Personally Conducted: A Cricket Story

It all began at breakfast on the Saturday. We were going to play Anfield that afternoon. Anfield is a town a few miles off, and the match is one of the best that Much Middlefold plays. So that I wasnÕt surprised that father was annoyed when he got the curateÕs letter. He opened it at breakfast, just after I had come down. I was pouring out the coffee when I heard him snort in the way he always does when anything goes wrong.

I said, ÒWhatÕs the matter, father dear?Ó

ÒHereÕs a nice thing,Ó he said, waving the letter. ÒMorning of matchÑmost important matchÑteam not any too strongÑwanting everyone we can possibly get, and hereÕs Parminter writing to say that he canÕt play!Ó

ÒCanÕt play?Ó

Mr. Parminter was our best bowler. He had nearly got his blue at Cambridge. Father once told me that the Vicar advertised for a curate, and said that theology didnÕt matter, but he must have a good break from the off; and I thought it was true till I happened to find an old number of Punch with the same thing in. But, anyhow, Mr. Parminter had got a break from the off. Whenever we won a match it was nearly always through his bowling. He bowled very fast. A man we know once said that there was much too much devil in his bowling, considering that he was a clergyman.