"For when the One Great Scorer comes
To mark against your name,
He writes – not that you won or lost –
But how you played the Game."
Shit, We'd cry. Alf would say, "Shut up!" Followed
by, "Don't laugh so much!" But the laughter would ring out across the
ground. If you were batting or umpiring you'd wish you were on the
sidelines enjoying Alf's company. On a Sunday there was no better place to be.
Alf loved it, the camaraderie and the buzz of entertaining.
When I joined Anson in 1999, Alf was an old man but then
again Monky would say that when he joined in 1978 AH ("Do you know what
they call me AH, Arse Hole.") was an old man then. My grandad had not long
died and I saw in Alf a link to the older generation which had been taken away
from me. But above everything else I saw him as a true friend.
He was a complicated character, then again aren't
we all. Hardly ate, (if you put a potato in the cupboard, it grows), mostly
drank (we'll drink that pub dry), lover of animals (my cat it says Alf, Alf),
painter, poet and good cricketer. It was always funnier to ridicule his
cricketing ability. However, no bad cricketer has hit a hundred, not to mention
three consecutive hundreds on the co-op ground. Batting was Alf's first
cricketing love.
At 56 an age most cricketers had packed up the game he was
scoring his highest ever Anson score of 89 in a then record second wicket
partnership of 211. He had won the game (ish) and then went on the field and
had a tear. Over 6,000 runs and 255 wickets, some bought, most caught while he
would shout, "get under it get right under it." He was the only
'spinner' who I've ever seen shine a cricket ball. He'd say he didn't know
where cow-corner was, but was only too aware of the need for outfields as he'd
coach, "don't worry about the four, just go for the catch." His 522 matches
may never be beaten.
I was lucky enough to be at a ceremony at London Guildhall
where Alf was awarded the freedom of the City of London. It was a joy to be
with him that day and a fitting accolade to the window dresser who'd bore his
customers with tales of Anson.
I was shocked when he told me in August that he had retired
months earlier. Alf should have told us as we would have sent him off to
retirement in style. Unlike many retirements, as like the end of his cricket
career, it was no celebration. It was sadly the beginning of the end. Of a life
lived to the full, full of laughter, full of drink and full of memorable
stories which will be handed down to Anson players who never had
the privilege of knowing him.
He would say that he didn't want to wake up dead. So maybe
it's fitting that he went in his sleep. We joked with him about what would
happen at his funeral, for some reason he thought we'd throw cricket balls at
his coffin. What we will do is celebrate his life, with a pint of London Pride
and recount his stories. My amazing wife to be found some videos of Alf
recounting his tales, arguably this is his
best.
This weekend some of us will be at Butlins. Ring my bell,
'pink' paradise and skiing better than the instructor will be in
evidence.
My last text with Alf I told him that I had captained Anson
to victory. I'm immensely proud to be of captain of Alf's club and will
try my best to retain the Harrison Hancock trophy. I'll finish up with
another of Alf's favourite quotes. When I was in his company I felt like his
brother.
"We few, we happy few, we band of brothers."
