Paul Dale and other Anson Dads – Father’s Day Special

My dad was my first cricketing hero, and it was he who introduced me to Anson St George CC over 30 years ago. So, if you’re fed up with the drivel in these blogs, the slow strike rates when I’m batting, or dropped catches and misfields then please direct your angst towards him.

In terms of contributions to the club on and off the field there are probably people who ought to be celebrated before my dad, but I’m doing this one as a special for Father’s Day to acknowledge him and all the Anson dads. Plus, in time honoured tradition, it’s my blog so I’m going to do what I like.

If you don’t know him, my dad has always been a bit of a natural sportsman with his particular passions being football and badminton. In truth he could’ve given any sport a good go. He was a decent golfer when he was younger and now at seventy years old he’s taken up bowls to sate his competitive instinct, and he seems to be doing well at that too. I imagine he’d still beat me in on the dartboard despite my obsession with that game over the last few years and I’d put money on him beating me in arm wrestling.

We were quite a sporty household, but up until about 10 years old I don’t really remember cricket playing much of a role in our life and in truth my first interest in the game came through Greg when he started playing at Ardleigh Green in the colts. I started giving it a go there, along with Paul Evans and Steve Redway, but didn’t last more than a couple of seasons. I had a couple of years at Upminster Colts as well, but it didn’t hold my interest.

At some point in 1993 dad started playing for Anson. Invited over by Ian Hendon, who dad had got to know when Ian started playing for his Tuesday evening works cricket team. Dad started playing regularly and on most Sundays during the season, when the weather was nice (and sometimes when it wasn’t) we’d all go over as a family to watch. I didn’t pay too much attention to the cricket initially and instead mostly played with Ian Attridge’s kids, Daniel and Eleanor. As I got older though, I started to become more interested in the game and the characters in the team. There was a bizarre old man called Alf and a younger man called Johnny Monk who would tease us kids and grab and squeeze our hands tight until we shouted out, ‘mercy mercy uncle Percy’. I also started paying more attention to what dad was doing.

My dad the cricketer

Dad was a decent allrounder. As a batsman he had a good eye and liked to put bat on ball. It surprised me to see in the history that he only averaged just under 12, but his two 50s and a top score of 70 showed how useful he could be. I can only remember batting with him once and he foolishly gave his wicket away trying to engineer a single to protect me from a faster bowler.

The other thing I remember about his batting was his bravery (possibly foolishness) and not being one to shy away from a challenge. I’ll never forget the moment playing against Britannic Lodge when he got hit in the face by a beamer trying to smack it away for four instead of getting out the way of it. I wasn’t playing but was watching from the midwicket boundary when a tall and very quick young bowler accidentally bowled a head high full toss. Any sensible person would have tried to avoid it but there was no way dad wasn’t going to try and take the shot on. Unfortunately, he missed with a hook shot and the ball hit him right below the corner of his bottom lip.

There was blood everywhere and the ball had punctured a hole the size of a pea just below his lip where it had hit him. He had to come off and with no magic sponge available the next best treatment was to drink a glass of water. I remember him taking a great big mouthful and then forcing the water out of this new hole in his mouth. Naturally, within about half an hour he was back out in the middle again.

Mum was obviously very concerned and was adamant that he needed to go to hospital, but dad was having none of it. For some reason we had gone home after the match and dad just put a plaster over the hole in his lip before we went back to the Pit Bar in the Queens Theatre for the post-match drinks. Mum was still on his case about going to hospital and I think she was worried about beer coming through the little hole, but dad assured her it would be alright.

I don’t think he ever hit a hundred, but I do remember him coming agonisingly close playing on a Tuesday evening. I think he was in the 90s when he pulled one out to deep square leg and he was caught on the boundary by someone who I don’t think had ever played cricket before.

He’s bowling was probably his strongest suit and again I was surprised looking at the stats to see how few overs he had bowled and how few wickets he had taken. But then Anson had very strong bowling in those days with Will Chapman, Monky, and Ian Attridge being in their prime, as well as John Hickey, Harry Harriot and Brian Billington still being around.

Still, his average of just under 23 with the ball is very good. He bowled seam up but with not much pace. He ran in from a few yards out with a windmill action, but it was his height and accuracy that caused problems for a lot of batsmen.

In the end I think he became a bit of a utility player and even turned his hand to keeping, along with quite a few other players as we desperately sought someone to do the role permanently. He was wasted as a keeper though because he was an excellent outfielder with a very good pair of hands and quite some agility for a large bloke. It actually peeved me a little that one of Greg’s earliest memories of my dad playing was on a Tuesday evening game where he ran round the boundary to take a catch, which he then thumbled, dropped, and somehow booted over the rope all in one action.

By the end of his Anson career, he had played 90 games. Again, this surprised me, as I don’t really remember it being so many. Sadly, I don’t remember playing that often with him either. He did come on the first tour, which was fantastic, and he was umpiring when I scored my first 50 for the club. I brought the milestone up with an uncharacteristic big shot that hit a tree that was overgrowing the boundary. It was clear in my dad’s mind that it was worth six, which he duly signalled.

I do remember his last game, in 2004. He came back after a couple of years out because we were short (as usual), and he wasted no time getting back in the swing of it and was straight away joining in with the fun at Alf’s expense. I think he even run the old boy out that day as well.

A moment to remember

My favourite memory of dad and cricket is sadly not an Anson one. Through the Tuesday evening cricket his team had a friendly rivalry with a side organised by the manager of the Simply Blues restaurant in Hornchurch. They decided to arrange a one off special all-day time game on Saturday 17 August 1996 at Rise Park.

It was a game that I played in, and we batted first. I can’t remember all the details and the records are probably lost. I assume we put on a good total because in the second innings the game was heading towards a tight finish between us winning and them holding on for the draw. We took the ninth wicket with about 5 overs left to go and then we struggled to get the last one out.

My dad brought himself on to bowl the last over and I was fielding at point. He bowled a very tidy first few balls beating the bat a couple of times. He beat the bat again with the penultimate ball of the game going through to the wicket keeper. In the usual fashion, the ball was passed back around the inner fielding ring till it got to Ken Young at mid-on who completely misjudged his lob back to my dad and threw the ball over his head nearly all the way to the sightscreen. Dad trudged back to retrieve the ball and picked it up.

As he turned, he started to gently jog in from the 60 yards out that he was. After a few steps he quickened his pace. It took everyone half a second to realise that he was running in to bowl this ball from this extra-long run up. Everyone readied themselves for the last delivery of the game and as he eventually arrived at the crease, the windmill went round, and the ball came out perfectly straight and on a good length. The batsman was completely bamboozled, played all around it and was left holding his pose as the ball clattered into the stumps.

It was a triumph and one of the best moments I’ve had on the cricket field and that was all because of dad. I do wish I had played more with him, but maybe I shouldn’t be so greedy, and I will always cherish the memories that I do have.

He was always a great support to me no matter how well or badly I played, and it was often badly. Even now when I come back after a game to collect my daughter, he’ll ask how we got on, and I would say if we won or lost. He’ll then say and how did you do, and I’ll say that I scored 12, or something, and he would say, well that’s alright isn’t it.

Family Connections

Anson has always felt like a family and me and dad are just one of many father and son connections. There have been some significant ones through the years, like Henry and Tony Burnham (426 caps between them) and obviously Lee and Mitch Gilbert (620 caps and still going). It’s not just the contribution in runs and appearances either that count, but passing the baton on through family connections gives life and meaning to the club. In fact, scanning through the history it might seem that procreation from members has been a significant thrust our recruitment strategy.

We’ve had Chris James and Mark James (167 caps), Michael Rowe and Simon Rowe (178 caps) and currently Mark and Thomas Ansell (75 caps and counting). One of our newest members, Paul Doyle, has encouraged his boys to play, whilst another new recruit, Bill Parnell, has done it the other way round and got his dad, Ricci, to play, just as Paul did with his dad, John, 24 years ago.

Hopefully everyone who has played for Anson has some fond memories and I hope that for everyone who has played with their dad, or their kids, that there are some extra special ones. Hopefully you’ll be able to look back on them and remember them as wonderful times just as I do.

So, thank you to all the dad’s, Anson ones or otherwise, and happy Father’s Day. Here’s to keeping Anson going through the generations.