Can Anyone Hear Me? Page 10

  Wednesday 2 January 1985

  I had been invited by Kiran Mavani, our scorer, to his flat a few miles south of Calcutta at the Caledonian Jute Mills, where he works. The simple company flat had a splendid position on the bank of the Hoogly River at a point where it widens as it approaches the sea several miles further downstream.

  Kiran took me across the river in a ‘country boat’, which had the shape of a large canoe. It was propelled with some effort by a single oar at the stern in the hands of a bearded character in a loin cloth, who later produced what looked like a table cloth to act as a sail for the return journey.

  Smog, rain and probably a lack of will on the part of India in the absence of Kapil Dev, condemned the third Test to a draw.

  Friday 4 January 1985

  A remarkable day for the fact that Gavaskar decided to bat on to lunch and beyond. He was finally shamed into a declaration twenty minutes after the interval, when Gower brought himself on to bowl. Edmonds had been seen reading a newspaper at square leg and the crowd had hooted their derision at their own side.

  When Gavaskar led his side onto the field at the start of England’s reply, he was pelted with fruit, which took another ten minutes to clear up.

  There was some discussion between the captains over Vengsarkar’s continual appealing for catches off the pad. It ended with a handshake. Gower’s comment later was, ‘Well, Sunny’s not got many friends these days.’

  So we moved south to Hyderabad for a four-day game against the South Zone. A circle of temporary stands had created a cosy stadium on an open ground in the suburb of Secunderabad. The press box was on the roof of the dressing rooms, which formed the only permanent building on the ground.

  Monday 7 January 1985

  My first contact was with the camp telegraph office, which I found in the usual gaily-coloured tent. ‘Can I have a collect call to London, please?’ I asked the official.

  ‘In many countries you cannot make a collect call,’ came the answer.

  ‘But you can in India,’ I said.

  ‘Yes’.

  ‘How long will it take?’

  ‘Four hours.’

  ‘Can you direct dial it if I pay you?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ – this with a big smile.

  I gave him the number.

  ‘I will book it with operator.’

  ‘I thought you said you could direct dial.’

  ‘Oh, you can direct dial to England – from Bombay, Delhi and Madras.’

  It was another forty minutes before I got through to London, where I was told, ‘Can you ring the other studio?’ I had to explain that I was not calling from Birmingham.

  It was a sign of how good the press/team relations were on this tour that on my birthday, which fell during this match, the team manager, Tony Brown, came to the press box to present me with a cake.

  An ironic story reached us from Bombay while we were there. Ravi Shastri, who had made a painfully slow hundred in Calcutta, had just hit six sixes in an over for Bombay against Baroda. The unfortunate bowler was the left arm spinner, Tilak Raj.

  The first day in Madras (known these days as Chennai) was all action, again in contrast with Calcutta.

  Sunday 13 January 1985

  We had a day of ninety-mile-an-hour cricket. Runs came quickly, but so did wickets. India were dismissed for 272 in 68 overs, with Neil Foster taking six for 104 on his return to the side. He visited us in the commentary box during the last ten overs of the day, from which England reached 32 for no wicket.

  Monday 14 January 1985

  Yet again it was a heartening story we brought to those who tuned in to Test Match Special from a snowbound Britain. Robinson and Fowler created a new first wicket record for England against India – 178. Robinson made 74 and Fowler carried on to his third Test hundred. He looked shattered when I talked to him in the dressing room. He is such a perky character that I was delighted for him.

  As for those listeners in snowbound Britain, a newspaper cartoon was saved for my return. It showed a man angrily shovelling deep snow from his front doorstep as a radio says, ‘Another four for Fowler, pluckily toiling away in this heat.’

  The next day both Fowler and Gatting went on to double hundreds.

  Thursday 17 January 1985

  A half-hour thrash by England in the morning saw the score pass 650 and they declared at 652 for seven – a new post-war record for them. India needed 380 to avoid an innings defeat and they started disastrously, thanks to Neil Foster again.

  Azharuddin and Amarnath held England up, with Azharuddin making his second Test hundred in as many matches, but the spinners made the breakthrough on the final morning. They were all out before tea for 412 and England needed only 33 to win. Neil Foster finished with eleven wickets in the match and England lost only Fowler in their pursuit of a nine-wicket win. England had – remarkably – come from behind to lead the Test series 2-1 with one to play.

  A third one-day defeat for India in Bangalore brought with it yet another bout of bottle throwing, which held up play for a while and threatened to see the game abandoned.

  The fourth one-day international followed immediately in Nagpur. Arriving in the evening, I discovered that I had been selected to share the honeymoon room with Mike Carey, complete with mirrored ceiling above a double bed. Fortunately a twin bedded alternative was found.

  From previous tours Nagpur had a poor reputation, but the ground was pleasant enough, in the shadow of an English-looking church. My commentary position (even though I was only doing telephoned reports) was excellent and the calls worked perfectly. However, as soon as India had secured a three-wicket win, a telephone engineer started ripping wires out with gay abandon. I had to restrain him and completed my match reports with him holding the operation together with his thumb.

  The final one-day international was in Chandigarh, 150 miles to the north of Delhi. We arrived early in the morning on the day before the match and as it was a Saturday a proper broadcasting circuit had been booked from the local All India radio station.

  Saturday 26 January 1985

  I arrived at 9.30 a.m., to be met by blank looks and an all too familiar phrase. ‘It has not been intimated to us that you are coming.’

  It was India’s Republic Day, so nobody of authority was there. I was asked to return at eleven, to see the station engineer.

  In the meantime I went to have a look at the ground and found the press box situated behind the sight screen. The explanation was simple. ‘We were asked to put it as straight behind the bowler’s arm as possible.’ I did point out that there might have to be a slight alteration to the plan.

  At eleven o’clock I was back at AIR.

  ‘The engineer will be here in two minutes.’

  Sure enough, in just over an hour and a half he turned up.

  After telling me that my visit had not been intimated to him, either, he asked me to wait. But the programme, Sport on Four, was due on the air within the hour.

  ‘Will I get my circuit to London in time?’ I asked.

  ‘Please sit down and wait.’

  ‘No. Please tell me now. Will it appear for this live programme?’

  He looked me in the eyes for a moment and then, against all his instincts to prevaricate, gravely said, ‘No.’

  I thanked him for his unique honesty and went back to the hotel to try to use the phone.

  I did not manage to get onto the programme, but I heard later that Tony Lewis, presenting it in London, had read out my telex message telling of hopeless communications.

  Saturday 26 January 1985

  By the evening the hotel foyer looked like the set of a farce. All those doing pieces for Sunday papers, as well as me, were trying to get through on a switchboard that coped with the excess traffic by cutting off those already talking. My match preview w
as finally dispatched at the fifth attempt.

  The next day the final one-day international was restricted by a waterlogged ground to fifteen overs a side. Considering the unfit conditions it was probably only played at all because a huge crowd had been crammed into the ground well before the scheduled start.

  The delay gave us time to sort out the press box problem, with the solution being the roof of the pavilion, up a 50-foot aluminium ladder with an awkward twist to it. It was particularly problematic if you had to negotiate it every half hour to meet a phone call from London in the secretary’s office. However, the char-wallah incredibly made the climb with an enormous tray of tea balanced on one hand.

  The game came down to a dramatic final over bowled by Chris Cowdrey in which he took one for three to give England a seven-run win.

  The next day I handed on the baton of tour coverage to Christopher Martin-Jenkins, who had just been re-appointed for his second spell as BBC cricket correspondent. I headed for home, leaving him to deal with the final Test and a one-day tournament in Australia.

  I had been reluctant to go on the tour, but, by the end I was sorry not to be seeing it through to the final Test. By drawing that match, England achieved a unique feat in coming from behind to win a Test series in India.

  The Cricket Highlights (iii)

  Delhi 1984

  At the beginning of December 1984, India won the first Test match of England’s tour in Bombay. Those of us who had been in India three years before had seen England lose the first Test similarly there before going on to suffer five interminable draws. One thing had changed since – and possibly partly because of – that series. A minimum number of overs was now set to be bowled in a day’s Test cricket, though interpretation of what might be bad light, as the shadows of stands came across the grounds was still open to debate and might curtail a day.

  One encouraging sign that came out of the Bombay Test was that Mike Gatting, in his 54th Test innings, at last made a rearguard hundred, as England, not without the help of some strange umpiring decisions, slid towards defeat.

  So David Gower’s team came to Delhi one down, but they started encouragingly enough, with Sunil Gavaskar out in the second over and two more falling to the spin of Pat Pocock and Phil Edmonds before lunch on the first day. Between them they snared another three before tea was taken at 144 for six.

  Kapil Dev and the wicket-keeper, Syed Kirmani, got stuck in and made sure there were no more losses on the first day, which ended with India 208 for six.

  Kapil was caught behind off Richard Ellison from the second ball of the second day. It was a golden opportunity for England, but each member of the Indian tail got into the twenties and it was half an hour after lunch when their innings ended at 307.

  At the heart of England’s reply was Tim Robinson, opening the innings. He became the rock. By the end of the second day he had reached a half century out of England’s 107 for two.

  Continuing after the rest day with Allan Lamb, he went on to add 110 for the third wicket. By the time he reached his first Test hundred in mid-afternoon, England were five wickets down and he had been batting a little over six hours.

  His partner now was Paul Downton and the pair reached their hundred partnership at the close of the third day, with England now very handily placed, 30 runs ahead, with five wickets still in hand.

  Everyone seemed in euphoric mood at the way England dominated the day. Even the three wickets that did fall were shrouded in controversy, but the situation made the evening’s party at the British High Commission even more enjoyable.

  In the third over next morning, however, Manoj Prabhakar made Robinson his first Test victim, caught at slip for 160. But England’s innings still had legs, with Downton batting with the tail. He was eighth out, one of six wickets for the leg spinner, Sivaramakrishnan, for 74. His four wickets after lunch finished England off for 418, a lead of 111.

  Starting their second innings mid-way through the fourth day, India’s priority was safety. So losing two wickets to Norman Cowans inside the first seven overs was not the ideal start for them. But Gavaskar was still there and with him was Mohinder Amarnath. Together they batted through to the close of play, by which time they had taken India into a slender lead of 17. It was a platform at least, with only two wickets down, from which they should make the game safe on the final day.

  Sunday 16 December 1984

  England’s hold on the game has loosened slightly. The lead wasn’t quite as big as they would have liked and then, despite getting two early Indian wickets, they found Gavaskar and Amarnath immovable in the evening. A draw looks the most likely result.

  In the second over of the last day Edmonds got one to turn sharply and bowl Amarnath for 64. An hour later Gavaskar was bowled by Pocock for 65. Four wickets were down with the lead 61.

  But time was running out for England. Sandeep Patil and Ravi Shastri took it up to lunch and the lead to 93. It was 96 when Patil was caught at mid-wicket, sweeping Edmonds, for 41.

  Kapil Dev, the new batsman, had been told by his captain to delay playing his big shots until the match was absolutely safe. The next over it became apparent that Kapil reckoned that a lead of 97, with five wickets in hand and three hours left in the match, was safety enough. He hit Pocock for a big six, to take the lead past 100 and then next ball he tried to do it again. Allan Lamb held the skied catch at mid-off. It was 214 for six.

  Three overs later it was 216 for seven, with Gaekwad out. Kirmani followed at 225 and Yadav at 234. When Pocock held a return catch off Sivaramakrishnan, India were all out for 235, leaving Shastri high and dry on 25. In 26 overs since lunch, they had lost six wickets for 31. The two England spinners, Pocock the off-spinner and Edmonds the left armer, had each taken four.

  England needed 125 in two hours. In the tenth over they lost Robinson, thrown out from silly point by Vengsarkar. The mandatory last twenty overs started with 74 needed and only one wicket down. Two overs later, Vengsarkar swooped again, this time for a catch off Fowler, who had made 29.

  But the momentum was very much with England and Lamb, coming in to join Gatting, was not going to let it slacken. By the time they were half way through the last twenty overs, they were only thirteen from victory and they won by eight wickets, with eight and a half overs to spare. From being one down in the series, they had come back at the first opportunity to get on level terms.

  In India, despite his massive charisma, it was Kapil Dev who was held up as the villain of the piece. The selectors dropped him for the third Test in Calcutta, due to start on New Year’s Eve. They even resisted an attempt from the Board to add him to the squad, which, in the politics of Indian cricket, represented quite a triumph for the captain, Sunil Gavaskar.

  In Kapil’s absence, though, there was no urgency in India’s approach to the match. Even the umpires never seemed particularly keen to get on with the game when the Calcutta smog settled over Eden Gardens. The elements played their part in providing rain and the Indian first innings drifted into a fourth day.

  The match could only be a draw, but the fourth Test in Madras provided plenty of action, with Graeme Fowler and Mike Gatting both making double hundreds and Neil Foster taking eleven wickets in the match to give England a two-nil series lead, which they preserved with a draw in the final Test in Kanpur.

  Uniquely England had come from behind to win a Test series in India.

  4. The Caribbean

  I sometimes think the great secret, known by people who have toured the West Indies but not always fully comprehended by those who have not, is that they are all different countries who come together really only for cricket (and as far as some partisan supporters are concerned, barely for that – at home, at least). This certainly makes the travelling more arduous, with each journey being an international flight, involving a change of currency, customs and all the rest.

  On a Caribb
ean tour it is noticeable how little sympathy and support you will receive from those confined to offices and studios in London. Tell them you are in the West Indies and all they can imagine is a sun-kissed beach. That is inevitable, but it’s not really fair. Not all the West Indian locations are holiday resorts and anyway working in a holiday environment is always difficult. Hotels, and indeed sometimes whole islands, are simply not geared up for their visitors to be on business.

  That said, I am not calling for any sympathy for having been able to get my toes on the sandy beaches of the likes of Barbados and Antigua. The West Indies can charm you, even when you are trying to get things done in an environment where mañana can seem like indecent haste.

  My first landfall in the West Indies was far from the traditional view of palm trees on a beach. It was in the thriving, bustling city of Port-of-Spain.

  Monday 12 February 1990

  My first sight of the West Indies was impressive. I was lucky to be at a window on the left of the BWIA plane to see the island of Tobago and then the northern coast of Trinidad, with thickly wooded mountains, which almost seemed to brush the wing-tips. Then Port-of-Spain appeared under the left wing and we passed right over the Queen’s Park Oval on the way into Piarco airport.

  A wall of heat hit us in the face as the plane doors opened and the sights and smells as the taxi took me into the city were more reminiscent of the Indian sub-continent than I had expected from the Caribbean.

  This was the first occasion that we had sent a producer on a tour of the West Indies. Up to that point any commentary that had been taken by the BBC had come from whichever the local station was, with our man added to the team. The quality had been patchy. In advance of this tour, I had – I hoped discreetly – consulted with contacts in the West Indies about which radio stations would be best to join forces with and in which countries it would be best to do our own thing. I was to find out how touchy the various islands can be on this sort of issue and in retrospect it would have been wiser to have committed us to one or the other policy throughout. In fact, after this experience, that is what we did.