Issue 31

The Club’s website lists Carlton’s honours going back to 1974. But there are some interesting triumphs from prior years. Long before the formal league structure that we have today, newspapers used to compile unofficial leagues drawn from match results which they dutifully reported. Cricket was not the only game that was reported in this way, there was an unofficial rugby championship similarly compiled. Since not all teams played each other – far less home and away – the outcomes could be a little strange. See for example the league table below which is taken from the Evening Despatch of August 1930. (The Evening Despatch published from 1886 until 1963 when it was merged with the Evening News). The newspaper awarded Carlton the East of Scotland Championship, despite the fact that they won only 4 counting matches. The triumph was due to Carlton having lost no matches. Were there celebrations at Grange Loan on the last day of the season? It seems unlikely. ‘Play’, NL Stevenson’s comprehensive history of Carlton from its founding to 1943, skips over 1930 without a mention of the honour. The author does however report that during that season the club fielded a team with 7 doctors in the line up. He also reports how he had invited the visiting Australian side to dinner when their skipper, Bill Woodfull, began to complain of toothache. Stevenson, a practising dentist, opened his surgery and ‘to the Australian captain’s surprise, he presently found himself a patient of his erstwhile host, with his fellow diners all anxious to assist.’ Three teeth were extracted – allowing Stevenson to dine out on having taken all three stumps of the Australian skipper. 3 years later Woodfull, still skipper of Australia and, missing teeth notwithstanding, had lost none of his bite He was a central figure in the Bodyline series. Having been hit under the heart by a short ball from Harold Larwood, he responded to Pelham Warner’s inquiry as to his health with the immortal line which sparked off a foreign policy crisis: ‘There are two teams out there, one is playing cricket. The other is making no attempt to do so.’ CHAMPIONS!

It’s great to get the opportunity to reflect again on our championship winning match against Clydesdale back in 2016. You can read what happened in the match report on the club’s website so I will aim here to give you a different perspective with a couple of my stand out memories from the day. As captain/coach I had made a conscious effort all season to not talk about or focus on winning. Strange you may think, however, I knew we had a great team, a team of winners... who were all motivated to win... so we didn’t need any extra motivation or distractions by focusing on any outcomes, we needed to focus on our own individual and collective processes - of executing our skills to the best of our ability. My teammates will tell you this was boring!! But it kept our feet on the ground and focused on what we really had to do! There were long debates over the make up of the team before the final. Mainly over the last bowling slot. Omar had not been having his greatest season but in the end I wanted his experience and calmness under pressure in the biggest game of the year.... and boy did he deliver with two Omar specials in two balls (very slow, big away swing, bit of etc bounce, perfect line and length, clipping the outside edge... poetry in ultra slow motion!). Champions Again! Skipper and coach Stevie Gilmour reflects on Carlton’s championship win in 2016. (Spoiler alert - it was slightly different from 1930!) However, I think Omsy was inspired that day by his hero Fraggle Watts taking THE greatest outfield catch of all time whilst he was dreaming down at 3rd man about his hero Hugo muscling the game away from Clydesdale. Buy Frag a beer when we are allowed and I am sure he will tell you all about it! As many will say it’s the shared experience and celebrations after winning that really stay with you and that is certainly the case for me - having a laugh with your mates and singing songs in the changing room. All made possible because of what we did with a bat and a ball at Grange Loan. Relive this memorable match with the photo gallery on the Cricket Europe site.

Meeting the Stars Charlie Kentish modestly hides his astonishment when Athers asks for a selfie; Rob Grisenthwaite is best friends with Herschelle Gibbs having knocked him over for a scratchy 98; Bruce Dixon faces up to Curtly Ambrose; Sam Haggo shares a smile with Kumar Sangakarra. More next month!

POETRY CORNER Carlton 4th XI players of a certain vintage reminisce fondly about Marjorie Gill’s freshly baked scones, the highlight of many a tea interval. But Marjorie is also a published poet and works hard through Open Book to bring reading and literature to vulnerable groups in the community. (You can also follow Marjorie’s wild swimming adventures on Twitter.) Marjorie was too modest to offer one of her own poems to the Newsletter, but drew our attention to this fine poem with a cricketing theme. Lower team fielders might recognise the feelings described by Birmingham poet Zaffar Kunial, who frequently uses his love of cricket as a base for his poetry. Fielder If I had to put my finger on where this started, I’d trace a circle round the one moment I came to, or the one that placed me, a fielder – just past the field, over the rope, having chased a lost cause, leathered for six… when, bumbling about, obscured in the bushes, I completely stopped looking for the ball – perhaps irresponsibly – slowed by bracken, caught by light that slipped the dark cordon of rhododendron hands, a world hidden from the batsmen, the umpires and my team, like the thing itself: that small, seamed planet, shined on one half, having reached its stop, out of the sphere of sight. And when I reflect, here, from this undiscovered city, well north of those boyish ambitions – for the county, maybe later, the country – I know something of that minute holds something of me, there, beyond the boundary, in that edgeland of central England. A shady fingernail of forest. The pitch it points at, or past, a stopped clock. Still, in the middle, the keeper’s gloves clap at the evening. Still, a train clicks on far-off tracks. And the stars are still to surface. The whole field, meanwhile, waiting for me, some astronaut, or lost explorer, to emerge with a wave that brings the ball – like time itself – to hand. A world restored. But what I’d come to find, in that late hour was out of mind, and, the thing is, I didn’t care and this is what’s throwing me now.