I was hooked by the controversy. It was the final day of the 2nd Ashes test at Lords Cricket ground. One of England’s batters had been controversially ‘run out’ by Australia’s Wicketkeeper. The parent WhatsApp group for my son’s cricket team, was buzzing. Was it legal and totally within the rules, or unsportsmanlike conduct against “the spirit of the game”?
What came into my head at that moment? My dad, in his Lords striped tie, rustling in the pantry cupboard for a caramel slice. He loved his cricket. He always went to the Lords test, carrying his picnic hamper: Marmite on Ryvita, pork pie, caramel slice and some beer (never opened until the first wicket fell). I wish I could have asked him what he thought of all the fury.
My father died over 20 years ago. But cricket always brings him back for me.
We all have memory triggers. Hearing a song that an old boyfriend used to play, the waft of a friend’s perfume, or the flavour that takes you straight back to your Grandma’s kitchen.
We never know what those moments will be. Sometimes they creep up on us, sometimes they hit us right between the eyes when we least expect it.
But memory is fickle too, and over time, each triggering incident can warp and change what we remember. Twenty years on, I can’t quite picture my dad’s lopsided smile, but I know it was there. And I can still miss him.
When he was alive, I couldn’t have cared less about cricket. It was tedious, a monumental waste of so much time. I’d grown up as he played village cricket. Bored and not watching, as he was out ‘for a duck’ (0), yet again. It seemed self-destructive. He wasn’t gifted, just keen. Mum would sketch the distant landscape and chat to the other wives. We daughters would moan and groan about another Saturday wasted. Today, I wish I could ask how he wasn’t discouraged!
I think he’d have been horrified by the new 20/20 form of the game, with all its bells and whistles. Vibrant colours, fireworks and music stings. After all, one day cricket was bad enough! But the fact is, it’s worked. My son loves it. And it's the reason he plays cricket.
Every summer weekend, I spend hours watching him play. Astonishingly, I’ve started to enjoy it. My father would have had a chuckle about that.
If he was around today, he’d come and watch too. And we’d both be holding our breaths as the Under 14’s run chase got down to the wire.
But it would be more than that, because now I’m not that moaning, self-absorbed teenager anymore. Now I’m ready to hear his story. If I could wind back twenty years, I’d sit him down and get it all on video. I’d capture the twinkle in his eyes under those wild eyebrows and enjoy his quiet dry humour. With a filmed record like that, I’d never forget him. Even the grandson he never knew could have “met” him.
Oh, the beauty of hindsight!
For me it’s too late. Perhaps it isn’t for you…
ReeLife Stories, filming for the future..
It is regrets like this that inspired me to launch my business: ReeLife Stories. I am on a mission to make sure you don’t have the same regrets.
“Australian Story” is there for a few extraordinary and famous individuals. But what about the rest of us? Each of us has a unique story to tell. Our audience may not be the whole world, or even of Australia, just our friends and family. But to them it really matters. Because our story is their story too.
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Oh! Such an evocative piece. You're a great writer Jackie. I loved all the tiny details that painted the scene so well.
Really brilliant - I can just see it all. Am sure others would love that kind of memory from their own families .