September Song

Michael Henderson

Thoughts from Old Trafford

‘But it’s a long, long while, from May to November,

And the days grow short when you reach September…’

They do. County championship matches start at 10.30, when the dew is on the grass, and bescarfed spectators are digesting what Private Eye used to call ‘the Inter City sizzler’, with its much-loved ‘menu in full’: bacon, egg, sausage, grilled tomatoes, fried mushrooms…it’s a melancholy month.

The Proms end, and button-bright children return to school, clad in smart uniforms. Conkers litter the parks, and each day the sun sinks a little lower. At Old Trafford, it almost goes without saying, Lancashire are engaged in an annual struggle to avoid humiliation.

The red rose county actually beat Somerset in the penultimate round of championship matches. It was an against-the-odds victory because they had lost their three previous matches by an innings, and Somerset came to Manchester with their sails filled nicely after beating Surrey at Taunton.

Yet Lancashire, bowled out for 140 on the first morning, eventually won by 168 runs. Luke Wells, an opener demoted to No 7, made a century on the third day; a performance he topped up with four wickets as Somerset collapsed. With it went their hopes of landing a first-ever championship title.

It didn’t feel like a victory. Nottinghamshire’s thumping of hapless Kent means they carry a 15-point advantage into the final round, so Lancashire will have to take all available points from their game at Worcester, and hope that Warwickshire wallop Notts, if they are to stay in the first division. It won’t happen. Lancashire will be relegated, again.

Old Trafford, which is now a stadium designed to stage pop concerts and conferences, looked almost pleasant in the late summer sunlight. But the stench of decay touched every nostril. Does the county exist as a meaningful club any longer? Or are Lancs making up the numbers, for form’s sake? Does anybody, away from the dwindling membership, care?

It's a fair question, which has been put many times to the club’s guardians. And there are no convincing answers. This is a club founded in 1864, based at a Test match ground. There is history here: Denis Compton’s 145 not out in 1948 as a wounded warrior, Jim Laker’s 19 wickets in 1956, Ian Botham’s rip-roaring century in 1981. In July 1971 David Hughes stroked (not slogged) 24 runs in an over to win a famous Gillette Cup semi final against Gloucestershire. Oh happy day!

Great Lancastrians have left their mark on this plot of earth: Archie MacLaren, Johnny Briggs, brothers JT and Ernest Tyldesley, Eddie Paynter, Cyril Washbrook. Many adopted Lancastrians have played their part, men like Ted McDonald, Clive Lloyd, and Wasim Akram. Jack Simmons, Neil Fairbrother, Warren Hegg and Glenn Chapple were real stalwarts, who gave the best 20 years of their lives to the cause. A man called Atherton played more than 100 times for England.

Yet the only players of the past celebrated publicly are Brian Statham and James Anderson, whose names adorn the ends, north and south, which used to be east and west before the ground was turned round during its restoration 13 years ago. Curiously, 2011, when they spent the summer as vagabonds, was the year Lancashire finally won the championship. Perhaps they should leave Old Trafford once again.

The one player to be recognised, as she was very keen to tell listeners to Test Match Special, is Alex Hartley, the honey-tongued siren of the airwaves. ‘I can now shine on Manchester for ever’, trilled the lady from Clitheroe last year after a floodlight near the old ladies’ stand was christened in her honour.

An old Lancashire hand was less impressed. ‘When you think of the great ones who have played on this ground’, he said. ‘And Miss Hartley is honoured for taking two for 28 in five overs’.

It would be stretching a point to say Lancashire is a well-administered club. The departure in recent seasons of Jordan Clark, Alex Davies, Haseeb Hameed, Matt Parkinson and Rob Jones suggests the garden is full of weeds. There may have been good reasons for their desire to leave but when one player after another packs his bags then the tale is revealing.

Nor has the recruitment of players in their stead been an unalloyed success. Jos Buttler, hailed as a big signing when he joined Lancashire a decade ago, has turned out for the county once every Preston Guild. John Simpson of Ramsbottom, meanwhile, an outstanding wicketkeeper in that time for Middlesex and Sussex, they never bothered with. What were they thinking of?

This month England’s one-day have called on three Lancashire players besides Buttler in Phil Salt, Liam Livingstone, and Saqib Mahmood. You could arrange a fine game of hide-and-seek at Old Trafford, to locate Mahmood. The injury-haunted fast bowler hasn’t been spotted on the ground in years.

This week, therefore, Lancashire will return to the second division. Relegation won’t disturb the plans of those who run the club. There will be pop concerts (Freddie and the Dreamers are on next summer), and the two hotels on site will be chock-full of business folk and Manchester United fans over from Norway. There will be Test matches, which attract boozy revellers, and the wonderful Hundred, with its cast of half-wits. So don’t worry, chaps. We’ll bank the dosh. And remind us, who was AC MacLaren when he was at home? He went to Harrow? Not one of ours, then.

There are some decent young players at Old Trafford: George Balderson, George Bell, and Josh Bohannon, ‘the disco king’, who may soon be spinning discs on a different turntable. He isn’t cracking on in the way he should, so a change of scenery may be the boon he craves. This is the Sixties all over again, when Bob Barber, Noddy Pullar, Peter Marner, Alan Wharton, Geoff Clayton and David Green departed, without a backward glance.

There’s a mournful melody on the breeze.

‘…when the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame,

And one hasn’t got time for the waiting game’.

Another sad September Song.