For some years when I was growing up, playing cricket all summer was something of an institution. I got my first cricket bat for a Christmas present and faithfully applied linseed oil - rubbing it until it glowed. Then dad gave me an even better present - he built me a cricket pitch.
We lived on a 10 acre property and there was a section of clay soil that wasn't planted with any crops over the burning summer so it was a perfect location. The dimensions were exact, the surface levelled perfectly - yes, you could really do the car key test on it.
So the neighbor's kids and other friends turned up and we were set. Most of them were boys but that was neither here nor there - there was cricket to be played.
House rules were pretty simple - if it went over the channel you were six and out - and had to go get the ball. And girls (not me of course) didn't have to bowl properly - and you weren't allowed to bowl really hard at the girls either (they were girls after all - didn't want them crying). Oh, and the game finished went the sun went down.
So our version of Lillie and Thommo and Marsh and the Chappells and dozens of other individuals from various other international teams starred at their respective, batting, bowling or fielding talents. And not only did we have the Test matches to draw on for inspiration - there was that new game of one day cricket that was making its mark.
It was magic and one of the true highlights of my life.
I did thank my Dad for building me my beloved pitch just last year. He had no memory of it at all. He did recall mowing a bit of grass near the pine tree at one point where we all had a bit of a whack every now and then but that was it. Could that be all it was? I certainly don't care - I like my version of the story so much better - and I still dream of linseed oil, and hot summer days and the whack of the ball. Magic!
5 comments:
No wonder you love cricket Ms MG, how lovely of you to thank your dad too, you are such a sweetie xo
Great memories...we had a place in the backyard and would play for hours...each school holidays would see poor grans lawn torn up and the flowers behind the stumps skittled...
till like your dad our grandfather mowed a strip in the back paddock. Now I watch the children in my street play and the next batter races out for the stumps if a car comes...the girls are out feilding and it always gets to late for them to bat...Mmmmm
The old bastion of boys and girls and cricket - it does work if they are playing with your bat and ball but I had the pitch :-)
And it was such an obvious thing to thank my Dad Kyles, great great memories. A little disappointing to realize the truth under the memory but I can play delusional lol
Just remember it as you like , MG, -your father might not have realised the impact that what he has given you in memories would have.
I guess cricket is your version of American Baseball. I totally enjoy going to watch a game in person, but have a hard time sitting still to watch it on t.v., and am too afraid of a hard ball hurdling towards me to ever play... so when we were kids, we usually played kick-ball instead. That ball didn't usually hurt if you got hit with it.
Post a Comment