Farewell Waltz

Cricket is about to lose its Falstaff. David Shepherd, full-bodied in good nature and girth, retires from umpiring at the end of the English season. The game, internationally, is going to miss his infectious humanity, his sense of fun never too far away, and his old-fashioned regard for integrity.

But beneath those trademark physical contortions that doubtless emanate from his native Devon's myths and superstitions, paraded theatrically when the scoreboard registers Nelsons and double Nelsons, lurks a wise and shy man. The more expansive and comic flourishes are only a paradoxical part of his appealing presence. He is, after all, one of the best umpires in the world. And that's to do with decision-making rather than vaudeville.

Not so long ago, he returned from New Zealand and had to snatch an overnight before travelling straight out to the West Indies. On the escalator at Gatwick airport, he suddenly lost his balance, tried in vain to grab his bag, and went headlong down the moving staircase. It was a spectacular fall: pure and endearing slapstick. The escalator was stopped, fortunately; the man who did the good deed eyed Shep's official blazer and said: "Hey, you're David Shepherd - on one leg again!" The well-fleshed umpire dusted himself down and grinned. He has always been able to laugh at himself; he was also aware that his legendary whims at the wicket were with him for life.

No one would claim that he was the most agile or coordinated of sportsmen, even if he once played pluckily in the unlikely role of scrum half for South Molton - the All Blacks, as they were known, of the West Country. Those who watched him relishing club and Minor Counties cricket, though, noted how well he timed the ball and what a belt he gave it past extra cover. Hadn't he announced his arrival for Gloucestershire, too, by scoring a hundred against Oxford University, on his debut? Roly-poly he may have been but not simply a figure of fun.

Since 1981 Shep has been a top-class umpire, calm in making the right call, wary of duplicitous tricks by batsmen who don't walk or bowlers who cynically appeal too often. "I really hate cheats," he says, with more public passion than he normally reveals. By nature he doesn't like confrontation. That is why whispered words of warning, softened by the gentle Devon vowels as they are directed at a potential felon, so often pre-empt trouble. He has the advantage of an equable temperament - the eyes twinkling rather than blazing during a private exchange at the crease. The undeniable fact is that most top cricketers like him.

Umpires come in many guises. They are often pedantic or punctilious. Some are inclined to be bumptious, more obsessed with their egos than the state of the game. The uncomplicated Shepherd, mostly not troubled by all the distracting nuances of big-time cricket, likes to smile. He glances at the scoreboard and then goes into his surreal dancing routine, because he knows that the spectators expect it of him.

Fellow Gloucestershire player and later umpire, Barrie Meyer was a valuable influence on Shep when he, too, turned from player to umpire. "In many ways I took my cue from him," Shep says. "I told him I liked a pint, so should I mix with the players in the evening? The advice was that if they wanted to talk, let them come to us. The first move should be theirs." But Shep is convivial by nature. He has learned, however, to keep his head down, remaining detached from any controversy fanned by aggrieved players.

Above all, he has an all-embracing affection for cricket, especially the county game. It shows: whether he is walking a boundary or reminiscing as he sips his glass of red wine (he has had to cut down on the beer since diabetes was detected). He has travelled the world, listened in horror to the gossip of match-fixing and murky deeds and been depressed by Paul Condon's anti-corruption report. Just once, in a foreign hotel room, a melodramatic approach was made to him. He slammed the phone down; only later did he place it in the context of shady dealings, as an exploratory attempt to see if he might be corrupted.

Maybe his naïvete is part of his appeal and strength. He remains today as romantic about the game as he was when his one-eyed father ("No jokes, please") umpired matches at Instow, and brother Bill, slow left-arm and sturdy bat, captained the talented local side. Bill was, on Shep's ready admission, the better cricketer. He went to Lord's for coaching, but eventually, instead of a county career, took over the Instow post office and newsagent's from his mother. Now he's about to retire himself. A few weeks ago Shep gave up his regular job as paper-boy. He would be up before 6am, juggling his duties for Bill between the cricket fixtures. On one occasion, when he delivered the Times to an ex-headmaster, there was a double-take. "I can't believe this, David. Here I am, reading a report of yesterday's match in Sharjah where you were the umpire, and now you're bringing the paper to my front door."

Shep will never leave Instow. He likes the sand dunes and the estuary - the water lapping virtually up to the outfielders at the ground - too much. He always insisted that his return ticket was his most prized possession when he went on his overseas commitments. Now he will have time to spend with Jenny, his partner. There will be more walks with Skip, the faithful dog; to see his village and school mates; time to enlarge his stamp collection and take his golf more seriously. He and Bill will no doubt spend hours at weekends stretched on the grass in front of the thatched pavilion, just as they once did as schoolboys hoping one of the regulars didn't turn up, so that there might be a last-minute game for the Shepherd brothers.

The Jamaica Test in June will be Shep's 92nd and last. Only Steve Bucknor will have stood in more. Then follow duties in the NatWest Series between England, Australia and Bangladesh - before the Lord's final on July 2. By the time he retires, Shep will have stood in 180 one-day internationals, by some distance a record. He has been umpire in three World Cup finals, at Lahore, Lord's and Johannesburg. The biggest stage has been his. Perhaps his appearance for Gloucestershire in two winning finals, the 1973 Gillette Cup and the 1977 B&H Cup, gave him the taste for the special occasion.

Fittingly, his umpiring farewells will be on the county scene. White-haired, rubicund, a little more sedate now, this is where he is singularly comfortable, as he chats to the players, or waves to a familiar West Country face. He's an elder statesman these days, treated with some awe by the succeeding new influxes of county cricketers. His decisions, quietly considered, never rushed, are respected. For his part, he can't resist offering a kindly compliment to an emerging tyro. Not only the young appreciate his worth. When Courtney Walsh made his final Test appearance in England, at The Oval, he made a point of going off with Shepherd, arm around the Devonian's neck.

Shep's will be the most considerately arranged of valedictory fixtures: Gloucestershire v Glamorgan in Bristol on September 25. He signs off in front of the Nevil Road spectators who long ago used to see him mopping his brow, scampering selflessly for singles, thumping boundaries, and once getting carried off with dehydration. Their regard for him has never wavered. His former captain, Tony Brown, summed him up as "pleasantly rustic; someone who turned himself from a club to a county cricketer". Shep happily settled for that.

He may have remained in spirit the village boy. Shep feels sledging has decreased. Like most of the top umpires, he was sceptical of the evolving electronic aids "before accepting the virtues that come with most of them". The incessant international fixtures, "in pursuit of the mighty dollar", bother him.

Umpiring is a human activity and it would be absurd to suggest Shep didn't make mistakes. Flustered and despondent, he was perilously near to resigning after the much-quoted Test against Pakistan at Old Trafford in 2001, where he missed three no-balls from Saqlain Mushtaq which took wickets. "Some wonderful people helped me through that. I got letters and messages from others I'd never met, and I received kindly words at the ECB. I listened to them all and decided to stay." And stay he did: on the international panel for nine years and on the Elite panel from 2002. You can't get any higher than that.

The superstitious Shepherd should have the final word. "Do you realise that my hero, Nelson, died exactly 200 years ago? I reckoned that it was also a pretty good time for me to retire from the scene!"