The match was dominated by Merilhat’s magnificent 177 not out, well supported by Barnard’s 61 before retiring hurt, as Putney’s understrength side struggled both to contain the scoring and later to negotiate an unusually unpredictable surface, upon which Britto and Captain Elmsley bowled beautifully.

We won the toss and chose to bat on what was immediately recognised as an unusual pitch. Before play, their captain explained, with strained composure, that there had been concerns within the Opposition committee regarding the safety of the square at this, their new auxiliary ground. Sensing our alarm, he hurried to reassure us that the particular strip selected for the day had proved “the most docile yet” and had therefore been prudently reused from the previous afternoon.

Closer inspection of the pitch revealed the basis of his concern. The wicket had clearly been heavily loamed before the season, but thereafter abandoned to sporadic mowing: the cricketing equivalent of buying a Ferrari and then forgetting to inflate the tyres.

The result was a kind of low level agricultural pluralism. Beneath the surface sat a hard base of genuine cricket pitch. Above it rested moss, weeds, assorted green tufts of uncertain origin which one would normally prefer not to see on a cricket pitch.

The effect on the cricket itself was deeply peculiar. Batting was plainly difficult. Deliveries routinely lost pace after pitching, yet could also rear alarmingly from a full length, leaving batsmen caught awkwardly between forward and back. Anything properly pitched up became difficult to drive with confidence, while balls only fractionally short often climbed sharply towards the splice or gloves. Bowlers were constantly in the game.

And yet, paradoxically, wickets were oddly hard to take. The same uneven bounce that made batting uncomfortable also made conventional dismissals elusive. Bowled dismissals were hard to obtain and lbws harder still, because anything pitching on a good length tended to pass over the stumps.

Nor were the quicker bowlers necessarily the most dangerous. Pace often carried the ball cleanly through the mossy grass and into the harder, loamed surface beneath. By contrast, seamers and spinners operating more gently into the top layer found uneven movement, up down left and right. Batsmen, other than Merilhat, seldom looked settled. Equally, they were hard to get out.

It quickly became apparent that catches would matter enormously. So, too, would the possession of eleven fielders. Putney, unfortunately for them, only had ten after a late withdrawal.

Our openers began well, seeing off the majority of the opening spell before Tunnacliffe fell to the pitch’s central deception. Playing too early at a ball which decelerated sharply after pitching, he succeeded only in spooning a simple catch behind the stumps to their captain, who was keeping wicket. The score was 45 for 1, with Merilaht at that stage unbeaten on 22.

Barnard arrived at the crease and immediately endured a complicated start. The first ball was driven enthusiastically and missed completely. The next looked a comfortable leave outside off stump until it jagged violently back in after Barnard had raised his bat to leave it. “Not out,” came the decision. Probably correctly.

Thereafter, Barnard changed his approach. Survive. Wait for the bad ball. Get Merilaht on strike.

As Barnard missed a respectable quantity of deliveries, Merilhat proceeded to bat magnificently, as if on a different pitch to every other player. He seemed to score in every direction while rarely appearing hurried and never, as far as anyone could remember, offering a genuine chance.
Matters were assisted by some curious captaincy from Putney, whose refusal to spread the field allowed boundaries to accumulate at surprising speed. They also appeared entirely unconcerned by the fact that Barnard possessed only one reliable scoring shot, namely the cut, and generously declined throughout to station anybody at deep extra cover for the first 20 overs.

The partnership grew steadily. Barnard reached fifty. Merilhat reached a hundred. The contrast between the innings became increasingly striking. One appeared to be surviving the pitch through stubbornness and Putney’s proclivity to bowl two bad balls an over. The other appeared to be batting on concrete.

With the stand on 183, the wicket produced a reminder of its character. A full ball climbed sharply into Barnard’s helmet, confirming both why batting had felt so awkward and how exceptionally well Merilaht had played.

There followed the now standard concussion enquiries from concerned teammates. Barnard was asked his name, the date, and who the Prime Minister was. The last question proved unexpectedly difficult given the state of Labour politics after the local elections, though after a brief pause “still Starmer, technically” was accepted as sufficient evidence of awareness. Mead, a teacher used to safeguarding, suggested Barnard go off.
He retired hurt on 61 not out off 65 balls. By then enough damage had been done to secure the highest swcond wicket partnership in Ploughman’s history.

John arrived and immediately launched an enormous six before miscuing at a ball that decelerated off the surface and was caught. Tailor then came to the crease fresh from having his bat serviced, and made an excellent 17. His work in the nets has clearly started producing dividends. He looked increasingly assured.

Merilaht meanwhile continued serenely onwards to finish 177 not out from 120 balls, with twenty one fours and five sixes, an innings of extraordinary quality on that surface. He judged length earlier than anyone else, trusted the bounce completely, and seemed to find gaps at will, moving effortlessly between classical drives, late cuts and clean strikes down the ground while the rest of us were still trying to work out which balls were safe to play at.

Putney began positively enough, though this was partly necessity rather than optimism. Chasing 297 on that surface required immediate aggression and both Ryder and Diangienda perhaps bowled slightly too quickly to extract the pitch’s stranger qualities, with their high speed balls driving into the loam and coming on well enough for the openers to score freely. For a brief period the chase retained a certain theoretical credibility. After ten overs, they were unbeaten and up with the rate.

The key intervention came from Britto. Bowling with excellent control and just enough variation off the surface, he removed both openers as they continued to attack, each well caught by Mead.

Those dismissals altered the tone of the innings considerably. Putney still possessed competent batsmen, but not necessarily players equipped with the skill required to maintain the required rate while also negotiating the pitch’s irregular bounce. From that point onwards the principal question ceased to be whether they might win and became instead how Ploughman’s intended to take the remaining wickets.

Lonsdale bowled well and found considerable movement from the surface, although he struggled with rhythm and his length.
The second decisive spell, however, came from Elmslie, whose leg spin was genuinely excellent. On a pitch already inclined towards unpredictability, his variations in flight and turn felt faintly unfair. Mushtaq was bowled, Shaw trapped lbw, Almond cleaned up shortly afterwards, and the innings began to unravel properly.

Then came the weather. Clouds gathered steadily beyond the ground and the light began to drain away with alarming speed. The first spots of drizzle were initially ignored, then discussed, then monitored with anxious attention.

With no Duckworth Lewis system available at this level, there was suddenly a very real possibility that unless Putney could be bowled out quickly the match might end in the deeply unsatisfactory bureaucratic compromise of a rain affected draw.

Tunnacliffe’s dismissal of Gilligan briefly restored momentum, but the innings refused quite to end. Singles were nudged. Overs disappeared. The drizzle thickened perceptibly. Fielders began returning the ball with unusual urgency while periodic glances upwards became almost as frequent as appeals. For a few overs the entire match acquired the atmosphere of a side racing failing light rather than defending 296.

Ryder was eventually brought back on for one final attempt before conditions defeated everybody and bowled Briggs to complete the innings on 154, securing victory only shortly before the weather appeared ready to take the decision out of human hands altogether.

Match report from Benjamin Bernard