Instalment 8

Game 3 England Friday 13th

I had a hard time deciding what to do today; should I go to the last game of Gibbo's international cricket career and risk being bored all day or should I stay in Harrogate and risk being bored all day? A tough decision. Totally out of character, I made a spontaneous decision and ended up going for the cricket (I know, it's hard to believe isn't it). What really swayed me was when I heard we were joining the other team at their field for a pig on a spit for dinner.

Upon leaving our hotel you would have thought there'd be no way that cricket would get a look-in today; it was cold and grey and windy and raining; a good day for staying at home in front of the fire (if I had one to sit in front of). Gibbo had the same thought so he packed a 1125ml bottle of rum in his bag - but these cricketers are a fanatical mob and will play even in the most appalling conditions.So I found myself sitting in the Alne Cricket Club Pavilion with a steaming cup of tea, chocolate slice, ipad and book. (Les said he umpired a game on Wednesday in rain, sleet and gale force winds). 

Because of the weather, the players decided to play a 20/20 match before lunch in case the rain set in and prevented any more play. Harrogate made 92, a fairly achievable total. XXX batted out their 20 overs and made 150. Gibbo made 36 not out so kept his average intact. 

Lunch was an incredible spread of slow roasted beef, an array of delicious salads, quiche, hot potatoes and bread rolls. Dessert was three types of crumble - apple; gooseberry, and strawberry. The custard was a deep yellow colour and the thickest I've ever eaten; the spoon stood up in it.    

Three of us went for a walk while Harrogate batted in the second 20/20 game. We followed the hedge next to the beck then around to the wooden bridge where we crossed into Whitecarr Ings Wood. Foxes and rabbits live here but we didn't see any although there were plenty of burrows. Then we crossed the stile and turned right towards Rookery Wood. It was like something from Wind in the Willows; just beautiful. Then we then to the village and had a look at the church (which was built between 1120 and 1150). 

Upon arriving back at the cricket we found that Harrogate had made 149 which XXX managed to beat with two balls to spare.  Gibbo was on the pitch for the final over with Dennis Lillie; he retired on 1, maintaining his unbeaten tour record. In this game XXX reversed the bowling and batting order so everyone had a go.Gibbo bowled 4 overs and picked up his second wicket in England and also took a screamer of a catch at mid on. He's complaining about how sore his hand is; none of them can believe how hard the cricket balls are over here.

Afternoon tea included scones and cream, the likes of which I've never tasted before. The cream had an incredible texture to it; I can't describe it to do it justice. I could have gone and eaten it by the spoonful, it was so delicious.

After more fellowship we boarded the bus and headed to Ousburne to meet up with The Magoos (as the Div 4 team has been rather unkindly nicknamed). They had lost their game to a South African team so team Div 2 now has bragging rights. I didn't stay; I went back to Harrogate on the bus and crawled into bed. I'd had enough cold and wind and blokes and cricket for a day (or a year). It wasn't too late a night for the others; they got back around 9.30pm.    

Cricket is everywhere over here; every village seems to have a beautifully manicured cricket field and well appointed clubhouse. I heard that within a two mile radius of one little village there were 14 cricket fields to be found. Old men (and dogs) come out of the woodwork to watch a game. They clap every wicket and well hit shot.

I may have already said it but everything here is so OLD; there's a real sense of history attached wherever you go. I don't recall having the same thoughts when I was here 24 years ago but the tyranny of time may have dimmed my memories. Plus, I was 24 at the time and in a different mindset back then no doubt. The villages in Yorkshire are so quaint and cute and the countryside is just magical; true storybook stuff.

At the end of the day Gibbo ceremoniously, and with a little regret, presented his bat to Sam, a 16 year old keen cricketer, who was overjoyed. The bat has served him well but some things don't last forever and he always had the intention that he'd leave it here in Yorkshire, the home of cricket.