Broomfield, Stan Brown, a burly hitter whose name I cannot
recall, Frank Thompson, Alf Glover (a wicket-keeper with his own
style), Ken Stainthorpe, George Bunning, Gordon Hood (fearsome
fast) and Eric Hatfield (a local great).
Although the fielding was somewhat creaky – Bloomfield was
assessed as the lythest – there was to be no room for two
15-year-olds bursting to play the beautiful game – so off to
Priescrofts we went. Walked, of course. Different clubs, changed
attitudes – guidance and advice from Bernard and Malcolm
Gratton, gangly Keith Elliott, ‘Ash’ Hawkins, Ken
Forbes (yet another individualistic keeper), Trevor Jackson and
others during, would you believe, twice-weekly ‘nets’
and the occassional game for the ‘stiffs’.
Here I first encountered ‘The Averages’ – that
mystical formulae upon which so many, too many, cricket decisions
have been based. Les Gorman (fellow student at Guisborough
Grammar School) already featured highly in ‘Ash’
Hawkins neatly scripted maths, but Les was always destined for
greater things and, along with North Skelton’s Len Douglass,
duly achieved these at Guisborough. I think both proved something
of a point there.
Working Saturdays, and an affair of the heart at Staithes, meant
that I did not play Cleveland League cricket (amalgamating many
titles) until 1960, by which time North Skelton and Priestcrofts
had gone the way of Brotton, Spa Wood, and Charltons, etc.,
although Loftus continued and the Russell Cup was still an
elegant evening venture. The decline continued through the early
1960’s as TV, motoring and other attractions sapped the
membership of many clubs and gallant tea ladies remained the
solid backbone on most Saturdays. On Teesside, the many
works-based teams such as ICI, Cargo Fleet, Head Wrightson,
Cochranes, Furness Athletic, etc., were to disappear over the
next 20 years. With Great Ayton, Stokesley, Marske and others
wisely upgrading to NYSD cricket, the Cleveland area was in
free-fall membership.
At Skelton Castle, a combination of favours from work-colleagues,
a youth policy (Rodney Hill) and sheer faith kept us going, but
only just. Off the field, Graham Hodgson revolutionised
fund-raising, his mum Doris helping form a vibrant Ladies
Committee, but the major improvements were at the ground,
following two moves totalling about 100 yards, to accommodate
road-straightening. The input of Johnny Musset and Rodney Hill
realised tremendous stability on the square, which was to set the
trend until 1997, while the erection of a new pavilion in the
dying throes of Skelton & Brotton UDC (Jim Graves, et al )
was a community affair of real note.
Meanwhile, the iconoclastic myopia of the Dales cricketers had
seen Liverton Mines, Lingdale, Staithes, Hinderwell and Moorsholm
thrown-out on ‘a catchment area change of rule’ –
but more probably because these teams were more successful than
the ‘farm yackers’. The Cleveland League absorbed those
teams, not without early difficulties, and the Dales cricket
clubs continued to interbreed their own cricketing success . . .
. talk about ‘All Creatures Grunt and Smell’ !
Suddenly there was a resurgence of interest; TV lost its grip,
the car became more a utility than a god, and young people
rediscovered the attractions of pitting one’s own ability
against others. Batting at cricket remains the definitive
sporting test of courage and character. Sadly, at about this
time, less cricket was being played in schools. Fabulous young
talent like Johnny May had to ask the Head of Sport at De Brus if
they could possibly arrange a cricket match – the H of S
was, apparently, some minor celebrity in an Indoor Sporting
Discipline . . . . well, so was I, but it didn’t stop me
giving 40 years to Cricket in Cleveland.
(More in Part 2, including the real story of why Rodney Hill
ended up in the boating-lake in Rhyl, and did Johnny Musset
really catch a sparrow at Scarborough?)
Neil Harrison