And so the Woodpeckers and their win streak – 9 on the trot and counting – found themselves traipsing down to East Sussex and the bucolic village of Withyham, whose cricket club lies nestled in the verdant acres of the Earl de la Warr’s estate. “Don’t park on the grass, for god’s sake” exclaimed one local club member, “or her Ladyship will write us a letter.” They take their verges seriously in this part of the world.
But first the traditional pre-match Harvey’s in the Dorset Arms, where Pecker parking threatened no verges, although Traas, full of the hubris of sobriety and unsure of how to drive on a full night’s sleep, definitely didn’t ding a rather expensive looking Range Rover. He spent the next half hour avoiding the rather litigious looking owner’s gaze, while his teammates got stuck into four rounds of Sussex Best. Traditional introductions ensued, with Cat almost falling over in bewilderment upon local specialist George Rook’s greeting of “Hi, I’m fancypants.” The Peckers seemed in fine fettle, with their more bacchanalian tendencies curbed in preparation for a trip to Edgbaston on Monday followed by the Glastonbury Festival. POB, having agreed to accompany the most debaucherous section of the Pecker roster to the test, was already questioning his life choices of agreeing to a curry and 9pm train after sitting next to the likes of Cat all day.
To the cricket, then. With POB’s keen eye on the weather radar (“we’ll be fine until 5, lads”) an abridged 25-25 format was agreed. This was a poignant day for Withyham CC: the first of what is hoped to be an annual game in memory of one of their players, Tom Saxty, who sadly passed away. Having grown up one village over from Withyham, and being of the same age, I played against - and occasionally with - Tom in my teenage years, and apart from him being a very useful seam bowler, I was always struck by both his humour and enthusiasm. He was a man who played cricket in the very best sort of ‘right way,’ and is no doubt sorely missed. He made his adult debut for the Woodpeckers under POB’s captaincy, and with this in mind the memorial match was set in motion.
POB, having won the toss, sent the opposition in, with Groundskeeper and Deggsy given the opportunity to take the new pill. POB had recently picked up a box of quality balls on the cheap, and the seam was reminiscent of a small mountain range in Tibet. With drizzle already in the air (5pm, right POB?), Groundskeeper immediately hit his straps, and was rewarded by a run-out-cum-stumped-by-gully as Cat spotted Bowen out of his crease and flicked the stumps down, the opener trudging off for a duck. At the other end, Deggsy (0/25) employed what could only be described as ‘mystery seam.’ ‘Will this one come from the elbow or the shoulder?’ wondered the batsmen; neither, it often turned out. With Pecker fielding at a high(ish) standard, no better evidenced by Merry having to depart the field with a bent ring (on his finger), the pressure was on Withyham, and Groundskeeper (1/10) found his aggressive line and length rewarded as Hodges edged through to keeper Moleman for 5. Moley kept marvelously, with his legside footwork tested throughout the innings by all bowlers.
Two teams assembled to honour a great lad Tom Saxty
Cannon, lurking at first slip after refusing to budge for all and sundry, was clearly looking to impress fiancée Rodders (on her competitive peckerette debut) and - despite Pirate’s rather distracting musings on canine sexuality emanating from second slip – managed to snag a couple of catches (his fiancée, of course, missing both of them). The first he plucked off his shins from an edge off Fancypants who bowled with vim, vigour, and jagged movement (1/26). The second was clasped over his right shoulder off a flying drive played to Greasy, whose pace, coupled with the increasingly erratic bounce, was proving troublesome in his first spell (2/11, to be spoiled by an over at the death). Fancypants and Greasy had blown through the Withyham middle order, with Whitehead (24), Johnston (7), and Berry (2) all back in the pavilion.
The Woodpeckers, with the opposition flailing at 53/5, were very much in the ascendency, but then came the rain. Not the aforementioned drizzle, that had been just about manageable, but the sort of rain that makes one pine for a log fire and a bottle of good claret. With an early break taken, Withyham played their trump card: food. So much food. The tea spread was akin to one of POB’s end of season speeches – just when you thought you’d reached the end, you realised you were only halfway through. Sandwiches galore, more cake than a hungry Cat could eat in a year, and a second whole table replete with full cheese board. A monumental feast, and quite possibly the reason for the drastic shift in momentum when the heavens downgraded their downpour to a light sprinkle. There was a brilliant turn out from Withyham to honour their beloved Tom Saxty.
Otto helps Bonnotty Boo shelter from the rain -whilst Greasy thinks ‘Oh lord that could be me soon’
With the Woodpeckers back in the field, and carrying a cumulative extra six or seven stone, Wilkin (29) and Hancock (41) rapidly went up through the gears, with the Peckers and their mightily full bellies unable to keep pace. Traas, having served up exactly what he accused three other bowlers of doing (“pure dross”) purchased Wilkin’s wicket, and Cannon, volunteering himself for death duties, picked up Hancock as he edged a half tracker through to Moleman. The Withyham innings closed on 138/7, with a sparkling cameo from 13 year old Tully (16*). In brighter climates that would have been well below par, but with an outfield that made crisply struck drives look like they were stuck behind a Just Stop Oil march, and a wicket as variable as Prince Harry’s recollection, it would prove a tall order to beat.
Or at least it would have proved a tall order. As it was, POB’s 5pm wall of water arrived, with the Woodpeckers limping to 9/1 off four overs before proceedings were halted for good, but not before Cat got lidded by the 13 year old Tully, much to the amusement of both his batting partner and the umpire.
So there we have it; the game abandoned, the win streak still intact. The Woodpeckers, and “POBball”, march on to the glorious settings of well-heeled Blackheath, where there is an equally well-stocked bar. Let’s hope for Traas’s sake he has a late night on Saturday: his insurance might not cover a Ferrari.
