Dry, yes, but certainly not dour
Will Luke reviews Bearders: My Life in Cricket by Bill Frindall
Will Luke
16-Jun-2006
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I must confess to a sense of trepidation in being asked to review this book. Bill Frindall's on-air style as the BBC's Test Match Special scorer has a required taste; his dry, laconic wit and insistence on correcting messers Blofeld and Agnew on any anomalies in their commentary takes his role as the "straight man" to hitherto unseen levels.
Happily, albeit 309 pages later, my opinion had changed. His somewhat
boorish banter with his TMS colleagues is nowhere to be seen in this
his first autobiography. In fact, quite the opposite; he is engaging,
charming and it is mostly a thoroughly interesting read.
Making his debut in the TMS box in 1966, the impression of Frindall is
of a man born to work with numbers, statistics and so forth. Yet in
the first 80 pages or so, it is his playing career which receives the
biggest attention. We learn that it was his father, who is spoken of
in endearingly cherished tones, who introduced him to cricket, where
most days the pair (like many father-son teams) would play on the back
lawn and "naughtily, on a remote putting green on Epsom Downs".
If Frindall senior was the central figure in a young Bill's life, the
RAF (and, later, John Arlott) became his substitute father-figure
during the 1950s where, seemingly, very little work was done where at
all possible. "...life in the RAF was a delightfully cushy number
indeed. Members of the station cricket teams could even have their
boots and pads whitened by delivering them to the sports section".
For readers not overly enamoured with the "art" of scoring, Bearders
(known throughout as Bill, Sir William, Bearders or Frindalius)
fortunately only spends a single chapter detailing the history behind
some of the scoring world's legends. But in fact, it's an enlightening
read. Did you know, for example, that his scoring method - the linear
system - is based on John Atkinson Pendlington (1861-1914)? Or that in
1972, Frindall devised an adapted version of "the Pendlington" which
is now in use by first-class teams around the world? In an age
besotted with speed; the internet; with words such as "verdana" and
"qwerty", the old-fashioned and painstaking manual process of scoring
seems kitsch. But I quite like it, again, in fact; his love of its art
translates itself strongly in the book, something which at times comes
across as a chore over the airwaves in the TMS box.
John Arlott, the "Voice of Cricket from 1946 until 1980" receives an
entire chapter which, while not to be missed, is nevertheless a touch too syrupy for an autobiography. Clearly (and understandably), Arlott played a significant role
in Frindall's life and indeed helped shape him as a man - they met two
years after Frindall senior died - not to mention his career. However,
the common thread of his love for Arlott is a shared thirst of the red liquid. Barely a sentence goes by that Arlott's love of wine isn't mockingly mentioned; there's almost a sense of pride, relish and jealousy that Arlott had such a capacity, and it becomes rather
weary. Nevertheless, as anyone who enjoys a bottle of wine or ten will
testify, drink has a habit of fuelling good humour and the pair evidently
spent countless days - Frindall under Arlott's drunken wing - tasting and
enjoying the grapes of France and Australia.
Of great interest are the chapters devoted to his colleagues. Arlott
apart, Brian Johnston, Christopher Martin-Jenkins, Jonathan Agnew,
Shilpa Patel (production assistant to Peter Baxter with "a varies and
fashionable wardrobe) all receive notable mention. Indeed, while
Arlott and Johnners had a decidedly acrimonious relationship -
recorded at length by the author - Frindall and Johnners had no such
problems. In one particularly amusing anecdote, he transcribes a
commentary stint between himself, Johnners and Fred Trueman when
wearing an Arabian headdress (ghutra an iqal).
Humour, then, is the common thread running through the book. Devoted
to cricket and to his colleagues, it was a welcome revelation into a
man whose often grumpy interjections on the radio portray someone ill
at ease with his lot. Quite the opposite. Frindall, or Frindalius as
Allott nicknamed him, has a hidden and infectiously witty side to him
which, oddly, is almost like welcoming a new member aboard TMS. Cheers.

Will Luke is editorial assistant of Cricinfo