Cricket in the Second World War: The Grim Test

Preface

Lord’s Cricket Ground, London, 28 August 1945. With just eight minutes remaining on the clock beneath Old Father Time, Bob Cristofani bowled out Doug Wright to secure a 45-run victory for a Dominions XI against an England XI. Cristofani, from New South Wales, had flown Bristol Beaufighters for 455 Squadron RAAF during the war whilst Wright, of Kent, who had been named one of Wisden’s Five Cricketers of the Year for 1939, had lost his prime playing years serving in the British Army. The bank holiday weekend spectators had been treated to a feast of scintillating cricket as the match had tilted this way, then that; 1,241 runs had been scored, mostly with flamboyance and verve. Wickets had been taken with speed, swing, seam and spin.

On display were players who represented many fine aspects of the British and Commonwealth war effort. Bill Edrich, who had won the Distinguished Flying Cross for his heroism serving with Bomber Command, scored 78 and 31 batting at No. 8 for England. The home side’s captain, Walter Hammond, scored 121 and 102, becoming the first player to score two centuries in a first-class match on seven occasions. Hammond had served with the RAF across Africa, organising many entertainments to maintain the crucial morale of the fighting men in that pivotal theatre of war.

22 August. Victory Test at Old Trafford. D.R. Cristofani of Australia drives a boundary off Doug Wright. (Australian War Memorial)

For the Dominions, Kiwi Martin Donnelly scored a first-innings century. He had risen to the rank of major serving as a tank commander in North Africa and Italy. Australian flyer Keith Miller, an RAAF fighter pilot, scored a quite brilliant 185. His fellow Aussie, Graham Williams, had been languishing five months previously in a German prisoner-of-war camp, having sacrificed four years to the desolation of incarceration. The Dominions’ captain, 43-year-old West Indian Learie Constantine, had been repeatedly overlooked for the leadership of his own Test team due to the colour of his skin. During the war he had experienced the best of British spirit, acclaimed as a folk hero in the Lancashire and Yorkshire leagues where he had plied his cricketing trade, and the worst, having been refused entry to a London hotel on a racist pretext. Now, in his final first-class match, he had the honour of leading a team out at Lord’s in front of thousands of appreciative spectators.

Walter Hammond poses for the camera, 3 May 1940. (Courtesy Andy Collier)

The crowd contained many who had kept the game alive in Britain during the previous five summers. Keen club cricketers who had managed to organise and complete matches between air-raid sirens and raids. Players of greater renown who had raised over £60,000 for the Red Cross and countless monies for local wartime charities. And sitting in the famous old pavilion, looking out on the action, Sir Pelham Warner, acting secretary of Marylebone Cricket Club (MCC), whose tireless efforts to liaise with the coalition government on behalf of the game had given cricket a secure and respected status in wartime Britain.

Learie Constantine.

The celebratory mood masked years of dislocation, devastation, and despair. Thoughts turned to those who would never again experience the joy of cricketing combat, having paid the ultimate price for the victory of right over might. Nine of them had played for their countries at Test level. Dozens of others had played first-class cricket for their county, state, province, or university. At club level, teams mourned the loss of those with whom they had shared afternoons of common cricketing endeavour.

Sir Pelham Warner in the pavilion at Lord’s, 1940.

In the pages that follow, the story of the game during those turbulent years will be told. I hope that the reader will turn the final page with a fresh appreciation of the cricketers who endured the Grim Test of 1939 to 1945.

Chapter 1

1939: Carry On as Usual

‘Like peeping through the wrong end of a telescope at a very small but happy world.’

R.C. Robertson-Glasgow

By 1939, English cricket was facing a polarisation of fortunes between the county and international game. Surrey, traditionally one of the strongest counties, was unable to produce a balanced budget whilst others faced the potential of insolvency in the medium term. Gloucestershire, complete with England captain Walter Hammond, and Lancashire, county champions in 1934, drifted into financial difficulties. Sussex lost £1,863 in 1939, as their attractive late-season fixture against the West Indies was cancelled. Even Yorkshire, the pre-eminent county of the decade who enjoyed widespread support throughout the three ridings, only managed to turn a small profit. However, this would have been larger had the county not donated half the proceeds of their match against Surrey at Headingley to the Civil Defence Service. Derbyshire’s AGM minutes noted the slump in gate receipts caused by the wet summer whilst Walter Robins, secretary of Middlesex, constantly fretted about the terms of the lease for his county’s playing facilities at Lord’s. Some counties were fortunate in having wealthy benefactors. For a decade, Sir Julien Cahn had donated an annual £20,000 to Nottinghamshire.

Corrective action, such as reduction in the number of first-class counties, was frequently discussed but repeatedly the metaphorical can was kicked down the road. Events far beyond the control of the game’s guardians at MCC would provide for a period of retrenchment and reconstruction, but the process would be painful. Six summers without regular fixtures or any competitive cricket were around the corner. Familiar faces on the playing field and on the groundstaff would disappear on military or civilian duty, some tragically never to serve the counties and their members again. Grounds falling into an increasing state of disrepair would suffer egregious damage from German bombs, thus giving an impetus to renovation and reconstruction.

R.C. Robertson-Glasgow, reflecting on the 1939 season and looking forward to 1940 in Wisden Cricketers’ Almanack, wrote, ‘Three-day cricket, in peace, was scarcely maintaining the public interest except in matches between the few best, or the locally rivalrous teams, and how many will [now] pay even sixpence to watch cricket for three days between scratch or constantly varying elevens?’ The writer, who frequently suffered from bouts of intense gloom, should have been pleasantly surprised by the extent to which the public were willing to pay their sixpences and shillings to watch such arbitrary wartime elevens, albeit most usually in one-day format.

Whilst the county game teetered on the edge of the need for remedial reformation, Test matches remained well supported. For example, over 100,000 supporters had watched the four days of action in the 1938 England v Australia Test match at The Oval. As well as bodies passing through Test match turnstiles, the game was reaching into the 10 million households that held a radio licence. E.W. Swanton had been dispatched to provide live broadcasts of England’s encounters with South Africa in 1938–39 and the BBC, in a pre-war forerunner of Test Match Special, provided ball-by-ball commentary of the 1939 West Indies Test series. Some live television coverage was also available to the small number of homes who had invested in John Logie Baird’s wondrous invention.

The 1940 Wisden Cricketers’ Almanack devoted 105 closely typed pages to public school cricket but failed to give even a paragraph of coverage to the strong leagues across the North and Midlands. A couple of state schools had managed to elbow their way into some coverage amongst the ranks of their fee-paying cousins. Just as the county and international games were becoming increasingly bifurcated, so the country at large seemed ill at ease with itself. Historian Richard Overy has dubbed the interwar period The Morbid Age. Mass unemployment in Britain’s industrial areas, the abdication of King Edward VIII in 1936, and the growing insecurity over international tensions left a pervading sense of foreboding.

Cricket was a game still organised along class lines, with a distinction between the Gentleman amateur and Player professional. Usually these two groups would use separate changing rooms of distinctly differing quality and comfort, and sometimes enter the field of play by different gates. With few exceptions, a county captain had to be an amateur. The 1930s had seen some switching between the classes, with grammar school educated Walter Hammond being offered a sinecure at a Gloucestershire firm in order that he may captain the county, and thence England. His teammate Charlie Barnett had made the opposite move, from amateur to professional, in 1929. Others, such as Maurice Turnbull at Glamorgan and Bob Wyatt at Warwickshire, were given remunerated posts within their county clubs to retain their amateur status and therefore the club captaincy.

English cricket had taken the decision to copy its Australian and South African counterparts and experiment with the 8-ball over for 1939 and 1940 in order to reduce the time spent changing ends and thus increase the amount of play during the day. As the MCC tour of South Africa commenced in early November 1938, events that would lead inexorably to war progressed. Sir Samuel Hoare told the Cabinet that the Home Office was preparing an Air Raid Precaution bill. Meanwhile, terrible violence was being inflicted on German Jews during Kristallnacht. Ken Farnes, the Essex and England bowler, wrote to a friend, ‘A Napoleonic character, Herr Hitler. What will happen now?’ A few months later his fellow future victim of Hitler’s aggrandisement, Hedley Verity, struck a more belligerent tone when talking to his sister, Grace: ‘This is no chuffing garden party. This fellow Hitler means it if we don’t stop him. We have got to stop him.’ Their England skipper, Walter Hammond, further escalated the phonological forcefulness with his reaction to news of a possible Nazi-Soviet pact: ‘Oh Christ. Now the cat’s among the fucking pigeons.’ By early August 1939, as German-Polish relations deteriorated, Learie Constantine’s more muted assessment was, ‘There is such terrible news from Poland. The war is now inevitable. We go out to play the final Test tomorrow.’

Hedley Verity.

Aside from the Test and county games, cricket was played by hundreds of thousands of people in varying contexts. Many employers – including factories, mines, banks and public sector – ran teams, and in many cases provided ground facilities and playing equipment as part of welfare provision for their workers. Intensively competitive league cricket was hugely well supported and several clubs competed to a high standard across Yorkshire, Lancashire, Durham, Birmingham, Staffordshire and South Wales. Their southern counterparts, 1,150 of them operating under the aegis of the Club Cricket Conference by 1939, displayed less competitive zeal, organising instead friendly fixtures that could frequently experience laxity of starting times and tea intervals. It was considered in the south that non-competitive fixtures encouraged adventure and spice whilst league and cup competitions crushed sporting spirit. Many southern friendly only clubs tended to be socially exclusive and organising league and cup competitions would have compelled a greater degree of player selection on merit rather than social class. Jack Williams, in his Cricket and England: A Cultural and Social History of the Interwar Years, identified the attitude of MCC to the higher levels of league cricket as ‘one of grand indifference’. There was sparse or no coverage in publications such as Wisden Cricketers’ Almanack or The Cricketer.However, such matches were avidly reported on in the regional press, and somewhere approaching 400,000 adult males played cricket on a weekly basis in England and Wales in the 1930s.

There was also a thriving women’s cricket scene in the UK and abroad. Almost 900 women’s cricket teams functioned during the interwar period, far more than the 150 teams that played association football. Two separate governing bodies, the Women’s Cricket Association (WCA) and English Women’s Cricket Federation (EWCF), codified and organised the game. In addition, many workplace-based teams existed as employers sought to encourage healthy lifestyles and camaraderie amongst the females in their workforces.

The EWCF aimed to provide cricket for working-class women in Yorkshire and Lancashire, growing substantially from 1931 to 1938. Play was based on that of the popular men’s leagues that flourished in the Midlands and North of England. Matches were played over limited overs and were fast paced and competitive, with trophies and cups to win. In addition, female players achieving a five-wicket haul or a half-century could expect a collection from spectators. The WCA was dominated by women belonging to upper socio-economic backgrounds. Formed in 1926, a constitution had been agreed by 1931, with Mrs Patrick Heron-Maxwell CBE, its first chairman, hosting matches at her home at Great Comp, Kent. The WCA’s aims were to encourage the founding of cricket clubs throughout the country, and to provide facilities, by means of touring teams and one-day matches, for women and girls who previously had little opportunity for playing the game after leaving school and college. By 1938, the WCA had 210 affiliated clubs, a quadrupling since 1927. These were heavily concentrated in the south-east of England, with the exception of the cricketing powerhouses of Yorkshire and Lancashire. By 1937, there were nineteen Women’s County Associations, and regular inter-county matches. The women’s game under the auspices of the WCA remained resolutely amateur, with matches non-competitive, with no trophies or points on offer.

Marjorie Pollard.

Marjorie Pollard, a tall, bespectacled advocate of the women’s game who acted as press representative of the WCA, launched Women’s Cricket magazine in 1930. It was published monthly during the England summer cricket season and subscribers were spread as far as America, Australia, Canada, France, Holland, India, Kenya, New Zealand, Shanghai, South Africa and Argentina. A Test tour of Australia and New Zealand had taken place during the winter of 1934/35.

Cricket was not just important as an end in itself, but as a means to maintaining and improving the physical health of the nation. The King George Jubilee Trust had been established in March 1935, and Lord Portal, its vice-chairman, was shortly to write that ‘large numbers of boys and girls who are approaching the age of full citizenship are ill-equipped for the responsibilities which face them – and this at a time when it is clear that the manhood and womanhood of this nation may yet be tested as never before’. The Central Council of Recreative Physical Training (CCRPT), the brainchild of PE teacher Phyllis Colson, was set up on 4 July 1935. It was a mixture of governing body representatives and other interested parties. Such was the concern about the fitness of the nation that fourteen of the original thirty-four members of the council were from the medical profession.

The government was anxious not to appear to be echoing Nazi ideals of a physically superior master warrior race, but did establish a Fitness Council to run a National Fitness Campaign. Its chairman was Lord Aberdare, formerly C.N. Bruce, who had excelled at tennis and racquets while also representing Oxford University and Middlesex at cricket. The campaign had some limited successes, including poster, leaflet and film campaigns with the slogans ‘Fitness Wins’ and ‘Get Fit, Keep Fit’, but it never managed to establish the proposed National College of Physical Training in Surrey.

Amidst growing concern about the physical fitness of the British population to withstand a war on the fighting and home fronts, the Physical Training and Recreation Act of 1937 established the Women’s Team Games Board, allowing women’s sporting organisations to request grants for equipment and land. The WCA took advantage of this opportunity and by the end of the interwar period, relations between women’s cricket organisations in different countries were strong enough to lead to the formation of an international women’s cricket council.

Professional cricketers were not expansively remunerated for their endeavours. Even Herbert Sutcliffe, veteran of fifty-four Test matches with a batting average of over 60, earned about £600 in 1939, an amount that placed him in the lower reaches of a middle-class income. This sum was supplemented by the profits from the prudent professional’s two sporting goods shops in Leeds and Wakefield. This enabled Sutcliffe, a solidly respectable member of the Congregational Church, to seek social elevation for his family, sending his eldest son Billy to the fee-paying Rydal School in North Wales.

The selection of the West Indies team that toured England in 1939 indicated continuing racial prejudice in the game. The Cambridge-educated Rolph Grant had been appointed captain in succession to his brother, Jackie, at a point at which both Learie Constantine and George Headley had far superior claims to be considered for the post. During the tour, Constantine, despite the generally cordial welcome extended by England’s cricket community, often ran up against deeply ingrained prejudices in hotels and restaurants: ‘The old bugaboos of black men preying upon white women and being morally devious played into people’s fears. We were fine so long as we restricted ourselves to playing sport.’ The team’s manager, Jack Kidney, was informed that in order for his players to use a public swimming baths in Plymouth, a separate appointment would need to be made and the water drained and replaced afterwards. The mercurial Leslie Hylton rightly objected to a spectator in the Oval pavilion repeatedly making ape gestures as the players entered and left the field of play.

Elsewhere, domestic cricket was in a strong state in the Test-playing countries Australia, New Zealand, India, South Africa and the Caribbean colonies. The British Empire had implanted the game in Nigeria, Kenya, Ghana and Ceylon, whilst outposts of people with recent British ancestry maintained league and cup competitions in America, Canada and Argentina, amongst other places.

The 1939 English season was overshadowed and ultimately prematurely curtailed by the war. MCC ordered 2,000 sandbags for the protection of Lord’s Cricket Ground. Rupert Howard, secretary of Lancashire CCC, received instructions on preparing Old Trafford for war. Air-raid shelters needed to be built, first-aid and gas training had to be provided and the ground had to be ready to be requisitioned at short notice. During the Lord’s Test, England captain Walter Hammond appealed through a megaphone for people to volunteer for National Service in preparation for the looming war with Germany. Hoardings around the ground challenged the spectators: ‘National Service – are YOU playing?’ As a schoolboy, Hammond had been called to his headmaster’s study to receive the news that his father had been killed on the Western Front. This memory did not dull the enthusiasm with which he supported the nation’s call to arms to meet the foe once more. On the outbreak of war, Hammond immediately joined up, receiving a commission as a pilot officer in the RAFVR.

When Essex visited Bramall Lane on 19 August for a match against Yorkshire, the team was greeted with barbed wire tied around the gate, with the sound of the nearby factories in the steel city pounding out the weapons of war. Around the country, trenches were dug, air-raid shelters prepared, and 40 million British men, women and children each received a gas mask.

Amidst this war preparation, MCC, on the same day The Times carried a story about plans to evacuate British children to the countryside, decided to announce the sixteen names who would tour India over the winter of 1939/40. It was an odd mix of players, with only Jim Langridge and Stan Nichols survivors from the previous winter’s tour of South Africa. The selection of several part-time amateurs, under the captaincy of 40-year-old Jack Holmes, suggested that the tour was more a diplomatic mission than one designed to strain the competitive cricketing sinews.

The third match of the England v West Indies series at The Oval, played on 19, 21 and 22 August, would prove to be the final page written in domestic Test match history for seven years. Barrage balloons loomed up behind the pavilion and spectators entering via the Harleyford Road passed by an anti-aircraft gun mounted on a tractor. Hutton and Hammond, the greatest pre-war and post-war England batsmen, signed off with centuries. Both would return to the post-war fray, but for all too many players on display over those three days, the curtain would fall on their Test career. Tyrell Johnson, West Indies’ tall and slender left-hand opening bowler, took a first-ball wicket, that of Walter Keeton, in what would turn out to be his only Test appearance, and the last of his eighteen first-class matches. The 37-year-old Learie Constantine dazzled with five for 75 and a blistering 79, in addition to electric fielding in the covers. Kenneth ‘Bam Bam’ Weekes, one of only two Test cricketers to be born in the USA, would exit the Test arena with a mightily impressive batting average of 57.66, but a figure that would be the result of a mere two appearances. Of the English players, Stan Nichols, Walter Keeton, Norman Oldfield, Arthur Wood, Tom Goddard and Reg Perks bowed out of Test cricket.

The West Indies were due to travel down to Hove for a three-day match against Sussex, beginning on 26 August. Events conspired against them. Already Gerald Hough, secretary of Kent CCC, had questioned whether the tourists’ match at Canterbury starting on 30 August was appropriate under the circumstances. A discussion was held by squad members as to the best course of action. Learie Constantine, Manny Martindale and Bertie Clarke, all of whom would spend the war in England, voted to stay on but the majority decided to cancel the Sussex and Kent fixtures, as well as a limited-overs match against a Billy Butlin XI at Skegness, and return home at the earliest opportunity. On 26 August, most of the touring party left Greenock docks on the SS Montrose, bound for the New World. The team were between a rock and a hard place. Their prolonged presence in England would have drawn opprobrium for the continuation of frivolous festival fixtures. Their departure, nevertheless, was greeted with accusations of ‘a cowardly and unsporting thing’ by Sussex CCC aficionado Lætitia Stapleton, and with a rueful glance at his bank balance by the county’s 1939 beneficiary, Jim Parks. Parks could have hoped to receive a collection of £50 during the match.

The Sussex servant, who in 1937 had become the only player to achieve a double of 3,000 runs and 100 wickets, was saved from a catastrophic collapse of his benefit prospects by the decision of Yorkshire to complete their programme for the season. This was not a lightly taken resolution, as the prospect of war weighed heavily on many white rose shoulders. The back of the scorecard of their recent match against Essex at Bramall Lane bore witness to the impending challenge. The front of the scorecard recorded an unremarkable but retrospectively poignant dismissal: ‘K. Farnes b Verity 0’. The pre-eminent English spin bowler of the 1930s, Hedley Verity had already borrowed several books on military strategy from his future Green Howards commanding officer, Arnold Shaw. In addition, the match was now superfluous to deciding the outcome of the championship, as Yorkshire had wrapped up yet another title in their match against Hampshire. However, in the words of Yorkshire skipper Brian Sellers, ‘We are public entertainers and until we have instructions to the contrary we will carry on as usual.’

An appeal for ARP volunteers on the reverse of the Yorkshire v Essex fixture at Sheffield, 19–22 August 1939.

Meanwhile, Surrey’s home fixture against Lancashire was switched to Old Trafford as The Oval had been requisitioned by the military. Other county fixtures were either completed within two days or cancelled due to the international situation. That left 1 September 1939, the day the Wehrmacht pounced on Poland, with just one remaining ground in England with first-class cricket on offer. As the spectators at Hove watched the final rites of the season being played out, many had parked their cars on the boundary, and listened to wirelesses in the vain hope of a glimmer of light in the political gloom. Brian Sellers had received the instruction not to carry on as usual from his county committee that morning, but saw fit, after consulting with his players, to disregard it.

The Oval, complete with cages ready to receive Axis prisoners of war.

Yorkshire’s final seven first-innings wickets fell for 62 runs on a drying pitch, giving them a slender first-innings lead of 5 runs. Hedley Verity, in his denouement in major cricket, dismissed Sussex for 33, the peerless master achieving figures of seven for 9. Yorkshire quickly knocked off the 30 runs required for victory, as the crowd sang patriotic songs from the stands. Saying farewells that in some cases were permanent, the Tykes boarded their coach and started their long journey back up north, via Sussex villages ready for war. Windows were boarded up, and Len Hutton recalled hundreds of cars passing by with suitcases and even bits of furniture strapped to their roofs.

Dorothy and Len Hutton.

They reached Leicester, where the Yorkshire team enjoyed a final dinner together, evidently keen to mark the occasion in style with champagne and oysters. Bowes and Verity sat up into the small hours discussing their futures. Mrs Bowes was due to give birth to their second child in October and both players initially registered for ARP duties. Eventually both men received commissions in infantry regiments. War would not be kind to the Bowes and Verity families. Meanwhile, Len Hutton married Dorothy Dennis and accepted an appointment as an Army physical training instructor (PTI). Down on the south coast, a thoughtful Jim Parks reflected on the sportsmanship of the Yorkshiremen in having played his benefit match despite the circumstances. He walked home with his young son Jim junior, the future Sussex and England wicketkeeper, £800 to the better.

Jim Parks.

As the players of Yorkshire and Sussex faded from the field to a trepidatious future, Jack Parsons, recently installed as vicar of Liskeard, preached to his congregation on Sunday, 3 September. Parsons had played both as a professional and an amateur for Warwickshire from 1910 to 1934. Considered by many to be one of the finest batsmen never to receive an England call-up, Parsons had enjoyed a rich and varied career as a labourer, engineer, private soldier, army officer, sportsman and parson. He was keenly aware of what war meant for the world, proclaiming:

Once again … we are plunged into the ghastly horrors of war. To those of us, of the 1914 war generation, the thought of having to go through all that futile business of killing and being killed is … a terrible indictment of our present-day so-called civilisation. And what of those millions of dead in the last war – of what avail has been their sacrifice?

Parsons realised that the current war would be all-encompassing, saying, ‘This war will not only be a question of professional soldiers, sailors and airmen fighting, it unfortunately means everybody. Civilians – men, women and children – will be drawn into this cauldron of destruction.’

The Reverend Parsons’ prophesies proved correct. The game he loved also faced an uncertain future. He would have listened to King George VI’s Christmas broadcast with keen interest. The Empire’s monarch urged his people, standing at the anxious gate of a passing year, to ‘Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God’. Through endeavour, through faith and through perseverance, cricket would endure the following summer.

Chapter 2

1940: We Serve the Side

‘One felt that somehow it would take more than totalitarian war to put an end to cricket.’

H.S. Altham

Sir Home Gordon, writing in The Cricketer in September 1939, declared that ‘England has now started the grim Test Match with Germany.’ During the winter, cricket’s administrators had the advantage of watching how the Football Association responded to the challenge of organising a national sport in wartime. League activity was suspended but friendly matches were soon organised in most areas. A regionally based league was organised but this eventually petered away as players were absorbed into the military. Nevertheless, the continuation of sport, albeit in a much-altered format, was widely agreed to be important for morale. A 1940 Mass-Observation survey stated: ‘Sports like football have an absolutely major effect on the morale of people.’ Failure to continue with sport would represent a moral capitulation to the enemy.

All British cricketers were subject to the same terms of National Service as the rest of society. There was no pressure on voluntarism as in the previous war, thus charges of scrimshanking could not be levelled against those playing the game in England as war erupted elsewhere. Cricket was also in the unique position of being the game of empire. India, Australia, New Zealand and various Caribbean colonies had automatically entered the war alongside the mother country; South Africa, after the confirmation of a general election, also came on board. Thus, a game that could unite these nations in sporting comradeship was only to be encouraged.

Sir Home Gordon.

As the Phoney War stretched out through the winter of 1939/40, the English game peered through a glass darkly as to what the coming season would bring. Sir Stanley Jackson, presiding over the Yorkshire CCC AGM in January, struck a defiant note. Cricket would be played in the summer, ‘behind the lines in France, on village greens and some club grounds at home. … We shall have need of cricket, all the same, to exercise the muscles and rest the minds of soldiers and workers with its health-giving comradeship.’ Jackson thought that grassroots cricket would form the backbone of the game, as planning for first-class matches would strike the wrong tone. Time and travel resources spent on organising top-class cricket would be ‘altogether indefensible in time of war’.

Cricket should not be speeded up to cramp it into a short timeframe, but:

Let us rather think of long summer afternoons, with figures in white flannels dotted over the green grass, while the score mounts slowly and the sun seems to stand still overhead, and hope that after the war enough sanity will be left in England to enjoy these pleasures once again.

For Pelham Warner, writing in The Cricketer Spring Annual of 1940, whatever cricket might be played was of minor importance:

Everything must give place to the prosecution of [the] war to a successful end, for we are fighting not only for a way of life but for our very existence against a ruthless, bullying, cruel and efficient enemy. Nothing else matters.

Cricket historian Harry Altham wrote in the 1940 Wisden of a gloomy visit to Lord’s on a dark December day:

There were sandbags everywhere, and the Long Room was stripped and bare [yet] the turf was a wondrous green, Old Father Time on the Grand Stand was gazing serenely at the nearest balloon, and one felt that somehow it would take more than totalitarian war to put an end to cricket.

He diverged from Warner on cricket’s place in wartime society:

When the game can be played without interfering with the national effort it can only be good for morale. … MCC have already arranged one or two big charity matches at Lord’s with a couple of minor matches and undertaken a long programme against the schools.

F.A.J. Godfrey’s poem ‘The Prospect’ summed up the feelings of most players, from the eminent to the modest, that all were to serve ‘the side’:

What will the season bring (we ask)-

What does it hold in store?

Does it veil success that defies a guess,

And a thousand runs or more?

Has it marked us out for the mighty shout

That the heroes knew of yore?

What does the season hold for us-

What does the curtain hide?

Does it matter a lot, if we shine or not,

So long as we serve the side?

So long as we play in a good, clean way,

With the knowledge that we have tried.

Despite these noble sentiments, some have argued that the cricket authorities dithered during the early part of 1940. Cricket historian Eric Midwinter maintained that they should have been on the front foot, creating a new regional county competition. This had been the suggestion of Lancashire’s secretary, Rupert Howard, who had written a five-page letter to MCC suggesting such a scheme, which would also include the minor counties. Howard argued that ‘no one wishes to see a blank summer’. For Midwinter, months that could have been used to create new structures were spent expressing noble sentiments but failing to innovate. Sussex, Essex and Middlesex mooted the idea of a south-east series of two-day matches at weekends, including Sunday play, realising that players would not be able to be released from civil and military duties for three consecutive days.

Midwinter’s argument has some merit, as rigid thinking meant that the three-day game was considered to be the purest form of cricket, and the only true training ground for Test players. However entertaining it might be, the shorter game could never be ‘proper’ cricket to its administrators, and therefore not the basis of officially endorsed competition. So no attempt was made to set up a regional competition of one or two-day matches based on the existing county structure, nor competitions involving services teams.