Bomber Wells was one of the old school who regarded cricket as something to enjoy rather than a job. A man of wide girth and rolling gait, he had - in the words of Michael Parkinson - "a summer's day in his face and laughter in his soul". The son of a blacklisted trade unionist in Gloucester, he never changed from the happy-go-lucky club cricketer he had been when first summoned to play for the county. His batting was agricultural, his fielding leisurely and he bowled brisk offspin off a one-pace run that caught many batsmen unaware. The tales of him are legion: from his exchanges with his amateur captain to the mix-ups running between the wickets. "For God's sake, call," Sam Cook once begged him and back came the reply: "Heads."

"As a batsman he really had only one shot, a great agricultural mow over mid-wicket, but it was spectacular when it connected," wrote Stephen Chalke on the Gloucestershire website. "As a fielder he was even less like a modern cricketer. A leisurely figure on the boundary, he liked to chat to the nearby spectators, on one occasion contriving to hold a catch while juggling a cup of tea in his other hand."
Cricinfo staff.