Chorus of praise rings out as Bird flies the nest (6 Sep 1998)

6 September 1998

Chorus of praise rings out as Bird flies the nest

By Peter Roebuck

FEW PEOPLE manage to break down the walls of our diffidence to secure a warm place in our hearts. Few manage to reach across the immediacy of their surroundings to become part of the fabric of our lives. Statesmen, actresses, royals and rock singers might manage it. And always their parting is slow and painful, as if they cannot bring themselves to say goodbye, as if their audience can scarcely believe it is over, as if the scene and the servant had become intertwined. It is not easy to say farewell to immortality.

Remarkably Mr Harold Bird, an umpire, a humble son of the granite town of Barnsley, a modest cricketer in his time and better known as Dickie (and nicknames are part of it) is among those whose passing has been noticed. On Wednesday he officiates for the last time in the sort of county match that was his living long before he became famous. He stands as Yorkshire and Warwickshire meet at Headingley, the ground where it all began 29 years ago.

It has been part of Bird's appeal that he has never lost touch with his origins or with the humdrum part of his game, with its sawdust piles and tea intervals and professionals struggling for a living, as he did. He did not need his image. He did not need his fame or the fortune he jokes about. He needed to be around cricketers. He needed to be umpiring because it allowed him to stay within the confines of his game. His search for love had been answered. His reputation was his protection, that is all.

It has been part of his appeal, too, that though a Yorkshireman, he did not think himself infallible. Throughout, he has been scrupulous and careful, an approach for which numerous students and tailenders and others among the dispossessed have had reason to be grateful. He did become a character, bringing a touch of the music hall to the cobbled streets of county cricket. But he did not forget to respect the game or its players.

In time Bird did turn from mere execution to performance. A man can become a legend and a caricature at the same time and, more or less, by the same process. Happily it did not prevent him giving each appeal his weightiest consideration. Even in his later years, when ageing eyes and ears were not functioning quite so well, he was still conscientious almost to a fault. His fondness for cricketers and cricket has shone through, and stilled many a turbulent water. He likes players and they like him. Only his willingness to leave tricky decisions to colleagues has provoked remark.

Now comes the time to say goodbye. A quick farewell is needed, not the long drawn out wrench of a last Test match in which attention was drawn from the players. It was not really Bird's fault. Cricket wanted to salute him.

Bird has been among the finest of his profession. In his pomp he combined sagacity and humour. He had authority and did not feel the need to prove it. He had strength and never felt bound to show it. As with David Shepherd, nothing untoward seemed to occur in his matches. He was welcomed everywhere. Indeed he was at his best in Test matches, for he had a sense of an audience and he rose to an occasion. Although he respected the great players he did not fear them. The game came first.

Most of all he had a sense of fair play. Years ago Somerset were chasing runs at home to Warwickshire. Wanting to avoid bowling another over before the last hour began, a visiting paceman tried to waste time by bowling a deliberate no ball. He stepped two yards over the crease. Bird was appalled. Furious, he called the next five deliveries as no balls, irrespective. Mischief was not allowed to prosper. In effect, Somerset were given an extra over. An honest man, a good and humble man, and a likeable man. May he enjoy his retirement.

Source :: Electronic Telegraph (https://www.telegraph.co.uk)