Snow......Sun

4.00 am, and the snow is whirling through the blackness outside my window., bowling in from the east. Some five thousand miles east of that and five and a half hours ahead of it, a heat haze shimmers over the ground which still bears the name of Madras Cricket Club. Chennai: the final day of the first Test Match against India, This is the situation. England won the toss and amassed a monumental 518, thanks largely to a masterly double century from captain, Joe Root. India mustered 337 in reply. Then England, rather than enforce the follow-on, batted again for 178. Thus, India need an unlikely 420 to win and they have already lost one wicket, yesterday evening, to Jack Leach. In reality this means that they have to bat all day to rescue an honourable draw, or England must take nine wickets to win the match. Which is why cricket is such a tantalising game and why I am up at this early hour to watch it, courtesy of Channel 4.

Chennai, the Bay of Bengal in the background

*

I was born in the snow, in the deep winter of 1947 and I am hoping a few memories of snow will surface. I recall rolling up thick layers of snow like a white duvet as the basis for a snowman. There must have been snowball fights…a teacher scolding a malicious boy for concealing a stone in his snowball. But images of sunshine and warmth flash upon the inward eye too.

*

Nothing like the humid heat of Chennai, though. 4.20 and Pujara falls to Leach..another wicket for the left-arm spinner. 58 - 2.

Jack Leach, spinning fingers tightly wrapped round the ball

England’s other spinner, Dom Bess comes on at the other end to replace Jofra Archer. He wears green sunglasses and his face is white with suncream. He cannot find his length and Shubman Gill hits him for a straight six. The to and fro….

*

We survived the hot summers of childhood without the use of suncream, careering around the common tall with ferns which we uprooted for spears, or climbing the haystacks, making dens among the bales. We didn’t go bare-chested in those days; nor did the farmhands, even in the scorching heat of haymaking. In summer our faces, arms and legs were golden brown, our torsos a milky white.

*

Gill and the Indian captain, Virat Kohli, are ‘milking’ singles. They are settling to their task. Gill takes advantage of some loose bowling from Bess and despatches him for four to bring up his 50. It is around 5.00 am.

Spin bowling has gone out of fashion somewhat over here, partly due to wickets being covered — so they do not get exposed to the weather so much — and also to the increased reliance on containing seam bowling, especially in the one-day game. When I first became aware of cricket, the great spin duo of Tony Lock and Jim Laker were a real force in Test cricket. And in the late ‘60’s Derek Underwood, the left-arm spinner, was a regular member of the England side. He was known as ‘Deadly’ for the consistent accuracy of his bowling. A great Indian spinner of the time was the beturbaned Bishan Bedi, who floated the ball through the air deceiving the batsman with flight and guile. The sub-continent has, with the exception of Shane Warne, always produced the best spinners, the hard, abrasive pitches assisting their every turn. Muttiah Muralitharan from Sri Lanka and Anil Kumble of India are still first and third in the all-time test wicket takers.

I tried my hand at spin bowling once. I could never manage the wristy action of leg-spin but I attempted to spin off-breaks, I could never really get it to turn much, though, however much I practised against the lean-to at the back of our house. In the end I resorted to a steady medium pace.

Joe Root, blue sunglasses clamped to his cap, decides a change of bowling is due and for the first time in the innings brings on James Anderson. Thirty-eight years old and still going strong, he runs in and with his second ball uproots Gill’s off stump. The replay shows the pronounced reverse swing Anderson has imparted to the aging ball. Rahane comes to the crease and is rapped on the pad. After a review, not out. But no matter, for the next ball sends his off stump cartwheeling away too. India now 92-4. The players pause for drinks as do I. It is time for my second large cup of tea. The snow still swirls through the dark.

Snow scene 1

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In winter I woke to find fronds of frost on my bedroom windows. My feet froze on the cold green linoleum as I breathed a little hole in the ice to peer out at the white garden beyond. Taps froze and the top of the milk became a column of solid cream forcing up the silver foil cap. Car radiators had to be drained. My father placed an oil lamp beneath the engine at night to stop it freezing up.

*

Kohli and Pant quell the mayhem for a while, the Indian captain stepping outside the off-stump to counter Anderson’s reverse swing and at 5.10 the hundred comes up. Can this pair steady the ship and save the day for India? Anderson clearly thinks not. He bowls a slower ball, an off-cutter, Pant gets a leading edge and offers up a simple catch to Root at short cover. 110-5 and it’s only 5.20.

Jimmy Anderson about to deliver

*

There is a quality in top sportsmen which I recognise but can never quite comprehend, let alone acquire. Self-belief. Of course there is the abundance of natural talent, the intensive training, the support of coaches and ‘team spirit’, but that determination, that conviction that you can and will succeed at the top level is what makes players like Anderson or Root or Kohli.

Such self-belief has never been one of my strongest assets. I sometimes wish someone, somewhere in my wayward youth had taken me by the scruff of the neck and given me some hard training. This is not to shift the blame — my own dilatoriness, my propensity to drift into fantasy was the real culprit. It wasn’t just sport, it was life, it was everything, other people, girls. A wintry episode…..

Day Rover

He couldn’t remember the overtures but
there must have been language – it was his thing
after all and his word of the moment was indeed.
So, Meet? Where? Get rover ticket? Indeed…

Whatever, they sat on the top deck
at the front on the bench seat, looking out
at the snow. He kept wiping away
the steam with his scarf.

 Why her? they’d said. She’s got a tongue on her.
Wouldn’t touch her with a ….
He stroked his beardless chin, Indeed, indeed.

 But she sat by him darkly, unspeaking.
He glanced across and saw her pale nape and
the curl of her hair escaping, and swallowed.
The miles surrendered to the white silence.

 Then the excursion into the woods, and the black
briars arching through the snow snagging
their boots, and their breath ghosting the damp air,
and her mittened hands -- was as far as it got.

 When loud against the soundless flakes
Do you like the way I say ‘Indeed’ he said.
I didn’t know you did she said.

 He couldn’t remember what else but
there must have been an ending – his finger
pressing the bell, an alighting of sorts,
bootprints going in different directions.

 But all that came to mind was the Monday,
she with her sniggering friends as
she looked away when he passed
and indeed indeed echoing down the corridors.

*

The camera pans over the ground bathed in sunlight, the sea glinting in the distance, the pre-recorded hum of the phantom crowd drifting through the air. Dom Bess has replaced Leach, bowls at Sundar who prods forward and nicks a fine edge to the waiting gloves of Buttler. 117-6. ‘England are in dreamland’ opines Alastair Cook from the studio.. Ravichandran Ashwin, India’s best spinner, comes in to face the music, in this case from Jofra Archer who proceeds to batter him, twice on the hand then on the helmet. The physio is kept busy. Mercifully for Ashwin, it is lunch.

*

Here it is 6.00 am. I tune into R4 for the news. It is all about vaccines, variants, closures, mental health (or lack of it) The radio is on but my mind has turned off. I cannot take in the ever shifting regulations, the swathes of statistics, the mixed messages, the confusion. I just do not care. I make myself a bacon sandwich and peer out of my window. It is still dark. The snow is horizontal.

Snow scene 2

*

In Chennai England are emerging from the pavilion. What did they have for lunch, I wonder. Did they avoid the curry, a ploy often used in the past to lay a visiting team low?

Virat Kohli, the Indian captain

An edged boundary brings Virat Kohli his fifty…a master batsman, key to any hope of India’s survival. He and Ashwin, now armoured with bandages and arm-guards, push the score along in a quiet period of play. Until Leach, now back on, spins the ball fiercely out of the crumbling red earth and has Ashwin caught behind. 171-7.

*

Here, around 7.30, a low, grey light is arising, day at last. While on the TV screen the Bay of Bengal shimmers in a blue heat, here the North Sea is a haze of driving sleet. My mind spools back in time to the flying scarves and flapping raincoats of my schoolmates at Junior School sliding across the ice in the yard. At the first fall of snow we would stamp it down to compact it and make the longest slide we could in the space available. Then it became ice and we queued to sprint up and hurl our thin bodies down the slide and like as not end up in a squealing heap of flailing limbs at the other end. Health and Safety did not exist then. Snowballs were thrown freely, even after the stone incident, and teachers were nowhere to be seen at break, all huddled in the staff-room with their tea and cigarettes.

Snow scene 3

*

My attention reels back to the cricket. Ben Stokes has come on to bowl at Kohli, now on 72. He fires one in and even the fine Kohli is beaten, his off stump flying through the air. A mighty imagined cheer from the English crowd, had there been one. The danger man is gone. At the other end Jack Leach is wheeling away into the dust, close fielders crouched round the bat….an edge and Nadeem is caught by Burns, out for a duck. Jasprit Bumrah is the last man in and Root brings Archer back on to bowl. After a streaky four Bumrah gets an edge and Buttler takes the catch. India are all out for192. England have won by 227 runs. It has just turned 8.00. This is the first time India have lost on home soil in four years and England’s sixth successive away victory..

Joe Root, England’s victorious captain

*

It is difficult to know what to do. I’d reckoned on the cricket keeping me occupied till at least 11. I briefly contemplate going back to bed, but outside the sky is brightening and it is approaching high tide. I shall walk along the shore — not exactly the balmy waters of the Bay of Bengal, but the crisp, cold, snow white waves crests of the North Sea will suffice. And I shall rewind the Test Match in my head, a wonderful five days of cricket, the sort of game that could only happen given that span of five days to evolve. I will savour again Joe Root’s imperious batting, that fantastic spell of bowling from Jimmy Anderson, Jack Leach plugging away with his spin and getting his rewards, not to mention some superb catching from Root, Anderson and Stokes.. So much to warm the heart in a cold climate, and this evening, with the warmth of India still in my head, perhaps I’ll have a curry. I might even chance a Madras.

Still Life