Twlight's Last Gleamings

Sunday September 18^th; one of those glorious, late summer days that we’ve cause to exalt global warming for. Tynemouth 2^nd XI are hosting Newcastle 2^nd XI in the Roseworth Cup final at beautiful, immaculate Preston Avenue; my last game on the final day of the 2016 local cricket season. An insane state of affairs whereby games in April and indeed May are abandoned because of drifting snow, while Indian Summers delay hints of mists or mellow fruitfulness until the supermarkets stock fireworks and pumpkins, whose viscous, burning odours mingle with the beating wings of still vibrant moths.

Perhaps not even two decades ago, outfields would be strewn with golden leaves, the air thick with floating spores of dandelion clocks and the whirling of hawthorn helicopters by mid-September, but no longer. Four decades ago, social class determined whether October half term was blackberry or tatie picking week; now Jersey Royals are available in shops all year round and the bushes and briars that snag sleeves with venomous protectiveness are fecund with berries and fruit by August Bank Holiday. Children, supervised by health and safety conscious parents and carers, pick the currants before school has returned and compile Christmas lists once the clocks go back. 

As the amateur game packs up its old kit bag for the year and the County Championship prepares for the final round of fixtures, it may be pitch dark not long after 7, but the thermometer points upward of 25 degrees as Newcastle begin their innings at 1.30. A sedate crowd drinks the ambience of the occasion and the cut-price remnants of the perennially successful Tynemouth Beer Festival; 80 ales and half of them Welsh. Most quality tested by Vince Howe I’d imagine. Clouds of smoke drift across the field, courtesy of Doug Hudson’s aromatic stogies and mingle with the earnest battle cries of pink eared tyros doing battle Webb Ellis style in the adjoining Under 16s tournament at Percy Park RFC.

In shorts and sun hat, I rehydrate with sparkling water after a busy time the night before. My dearest Laura enjoys a 4.6% craft cider I’d sponsored, becoming ever more of a convert to the greatest game as Newcastle solidly build a total that is intermittently flashed up on a scoreboard bedevilled by its loose wi-fi connection.  A post-Christening party have commandeered the pavilion; well-attired, convivial and respectful of surroundings, several curiously observe the dearest actions of the tented field from the temporary awnings of the Beer Festival, which have caused the rope to be moved in a fraction. 

Newcastle amass an impressive 206/5 from their 35 overs; Phil Hudson, tempted to call this his last game, compiles an elegant 4 before stylishly playing on. His replacement Keith Brown, who can only be 18 months my junior, takes 5 unbeaten from the Tynemouth bowling as received boundary wisdom has the home side as distant outsiders. Appreciate nods greet the news from Twitter that South North have won the national knock-out cup, defeating Swardeston from Norfolk by 75 runs at Wantage Road. A coach of fans left Gosforth at 6.00; I’m delighted for them, but satisfied with my own agenda for the day.

No longer thirsty, but slightly tired, my dearest Laura heads home for cat therapy time with Paw Paw and Tromszo. I accompany her to the exit and find the time for a languid lap, while Tynemouth approach the daunting total with ponderous solemnity. The eldest McGee lad is there; fresh from a sunshine and lager break, shivering in a puffa jacket as clouds move in from the west and a slight breeze reminds us autumn is in the post. Keith Brown remains almost unhittable, bowling his spell right through as Tynemouth attempt to force the pace and sadly crumble.  Vince goes off to pour a few beers and the home side lose 4 wickets. And then 4 more.

Soon it is 90/9 and deck chairs are folded, picnic detritus bundled for land fill or recycling as the end is nigh. Thankfully Phil Hudson makes a bit of a game of it; 6-0-38-1 including the only pair of maximums all day and some trademark stops with the ankle, sometimes without yelping. Tynemouth eventually subside to 128 all out, as the 2016 season ends shortly after 6pm in great spirit. Handshakes, conversation, best wishes, camaraderie; the sight is touching, affecting and inspiring in equal measures.  An enthusiastic observer, my role is complete; I take my leave, exchanging words and nods with those I know from the teams and clubs. I’m tempted to walk backwards for a final panoramic view of one of the many temples and citadels of sporting magnificence where I’ve spent endless happy hours these past few months. Instead, I stop regularly, take greedy eyefuls of memory, then strike out for home, almost tearful with regret before I’ve even reached Washington Terrace. How civilised, how perfect, how joyous are the times we spend watching club cricket. Well, almost all of them; the only cross words today were reserved for still raw analysis of the events of 10^th September on Osborne Avenue, as I shall explain.

Since last I wrote about cricket, the final month of the season has seen all manner of trophies handed out and situations resolved.  On Friday 26^th August, I ventured south of the Tyne, by bicycle and ferry and bicycle again, to the Village Ground, Whitburn for the Midweek Cup final against Sacriston. It was a pleasant journey, which almost made me wonder if I can stretch things further next year by heading for Ashbrooke or even Bournmoor by pedal power, down Ocean Road, along the sea front, past Marsden Grotto, Souter Lighthouse and into Whitburn itself. In recent years, my experience of the quaint village has been Over 40s football against Mill View Club on a blasted clifftop pitch at the High School on howling January mornings. No such privations tonight, though I scandalously failed to fetch my phone, so was unable to take photos of the sunkissed, bucolic splendour. Certainly, it is one of my 5 favourite grounds I’ve visited in the NEPL, especially for the arboreal magnificence of the boundary.

Predominantly, midweek 3^rd XI cricket is a social sport; Whitburn included a female pace bowler Amy Hearn, who was clearly in there on merit, while Adam Cochrane the Sacriston opener  who notched a half century in his team’s 136/5 from 20 overs, was required to retire even as the applause for his accomplishments rang round the ground. I spent the game in the company of South Shields FC secretary Phil Reay; a knowledgeable and convivial companion who clearly knows and loves the sport. Whitburn in response didn’t quite get there; they made 123/7, helped by an incredible first over by Neil Dawson, who conceded 15 wides, including 6 successive ones. He didn’t bat and didn’t bowl again, so perhaps he’ll look back less favourably on this game than I did.

Next day, I attended Benfield’s thrilling 2-2 draw with Bishop Auckland, before cycling down to Preston Avenue, for the usual post-tea proceedings, only to find the field deserted. A lack of tweets had not perturbed me unduly; these sorts of things happen in the NEPL if nobody is available to do them. However, in this instance it could have been shock that caused radio silence, as Tynemouth were dismissed for a paltry 73, before skittling Eppleton for 60. The game was over before Benfield had even kicked off. If I’d known of this, I’d have taken in the last session of Newcastle’s victory over South Shields by 40 or so runs, despite Gordon Muchall’s 5 for 48, where Oli McGee took a best ever 7 for 54.

Thankfully, there was another game to see that weekend; as a result of patches of intense wetness earlier in the season, whereby the coldest spectating day was the Ponces’ Picnic at Gateshead Fell against Benwell Hill on July 9^th, the Banks Bowl final was held on August Bank Holiday Monday.  Chester le Street versus Tynemouth; same teams, same location, same baking hot weather and same one-sided result as last year.  Chester posted a mammoth 286/6 from their 45 overs on an airless, arid afternoon. Irritated by the incessant yapping of intemperate lapdogs in an adjacent garden and half blinded by the unceasing brilliance of glints from car windscreens, I took a tour of the boundary and was immediately touched, reassured and empowered by the rich and wondrous tapestry of the local cricket community.

The Hallam family were sincere in their thanks for the references I made to their contribution to Tynemouth 3rds v Stockton 3rds back in early August. In addition, I finally met and had great craic with CLS stalwart and twitter pal Ian Willis and his other half Karen. Tynemouth made an untroubled start in their reply, reaching 59 without loss, but once the wickets started to fall, Chester are like sharks scenting blood. Tynemouth were all out for 186, lost by exactly 100 and finished the game early enough so I could catch the 6pm train home.

Despite the glorious weather I’ve alluded to so far in this piece, there’s always the chance of rain stopping play; so it proved on Saturday 3^rd September, when a total washout of all the fixtures handed the title to Chester Le Street. On 11^th September they completed the double, by crushing Benwell Hill to win the Salver. Well done to them; they deserve it for being the most consistent of performers, though Newcastle ran them close in the League, but not close enough and Tynemouth can be delighted with a highly creditable 3^rd place finish. South North will be disappointed to end up 4^th, but I’m sure the national knock out cup will provide them with plenty of consolation.  Relegation eventually came the way of Gateshead Fell after several years of Houdini like escapes. In a sense that is no surprise, as I’ve felt there to be a somewhat downbeat and deflated atmosphere around Eastwood Gardens on my recent visits.  At the bottom of Division1, Tudhoe were replaced by a resurgent, well-appointed, financially secure Burnopfield. I look forward to visiting there, as I failed to make it to the Northumberland game there this season, mainly because it was rain-ruined. Statistically, I have visited 13 NEPL grounds this season and 14 in total; however, Burnopfield for Tudhoe means I’ve actually ticked off 13 current member clubs, though with only Hetton Lyons and Stockton in the top tier needing a visit. I’ve also been to Sunderland and Burnmoor, but not seen a game this year, as well as Mainsforth years ago.

So, to the last Saturday of the season, 10^th September; Tynemouth completed a routine 6 wicket win away at Whitburn, while I was destined for Newcastle against Chester le Street, while the big story was the game of death at the top of Division 1 between leaders Felling and unbeaten Sacriston, with a place in the top flight as the reward.

I arrived at Jesmond with Newcastle preparing to resume on 44/1, chasing 233 to beat the champions. The competing attraction in the bar was Derby County versus Newcastle united, but I was there for the cricket. Having opened the batting with his brother Ben, who was out for 4, Oli McGee was there with Callum Harding, who was out at 50/2. Soon after Mickey Allan departed, heralding the arrival of Chris Youldon, the week after he’d taken advantage of the NEPL washout to play for Guisborough in the Northern League; they lost 8-0 at home to North Shields. He had a marginally better time of it this day, run out for 10, though I doubt there has been a shorter pair of batsmen outside of Papua New Guinea than Yosser and Oli. The former’s dismissal saw him replaced by Jacques du Toit. At this point, things got interesting….

A defeat or a losing draw soon became unthinkable negativity as the South African had his eye in. The score moved on to 213/4; JDT made 109 of those from 63 balls. His hundred, featuring 7 boundaries and 7 maximums came from 56 balls, many of which had to be rescued from Manor House Road. It was a privilege and joy to watch this display of effortless, majestic power. He was seeing it as big as a basketball, CLS had no answers and with 20 needed from more than 7 overs, he’d have won the game in the length of time it takes him to chain a pair of Marlboro Lights. His 8^th six coincided with a cheer from the bar. Venturing to investigate as the fielder retrieved the ball; it became clear the Magpies had secured victory with a late second goal. I watched the replay, and then headed outside again for the inevitable climax.

To my astonishment and absolute disgust, the umpires had called time because of bad light. Oli, marooned on 47 not out, was disconsolate on missing out on a half century, while JDT was understandably pissed off but publicly decorous. In the last game of the season, the Chester players had invoked the spirit of Don Revie’s Leeds to avoid defeat by getting in the umpires’ ears until they decided, farcically, to end the game early. Du Toit could have finished it himself that bloody over, the way he was batting. Still, that’s how you win titles and not friends I suppose. Frankly it was the exact opposite of the spectacle I witnessed at Preston Road, so I’m delighted it wasn’t my final memory of the season, even if it was the finest batting I’ve seen all year.

At the same time as Chester Le Street were celebrating a losing draw, the umpires were also taking the teams off at High Heworth. Felling’s 223/9 from 55 overs didn’t look nearly enough and when Sacriston were 180/3 from 40 overs, there was only one winner. The umpires’ scarcely credible decision to call a halt denied unbeaten Sacriston the title and a sheepish Felling side’s 8 points from a losing draw, earned them promotion. Surely, with better weather in September, there is an argument to play on until the last Saturday of the month, even if it means games starting at 10.30. Well done Felling; I look forward to visiting again next season. Commiserations Sacriston; I hope you can bounce back.

And that’s all there is to say, other than congratulating Durham on managing secure top division status for another season. Roll on April 2017; let’s hope for more glorious weather on our glorious grounds making for many, many glorious games. Thank you to all the players and clubs who have made my 2016 season such a fabulous one to watch.