Cricketers in and around Elstow have played for many decades in the large meadow adjacent to the old A6 road known as ‘The Warren’. The current ground and clubhouse remain within this field, although up until about 1960 the original square was located 200 yards further to the North West, possibly to accommodate the Elstow Abbey football pitch close by.

The sole feature indicating that there was any sort of cricket ground in the field was a small asbestos shed. This was the focal point for match day operations – housing the club’s stock of ground machinery (such as it was,) and all other minor equipment such as stumps, netting, watering cans etc. During the game this shed also served as a shelter for the two scorers, both of whom took up their positions with their scorebooks sitting on bar stools, peering through a small hatch at the front of the building. When it rained or the weather was particularly threatening, the hut was rapidly converted to allow the tea provisions (prepared and transported independently from a bakery in Bedford,) to be laid out on a single small table within. In extreme downpours those who didn’t have the luxury of a car to retreat to (and most didn’t) had the choice of either squeezing into the limited space inside the shed - or sheltering under one of the nearby oak trees (which was less effective in terms of keeping you dry, but also less congested).

Friday evening usually saw several of the keener team members assemble at the ground, either to get some last minute practice in a net temporarily erected on the square, (where even the smallest boys could join in and bowl at the team batsmen,) or to assist in pitch preparation by helping to cut and roll the match strip for the following day. The outfield was cut by gang mowers once a week by the local farmers, or less frequently if the weather was unkind, or the farmers were too busy bringing in the harvest. As a result of the infrequent cutting of the playing area, batsmen on match days quickly worked out that it was more productive to hit the ball in the air, rather than along the ground, since it would otherwise slow down prematurely in outfield grass whose height could sometimes - in golfing terms - be described as the semi-rough – with buttercups, dandelions, and the occasional thistle adding to the problem. Boundary hits were relatively rare by today’s standards; consequently totals were often below 150. Pitches and outfields were significantly below the quality that is expected today – the improvement over the decades being largely due to the modern machinery available to today’s groundsman. Batsmen had to work much harder for their runs on what were essentially uncovered batting surfaces. Covers were a luxury enjoyed only by the wealthier clubs. A plastic sheet held down by bricks was occasionally used on village grounds as a cheap alternative.

Before each home match there was an established routine whereby most of the home team were expected to arrive well before the scheduled start to help get things ready for play: the barbed wire fencing - supported on metal poles to protect the square during the week from the many nearby grazing cows - was hoisted off by four or more volunteers, and dumped outside the playing area. The heavy roller for last minute preparation was wheeled on from the boundary, also requiring four men to shift it. Small boys (including myself,) were given a shovel and instructed to remove the many heaps of cow dung on the outfield area (no ‘Health and Safety’ rules in those days.) One player painted the creases, while another quickly did a circuit of the ground to mark the boundary line with the football club’s whitener. Not much time for a ‘warm up’ as a result…let alone a team talk.

For any young non- playing supporter, arriving early was the secret to a successful Saturday afternoon: having been involved in the pre-match shoveling team, you hoped that you had done sufficiently well to be acknowledged and to establish your role as manual scoreboard operator for the rest of the afternoon, changing the metal numbers as required (some of which were missing, as were a few of the nails to put them on.) The reward for performing this duty was quite straightforward - a free tea.

Tea has always been an important and enjoyable ritual in village cricket – for many players (particularly the less successful,) it represents the highlight of the afternoon. Once the players and umpires had selected their allocation of sandwiches, cakes, and a cup of tea from trestle tables assembled under the trees, the scorebook scribes and the scoreboard operator tucked in to whatever was left – choosing from a range of cakes that were unseen and unheard of at home: meringues, éclairs, cream filled cones with hundreds of thousands, and iced buns. All well worth waiting for.

The post match socializing in village cricket normally takes place at the ‘local’ public house, which in Elstow’s case was The Swan - a traditional routine for most clubs in those days, since bars on- site in pavilions were rare – the company-owned grounds being the exception to this, since their amenities also served as general social clubs for the employees during the week.

The games themselves were clearly enjoyed and played enthusiastically with great commitment, but in truth some of the skills on show were not of a particularly high standard. Players were sometimes ‘accommodated’ in the selected side for reasons well beyond their cricketing expertise, their inclusion often taking into account their overall contribution to the club off the field – something that presumably continues today in village and junior grades of cricket, and understandably so.

To be regarded as a ‘celebrated batsman’ you needed to be someone who could strike the ball spectacularly over vast distances – in the air or otherwise, however infrequently, and whatever your technique. Similarly a ‘good bowler’ was defined quite simply as a fast bowler, accurate or otherwise. Post-match conversations would focus more so on spectacular feats, such as sixes hit or stumps literally shattered. Finesse, subtlety and technique were secondary to sheer physical strength. Has anything really changed in fifty years?

Away games frequently took us to some exciting locations, most of them reached by long bicycle rides from the village, or by using public buses if these were available. Bedford Park was the jewel in the crown for a non playing youngster, with its bandstand, (and occasional music,) well manicured shrubberies, cycle tracks, ponds, and cafes; the well kept company-owned grounds at Meltis, Igranic, and Allens were also popular and their pitches were of good quality. Occasionally (such as in the Hospital Cup competition, when you frequently played unfamiliar opponents from higher leagues,) there were delightful distant venues such as Southill Park to visit, where – hold your breath- the club actually had a pavilion with tea rooms, proper toilets, (our own ground had no separate facilities for ladies, I recall,) and a separate dedicated score box. ‘Is this the sort of ground on which they play first class county matches?’ I remember asking.

Usually only the larger and better appointed clubs had players who possessed their own bats, pads, and individual kit bags. Elstow’s team kit bag had an assortment of odd rubber-spiked batting gloves, wrap around sausage shaped ones, three or four pairs of pads - one almost inevitably with a strap missing - and never more than two good bats that were universally sought after. The latter were so much in demand that they were often swapped (in exchange for a taped and damaged one) by the incoming batsman on his way to the crease, as he passed his dismissed team mate. Don’t quite recall that happening at Lord’s?

ANDY CURTIS (Born in the village 1943; Former Elstow player 1954/55

Also Oxford University and Bedfordshire C.C.C.

Currently Vice Chairman Somerset C.C.C.)

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