The Annual Skirmish

Congratulations to the English Ladies Cricket Team...

That afternoon in the summer at Lords should make us all proud.

What a pity the mens team seem to have trouble emulating them.

In most of the Country of course summer would not be
complete without the genteel sound of leather on willow.

In Middlethorpe not only does the willow very seldom
comes into contact with the leather...but the encounter hereunder
unfolded is far from genteel....

THE ANNUAL SKIRMISH

N
estling in its own unique brand of congenial squalor deep within the
shire county borough of Toddlesworth on the Pee lies the picturesque
pseudo hamlet of Middlethorpe in the Mire.

To the erstwhile tourist anxious to forsake the dubious sanctity of
that most British of institutions, the motorway services cafe and set
course in his GXL/GT/EFI for the peaceful meanderings of rural
obscurity the name of Middlethorpe, despite the abstract quaintness of
its nomenclature, jumpeth not with immodest haste from the pages of the
Road Users Guide to 'Where To Go When You've Been Everywhere
Else'...nor from Pommeroy's printed publication pontificating "Perfect
Parking Places For Picturesque Peaceful Picnics."

Despite these drawbacks, and the less obvious one that a certain
disciple of Mercator missed the place completely off the map,
Middlethorpe, renowned as being the only place mentioned in the
Domesday Book shortly suffixed by a Norman conquest type question mark,
doth proudly boast two claims to fame in that it is the site of two
famous battles.

History ascribes the first as the "Middlethorpe Skirmish" when, back in
sixteen something or other, on twenty two point six square hectares of
molehill bestrewn meadowland... the site of the present Joshia Stiffe
and Reprobates mis-shapen ring pull and bent beerbottle top recycling
plant, a contretemps occurred between two factions of Oliver Cromwell's
army, the opposing protagonists being, on the one hand, a most
dedicated group of officers asworn to follow their leader even unto the
end of the earth, and, on the other, a minority of footsore homesick
and hungry roundhead squaddies who took one look at mid seventeenth
century Middlethorpe and aswore they'd arrived.

The Toddlesworth and District Observer and Ferret Racers Gazette
annually reports upon the second gargantuan struggle which, since time
immoral, has manifested itself in none less bloody and uncompromising
fashion than its contemporary as the Middlethorpe versus Toddlesworth
Ladies Cricket Match.

You join us just as sixteen beefy members of the local fire brigade tug
of war team are struggling to push the heavy roller off the pitch.
Today's heavy roller comes in the shape of two wobbly wheeled
wheelbarrows containing (most of) twenty seven and a half stone Mrs
Freda Stoic....(stoic by name and stoic by frame). Regular readers of
the Middlethorpe Tales will perhaps recall the aforesaid lady in her
more familiar roles of Lady Mayoress, Madam Chairperson of the 'Keep
Toddlesworth a Green Party Clear Zone Action Committee, and Founder
Fellow of the Elderly Residents Cello and French Horn Ensemble.

Whilst the sightscreen is being moved... umpire Makepiece as we speak
is asking Mrs Claythorpe if she'd mind moving her double bed sheet a
little further down the clothes line...and before Middlethorpe begin
their innings let me quickly run through the Toddlesworth score card
for you.

The two openers Pamela Pymm (with two m's) and Rebecca Cloutwort got
the visitors off to a tremendous start with an opening partnership of
almost two. A thundering full toss from Middlethorpe's demon underarm
pace bowler Joanna Trollop accidentally hit the bat and flew almost
knee high to a grasshopper to Claudia Shutlybottom at third man..or
should that be third woman?. Two double somersaults four twisted
ligaments and a pair of laddered tights later came a lightening return
throw which demolished the stumps, the bails and the wicket keeper, but
not necessarily in that order The two batswomen meanwhile having
successfully negotiated the first run, went for the second, slipped
slid and collided, and ended up battered bruised and embarrassed face
down in a cow pat about two degrees north north west of silly mid
on.

Camilla Piggot (hyphen) 'Piggy' Smith was then rapidly promoted up the
batting order by secret ballot and gently persuaded to the wicket with
the sharp end of a pitchfork.

Determined that the only effective way to score runs was to throw the
bat at the ball...she did just that ..missing the seamed projectile by
at least a yard but hitting the bowler amidships with about the same
result as that which might have been achieved with a cruise missile. In
the meantime the ball climbed gently up the side of a molehill,
teetered momentarily on the top, before gently rolling down the
westernmost slope and hitting middle and off.

A dejected Camilla slouched back to the pavilion and promptly scored a
Double Century....a whole bottleful of the stuff.

End of the over.

As Samantha Golightly the Toddlesworth number four shuffled in to the
non strikers end it was the turn of Lavinia Price Fletcher Bsc. Econ.
(Hons.) to bowl her unique style of fast, medium slow, left arm over
the wicket back spinning off breaks from the Old Dutch Barn end. Since
from this end the pitch sloped downwards at an angle of thirty five
degrees and the covers were at least three feet higher above sea level
than mid wicket a cunningly defensive field was set. This was set by
Christine Cunningly..the captain. Fielders were strategically placed
inches from the bat anticipating the merest hint of a catch. There were
two slips, a petticoat and Christine's own somewhat freckled two
forward short legs.

Other field placings were strategically guessed. Celia ( Blond, 30ish,
lonely, divorced and available) Parkinson was despatched to third
man...Appropriate for her since that was the number she'd reached with
an Italian croupier closely following on the heels of her husband and a
VAT inspector from London.

Mellisa Goodbody was equally appropriately placed at fine long
leg...both of them, whilst Tina Ainscough was posted beyond the
boundary and actually sitting on the fence. (Politically and
metaphorically this space was reserved for her father....the local
M.P.)

Completing the fielding were Jane Cornish at Cover, (Third Party Fire
and Theft) and, at extra cover, a Fully Comprehensive Felicity
Tatum.

Now, Lavinia Price Fletcher Bsc. Econ. (Hons.) was an extremely
talented and versatile bowler. She'd studied and researched the
appropriate tome..'The Definitive Expert Guide To Boring Cricket
Commentaries' and had thus forced her forty six inch bust into a thirty
four inch bra so that every time she ran in to bowl off her ninety pace
run she'd get that..'Little bit of extra bounce' to which certain
cricket pundits appeared to attach so much importance.

True to form her first ball bounced three times, moved in off the seam,
turned, swung, leg breaked off a convenient dandelion, snicked the bat
handle and was neatly caught in second slip...a sexy see through affair
in pink with lace trim...available only by mail order ?9.99...worn by
Delia Duxbury.

"No Ball!" shouted Constance Makepiece, the umpire. The umpteen decibel
scream both betraying her more usual role as the Borough Town Crier,
and sending the collection of itinerant rabbits, who, incidentally, in
numbers at least, had made up more than half of the spectators,
scurrying for deep extra cover. The deep extra cover in question being
not in the cricket fielding positional sense but the sanctuary of their
burrows which under tunnelled the grass bank along the deep square leg
boundary.

"Not Out" confirmed Lady Soames Egrevold, the second umpire standing at
square leg. Her ladyship really looked the part in a white two piece in
crushed silk casually offset by matching handbag. Only her butler,
Fortescue, looked out of place standing beside her ladyship in his
customary charcoal grey dinner suit strategically holding a pale blue
fur trimmed parasol thus ensuring that the hot sun bothered not one
single hair of her ladyship's immaculate coiffure.

Despite the temporary setback of the no ball decision wickets continued
to fall with monotonous regularity. Cries of 'Timber!' could be heard
echoing around the mid wicket boundary, as stumps, sometimes in several
pieces, flew in all directions. Above the noise of splintering woodwork
and cries of 'Owzat?' could be heard the customary pleasantries
exchanged between batswoman and one of the umpires of which..'Never on
your life was that leg before wicket you short sighted stupid old
biddy..!!!'...and, 'Wod'ya mean there's seven balls left in this
blinkin' over?' Were typical.

Naturally such exchanges with Her Ladyship in her role as the second
umpire were somewhat more respectful. For example."Perhaps Madam you
would care to reconsider that dismissal decision in the light of the
fact that the wicket is still intact, the ball has sailed across the
boundary ropes and crashed through the... well, let us just say that
your consideration to sponsoring a new window for the pavilion would be
much appreciated."

Then came controversy. It was Claudia Shutlybottom who came on to bowl.
Her first ball, pitching roughly where fourth slip would have been, was
beautifully intercepted by Councillor Stoic's Golden Labrador who then
abjectly refused to give back the ball which was only retrieved when
the poor canine stopped to cock his leg up against one corner of the
scorers table and was suitably bribed with two lumps of chocolate and
the largest remaining portion of a cheese and pickle sandwich.

"Wide!" bellowed umpire Makepiece. The scorer flinched as the delayed
action echo reverberated back from the town hall clock and the rabbits
retreated again. This time twice as fast and probably twice as deep.
Mind you half an hour had elapsed and so by this time there were
probably twice as many.

At forty seven for nine, eight off the bat (one six and two snicks) and
thirty nine extras, the Toddlesworth number eleven Susan Shortoft came
to the wicket. She took guard, waved the bat about a bit, called for a
batting helmet and a new set of gloves, took guard, patted the pitch,
looked round at the field placings, took guard for the third time, and
then, before facing one single delivery, was urgently called from the
field of play to make a delivery herself....Well she was the local
midwife and it appeared that Nanette Claythorpe's twins had no
intention of waiting till close of play.

So the innings was closed with Middlethorpe set the task of needing a
massive forty eight runs to win at the rate of not very many an
over....

Now, I see the two Middlethorpe openers approaching the wicket both
looking dubiously at the overcast sky.

Oh flamin' hell...They've appealed against the light!!!

They cant do that!!!. Well, I mean,..It's just not bloody
cricket!!!!....