Chapter 15 Turn the other cheek
does not apply in cricket
“Oh, Vicar! Someone has bought the meadow!” cried Mrs. Hadley.
“Yes; it was me,” said Chaz. “I’m going to cut just enough grass for a
wicket, and put up a hut for the Church cricket club, which the scouts can use
for water if they want to camp there, and otherwise I’m leaving it as it is,
stream and all. But it’s a bit hush-hush; we need to practise on the Q.T.
before I challenge Sir Tarleton.”
“Oh, that dreadful man!” said Mrs. Hadley. “He has it in for poor Ross,
and poor Lucy. You should have heard what he said about her entrapping you when
you read the banns on Sunday!”
“It’s my Christian duty to feel sorry for him,” said Chaz, blinking
slightly to hear Sgt Blake referred to as ‘Ross’ by one who had criticised him.
“People like that Sir Tarleton do not invite sympathy,” said Mrs. Hadley.
“I am not as good a cook as you, but Lucy and I can combine to make sandwiches
for cricketers.”
“Excellent!” said Chaz. “I might need her to bat at the moment, though. Summer is running for Ross Blake. Wendel has not played cricket since he was at
school, but hands that can catch excited animals trying to flee without hurting
them should be safe hands for a cricket ball.”
“Would you exclude people like... you know, Catholics, Methodists, and so
on?”
“Not in the least, so long as they’ll bat for God in their own way,” said
Chaz.
“Well, the Roman Catholic priest has been heard to say he wouldn’t mind a
game of cricket if it wasn’t for having to play with the godless. He meant Sir
Tarleton,” she explained, unnecessarily.
Chaz brightened.
“An all-churches team? That would be worth doing. And religion a banned
subject, but taking turns to lead pre-match prayers,” he said.
“Oh, dear, what have I started?” said Mrs. Hadley.
“A drubbing for the Ungodly,” said Captain Cunningham, escaping briefly
from the reverend.
“Well, when you put it that way....”
oOoOo
With the chubby, but enthusiastic Catholic priest on board, and two
elders from the Methodist chapel, the All-Churches Cricketing Club, or the
Triple-C was born.
There were a few clashes of personality, but Chaz went with the advice
Wendel gave him; treat them all like disobedient dogs at dog training classes,
keep the loudest on short leashes, and reward good behaviour with treats.
So far, it was working.
The group was not a team yet, but they were getting there. And if there was an underlying sense of
purpose of trouncing Sir Tarleton Rickett, that Unchristian and Uncharitable
thought was at least unspoken. And acknowledged as unlikely; Sir Tarleton’s
team had been playing together for years, and one of them had once been a
Household Name, at least, to those who were glued to the commentary of Richie
Benaud on Radio 4 in their misspent youth of smuggled transistor radios during
revision periods of school exams.
This did include Chaz.
He was accosted by Sir Tarleton in the village shop.
“What’s this I hear about you putting together a scratch eleven to give
us some practice, reverend?”
“Oh, I think we’ll give you more of a challenge than just some practice,
Sir Tarleton,” said Chaz, sitting firmly on the captain within who wanted to
find a glove to strike Sir Tarleton across the face.
“Well, well, I hope your lads won’t make a mess of our pitch, when you
come to bat; but it’s a date. What about the twenty-seventh?”
Chaz made himself smile brightly.
“So long as it’s in the afternoon; I’m getting married in the
morning. It will be a lovely celebration
of teamwork as epitomised by marriage. I’ll give a sermon on it. And we can
convene to the church for after-match eats combined with the reception.”
“Haw haw, the bridegroom wore whites, eh? Maybe you’re entitled to it.”
The joke was heavy; Sir Tarleton knew fine well when Chaz and Lucy were getting
married and had hoped to make Chaz look disobliging, by failing to accept. Being let down on that, he could not resist
the dig at Lucy.
“Oh, I can’t claim virginity,” said Chaz. “I lost that to Matron’s
daughter when I was sixteen. I was a bit
of a bad boy in those days; it drove the women wild. And I had the sort of
moped which looks like a real bike, full leathers, long hair, and a tattoo of
Betty Boop on my bicep. I could make her wriggle.”
“Very fine tattoo,” put in Ajit Patel.
“Do you still have it?”
“Alas, no; the Bishop said it had to go,” said Chaz. “Still, making Betty
dance was one of party tricks in the army. I’m sure Sir Tarleton knows the sort
of high jinks young men get up to.”
Sir Tarleton, who had never been through the usual channels made the sort
of noise usually spelled as 'harrumph’ and left in a hurry.
“My love,” said Chaz to Lucy, “I lost my temper a bit with Sir Tarleton
and we’re playing the match on the day of our wedding.”
“Before, or after?”
“After.”
“That’s not a problem, then, I won’t have to worry about wedding photos
with a husband limping , or with a black
eye from taking what should have been a six in the face.”
“You’re a wife in a million,” said Chaz.
“Get married in your whites,” said Lucy. “Just to remind us in future
years.”
“I will, then,” said Chaz. “He suggested it and cast aspersions on you
not being able to.”
“I’m wearing blue. Mrs. Hadley has a nice blue dress with subtle clouded
white flowers on, with matching jacket in plain blue and white piping, and she
helped me make Summer a dress in a colour very close to her own, and it has
layers of daisies around it,” said Lucy. “I confess, I let her take me over
rather.”
“She is a bit of a force majeure,”
said Chaz.
oOoOo
The day of the wedding dawned, and Chaz rose bright and early, along with
the Bishop, who had arrived the previous evening, to stay over and do the job
properly, as he had cheerfully said.
He had also been roped in as twelfth man for the cricket match. It was being refereed by the local radio
commentator, but the bishop did not mind playing on the side of God.
He had heard of Sir Tarleton.
The campanologists gave it their all, and Chaz sighed happily on his way
into church to hear the mellow sound ring out across the countryside.
He could not have told anyone the highlights of the ceremony later, even
though it was one he knew by heart; but when the Bishop told him that he might
kiss the bride, he swept Lucy into his arms, and did just that.
Dave and Lily-Kate had come, of course, and the rest of the group
‘Apocalypse’ and were to organise the music at the reception. They presented
Chaz with the group’s first CD, ‘Apocalypse – Pending,’ and Chaz laughed.
“That sounds like any children’s party,” he said.
“Well, we’re hoping to flog a few copies as well as entertain your
parishioners,” said Dave. “Thank goodness you didn’t rope us in for the
cricket; I’m a cricket muppet, as you know, and Lily’s dangerous with any kind
of bat.”
“I heard she routed some hoodlums at the church where she’s serving as
curate,” said Chaz, smiling at the diminutive newly-ordained Lily, whose hair
was pink in honour of the wedding, as she had explained to a slightly bemused
Lucy.
“I had an old hockey stick I was using to reach with my duster,” said
Lily. “And I asked them to go nicely
first, but they thought they might have what they called some ‘fun’ with me,
and then spray up the church. So I whacked ‘em, and whacked ‘em, and whacked
‘em. They were very glad when the fuzz arrived to take them off to the safety
of jail.”
They all dined in the vicarage on a chicken salad which Chaz had prepared
earlier, and Lucy and Summer changed in what was now their rooms. The bishop
was wearing whites under his cassock, just in case, and Summer had whites to
run for Sgt Blake.
oOoOo
Chaz won the toss, and elected to field first. It would steady his team
down. The former professional went in to bat first, opposite Sir Tarleton, and
Chaz opened the bowling with his accurate fast bowls. The professional chalked
up a respectable twenty-five runs before Chaz added a googly to his bowling,
and the professional went down, caught behind, by Wendel.
A wicket change had Chaz facing Sir Tarleton. Chaz, aware that Sir
Tarleton was not above gamesmanship, appealed LBW whenever it might be
feasible, with a ‘howzat?’ to the referee.
This made Sir Tarleton hopping mad, and he swiped hard at the ball, which
was caught at silly mid-off by old Charlie.
Chaz let the next pair settle to slugging it out against his fast
bowling, and put Charlie in, and four wickets fell quickly. Alternating, the
final four were despatched with despatch, for an overall score of fifty four
all out.
Chaz stood opposite Blake for their opening in bat, Summer eager to run.
The old sergeant would tell her when to run, at their turn; and the opening
pair notched up twenty runs.
How close the match might have been, had not Sir Tarleton been a
vindictive man, is debateable. But he
managed to get a ball to bounce and hit Chaz in the box, still a painful thing
to happen even with the protection.
“Haw haw, sorry, reverend, spoiled your wedding night there, a bit,” said
Sir Tarleton. “Better turn the other cheek... and retire hurt.”
“I’m fine,” said Chaz, fighting nausea. “I’ll keep playing.”
The captain inside won the battle for supremacy, and Charles Cunningham,
capped for Eton and Oxford for his batting as much as his bowling, thrust aside
the reverend, and his nausea, and sent the next ball for a resounding six.
Thereafter he placed all his boundaries into random, and different,
locations, inspiring Blake to bat almost as well, and the score stood at three
hundred and two when the professional managed to bowl a deceptive curve ball
which took Chaz’s bails off. He retired gracefully to watch the rest of his
team struggle on for a further fifty all out.
Tea was welcome, and then Sir Tarleton’s team were back in to bat.
Sir Tarleton was flustered, it had to be admitted, but to be caught out,
and by Summer, first ball was the end of his tether.
The fact that several people were quacking at his duck was not helping.
He threw his cap on the ground.
“Damn you, Cunningham, where did you get them? Did you hire professionals to help you?”
“The only pro is on your team, Rickett,” said Chaz. “You know all the team members; they all live
in the village. Our bobbies are new, but you should know them. You might not
have met the Methodist church wardens or Father Michael from the Catholic
church but my team are all locals.”
“I... you must be cheating!” cried Sir Tarleton.
“I will anticipate an apology for that infamous suggestion,” said Chaz,
coldly. “Now stop being childish and let your next player in.”
The match was won by two hundred and four runs and eleven wickets, as the
established team did not manage to match the first innings of the Combined
Church eleven.
“Most entertaining,” said the Bishop.
“Well, there’s a feast in the church, but I’m going home with my wife and
relying on Summer to steal us a basket of food to eat later,” said Chaz.
Summer giggled, being more than equal to doing just that; and Rev. and
Mrs. Cunningham retired to the vicarage to explore their marital vows.
