what he should do if he won the toss. ‘You must bat,’ said I, ‘because if you field first and bowl Ireland out before lunch there won’t be a match worth watching.’ I was not to know my pearls of wisdom were to lead to utter disaster for the West Indies!
The beautiful Sion Mills ground, with a river running down one side of it, was absolutely packed. The outfield looked immaculate and, due to some overnight rain, the wicket was fittingly emerald green and slightly damp to boot. That didn’t stop Butcher electing to bat after he had won the toss, and at 11.30 Steve Camacho and Joey Carew walked out to open the innings. In Dougie Goodwin, the captain, and Alex O’Riordan, Ireland had a pair of opening bowlers good enough to have played first-class cricket, had they been interested. They bowled brilliantly, so brilliantly that after 40 minutes the West Indies – Butcher, Lloyd, Foster, Walcott, Shepherd et al. – were 12 for 9. At that point a little-known fast bowler (then as now) called Blair came in at number 11 to join Shillingford. Together they scythed at every ball and somehow they managed to score another 13 between them, Shillingford finishing with 9 not out, by far the highest score of the innings. So the mighty West Indies had been humbled for 25, Goodwin taking 5 for 6 and O’Riordan 4 for 18, with one bye and one run out. It could so easily have been 12 all out. Ireland duly won by nine wickets and the West Indies sportingly agreed to carry on and play a beer match for the benefit of the huge crowd crammed into the idyllic little ground. They made many friends by doing so and they took their defeat with great charm and good humour. How it must have hurt, though!
On a personal note I will never forget my day at Sion Mills. The commentary box was just that: a box perched dangerously high up on top of a Heath Robinson contraption, laughingly described as scaffolding. The only way up was via a flimsy ladder – rather like going up the north face of the Eiger, I imagine. There was just room in the box for one other person, the producer. The scorer was a lady sitting in a deck-chair at ground level and the bowling figures (thereweren’t many runs) had to be hauled up to me at the end of each over in a bucket on the end of a rope. I thanked my lucky stars for a strong bladder, because I was stuck in that box for hours doing pieces into seemingly endless radio and television programmes. It was even the lead story on the one o’clock news bulletins!
My days of proffering advice to touring teams on how to proceed when winning the toss are definitely over!
JANE EAGLEN
Dramatic soprano famed for her portrayals of Wagner’s heroines, and an avid cricket enthusiast.
The Royal Northern College of Music was and is a wonderful place to study music and, in my case, singing. It had some great teachers and facilities, and it had the great advantage of being in Manchester, home of Old Trafford Cricket Ground.
In my first year at college, I was so excited to be living in a place where first-class cricket was played that I was determined, no matter what, to see some matches.
The perfect opportunity was a One-Day International game, to see England play the old enemy Australia. I made my excuses to various classes that I was not feeling well, and off I went armed with a few sandwiches and water, and most important of all, some suntan oil, as the forecast was for a hot day.
The day was indeed hot, and the cricket excellent and absorbing, so I simply slathered on the oil and cheered England to a close victory. As I was there alone, I passed a few comments with people sitting close by, discussing the bowling and fielding and the unusually hot Manchester day.
I left Old Trafford happy to have seen a great game, and barely noticed that my arms and face were a little warm, and that children seemed to be pointing and looking scared in my general direction. I took the bus back to my hall of residence, and walked into the reception where a group of people were talking. Silence fell as I passed, so I smiled and carried on. As I walked past people in the corridor the same look of horror was evident, though still it didn’t occur to me why.
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