MJ Procter: Farewell To A True Great

Michael Henderson

We sing songs of praise far too freely, particularly when it comes to sport. There are never as many ‘icons’ or ‘legends’ as we are encouraged to think.

As for ‘greatness’, it is not so much a noun as a judgment, to be conferred with respect for its meaning. But Mike Procter, who has died in Durban at the age of 77, was a great cricketer.

His Test record does not confirm that judgment, because his career ended in 1970, at 23, when South Africa were booted out of international cricket. Those who saw him play for Gloucestershire in the following decade, however, will harbour few doubts.

‘Procky’ struck the ball powerfully, bowled it with ferocious pace, and led his men with the instincts of an explorer for whom ‘terra incognita’ was a challenge to be met head-on. No wonder people referred to ‘Proctershire’.

Those who knew him well often called him Michael John Procter, out of deference to a man who gave his all for the team at all times. There were some magnificent overseas players in county cricket in those days: Clive Rice and Richard Hadlee at Notts, Clive Lloyd at Lancashire, Barry Richards at Hampshire, and Joel Garner and ‘King Viv’ at Somerset. It was a golden age, and MJ Procter earned his place in the sun with runs and wickets.

In his highest moments he lit up the sky like Standard’s Fireworks. The Australians walloped 4-0 in 1969/70 by that stupendous South African team could vouch for that. Procter took 26 wickets in that series with his rockets, delivered, so it appeared, off the wrong foot. Not so. It was his front-on action which wrong-footed batsmen.

What a team that was. The young Barry Richards declared his talent at Durban with a century, assisted by Graeme Pollock, who made 274. Eddie ‘Bunter’ Barlow, Lee Irvine and Peter Pollock were other star names. With men like Rice, Jimmy Cook, Ken McEwan, Chris Wilkins, Peter Kirsten, Vintcent van der Bijl and Garth Le Roux ready to join the XI, South Africa could have been the force that the West Indies became in the Seventies.

Richards, that beautiful opening batsman, was bored by county cricket. The game came easily to him, but without the challenge that Test cricket would have presented he withdrew into a shell of resentment. He gave pleasure to all who saw him. Sadly, he took little pleasure himself. ‘They’re making the runs I should be scoring’, he thought, and he was right.

Procter, like Rice at Trent Bridge, used his 14 summers in county cricket to transform a county. Rice had the less difficult task, because Notts played at a Test ground and had a history of achievement. Bristol is a drab ground, and ‘the Glorious Glosters’ had never won a championship. They still haven’t.

In his days at the helm Procter enabled them to win the Gillette Cup in 1973 and the Benson and Hedges Cup four years later. Although Sadiq Mohammad and Zaheer Abbas dazzled with the bat it was Procter’s leadership by example which made them a team to be feared.

They could be fearsome off the field, too. David Green, a forceful opener, who spent five years at Bristol, found Procter to be ‘a thirsty chap’, and if Greeny thought you were thirsty there must have been good cause. On one away trip the team were booked into a temperance hotel, an arrangement that didn’t last long.

Twice he made a century in the same match that he took a hat-trick. He could biff the bowlers to all parts without fear because he knew, and his opponents knew too, that if they pitched short at him he would repay them with interest. Procky in full flood was a sight to behold.

Those were famous days for all-rounders. Ian Botham, Kapil Dev, Imran Khan and Hadlee all performed mighty deeds in Test cricket. Yet the man who could have matched them never had the chance. He was a finer batsman than those great cricketers, and as fast a bowler as Khan. Hadlee, it must be said, was the most skilful bowler.

Facts alone will never convey his spirit, and this outstanding team man wasn’t too bothered with personal achievements. But it should be noted he took 41 wickets in his seven Tests, and 1,417 in first-class cricket at 19 apiece. He made six successive centuries for Rhodesia in the Currie Cup, a feat he shares with CB Fry and Don Bradman. Fine companions to have.

In retirement he coached at Northampton before becoming the South African team manager when they were readmitted to the Test fold. They had Allan Donald and Shaun Pollock to bowl then, and they were great cricketers. No greater, though, than Procky.

The English county he served so nobly gave the world WG Grace, the game’s grandest figure. Gilbert Jessop, Wally Hammond, Charlie Barnett and the young Tom Graveney have also worn the colours.

MJ Procter belongs in that company. The Gloucestershire flag will therefore fly at half-mast until the start of the season in April, and cricket-lovers everywhere should salute the passing of a great one.

It was in a Gloucestershire orchard that Falstaff recalled the glory days of his youth with one of the most haunting lines in our language: ‘We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master Shallow’.

Time passes, and we pass with it. Yet the echoes are carried on the wind for those with ears to hear.