Mattew Fleming: Canterbury and Headingley (8 Aug 1998)

8th August

Canterbury and Headingley

Mattew Fleming

HEADINGLEY and Canterbury. If ever two grounds cried out for Michael Palin it is these two. In real terms Kent and Yorkshire may not be poles apart, but on Thursday there could hardly have been two more contradictory cricket occasions.

Headingley, venue for the fifth and deciding Test, all tension, desperation and hope; Canterbury, staging the 147th festival week, all calm, Britishness, and, well, festive. Scudding clouds, plain-clothed policemen and speed guns at the Test match. Blazing sunshine, military bands and relaxation at the championship match. It is on occasions such as this that one appreciates the suitability of Kent being the Garden of England and the hop county.

There are cricketing festivals the length and breadth of the country and each will, of course, have its champions. But Canterbury week is surely unique. Approaching a score that most of us can only dream of, it remains the focal point of our season. Few, if any, festivals take place at a county's headquarters, let alone a ground with such history and character.

The lime tree, 200 years old, has witnessed every delivery bowled and faced at Canterbury. The slope, nine feet from top to bottom, continues to intrigue, baffle and then gently guide those who may have inadvertently made that little bit too much of the local hospitality back to the car park.

The 20 marquees are full to brimming. The High Sheriff, the President, the Buffs, the Conservative Club and the Lord Mayor all have marquees. The cricket, whilst keenly contested, knows its place and plays second fiddle to the ladies' hat competition, the clinking of ice, the groaning tables, polite applause and, as the day draws on, the odd nodding head and resonant snore. The Kent and Hampshire batsmen do their level best but their presence is temporary. The festival week is permanent.

Up in Leeds the 90mph barrier continues to be threatened and broken. Each shot and delivery is ruthlessly shoved under the microscope, and the umpires' every decision minutely analysed. There is no hiding place as the series destination hangs in the balance. At Headingley the crowd demands, at Canterbury the crowd would prefer. Short of playing at Headingley for England there is no greater thrill for a Kent player than Canterbury week. The history, the tradition, the beauty of it. Participation immediately weaves you into the fabric of the county and you become part of Kent's famous cricketing history.

It is a history that is amply represented during cricket week. Past players of all vintages return year after year to catch up, remember and, on occasion, exaggerate. Straight deliveries carelessly missed now pitch leg and hit off. There isn't a stand that hasn't been cleared, window that hasn't been broken, or type of delivery that hasn't been bowled. Time is a great healer of relationships and reputations. Adversaries become allies, average becomes excellent, and good becomes legend.

THE most popular marquee of the week belongs to the Hoppers' club - the club formed by, among others, Les Ames, Hopper Levett, Claude Lewis, Doug Wright (he of seven hat-tricks fame), Eddie Crush and Brian Valentine - and is a Kentish institution. Ames, whilst still a player, had been refused permission to wear a Kent County Cricket Club tie unless he paid membership subscriptions, so he and his colleagues formed their own club and wore their own tie.

It is named after Hopper Levett, a fearless wicketkeeper, lover of hops and enormous character. Hopper died in 1995. He was one of the few people who didn't have to knock on the changing-room door yet always did. He was a bottomless pit of humorous and often unrepeatable stories. We still talk about him with real affection and remember his many escapades.

One, in particular, lingers in the memory. After a night of uncharacteristic excess Hopper was not quite as prepared as he might have been to take the field. Having been suited and booted by his team-mates he was guided to his position behind the stumps. The first ball passed close by Hopper but got absolutely no response. He stood motionless as the ball went for four byes. The second ball was wide down the leg side. Hopper took off and caught the ball cleanly one-handed, then nonchalantly flicked it to a fielder before turning to his neighbours in the slip cordon. "Not bad for the first ball of the day." Such is the stuff of legends.

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