An autumnal elegy

Brian Sanderson bids adieu to a cherished tradition

Today, for the last time, I set off for a festival match in Arthington, a quaint but historic village nestled on the Pool in Wharfedale. Its most illustrious son, Ernest Sheepshanks, graced the Yorkshire team in 1929, but a promising career was cut short when he fell in the Spanish Civil War, on December 31, 1937. His resting place is in the family grave in the churchyard opposite the ground.

For more than seventy years, the local cricket festival has been a beacon of tradition, extending the summer deep into autumn. My own pilgrimage spans more than a decade. Year after year I have basked in the weakening sun, and borne witness to many a thrilling match.

The club’s recent ascent into the Nidderdale League has been nothing short of meteoric, clinching the Division 1 title for the past two years and suffering only a single defeat this season. Their ambition now takes them to the Yorkshire Premier League North.

Their adversaries today were the Hawks Cricket Club, a nomadic and convivial team hailing originally from Keighley. Their history embraces the likes of Brian Sellers, the former Yorkshire captain and committee member, who played for them from their inception in 1938.

The match commenced at the stroke of one, the Hawks taking the crease against an Arthington side bolstered by a few Bradford League stalwarts. The chill in the air compelled me to seek the warmth of my car. The local fauna clearly had the same idea:

One of the Hawks opening batsmen was Ian Priestley, who donned county colors back in 1989, and now serves as groundsman for Pudsey St Lawrence’s third team. The first innings, played in a jovial spirit, saw his Hawks amass 188 in 35 overs.

During the interval I took a stroll around the ground, remembering wistfully the enthusiasts who once occupied the benches, but are now no more. The new pavilion, a haven of warmth and camaraderie, offers a stark contrast with the cold but romantic past. Mrs Nash, who has been the heart and soul of the pavilion’s tea service for the past twenty years, still serves with unwavering dedication. I savoured her offerings today as thoroughly as I always have.

As I emerged, satiated, from the pavilion, the heavens opened, driving me back to vehicular sanctuary. Through the rhythmic sweep of the windscreen wipers, I observed Arthington’s valiant reply. Their total swelled to eighty before the weather became irresistible, bringing an untimely end to the match.

To a great tradition, too. Driving away from this, one of my most cherished grounds, I felt a profound sense of loss. It was truly the end of an era—the end of October cricket in Yorkshire. I confess it brought a tear to my eye. The memories, the shared moments with like-minded friends in idyllic surroundings, will be etched in my heart as long as it beats.

But life, henceforth, will never be quite the same.

Brian Sanderson is an ACS member. He serves on the Yorkshire Cricket Archives Committee. If you would like to contribute to this newsletter, please either respond to the email in which you received it, or leave a comment below.