Read Ebook {PDF EPUB} Autobiography by Neville Cardus The Great Romantic by Duncan Hamilton – one of the best biographies of a sports writer. N eville Cardus’s death in early 1975 coincides in my memory with getting hold of two hotly desired things: Bob Dylan’s new album Blood on the Tracks , at last another masterpiece after a long, long wait; and John Fowles’s The Ebony Tower , “only” a collection of stories, unlike his zeitgeist-defining novels The Magus and The French Lieutenant’s Woman , but still hugely exciting to a 23-year-old. Well, more than 40 years on, Dylan’s reputation remains largely intact, but not so those of the others. “For a long time Sir Neville Cardus was regarded as cricket’s greatest writer,” according to the sports journalist Gideon Haigh. “Then he wasn’t.” Haigh introduces a new selection of Cardus’s essays and reportage with the appropriately evocative title A Field of Tents and Waving Colours (it is published by Safe Haven without an editor’s name). Thoughtfully arranged, and covering a span from the honeymoon 1920s to the often grumpy-old-man 60s and 70s, it includes many of Cardus’s greatest hits. “By Three Runs”, for instance, that still haunting account of how poor old Fred Tate had potential glory thrust on him at Old Trafford in 1902 but cruelly missed the moment; or “The Defeat at Eastbourne”, as the veteran Archie MacLaren masterminded the first win in 1921 over the hitherto all-conquering Australians; or “Bradman, 1930”, an early draft of history about “this remarkable boy” who was changing cricket’s very terms of trade. These and other pieces nicely complement Duncan Hamilton’s new biography of Cardus. The Great Romantic has a strongly personal flavour, especially its tour de force of a prologue, relating in affectionate detail how John Arlott in the 70s, by this time occupying Cardus’s old post as the Guardian’s cricket correspondent, tutored the young author (working as a local sports reporter) in an appreciation of Cardus. Thereafter the interest seldom falters, the tone is mainly admiring but far from hagiographical, and there is less of the self-consciously “fine” writing that has occasionally marred Hamilton’s otherwise terrific run of books in recent years about sporting history. It is a shame perhaps that he does not take us match by match through a typical Cardus season during his golden years between the wars, or compare more forensically his reports with those of other cricket journalists of the time; there is also the odd slip (MacLaren’s “last hurrah” was not at Eastbourne but the following year at Wellington, as he took a majestic 200 not out off the New Zealand attack; Chamberlain returned with his infamous piece of paper not from Berchtesgaden but from Munich). But with its verve, insight and generosity of sympathy, this is by some way the best full-length life of a cricket writer, perhaps even of any sports writer. Cardus’s early years are a biographer’s gift. The absentee blacksmith father, the mother and aunt who make ends meet by working as part-time prostitutes, the mean streets of Manchester around the turn of the last century, leaving school at 13, the endless autodidact hours (no influence greater than Dickens), the array of different jobs before finally landing a bits-and-pieces berth on the Manchester Guardian. Then the breakdown in the spring of 1919, the inspired decision at the start of that summer’s cricket season to give him some fresh air by sending him to Old Trafford to report on Lancashire’s first peacetime match. Hamilton does it very well, but in truth no one has told the story better than Cardus himself in his bestselling (and infinitely moving) Autobiography. Instead, where Hamilton really scores is in his candid treatment of Cardus in the years after he won almost instant fame for his cricket writing (followed in due course by considerable acclaim for his music criticism, including teaching the English about the virtues of Mahler). This makes, for his loyal admirers, somewhat uncomfortable reading. Cardus took more than he gave in relation to the women of his life; his conversational tendencies became increasingly egocentric; the charged politics of the interwar period almost completely passed him by; and, going beyond a social inferiority complex – understandable in what was still a very hierarchical and class-based society – he seems to have craved establishment recognition and approval. Though a knighthood in 1967 was very acceptable, in cricketing terms recognition meant above all full membership of the MCC – which, grotesquely enough, was denied to him until 1972, the price of being born not only on the wrong side of the tracks, but to a real-life version of EM Forster’s Jacky Bast. In the end, of course, it is the work that counts. Cardus was a wonderful and innovative cricket writer for many reasons – evocation of atmosphere, a rich aesthetic sense, heightening the drama of the contest, an almost uncanny grasp of what the spectators were thinking and feeling – but above all because he understood and made human, as rich, three-dimensional characters, the cricketers themselves, especially the Lancashire team of the 1920s that he followed around the country, together with a starring role for Yorkshire’s indomitable Emmott Robinson. No one before Cardus had remotely conceived in this way of cricket’s literary possibilities; and for all the excellence of disciples like RC Robertson-Glasgow and Alan Ross, as well as Arlott, no one has quite matched him since. So what’s the problem? Why, to come back to Haigh, has he been dethroned? In essence, apart perhaps from the vagaries of changing literary taste, the accusation is that he made things up, indulging in deliberate fabrication. Hamilton faces the issue square-on, citing for instance the Cardus-written version of a conversation after a Lancashire fielder, Dick Tyldesley, had in a bitterly contested Roses match announced to the umpire that he had not quite taken a catch cleanly and ensured the departing batsman was recalled. “A fine piece of sportsmanship, Dick,” Cardus said, eliciting the understated reply, “Thanks, Maister Cardus”. That was the actual conversation, but Cardus subsequently put an extra – and immortal – sentence in the cricketer’s mouth: “Westhoughton Sunday School, tha knows”. Over the years there were many other such examples, and Cardus himself would unashamedly call it “the higher truth”. Hamilton’s own conclusion is clear. “The admissions Cardus made about tampering with quotes damages him irreparably as a scrupulous nuts- and-bolts news reporter, but never as a critic – and certainly not as a master of descriptive prose.” That was also Arlott’s view; and it is mine, too. “Nice customs curtsy to great kings,” was how Wisden, quoting Shakespeare, once sought to exonerate WG Grace’s avaricious shamateurism. And in his own way, largely creating modern literary sports writing, Cardus was as much a great king as the original bearded wonder. Autobiography by Neville Cardus. Text of a tribute by Alan Gibson Since we are in a church, I thought it proper that we should have a text. Hear then these words from the prophet Blake (I am not sure whether Blake was one of Sir Neville's favourites, though he has recalled how enthusiastically he would join in 'Jerusalem' in his days with the Ancoats Brotherhood). Blake wrote, in Auguries of Innocence : Joy and woe are woven fine, A clothing for the soul divine; Under every grief and pine Runs a thread of silken twine. On an occasion such as this, joy and woe are inseparable companions: thanksgiving for such a life, sadness that it has ended. But more than that: it was the mingling of joy and woe that made Sir Neville such a writer -- the sensitivity to the human condition, not least his own; the ability to observe it, and to communicate what he saw, with detachment and yet with passion. His books are full of humour: rich comedy, sometimes almost slapstick, and yet he keeps us hovering between tears and laughter. For always he is conscious, and makes us conscious, of the fragility of happiness, of the passing of time. He loved the good moments all the more avidly because he knew they were fleeting. There is no need to recite his achievement. His autobiographical books, the crown of his life's work, have done that already. His early cricket books gave him a reputation for fancy writing. The words lyrical, rhapsodical, were sometimes applied to him, usually by people who would not know a lyric from a rhapsody. These terms were still jostled about long after they had any possible justification, to Sir Neville's wry amusement. His mature prose was marked by clarity, balance, and indeed by restraint, though he never shrank from emotion or from beauty. Perhaps George Orwell was as good a writer of prose; or you may think of P. G. Wodehouse, or Bernard Darwin -- everyone has his own favourites -- but in this century it is not easy to think of many more in the same class. I remember clearly how I was introduced to Cardus's writing. It was in August, 1935. We were on holiday in Cornwall, at St. Ives, and my father was buying me a book, because of some small family service I had done. I said I would like a cricket book, and the choice narrowed to two: a book of reminiscences attributed to Hendren, I think it was, and Good Days, by Neville Cardus. I doubt if I had heard of Cardus then, because it was difficult to get The Manchester Guardian in the south of England. I was inclined to Hendren, but father was inclined to Cardus. Father won. We bought Good Days. Father read it before I did, though I have more than made up for that since. Most of us, perhaps half a dozen times in our lives, read books -- not always famous books -- which change us, change our thinking, books which open doors, revelatory books. That was one of mine. It was the essay on Emmott Robinson that did it -- do you remember it? -- when Cardus imagined that the Lord one day gathered together a heap of Yorkshire clay, and breathed into it, and said `Emmott Robinson, go on and bowl at the pavilion end for Yorkshire'. And then the next bit, about how Emmott's trousers were always on the point of falling down, and he would remember to grab them just in time. All cricket writers of the last half century have been influenced by Cardus, whether they admit it or not, whether they have wished to be or not, whether they have tried to copy him or tried to avoid copying him. He was not a model, any more than Macaulay, say, was a model for the aspiring historian. But just as Macaulay changed the course of the writing of history, Cardus changed the course of the writing of cricket. He shewed what could be done. He dignified and illuminated the craft. It was, it has occurred to me, fortunate for cricket that Bradman and Cardus existed at the same time: fortunate for them, too, since the best of batsmen was recorded by the best of critics. Each was worthy of the other. In the music of Sir Neville's time, at least in English music, there was never one figure quite so dominant as Bradman. "Elgar, Delius and Beecham were," he wrote, "the three most original spirits known in English music since Purcell, if we leave out Sullivan." He said it with a shadow of a wink, as if to say, "and take it out of that." You remember how he described Delius, when he met him in what now seem the improbable surroundings of the Langham Hotel: "His attendant carried him into the sitting-room of his suite and flopped him down on a couch, where he fell about like a rag doll until he was arranged into a semblance of human shape. There was nothing pitiable in him, nothing inviting sympathy in this wreck of a physique. He was wrapped in a monk-like gown, and his face was strong and disdainful, every line on it grown by intrepid living." There is a picture for you; there is a piece of prose for you. As for Sir Thomas Beecham, he is always bursting out of Cardus's pages and making his own way. It was with some difficulty that Cardus stopped his splendid Aunt Beatrice from conquering his first autobiographical book. He never quite stopped Beecham, any more than Shakespeare ever quite stopped Falstaff taking charge of Henry the Fourth. Perhaps the most remarkable episode in the life of Cardus, going by what he said himself, and one to which we should refer here, was his conversion. I think the word is properly used: I mean his conversion to music. It was achieved by one of the minor saints: Edward German. He was watching a production of a light opera, Tom Jones , at the Prince's Theatre, Manchester. He had gone there because he was reading Henry Fielding, but, he says, "the music of Edward German got past my ears and entered into my mind behind my back." Only twenty months after that first experience, he was listening to the first performance of Elgar's Symphony in A Flat, and wondering, with the other musicians in the audience, how Elgar was going to cope with such a long first subject. He used to say that he was baffled that it should have been Edward German who had first revealed the light: yet he should not have been. It was all of a piece with the man and his thought. When Beecham and MacLaren, and Bradman and Ranjitsinhji, and Elgar came within the experience of Cardus, he rose to them and did them justice -- but he was capable of being moved, such was his sense of humanity, by men who were no more than good county bowlers, Emmott Robinson or Edward German. Joy and woe are woven fine. They are not alien, they are complementary, A clothing for the soul divine. And in another part of that poem, Blake says. It is right it should be so, Man was made for joy and woe, And when this we rightly know, Safely through the world we go. I am not sure whether Sir Neville Cardus would approve of that as an epitaph: but he is probably too busy to bother just now, arguing with Bernard Shaw. Wisden Cricketers' Almanack. Neville Cardus Biography, Life, Interesting Facts. Sir John Frederick Neville Cardus was born on April 3, 1888 , in Rusholme, Manchester. His mother was Ava Cardus, but the identity of his father is not known. Ava got married to a blacksmith, John Frederick Newsome when she was pregnant with Neville, but later divorced. To take care of household finances, Ava turned to prostitution. Cardus attended a local school board school. He was a mediocre student but developed an interest in writing. His first work appeared in The Boy’s World magazine, while he was still in school. Eventually, Cardus left school but continued to read and write. In 1900 his grandfather died, and he began working in several jobs to support his living. During this time, he read a lot of philosophical, literary and scientific books and attended classes at Manchester University. There he also started to play cricket in his spare time. Beginning Of Career. After playing cricket in Manchester cricket league, Cardus applied for an assistant cricket coach job at Shrewsbury School. He got the job and began working in 1912. Eventually, he became the headmaster’s secretary and worked at the school until 1916. During this time, Cardus was also writing for a Manchester publication Daily Citizen. In 1917, he began working for the Manchester Guardian in an unpaid position. However, his abilities as a writer eventually earned him a paid job, and he began writing his column. In 1918, he was made a junior drama critic, but he mostly covered music criticism. A major break in his career came in 1919 when Cardus was asked to cover a cricket game. His report was on a game between Lancashire and Derbyshire. He began to write similar reports and in 1920 was made the cricket corresponded of Manchester Guardian. He held this position over the next two decades. In 1919, he also became the deputy of the chief music critic Samuel Langford and after seven years became the chief music critic. Later Years. Throughout 1920, Cardus mostly covered cricket games in Lancashire, especially the games against the rival team Yorkshire. His style of writing became majorly popular, and in 1936, he was asked to come to Australia to cover the Ashes series. After the World War II broke out, Cardus was left without a job. In 1939, he began working for The Herald and covered a tour by Sir Thomas Beecham. He moved to The Sydney Morning Herald and worked as a music writer. While living in Australia, Cardus wrote his books Ten Composers and Autobiography. In 1946, he covered the Ashes cricket series for three newspapers. In 1948, Cardus collaborated with The Sunday Times and The London Evening Standard for a brief moment. He then decided to go back to Australia. He covered the 1950 Ashes cricket series and moved back to England to work as music critic for The Manchester Guardian. During the 1950s and 1960s, Cardus continued to work as a cricket writer for several esteemed publications. In 1953, he wrote for the prestigious Wisden Cricketers Almanack and covered the Ashes series of 1953 and 1954. Personal Life. In 1921, Cardus married the actress and art teacher Edith King . They were married for 47 years until Edith’s death. The couple often lived separately, and they did not have any children. Cardus died on February 28, 1975. In 1964, Cardus was made the Commander of the Order of the British Empire. Two years later, he was honored with knighthood by the Queen. Neville Cardus : biography. Cardus’s contribution to cricket writing has been acknowledged by various commentators on the game. John Arlott wrote: "Before him, cricket was reported … with him it was for the first time appreciated, felt, and imaginatively described." Howat commented: "He would have his imitators and parodists, and no serious cricket writer would remain unaffected by him". His influence on his successors was more specifically acknowledged by Gibson: "All cricket writers of the last half century have been influenced by Cardus, whether they admit it or not, whether they have wished to be or not, whether they have tried to copy him or tried to avoid copying him. He was not a model, any more than Macaulay, say, was a model for the aspiring historian. But just as Macaulay changed the course of the writing of history, Cardus changed the course of the writing of cricket. He showed what could be done. He dignified and illuminated the craft". As a music critic, Cardus’s romantic, instinctive approach was the opposite of Newman’s objective school of musical criticism. Initially in awe of Newman’s reputation, Cardus soon discovered his own independent, more subjective voice.Daniels, pp. 99–100 A fellow critic wrote that Newman "probed into Music’s vitals, put her head under deep X-ray and analysed cell-tissue. Cardus laid his head against her bosom and listened to the beating of her heart."Brookes, p. 137 Despite their different approaches, the two writers held each other in considerable regard; at times, Newman’s own prose showed the influence of Cardus’s style. Among leading musicians who have paid tribute to Cardus, Yehudi Menuhin wrote that he "reminds us that there is an understanding of the heart as well as of the mind … in Neville Cardus, the artist has an ally". Colin Davis highlighted "the quality and verve of Cardus’s writing", which had made him a household name.Daniels, p. xix. Beside his CBE and knighthood, Cardus received numerous honours from the musical and cricketing worlds, at home and overseas. In 1963 he was awarded the City of Bayreuth’s Wagner Medal; he was given honorary membership of the Royal Manchester College of Music in 1968, and of the Royal Academy of Music in 1972. The Hallé Orchestra honoured him with two special concerts in April 1966 to mark his long association with the orchestra. In 1970 he received the Austrian Cross of Honour for Science and Art, 1st class. Among the honours he most valued was the presidency of Lancashire County Cricket Club, which he accepted in 1971.Brookes, p. 245. Cardus was not an "establishment" figure. His friends encountered initial resistance when they sought his election to the MCC, although he was eventually accepted in 1958.Brookes, pp. 200–01 He was denied the civic honour of the Freedom of the City of Manchester, and although he made light of this omission he was hurt by it. Long after his death, the city named a pathway close to the rebuilt Summer Place "Neville Cardus Walk". Aside from formal institutional recognition, Cardus was highly regarded by prominent individual cricketers and musicians, as indicated by the "tribute book" he received at his 70th birthday celebration lunch. The book included contributions from Wilfred Rhodes, Jack Hobbs and Len Hutton, and also from Klemperer, Elisabeth Schwarzkopf and Bruno Walter. He managed to maintain close friendships with Beecham and Sir John Barbirolli, though the two conductors cordially disliked one another.Lucas, pp. 308–10. In the conventional sense, Cardus was not a religious man; Dennis Silk, a one-time MCC president, suggests that Cardus’s religion was "friendship".Daniels, p. xxii In Autobiography Cardus says he found his Kingdom of Heaven in the arts, "the only religion that is real and, once found, omnipresent"—though his rationalism was shaken, he confesses, when he came to understand the late string quartets of Beethoven. He ends his autobiography by declaring: "If I know that my Redeemer liveth it is not on the church’s testimony, but because of what Handel affirms".Cardus: Autobiography , p. 281. Within the relaxed framework of his marriage, Cardus enjoyed relationships with many women. These included Hilda "Barbe" Ede, with whom he shared a passionate affair in the 1930s before her sudden death in 1937;Brookes, pp. 123–25 Cardus referred to her as "Milady", and devoted a chapter of Full Score to her.Cardus: Full Score , pp. 67–74 After his return from Australia his closest women friends were Margaret Hughes and Else Mayer-Lismann, to whom he referred respectively as his "cricket wife" and his "music wife". Hughes, who was more than 30 years younger than Cardus, became his literary executor after his death, and edited several collections of his cricketing and musical writings. Books by Cardus. The list includes all original works together with collections, anthologies and books edited or jointly edited by Cardus. Posthumous publications are included. Publication year relates to the original edition; many of the books have been reissued, often by different publishers. Neville Cardus Autobiography by Cardus Neville. About this Item: Hardcover. Condition: Good. A good condition copy lacking dust jacket. Light cloth boards with shelf wear to the edges, corners and spine. Contens are lightly tanned with clear uncreased pages, a good book. Good condition is defined as: a copy that has been read but remains in clean condition. All of the pages are intact and the cover is intact and the spine may show signs of wear. The book may have minor markings which are not specifically mentioned. Most items will be dispatched the same or the next working day. Seller Inventory # mon0012312658.