. 

FADED AWAY...

.....as old soldiers do. Hardly a week goes by these days when there is not a report of an old comrade, an old friend passing away.  One of the inevitabilities of getting older, I suppose. and there was  sad news for me yesterday when I heard that the gentleman in the photo above had left us the day after his 101st birthday.  I had the privilege of serving with him during my National Service days in the 10th Royal Hussars, based in what was then West Germany in the early 1960s.  He was Major Dougie Covill, DCM, MBE and he had a very long and distinguished military career and a full and rewarding life in his later years.

He was born in Croydon and joined the Army in 1937 whilst being a bit under age.  The 10th Hussars (`The Shiny Tenth`) were part of the 1st. Armoured Division sent to Normandy in May 1940.  In late 1941 the regiment was in North Africa and Dougie was by then a tank troop sergeant and in this front line role he fought in all the 8th Army battles in the Western Desert, Libya, Tunisia and Italy until the end of the war in May 1945.   He was wounded twice and awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal (DCM) for acts of conspicuous bravery.

After the war the regiment moved to Austria and then to Lubeck on the Baltic coast, where Dougie met and married Inge in 1947.   After many years of moving through the ranks of Army life, in 1959 he was commissioned as Quartermaster for the 10th Hussars and it was in that capacity that I grew to know and respect him and he finally retired from the Army in 1970 with the rank of Major.

He then played a number of active roles with equal distinction, among them as Chairman of the Distinguished Conduct Medallist`s Association and Hampshire County President of the Royal British Legion, which resulted in his award of the MBE.   He represented Alresford on Winchester City Council and became Lord Mayor in 1987. 

In one of my former lives I was once despatched to Winchester to attend some meeting or other - possibly one of those tedious seminars - which was held in Winchester and  the delegates were welcomed by Dougie who opened proceedings in his mayoral capacity, so it was an opportunity to meet up with him again and recall our time together with the Shiny Tenth in Paderborn back in the 1960s.  The grandeur of his office had not affected Dougie - same smile, same easy going nature, always time for people - and he is missed by us former 10th Hussars who knew and admired a true gentleman.  It was a privilege to have known him and it is sad to learn that he has faded away like old soldiers do.   Rest in peace, Dougie - you`ve earned it.

 

THE CANDLES FLICKER AND DIM...

I noticed a very brief report in yesterday`s newspaper that Derek Ufton had passed away peacefully in his sleep at the age of 92.  The brief report was buried away right at the bottom of one of the sports pages.  In one respect it was good to see that his contribution to both football and cricket had at least been acknowledged;  but I felt, partly for personal reasons, that he deserved a little more than what was perhaps merely a passing reference.

Now you reach a certain age in life when you develop perhaps an unhealthy habit of looking for obituaries - I have recorded quite a number of them in these pages over the years (click on `obituaries` on the list of labels at the bottom) - and it becomes yet more poignant when they appear for heroes of your own youth.  And Derek was certainly one of mine.

I first saw him play football for Charlton Athletic way back in the 1950s.  At the time, my parents and I had just moved away from my boyhood village by the sea on the shores of Southampton Water to the mean streets of south east London.   An uncle and aunt of mine had a pub, The Dover Patrol, in Kidbrooke and we moved there so that my parents could learn `the licensed trade.`  Kidbrooke is just up the road from Charlton and it wasn`t long before I started to go to The Valley to watch Charlton, having been dragged away from watching the Saints at The Dell.

I enjoyed watching Charlton back then.  They had an interesting team including legendary goalkeeper Sam Bartram, a host of South African imports - John Hewie, Eddie Firmani, Stuart Leary, Sid O`Linn - a rock solid captain in Benny Fenton, pacy wingers in Billy Kiernan and Gordon Hurst....and Derek Ufton, their imperious centre half.  Derek played almost 300 games for Charlton and once for England, in a game against the Rest of the World in 1953.  After a spell of three years managing Plymouth Argyle, he was a club director at Charlton for 26 years.

And he excelled at cricket where he played for Kent alongside his footballing chums Sid O`Linn and Stuart Leary.  As a wicketkeeper batsman, Derek played 149 games for Kent, scoring almost 4,000 runs and taking 313 dismissals behind the stumps.  He became President of Kent County Cricket Club in 2001 and was for many years Chairman of the Lord`s Taverners cricket charity.

So a full and long life comes to a peaceful end.  The candles flickered and dimmed on yet another of the heroes of my youth.   Trouble is, that`s happening far too frequently these days but Derek, like me, was of his time - he did his National Service, loved the games he played with such distinction and knew the peace and comfort of his Kent village of Elham.

  He is rightly honoured and is much missed.

ONE OF THOSE BELLS...

I was sorry to learn  of the passing of Diana Rigg, or to give her full title Dame Diana Rigg, DBE, who passed away at the age of 82 following a battle with cancer.  Of course, it is always sorrowful when someone who has been part of the landscape for so many years is no longer with us but the news got me wondering about a couple of things.

She was born on 20th July 1938 - a day short of a year before me, which is a little unnerving - and each time I hear of someone leaving us in their 80s it makes me yet more aware of my own mortality;  I hope I`m not tempting fate when I say that I really, really am nowhere near calling it a day just yet.  So much to live for and hopefully not so little time.

On a lighter note, Dame Diana has always been one of those distant icons that light up the world and without characterising her in any disrespectful way, seeing her her face in the photo above sparked off one of those bells that now and then rings and my mind went back, curiously and perhaps a little mischievously, to that time 60 years ago now, when I was doing my National Service in the green hell of BFPO 16 in what was then West Germany.  As a National Service conscript my weekly pay was something like £2.50, which didn`t go far and so to help out I got myself a job, along with a fellow conscript, as projectionist in the AKC (Army Kinema Corporation) Cinema on the army garrison where we were stationed.

When I started this blog all those years ago some of my early tentative posts tried to capture those times working in the cinema, which for then was state of the art affair with cinema scope screen, stereo sound, fancy lighting and all the trimmings of a `proper` night at the movies.  One of the jobs was that when the film programme for the week drew to a close was to pack it away for transmission on to the next cinema in the chain.  But we developed a penchant for snipping bits of films - just a few frames - to keep for ourselves.  Of course, with the enthusiasm of youthful soldiering, those snippets tended to be of film actresses that lit up the silver screen  and as the snippets grew into quite a collection, we would splice them together and enjoy them a privately once the cinema had closed for the evening.

There were a number of actresses who qualified for our collection - I remember in particular a crush we developed for Yvette Mimieux, the French actress who played Meena in `The Time Machine`along with Rod Taylor - but there were others for whom we felt something of an `attraction.`   Now I`m not sure Dame Diana Rigg was around too much in those far off cinema days but there`s little question that, had she been, then she would have undoubtedly qualified for inclusion in our exclusive collection.   That might just be the best compliment I can pay her in expressing my sorrow that she is no longer here.

Back in November 2018 I posted this - https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=34732787#editor/target=post;postID=5290201926455187137;onPublishedMenu=allposts;onClosedMenu=allposts;postNum=161;src=postname   (Please click on this link to see what it was all about.)

We now know that Peter Green passed away peacefully in his sleep yesterday and this really tragic news has been greeted with an outpouring of sadness at the passing of one of the great guitarists, songwriters and singers.   A man of the world indeed - someone who gave much and suffered so much too but one who will always be remembered by those like me who love and appreciate music at its finest.  I`m tempted to go on a bit, but perhaps it`s enough just to say - in all sincerity - `Oh well.`  He will be missed and remembered in this parish.

FOR THE FALLEN...

This is the Pilgrims Way, the long distance and very ancient footpath that leads from Winchester to Canterbury.   It passes through my bit of Kent and I took the photo above where the path hugs the lea of the North Downs in this part of Kent.  A little further in to our walk, the Pilgrims Way is crossed by another footpath and so we turned left and started to make our way up the slope of the North Downs.....

We came to a field and followed the path until it came to a gateway which led to the higher ground......

And just beyond the gateway something caught my eye......

And I wondered what it could possibly be in this remote spot a long way off the beaten track.   So we investigated by tramping through part of the hillside that is covered with wild thyme and brambles and it became apparent that what we were seeing was some kind of memorial.   It turned out to be something rather special and so I took this close up photo which revealed the story.......

And a little research when we got home showed that Tommy Pinkham was the Squadron Leader of the Royal Air Force No. 19 Fighter Squadron and the youngest Squadron Leader in the RAF at the age of just 25.   According to the Fighter Command Combat Report dated 5th September 1940, eleven members of the No. 19 Fighter Squadron, lead by Squadron Leader Pinkham, took off from RAF Duxford at 09.47 hours to patrol Hornchurch, an area east of London near the Thames Estuary.   Forty Luftwaffe Dornier 215 bombers escorted by 40 Messerschmitt 109 fighters were spotted approaching from the west.   At 10.15 hours Tommy and five others attacked the bombers with the other five aircraft in the squadron attacking the Luftwaffe fighters.  Squadron Leader Pinkham was last seen engaging three Dornier bombers but became a casualty, crashing on this spot on this Kentish hillside, where the memorial is maintained to remember his selfless heroism.

It seemed especially poignant to come across this memorial during this year which marks the 75th anniversary of VE Day.  And so we left this now very special place which now has the peace and serenity befitting its surroundings, thanks to men like Tommy Pinkham and his colleagues, to whom we owe so very much.

No. 19 Fighter Squadron at RAF Duxford - Squadron Leader Tommy Pinkham in the centre.

MORE TO HIM....

Over the years in these pages I have recorded memories of cricketing heroes who have left us - Derek Shackleton, Bob Woolmer, Harold Gimblett, David Sheppard, Trevor Bailey, Arthur Morris, Bernard Hedges, Brian Langford, Alec Bedser....the list is quite a long one and if you are so minded you can find them by clicking on the list of labels (down a bit and to the right) for `cricket` or `obituaries.`

And so, whilst all the clamour and razzmatazz of the recent World Cup and the current Ashes series ring loudly in our hearts, minds and ears I was saddened to learn of the passing of Malcolm Nash.  

Now Malcolm will always be remembered, of course, for the time when Sir Garfield Sobers took six sixes off him in one over for Nottinghamshire against Nash`s Glamorgan at Swansea in 1968 - the first time that feat was achieved in first class cricket.   But there was much more to Malcolm Nash who played for Glamorgan with great distinction between 1966 and 1983, taking 993 first class wickets and was Glamorgan`s leading wicket taker when they won the county championship in 1969.  As well as excelling as a left arm bowler, he was also a useful batsman, scoring over 7,000 runs.

It seems almost tragically ironic that Malcolm dies suddenly whilst attending a cricket function at Lord`s Cricket Ground on Tuesday but he will be mourned as a true legend of Glamorgan and a true gentleman of the game.   Tributes have quite rightly been pouring in, but perhaps the most touching has come from Sir Garfield himself.   He said, "He was a good friend of mine and we always kept that friendship."

Sobers recalled how Nash kept his sense of humour, despite him being hit for those six sixes. "We were asked to go up and be interviewed afterwards and I saw Malcolm smiling.  I asked him what he was smiling about and he told me, "Gary, I want you to know that you could not have achieved that without me."

It kind of sums up Malcolm Nash the man and the cricket world is much the poorer for his leaving.

ANOTHER SAD LOSS...

I suppose I became something of a film buff during my National Service days when, in order to supplement the pittance the army doled out every week I got a job as projectionist in the garrison cinema, the AKC Globe at Paderborn in what was then West Germany.  Ever since I have enjoyed countless films, mainly on television these days, and so I was very sorry to learn of the passing of Nicolas Roeg over the weekend.

I first became aware of his prodigious talent when he was Director of Photography on John Schlesinger`s epic adaptation of Hardy`s `Far from the Madding Crowd` starring Julie Christie and Alan Bates.   I remember being enthralled not only by the fair Julie, of course, but also by the way in which the landscape of my native Dorset had been captured in all its pastoral innocence by Nic Roeg`s cinematography.   And, me being me, it`s very often the music score which I remember and Richard Rodney Bennett`s  Prelude for that film is one of its haunting features, complementing the landscape and something of the forlorn nature of the leading characters.   Here it is.......

One of Nic Roeg`s early films as a director was `Walkabout` with Jenny Agutter and Roeg`s seven year old son Luc playing the hapless children abandoned in the Australian outback.  It was then that he began to use his role as director to experiment, to introduce new ways of editing, to use film as more of an art form than just commercial entertainment.   And again `Walkabout` gave composer John Barry an early commission to bring his own unique musicality to the screen.   He went on, of course, to compose the music for the James Bond  movies, as well as `Out of Africa,` Dances with Wolves` and so many others.

Again for me `Walkabout` would not have been quite so rich without John Barry`s score. Here`s what I mean.......

But genuine thanks and appreciation for the extraordinary body of work that Nic Roeg has bequeathed us.  The whole of the world of cinema is much the poorer for his passing.

BLUE REMEMBERED HILLS..

I was sorry to learn yesterday of the passing of Keith Barron at the age of 83 after a short illness.  He was, of course, a much admired actor who, in a 50-year career performed in a wide variety of films and television plays and serials.  He was one of those people who you tended to watch for himself rather than the character he was portraying, such was the charm of his personality and style.

But he was also something of a character himself.   Among the many tributes paid to him is one from Cornwall where, in the 1980s, Keith Barron ran a restaurant in Hayle. He last performed in the county in 2014 when a stage version of `Duty Free` toured Truro`s Hall for Cornwall.  In an interview at the time he said, "The show is still amazingly popular - probably because it`s about the eternal quest of trying to get your leg over.  Not just men, I hear there are several women like that, especially in Camborne."  A joker to the end.

Now here`s where I go off on the odd tangent - not unusual, I know.  Out of the long and distinguished list of his performances, the ones I immediately associated with when I learned of his passing were when he was cast as Nigel Barton in Dennis Potter`s plays for television - Stand Up Nigel Barton and Vote, Vote, Vote for Nigel Barton.  

And it`s here that my attention becomes diverted to Dennis Potter, arguably the most influential dramatist of the last century.   In addition to the Nigel Barton ones, he bequeathed us such memorable plays as The Singing Detective, Lipstick on Your Collar, Pennies from Heaven and Blue Remembered Hills, the last written in the  Forest of Dean dialogue, the area which formed the basis of Potter`s upbringing.   My last and lasting memory of Dennis Potter was of him delivering a televised speech whilst drinking liquid morphine to help him through the pain of the pancreatic cancer which ended his life shortly after.

And so, in something of a tortuous route, the loss of Keith Barron has also led me back to AE Houseman`s `A Shropshire Lad` which contains the following:-

Into my heart an air that kills

From yon far country blows.

What are those blue remembered hills,

What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content

I see it shining plain.
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.

Seems somehow appropriate in remembering each of those who gave us so much enjoyment and so many memories.

A SMILE, A SONG AND THE SHOW MUST GO ON...

Like most people, I was sorry to hear of the passing of Sir Bruce Forsyth.  In fact, I`m always sorry to hear of anyone`s passing but it seems that when someone of Brucie`s standing leaves us, there is an outbreak of national mourning which at times reaches the point of being almost self defeating.  It`s almost as if there is a need to turn  sad events such as this into yet another theatrical production.

So, despite the pull out supplements, the tribute specials on TV, the knighthood, the multimillionaire legacy for his former Miss World widow, the bust already in place at the London Palladium and the mansion alongside Wentworth Golf Club, there are now calls for a public memorial service at Westminster Abbey no less, a permanent memorial in his home town of Edmonton and the BBC is considering erecting a statue outside the BBC Television Centre.  I`m no longer a TV licence payer, which is just as well as I would genuinely hope that the statue might not be funded from the licence fee but from public donations from those who think it appropriate.

Of course, Brucie was a much loved part of the lives of so many people for so many years and the last thing I want to say is to enter anything other than my thanks for his 75 years of entertainment but I think we are in danger, yet again, of turning this sad moment into an event of which I`m not sure even Sir Brucie would approve.  I might be wrong, of course.

We seem these days to be turning into a nation which almost thrives on tragic events - I suspect `social media` might not help, where too many people feel the need to be associated with this kind of event - a bit more of the `look at me` obsession - and leave `RIP` messages for people they don`t even know.

No matter, I`m sorry Brucie has left us but I will content myself in my own mind by allowing his passing to be restful and peaceful.

CHILDHOOD DIES ANOTHER DEATH....

In all the brouhaha of the past week, one of the saddest things was the passing, at the age of 95, of Gordon Murray.  He was the creator of one of the most admired and best loved trilogies in the annals of televised entertainment.   I mean, of course, Camberwick Green, Trumpton and Chigley and I look back on those series with a wistful eye, for the memories take me back to those truly wonderful days when our three sons were captivated by the sights and sounds of Gordon Murray`s array of unforgettable characters.

And, truth be told, I too was captivated by the innocence, the charm and the gentleness of it all - Pugh, Pugh, Barney McGrew, Cuthbert, Dibble, Grubb and all. - and whilst I may miss those days and those times, I still steadfastly refuse to properly grow up, influenced as I clearly was by those programmes and by the sheer joy of being allowed into a childhood world along with my three young boys, from which I still remain reluctant to depart.

So I mourn the loss of Gordon Murray and the joy he gave to dreamers like me, for whom perhaps the greatest hero of it all was the redoubtable Windy Miller;  to the extent that every Miller I have known since has automatically been known as `Windy,` whether the description has been fitting or not.   So, as a passing tribute to Gordon Murray, here`s Windy Miller in an episode from Camberwick Green which I still believe to be just up the road a bit.......

TELLING IT LIKE IT IS....

It seems a shame that as the football season reaches its querulous climax, the cricket season has begun in its now accustomed minor key.   No Super Sundays, no Magic Mondays, no sound and fury, no blazing headlines, just the quiet beginning of the summer game.   And it is particularly unfortunate that the passing of one of cricket`s true gentlemen has largely been confined to inner pages and sparse comment.

Tony Cozier, the voice of West Indies cricket, has left us at the age of 75 after half a century of writing and commentating on summer`s beautiful game.  Whilst admired and revered in his native Barbados, his mellifluous, almost exotic voice brought wisdom, knowledge and insight to cricket listeners the world over.

He was fiercely proud of Caribbean cricket, so much so that when things did not go as well as perhaps they should, he was quick to voice his opinion to those in control of the West Indies game, to tell it like it was and to tell it how he saw it.   And he was invariably right.

I`ve noticed today`s obituaries have without exception been fulsome in their appreciation of him, not only as the hugely authoritative commentator he so clearly was, but also as a man.   Not long ago, we cricket buffs mourned the loss of Richie Benaud and now we see the passing of Tony Cozier.   We are much the poorer for having lost them both. 

INTERESTING....

I was sorry to hear of Brian Sewell`s passing yesterday at the age of 84 following a losing battle with cancer.   He was without doubt `interesting` but perhaps perception of him was too often limited by his rather superior, almost regal manner of speaking.  It was, however,  probably the least `interesting` aspect of a very `interesting` life.

I won`t go on about the many facets of his 84 years - others have done that in abundance - but there are a couple of things that I feel are worth mentioning here.   The first is his parentage which, it turns out, included the composer Peter Warlock as his biological father, who died before Sewell was born.  Warlock himself was `interesting` and is perhaps best remembered, by me at least, for his  beguiling Capriol Suite.

Sewell counted among his friends Anthony Blunt, Roy Strong, Francis Bacon and Lucien Freud  and he was a seriously accomplished and respected art historian and critic.   And it is in this area that he is perhaps remembered as being harshly critical, often waspish but unfailingly honest as a judge of artists and their work.  He lampooned the choice of Liverpool as European Capital of Culture in 2008;  he thought that Tracey Emin was `the Jade Goody of art;` and Banksy was ` a complete clown.`

He loved dogs and motor cars in equal measure but for me his greatest gift to the modern world was to condemn pretty much everything about modern art as pretentious tosh, not worthy of a second glance.   Maybe there was much about Brian Sewell to disagree with or to find uncomfortable, but in his rejection of modern art and `artists` he was not only spot on in his assessment but also voicing the feelings of a large section of the population, especially those provincials, like me, who want no truck with any form of metropolitan affectation.

He will be missed.

Despite the cartoon, I absolutely promise that I am not about to make light of what has been a truly terrible event. The air accident near Shoreham in Sussex last weekend has claimed the lives of eleven innocent people and left families, friends and the nearby community completely numb.

I have noticed more and more that, in these modern times we live in, tragedies like that give rise to a welter of messages of sympathy largely expressed through what is laughingly described as `social media.`.  So too do the passing of certain people, mainly `celebrities` but also the passing of `ordinary folk.`  For my sins, I do belong to a couple of internet forums, Facebook pages, things like that and I`ve noticed that, as soon as tragedy arrives, there are instantaneous messages from complete strangers.  Quite often they say no more than `RIP.`   And I just wonder whether their motives are borne out of genuine sympathy or perhaps from a desire to be seen to be saying something and thus making themselves feel better. 

If the latter, then it amounts to little more than attention being sought.  At which point it becomes glib, superficial, inadequate, self-indulgent even.  But you can be absolutely certain that when I express my own deepest sympathies to the victims of this terrible event, I do so with genuine feelings for them, their loved ones and all those who have been - and continue to be - caught up in it.   

Just be wary of those who were on the cartoon`s sales course.   And sometimes just saying `RIP` simply won`t do.

AND THEN THERE WAS ONE..

1948 looms large in the depths of my memory.  War had not long ended, rationing was still in force, the winter before had been one of the longest, coldest and snowiest even on the south coast of England.   I was nine years old and in those pre-television days (for us at least) my boyhood heroes were captured through newspapers and the good old fashioned steam radio.   And in the 1948 cricket season there was no shortage of heroes; only problem was that most of them were Australian.

The picture shows `Bradman`s Invincibles,` who toured England in 1948 and were arguably the strongest, most complete cricket team ever. And even if you make allowances for England having staggered out of wartime, the Aussie touring team of that year not only beat all before them but, in some cases, played a completely different game to their hapless opponents. 

Perhaps the best illustration is their annihilation of the Essex team at Southend in May of that year.   Batting first, the Australians scored 721 runs in a day (Brown 153; Bradman 187; Loxton 120; Saggers 104....and on and on it went.)  In reply, Essex were all out for 83 in their first innings (Toshack 5-31) and all out for 187 in the second (Johnson 6-37.) There were two notable absentees from the Australian team that day - one playing, the other not.   The playing absentee was Keith Miller who, witnessing the carnage all around him and wanting no part of it, lifted his bat from the first straight ball he received and was bowled without troubling the scorers. 

The other, real absentee that day was Arthur Morris and I was saddened to learn that he died a couple of days ago at the age of 93, marked by the current Australian team wearing black armbands at The Oval Test.  Arthur (they had names like Arthur in those days) was a key member of the Australian team and one of his country`s finest opening batsmen, scoring 3,533 runs in 46 Tests, averaging 46.48.   He was the leading run scorer on the 1948 tour, and scored 196 in the final Test at The Oval - his innings being overshadowed by Bradman`s duck in his farewell innings, thus denying himself the remarkable feat of retiring with a Test Match average of 100.

And so another of the Invincibles  has left us and now there is only Neil Harvey, at the age of 86, remaining from that 1948 touring party.   And whilst it marks the departure of yet another of my boyhood heroes, it also brings back lingering, wistful memories of that year and those far away formative times.  It was, of course, a different age, a time of real austerity, a time when nine year old boys growing up in a small village learned respect and where acceptable boundaries were clearly defined.   Arthur Morris was universally respected not just for his cricketing prowess but also for simply being a  true gentleman of the game of cricket and the game of life.  And even though England have regained the Ashes, it would be remiss not to pay tribute to one of the Australian heroes of the past.   

It`s getting depressing.  The other day I mentioned the passing of Bill Ellerington and today comes the news that yet another hero has left us.   Richie Benaud will rightly have a million obituaries to his impeccable career as a cricketer, a journalist, a broadcaster, commentator and as a man and so it will not be my place to add too much to the sadness we cricket lovers feel at his loss at the age of 84.

Except perhaps to say that, in so many way, Richie personified the sharp contrast, the divide, between cricket then and cricket now.   He played his cricket at the very highest level - the first Australian to score over 2,000 runs and take over 200 wickets in Test matches - but he did so with dignity, with grace, elegance and a deep regard for the spirit of the game.   Now these are qualities that are difficult to find in the modern game, which has become more concerned with results, personality and razzmatazz, perhaps encapsulated by the persona of players such as Kevin Pietersen, late of South Africa, Nottinghamshire, Hampshire, Surrey (twice), Royal Challengers Bangalore, Deccan Chargers, Delhi Daredevils, St. Lucia Zouks and Melbourne Stars.

Pietersen is an undoubted talent, don`t get me wrong, but he has built a large part of his reputation on being a `character,` beginning, I suppose, with his bleach blonde streaks when England beat Australia in that memorable series in 2005 (was it really ten years ago?) and developing into the disruptive, self-obsessed, avaricious chancer we see today. Such clamour as there is for him to be returned to the England team is based purely on his batting ability whilst his contribution to team morale and togetherness are set aside in the headlong quest to win matches.

Despite the undoubted talent of players such as Pietersen, I doubt Richie Benaud would have given him a second thought in choosing a team to represent his country.  Benaud was concerned, of course, with success on the field of play but not at any price.  Maybe it`s another generational thing, quite probably my own, but with Richie Benaud leaving us, so too do many of those things that cricket once represented.  Times change, of course....but not always for the better.   Told you it was getting depressing.

FALLING LEAVES..

Today is a beautiful Spring day.  The birds are singing, lawns are being mown, leaves are appearing on the trees and God is in his, or her, heaven.   So why does today remind me of falling leaves?   Well, I heard the sad news that yet another of my boyhood heroes has passed away and there have been a growing number of them falling in recent times - Derek Shackleton, Bernard Hedges, Brian Langford, Sir Bobby Robson (another ex-Saint) and the list goes on.   Now I imagine it`s inevitable that as you grow older you become more and more aware of people passing and I`m just grateful I`m not one of them.   Each week I buy the Kent Messenger newspaper, read the obituary column (something else that people of a certain age tend to do) and if my name isn`t in there, then I just carry optimistically on.

Bill Ellerington left us over Easter, aged 91.   He was arguable the most elegant footballer ever to play for Southampton, his home town club, - he never seemed to kick the ball, always stroked it, like a golfer would.  He played right back in the days when teams had right backs and he was so accomplished that he kept a certain Alf Ramsay out of the team to the extent that Ramsay upped sticks and moved to Tottenham.

Bill played 238 timed for the Saints and twice for England and he was in the team when my Dad took me to my first ever Saints game at The Dell in April 1946.  That was an awe inspiring experience for a six year old emerging from the war years and the long day included a ferry ride from our home in Hythe on Southampton Water to Town Quay and a long walk to The Dell.  I remember being passed down to the front of the packed stand where, with the other small boys, I watched what I could see of the game through the railings.  That day the Saints beat Derby County 4-2 and, as well as Bill Ellerington, I had my first glimpse of other Saints legends such as Eric Webber, Don Roper and the wonderful Ted Bates.

Ted Bates is rightly remembered not only as a player, a captain and a manager but also as President of the club and his bronze statue beams down at us from its place of honour outside the main entrance to St. Mary`s Stadium.  I doubt there will be a statue to Bill Ellerington but the football club he represented with such dignity has already paid fulsome tribute to one of its great servants and Saints fans everywhere will, like me, mourn his passing but be grateful for the privilege of having seen him play.  I`m not sure they make `em like that any more.

Like most others, I was very sorry to learn of the passing of Robin Williams - a great actor, one who was perhaps not always appreciated for the depth of his talent.  He was able to go from one end of the spectrum of convincing character to the other;  from Mork and Mindy to an Oscar winning performance in Good Will Hunting is a long journey in more ways than one, but for me his outstanding performance was of the sad, lonely loser Sy Parrish in the 2002 film One Hour Photo.   In retrospect and given what we now know of the torments in Williams` own life, that performance may have been more true to his own character than that of the one he portrayed.

And at a time like this it is `awkward` to enter a note or two of uncertainty, but a couple of things struck me today about the way in which Williams`death was reported and also the consequences of his leaving.   I think it was noticeable that in a number of `popular` newspapers and television news programmes, his death was the first and main item of news and described as `a tragedy,` whilst at the same time the appalling situation in Iraq and the desperate plight of refugees became relegated behind the news from California.   It said much about the priorities of the western world when the passing of an admittedly talented and much loved actor was seen to take precedence over what is a real and true tragedy affecting thousands of defenceless people.

As to the consequences of his death, well of course, one feels for the family and friends left behind. And it`s difficult especially for someone like me who has mercifully been spared the depths of depression that Williams is said to have suffered and yet, like another recent celebrity suicide, something suggests to my perhaps less than understanding mind that there might just be a hint of selfishness in leaving so much pain for others to bear. 

I mean no disrespect towards the passing of a substantial figure in the world of entertainment and I hope his family and friends can, in their grief, bring themselves to forgive him for leaving them in the way that he did.  Well, I said it was awkward.

THE DEAREST AND THE BEST

It was with much sadness that I learned today of the passing of the author Leslie Thomas and although I don`t intend for this to be an obituary (others more skilled in that art will do that) I wanted - felt the need really - just to jot down a few thoughts about Leslie Thomas, as he is someone with whom I have identified over the years.  Here`s why.....

Like me, he did his National Service, mainly in the far east, on which he based his first best selling novel, The Virgin Soldiers and its sequels, Onward followed by Stand Up Virgin Soldiers.  But from the bawdy raucousness of those beginnings, he developed a style which became more wry, more reflective of the times in which he lived - Tropic of Ruislip just caught the social atmosphere and turmoil which we lived through.   He produced travel books about this country - I still have The Hidden Places of Britain which includes an evocative portrait of the north Kent marshes not far from where I live and an account of the deep midwinter in Cape Cornwall and St. Just in Penwith.

He may not have produced great literature in its truest sense but he produced stories about people and places that he clearly held dear - the delicate harshness of Chloe`s Song set largely in and around Southampton, for example.   Now my choice of illustration shown above might appear odd in the context of this ramble - it shows a hidden corner of the New Forest but it might also be a subtle tribute to his best work.   One of my best loved English composers is Gustav Holst, of Planets fame, and his uplifting homage to Jupiter The Bringer of Jollity includes the haunting melody that became I Vow to Thee My Country.  Cecil Spring Rice`s lyrics include the lines:-

The love that asks no questions, the love that stands the test

That lays upon the alter the dearest and the best

......and I can well imagine Leslie Thomas using these lines and the sentiment they express as the inspiration for his novel based on wartime in the New Forest with all its barely disguised settings of Beaulieu, Lyndhurst and others and all the anguish that wartime brought to the Forest villagers and their sacrifice and horror as they lost The Dearest and the Best of their own.

Now and again Mrs. Snopper encourages me to `have a sort out` of my eclectic bookshelves and I admit that almost all of my Leslie Thomas collection has gone to deserving charities over the years and it is only today, with the news of his passing, that I appreciate them even more.   I make a habit of visiting book shops and lately I have been looking to replace two or three of my favourite Thomas novels but sadly he seems to have gone out of fashion.   More`s the pity, for he beautifully and faithfully captured the essence of those times, those places and those people which he held with such true affection, in return for which he was himself held with affection and admiration by those of us of a certain age who cherish the same things as did he.  I am so sorry that he is no longer with us.

THEN AND NOW..

No surprise really that my choice for today is the photo above showing Sir Tom Finney CBE, OBE, about to take a corner much to the obvious joy of Deepdale schoolboys surrounding the pitch and admiring the exploits of a genuine local hero.  No fences, no `foul and abusive language,` no tribal chanting, not a sign of any trouble. Why, you can almost smell the Dubbin and hear the sound of rattles and cloth caps being waved. A distant memory, another era and yet one that was blessed with the likes of Tom Finney - Preston born and bred and a plumber by trade - 433 games for his home town club, scoring 187 goals, along with 76 caps for England and 30 goals - and all after serving his country in the Second World War in the Eighth Army campaigns in North Africa and Italy. 

And all for a maximum wage of just £14 a week.   It`s always sad, of course, to lose yet another from those bygone days and, with the passing of heroes like Sir Tom and last week the Glamorgan cricketer Bernard Hedges, also sad to lose a little more of the feel for and the personal identity with those long ago times.   In the many tributes to Sir Tom there have been constant references to his modesty, his honesty, his charm and of course, his supreme skill and sportsmanship.  

On the day that Tom Finney`s death was announced, a snippet from the parallel universe of modern day football revealed that Wayne Rooney is to be offered a new contract at Manchester United that will bring his wages up to £300,000 a week for five years.   I think I know which of the two represented value for money, not just on the field of play but also in those other areas of life by which we are judged.

ANOTHER QUIET PASSING...

I greeted the announcement of the death of Bernard Hedges not just with sadness at the passing of yet another boyhood hero but also it seemed to me to signal yet again the passing of those days when quiet, unassuming sportsmen went about their business shunning the limelight and, like Bernard, keeping their undoubted talent almost to themselves.  Those were the days before any unsocial media and perhaps the only image rights that came Bernard`s way were via the cards which, as a boy, I garnered from packets of Turf cigarettes discarded by a school chum`s father.

They were also the days before the up-market, up-tempo, commercially driven extravaganzas that diminish the spirit of cricket today and which are a far cry from the minimal exposure of the exploits of Bernard and his Glamorgan team mates.  Indeed, I remember picking up snippets about Bernard and other heroes - Harold Gimblett, Derek Shackleton, Horace Hazell, Vic Cannings and all those others - brought to life by the Basingstoke burr of John Arlott on our crackly Cossor radio.

Bernard Hedges left us peacefully on Saturday at the age of 86 from his home in the Mumbles, Swansea.  He had an 18-year career in first class cricket, amassing nearly 18,000 runs with 21 centuries in his 422 appearances for Glamorgan.   He wrote his name into the club`s record books in 1963 by scoring the county`s first ever century in a one-day game with an unbeaten 103 as well as taking two wickets and two catches against Somerset in their Gillette Cup match at Cardiff Arms Park.   Moreover, when the cricket season came to an end, he excelled too at Rugby, playing for Swansea RFC after playing for Pontypridd whilst still at school.

And so another hero of my youth leaves us quietly - perhaps too quietly for he and others like him deserve to be remembered more widely - and with him goes yet another from those quieter times, from those days of boyhood innocence and from a world that faded all too quickly.