The Village openers made a brisk start, scoring 32 before the first wicket fell to Ben Atkins, the farm manager – a sharp catch in the slips. Hector then followed up with two quick wickets and it was 64 for 3 after fifteen overs had been bowled. A fourth innings partnership was beginning to take hold between the publican Finn Reedie and Hamish Munro, when Freddie suggested that Giles should turn his arm over. A call to arms the captain hadn’t seriously considered. Even in his youth, Giles had rarely been asked to bowl.
His first over went for eleven, which included two wides, and he was going to take himself off but Freddie wouldn’t hear of it. Giles’s second over went for seven, but at least there were no wides and, to his surprise, in his third, he captured the important wicket of the publican. An LBW appeal to which the tenth Earl of Fenwick pronounced ‘Out!’ Giles thought he’d been a little fortunate, and so did Reedie.
‘Leg before pavilion more like,’ muttered the publican as he passed the earl.
One hundred and sixteen for 4. The first footman continued with his slow leg cutters from one end, accompanied by Giles’s attempt at military medium from the other. The Village went in to tea at 4.30 p.m., having scored 237 for 8, which Hamish Munro clearly felt was enough to win the match, because he declared.
Tea was held in a large tent. Egg and cress sandwiches, sausage rolls, jam tarts and scones topped with clotted cream were scoffed by all, accompanied by cups of hot tea and glasses of cold lime cordial. Freddie ate nothing, as he pencilled the Castle team’s batting order into the scorebook. Giles looked over his shoulder and was horrified to see his name at the top of the list.
‘Are you sure you want me to open?’
‘Yes, of course, sir. After all, you opened for Oxford and the MCC.’
As Giles padded up he wished he hadn’t eaten quite so many scones. A few moments later, he and Ben Atkins made their way out on to the pitch. Giles took guard, leg stump, then looked around the field, displaying an air of confidence that belied his true feelings. He settled down and waited for the first delivery from Ross Walker, the local butcher. The ball fizzed through the air and hit Giles firmly on the pad, plum in front of the middle stump.
‘Howzat!’ screamed the butcher confidently, as he leapt in the air.
Humiliation, thought Giles, as he prepared to return to the pavilion with a golden duck.
‘Not out,’ responded the tenth Earl of Fenwick, saving his blushes.
The bowler didn’t hide his disbelief and began to shine the ball furiously on his trousers before preparing to deliver the next ball. He charged up and hurled the missile at Giles a second time. Giles played forward, and the ball nicked the outside edge of his bat, missing the stump by inches before running between first and second slip to the boundary. Giles was off the mark with a scratchy four, and the butcher looked even angrier. His next ball was well wide of the stumps, and somehow Giles survived the rest of the over.
The farm manager turned out to be a competent if somewhat slow-scoring batsman, and the two of them had mustered 28 runs before Mr Atkins was caught behind the wicket off the butcher’s slower ball. Giles was then joined by a cow-hand who, although he had a range of shots worthy of his calling, still managed to notch up 30 in a very short time before being caught on the boundary. Seventy-nine for 2. The cow-hand was followed by the head gardener, who clearly only played once a year. Seventy-nine for 3.
Three more wickets fell during the next half hour, but somehow Giles prospered, and with the score on 136 for 6, the Hon. Freddie came out to join him at the crease, greeted by warm applause.
‘We still need another hundred,’ said Giles, glancing at the scoreboard. ‘But we have more than enough time, so be patient, and only try to score off any loose balls. Reedie and Walker are both tiring, so bide your time, and make sure you don’t give your wicket away.’
After Freddie had taken guard, he followed his captain’s instructions to the letter. It quickly became clear to Giles that the boy had been well coached at his prep school and, fortunately, had a natural flair, known in the trade as ‘an eye’. Together they passed the 200 mark to rapturous applause from one section of the crowd, who were beginning to believe that Castle might win the local derby for the first time in years.