Poetry Resource Pack

Key Stage 2 Cricket in poetry All years resource pack p1/11

INTRODUCTION

Cricket and cricketers have inspired poems of all styles and sizes. Here are a selection, some of which have a Yorkshire connection, for your inspiration.

Poem index 1. The Game by John Groves 2. 14 April by David Phillips 3. Poem by Gerald Bullett 4. To Sir Len Hutton by Colin Shakespeare* 5. Cricket calendar by Colin Shakespeare 6. Brian Close by Colin Shakespeare* 7. Picture of a Yorkshire Gritter in Six Overs by Jeff Clove* 8. Stumps drawn by Anon 9. Cricket by JS Fletcher 10. Centenary poem by Jack Whittaker* 11. In honour of Walter Fletcher by unknown author* * indicates the inclusion of additional Yorkshire related contextual information.

Notes Poems 1-9 were all originally published in, ‘A Breathless Hush…: The MCC Anthology of Cricket Verse’ edited by Hubert Doggart & David Rayvern. Poem 10 was contributed by Skipton Church Institute Cricket Club. Poem 11 was contributed by Menston Cricket Club.

Herbert Sutcliffe’s XI playing North Leeds Cricket Club, 21st April 1934 Reproduced courtesy of North Leeds Cricket Club

The Game by John Groves A painter’s sky over Lord’s A gentle zephyr, blowing without brace The crowd engaged in all that joy affords And England batting with admired grace. The sun ablaze, an unforgiving pitch, A bowler with a patriotic itch, A ticking scoreboard and a close-run thing, A resolute gull, high on a drowsy wing.

Though one team triumph, victory’s all the same: The winner is the beauty of the game.

Otley Cricket Club winning the Waddilove Cup, 2018 Reproduced courtesy of Otley Cricket Club

14 April by David Phillips Counted on the fingers of three hands A crowd wrapped up for the winter in the stands Applaud us into summer as we’re blown By gusting April winds which bite the bone.

And daffodils wave by the betting tent, An outstayed welcome in this endless lent; Horse chestnut buds keep resolutely sealed As fifteen men stand shivering in the field.

Until at last it’s lunchtime; chapped with cold We stagger up the steps and lunch is doled By ladies who think cricket meals a breeze: Cold ham salad, ice cream, iced tea, hard cheese.

Dave Hodgson seen maintaining the grounds at Kirkstall Educational Cricket Club Reproduced courtesy of John Heald www.johnhealdphotography.co.uk

Poem by Gerald Bullett Flowing together by devious channels From farm and brickyard, forest and dene, Thirteen men in glittering flannels Move to their stations out on the green.

Long-limbed Waggoner, stern, unbudging, Stands like a rock behind the bails, Dairyman umpire, gravely judging, Spares no thought for his milking-pails.

Two to the boundary, a four and six, Put the spectator in fear of their lives: Shepherd the slogger is up to his tricks, Blithely unwary of weans and wives.

Lord of the manor makes thirty-four, Parson contributes, smooth and trim, A cautious twelve to the mounting score: Leg-before-wicket disposes of him.

Patient, dramatic, serious, genial, From over to over the game goes on, Weaving a pattern of hardy perennial Civilization under the sun.

To Sir Len Hutton by Colin Shakespeare There was no violence in him, rather The quiet mathematician Given to geometrics And the study of angles, Arcs, Perimeters and perpendiculars, Curves and dividing lines, But rarely, rarely The parabola.

And the mystery of it all Was the mastery of it all.

About Sir Len Hutton (1916 - 1990) Len grew up in Fulneck, Pudsey with his four brothers and sisters. Many of his family played cricket so it wasn’t long before Len was a keen player too.

Len played his first match for Pudsey St Lawrence Cricket Club aged 12. He was coached by his neighbour, Yorkshire and England cricketer Herbert Sutcliffe. Sutcliffe saw that Len had talent and recommended him to Yorkshire County Cricket Club. Len went on to play for Yorkshire and England. He is remembered as one of the greatest batsmen in English cricket.

Len Hutton in 1948 © Unknown

Cricket Calendar by Colin Shakespeare January, and fresh hope rise July scoreboard threatening Like bubbles in champagne, Imminent disaster To head the averages Finds a hero emerging – Or be the team captain A minnow to master.

Boys blow hands to keep warm This August game can crowd It’s frosty and snowing, An hour into a minute, And soon with practised arm And silences grow loud They are snowball throwing To all the glories in it.

Pad up into the March nets Sponsored knock-out finals And practise the game indoors, With many fours and threes, Though not the same when it’s September festivals Played on hard wooden floors With sea air and marquees.

April, and spring is here October. With regret And life’s worth living, lads We put away our gear, Get out your cricket gear We were just getting set And buckle on your pads. But leaves say autumn’s here.

There’s a nip in the air November, with dinners, And some zip off the pitch, Talk, a tankard and toasts: And batsmen suspect there To the game, its winners; May be a tricky patch All visitors and hosts.

The game as it should be December could bring June sunshine the setting, Books for your stocking, Crowds and cricketers happy Giving joy to those of us And runs for the getting. Cricket crackers at Christmas.

Brian Close by Colin Shakespeare Not the loud fanfare of trumpets That leads to the boxing ring, But the long, slow, quiet walk To the square for cricketing, But in the make-up of the man There was the selfsame things.

To give an inch? Flinch from line? Or throw the towel in? With firmness of jaw Right hand or southpaw He’d lose his teeth before withdraw, Which is the cardinal sin.

About Brian Close (1931 – 2015) Brian grew up in Rawdon, Guiseley and Yeadon. As a child he played cricket with his keen cricketer dad, Harry, in their back garden. He joined Rawdon Cricket Club aged 11 and was so good that he was started playing for the U18 and 2nd team.

He was also a talented footballer and signed up for Leeds United as a teenager. Brian went on to play cricket for Yorkshire and England. At 18 he was the youngest man to play Test cricket for England. He is known for being an all-rounder: good at batting, bowling and fielding.

Brian Close in 1967 © Yorkshire County Cricket Club

Picture of a Yorkshire Gritter in Six Overs by Jeff Cloves Bow legger Bump hurler Toe pigeoneer Full tosser Hard hander Top spinner Quiff flicker Swing seamer Lick finger Late dipper Shine saver Sweet yorker

Shirt sailor Bat breaker Hitch trouser Hair parter Sleeve furler Bail lifter Black scowler Leg hitter Foot fleeter Slip catcher Charge downer Stump wheeler

Chest heaver Appealer Arm wrestler Sky pleader Heart beater Heaven helper Body liners Tyke oather Dip shoulder Loud mouther Maiden over Fire eater

About Fred Trueman (1931 – 2006) Fred grew up in Stainton, near Maltby in the West Riding of Yorkshire. He started playing cricket at school. As a teenager he was coached by Bill Bowes who had played for Menston and Kirkstall Educational Cricket Clubs before having a successful career with Yorkshire and England.

During his career with Yorkshire County Cricket Club and England Fred played alongside Brian Close who had started his career at Rawdon Cricket Club. Fred Trueman is widely thought Fred Trueman demonstrating his bowling style © Wisden to be one of the greatest England bowlers of all time. He was known to many as Fiery Fred.

Stumps drawn by Anon He played cricket on the heath, The pitch was full of bumps: A fast ball hit him in the teeth, The dentist drew the stumps.

Cricket by JS Fletcher A fig for your doctors, their pills and their plaisters; There’s nothing like cricket for liver or brain! A trot o’er the turf, ‘twixt’ the wickets, my masters,

Will soon make a sick man sound again! For in the make-up of the main The square was a boxing ring.

Leeds Modernians playing against Menston Cricket Club under the careful eye of the umpire Reproduced courtesy of Leeds Modernians Cricket Club

Skipton Church Institute Cricket Club centenary poem by Jack Whittaker One hundred years of glorious cricket Of flashing blades and falling wickets One hundred years of cricket teas, Of pies and sandwiches all to please.

To be a part of such a scene, To play a part in such a team, That’s conquered all that life could throw Against you. Yes, you’re good to know.

The fun you’ve had and the tales you’ve told, Funny – tragic – hilarious – bold. The miserable days of wind and wet, And the lovely days of heat and sweat.

The planning and the meetings and “Can we raise the money?” The desperate times when life was not a jar of honey. But you did persist, and kept alive A club who’s name will long survive.

I give a toast, Let’s raise a glass, To a band of stalwarts, highest class. Who’ve kept the CI banner high, Let upwards and onward be their cry.

EXCELSIOR

Jack Whittaker played for Foulridge Cricket Club. He wrote this poem in honour of the centenary celebrations of their rival team at Skipton Church Institute in 1982.

In honour of Walter Fletcher by author unknown Who is it that runs MCC? Who gathers in the LSD into the empty treasury? our Walter

Who keeps the players up to scratch? Who groans when they miss a catch? Who’s on the ground at every match? our Walter

Who’s always on the spot to see the team depart – who makes the tea? Who does the work of any three? our Walter

Who’s always kept us out of debt? In summers fine and summers wet. Who is it we’ll ne’er forget? our Walter

About Walter Fletcher At Menston Cricket Club’s New Year’s Eve Dance in 1936, testimonials and tokens of appreciation were presented to Walter Fletcher. Walter had been an outstanding member of the club for over 50 years. He was elected a Life Member in the early 1930s. This poem of tribute was read in recognition of Walter’s involvement with the club.

Presented at the same time as the poem was the decorative address in Walter’s honour (top right). It was written by students from Bradford College of Art. Like the poem, it pays a glowing tribute to Walter’s loyal service and dedication to Menston Cricket Club over many years.

Walter died in 1945 and his ashes are scattered at the Club. The handwritten note (bottom right) was written when he died.