Back in the late 199o’s there was a travel agent at the entrance to Luton Airport. The now defunct Monarch Airlines was one of the leading carriers from the airport. The Shop was run by a husband and wife team. They were exceptionally good, I was told, although I never used them myself. I assume they put a lot of business in Monarch’s direction. Jim Courtney was in middle age and a member of the cricket club. Not particularly athletic it is fair to say.
Cricket teams often tour. Many go to the West Country. I know this because when I moved to Devon I would fill many Wednesday afternoons playing against a variety of visiting touring sides from all over the UK for either Seaton or ‘The Devon Dumplings’ (don’t ask!)
Some clubs will tour further afield with South Africa a popular destination and best of all The West Indies. I was a little surprised to see a notice posted on the Harpenden CC information board. ‘Indication of interest for preseason tour destination-wait for it -Benidorm” !!
I needed to let off steam and just get away for a few days so I signed up along with around 15 others including several first team players amongst whom was skipper Simon Caunce. As I mentioned in a previous post Simon was a hugely popular leader. He counts amongst his good friends that cricket legend Shane Warne. As a young man Shane had visited a top Bristol Club, where Simon played, in order to develop his cricketing knowledge. Simon and his lovely wife Judy took the young man under their wings. They are still great mates and on occasion Shane would turn up at Harpenden CC for a drink. I met him once with Simon at The Worcester County ground where Australia were playing a warm up match on a tour. Shane signed an Ozzie cap for my son. You should have seen the look on Tom’s face when the highly personalised item was given to him. I digress.
I really could not work out why we were going to Benidorm but we boarded the Monarch plane in good spirits. Jim, the travel agent, had arranged for the main match to be sponsored by Monarch Airlines and there was to be a trophy, ‘The Monarch Cup’ no less. Where was the cup we wondered.
As the plane circled Benidorm the aerial view confirmed my consternation. A beautiful sea yes but fringed by a mass of hideous grey tower blocks. It was horrible. A casual look at our fellow passengers confirmed that those who visit Benidorm, how to put this, are probably not as discerning in their taste of holiday destination as the average Harpenden CC member.
Having landed we got on a coach and we headed to our hotel. It was ‘basic’. At the front of the hotel in a sort of yard/cage was a huge dog. Part Doberman part something else it went mad if you even approached the cage. One of the first team players-another top man called Mike Cooper- proclaimed he was a ‘dog whisperer’. ” Before I leave this place’ he said “I will tame this dog and I will get in the cage with him”. People scoffed and the odd bet made. To those who have themselves ‘toured’ it will come as no surprise that due to the miracle that occurs when ‘on tour’ Mike was as good as his boast and won the money.
When we got to the cricket ground itself we were amazed. It was golf driving range with many golfers mindlessly hitting balls. A local cricket club player arrived however and the pieces began falling into place. A lot of the holiday makers in Benidorm came from the North of England and the bar owners who satisfied their need for alcohol from The North too. Yorkshire and Lancashire especially – many of them played cricket. Indeed all the local players bar owners we met, and there were a few, were English. They were good lads and some were talented cricketers.
Middle Class Spanish families consider that in order to progress in life, particularly in business, it is necessary to speak English. As a result they send their children to England for their summer holidays. The destination of choice is of course what they call the ‘Home Counties’. Those aspirant parents who have financial constraints send their children elsewhere. Manuel had been sent to Merthyr Tydfil. His accent, Welsh with a Spanish twist, was both horrible but very funny. We were advised by one of the ‘Yorkies’ that Manuel could be ‘excitable’ but he worked for the Mayor and the use of the ground was in the gift of the local council. We needed to treat Manuel with care in case he gave a bad report to those in high places at the town hall or what ever the Spanish equivalent is called. Around 3 pm a whistle blew, the golfers stopped hitting balls, and three tractors with scoops on the back appeared. The whole area cleared of balls, well almost, and the concrete strip in the middle covered with matting. The ground was transformed from golf to cricket and it all began to make sense.
On the first evening we went out to, how to put this, ‘a special bar’. These ‘special bars’ are legal in Spain and offer a variety of ‘services’ I gather. The staff of this particular enterprise comprised a lot of very heavily made up Russian women. The drinks were very expensive. I cannot remember exactly what happened and as you all know ‘what happens on tour ….’ What I do remember is £8 for a half pint caused me and most of my fellow tourists to seek an early exit especially as the extra services were not required. One man, I will call him Alan David for convenience, made a proposal to one of the women. It was not the sort of proposal that I imagine these ‘special bar women’ usually receive. He was probably ‘confused’ by the large amount of ‘Amaretto on the rocks’ we had drunk earlier in the evening as he proposed ‘marriage’ to a woman called Ludmilla. Ludmilla seeing a ‘way out’ I imagine, said ‘Yes’. I can report that the young lady came to watch a game later in the week and her ‘uniform’ of short skirt, very high heels and a lot of makeup proved somewhat embarrassing for us all. Alan dutifully introduced us all personally to his ‘fiancé’ but the bright sunlight was not favourable to this woman overall countenance and the romance foundered. The other learning point about visiting one of these ‘special bars’ is it is probably not a good idea to take a credit card into the premises as ‘apparently’ there are special rooms that they unlock!. Enough said.
Anyway to the big match against local Benidorm Club ‘Sporting Alfaz’. The pitch was ready the English boys and the ‘token Spaniard’ lined up and Jim, who had arrived late, had placed the ‘Monarch Cup’ he had brought with him on a table. The cup itself was interesting. From a distance of about 10 yards it was impressive but, I have to be honest here, close up it was probably not the most expensive trophy on the market- no matter. This was an ‘International’.
The Las Alfaz team batted well amassing perhaps a hundred and seventy runs. The score itself does not matter. I think it was a ‘forty over’ each side match but again that is not the point of the tale. What I do remember was Manual, who was batting at number 10 was given out for a clear catch or may be he was run out. He ‘lost it’. In machine gun Spanish he challenged the umpire threw his arms in the air before stomping off. He did not stop at the pitch side but, still wearing his pads and carrying his bat, he flounced off down the road. We were all naturally alarmed lest his report to The Mayor would compromise the future of cricket in the future in Benidorm. I am happy to report the answer was no and the club would still appear to be flourishing.
It was our turn to bat and the locals proved to have a decent attack. Wickets fell on a regular basis. Our first team members struggled, which was disturbing for us lower order batsmen but at around thirty something for three our mighty Captain strode to the wicket. A casual onlooker would have noticed a handsome athletic man with a confident gait. They would probably also have noticed a pallor to his skin. I remember this confused me at the time as Simon Caunce was normally a man who tanned well and, although not baking hot, the temperature was in the high seventies. I later learned that Simon was short on holiday leave and had apparently used a few days ‘visiting some clients in the North of England’ as his way of being ‘missing from the office’. The pallor was a result of sun factor 50 sunscreen so as to avoid any awkward questions on his return.
Now not only was Simon very competitive he was proud of his Club and his office in it and he got his head down. He accumulated runs with great style. Unfortunately he lost some more partners and my turn to bat came closer. I think I was number 9. The relevance of my last post will now become clear. I took myself away from the others and sat down at the side of the field and started to meditate. MMMM MMMM MMMM. Five minutes, another appeal another wicket. Another 10 minutes and a shout. ‘Den your in’. I was very nervous yet calm at the same time. We still had about 50 runs to get. Simon approached me with clear orders. “I will get the runs’ He said. ‘You just block if you have to face”. “When I say run, run and don’t get run out”. I watched from the other end as Simon got closer and closer to the target. I dared to dream. The opening bowlers were brought back on and disaster struck. The wicket was not the best it has to be said and one flew from short of length. It may have glanced Simon’s glove but I doubt it- a roar of OWZAT went up and the local umpire triumphantly raised a finger. Simon had scored a brilliant 95 but we were still about 9 runs short of our target. There were two overs and two balls left. As Simon passed me he offered me encouragement. He looked me in the eye. ‘Do it for the boys’! he said or similar. Our club Chairman Martin Wade walked to the wicket. A charming man. I hope he won’t mind me saying somewhat portly. He was not a regular cricketer but a mainstay of the club. I gave him the ‘Simon Caunce speech’. ‘Leave it to me I will get the runs’ I said but he had to face the next ball. ‘Block it’ I mouthed from the other end he nodded in agreement. In the event he took no notice at all took a mighty hook but mercifully missed the ball and the ball missed everything else. I hurried down the pitch and repeated my advice. He apologised, “lost my head’ he said. Except the next ball saw him repeat the exercise -he was out! Jim Courtney limped to the wicket. He had pulled a muscle fielding and as he passed me he mouthed the words I already knew. ‘Its up to you”!
I somehow managed to scramble 3 runs in the penultimate over and found myself facing the last over ‘on strike’. 5 for a draw six for the ‘cup’. My team mates were all now standing on the boundary edge forming a sort of semicircle around the table where the cup stood. The sun shone on its highly polished ‘err’ plastic. The first three deliveries were good ones. I perhaps could have taken a single but my partner did not inspire confidence. The fourth ball I played to mid off. Jim could take it no longer and set off yelling “run”. ‘No No I shouted get back’ he managed a lurch forward, his torn hamstring hampering his movement, grimacing he turned He got in-just. As the fast bowler turned on his mark for the fifth ball in my head my mantra started MMMM MMMM MMMM the world slowed down my eyes focussed on the ball in the bowlers hand. As he completed his delivery stride he let loose a quick delivery but my targeting system had ‘locked on’. It was a ‘hoik’ in truth but what a ‘hoik’. The ball climbed heavenward heading in the direction of long on where the ‘pavilion’ (golfers ‘refreshment shack’ its day job) was positioned. I screamed ” Yes, run!” but Jim was not moving he stood watching. The ball kept on going over my team mates who were mobbing onto the field over the Monarch Trophy. A six! We had won. Simon Caunce got to the crease first he the ‘hero of the match’ but mine the ‘glory.’ We hugged we all hugged. Delirium.
We spent a wonderful evening in one of the Yorkshiremen’s ‘proper bars’. We sang songs and relived the day. It had just been wonderful. I don’t like to ‘rank’ my sporting experiences as it is difficult to compare like with like but oh my goodness this one was special.
The following day we sang and danced the conga along the airbridge on to the Monarch jet carrying our trophy. The aircrew gave the cup its own seat and we free drinks. I remember looking back at my tanned friends sitting happily on the plane but it was the one with the palest face who returned the warmest smile. Simon thanks for a very special memory!
Tales of a Life Well Lived 