England then and now

If Nasser Hussain is not a true-blue Pom, he is doing a very good imitation of one. I refer to his column on the Mike-Denness imbroglio in which, like his distinguished countrymen in the International Cricket Council and the England and Wales Cricket Board, he adopts a holier-than-thou stance about what constitutes "proper conduct" for cricketers, commentators and administrators, especially if they happen to be Indian.

Without going into a lengthy discussion of the issue, I cannot help wondering if the English captain has used the uncertainty caused by the controversy as an advance excuse for his team's failures, forgetting that some of his mates' reluctance to visit "war-torn" India nearly ended the tour before it began. By doing so, Hussain has done his bit to perpetuate a recent trend among English and Australian cricketers: to pontificate on matters that do not concern them, passing judgement on the "natives" in the process.

Time was when England proved their superiority on the field of play. My earliest cricket heroes were born in Yorkshire, Surrey and Kent. I refer to the incomparable Len Hutton, Jim Laker, Peter May and Colin Cowdrey. It was a time when "Typhoon Tyson" had temporarily dislodged Fiery Fred Trueman from his perch as England's best fast bowler. It was also time when Denis Compton made batting look so easy and Godfrey Evans wicket-keeping so exciting.

I remember Cyril Washbrook's unforgettable comeback in his late thirties, Ted Dexter's majestic batting, and Ken Barrington's defiant batsmanship against the world's quickest and nastiest. How different were Geoff Pullar and Peter Richardson, David Sheppard and Bob Barber, Raman Subba Row and Colin Milburn, Geoffrey Boycott and Graham Gooch. Who could ever forget John Murray and Jim Parks, Alan Knott and Bob Taylor? Or Tony Lock and Johnny Wardle, Fred Titmus and Ray Illingworth, John Snow and Geoff Arnold, Chris Old and Mike Hendrick?

Many of these distant heroes never came to India, but, as a young spectator, I was dazzled by Dexter, bored by Barrington and Brian Bolus, entertained by Tony Greig, Knott, Keith Fletcher, Gooch and David Gower, even by Alec Stewart and Graeme Hick. There was inspired fast bowling by Bob Willis and Neil Foster, and superlative batting by Mike Gatting and Graeme Fowler on different occasions. Ian Botham at Chepauk was but a shadow of his ebullient self at Bombay, where he won the Jubilee Test almost all by himself.

For years and years, I supported England against Australia but, except for brief spells when led by Mike Brearley and inspired by the heroic deeds of golden-boy Botham, my favourite team of the past proved more often than not to have feet of clay.

The last time I watched England in a Test match at Chepauk, India took an unassailable 2-0 lead in the series, despite some good batting by Hick, Neil Fairbrother, Robin Smith and an unexpectedly scintillating Chris Lewis. It had been such a comprehensive Indian victory that you were tempted to say to the visitors: kneel, fair brothers, for only prayer can save you in Indian conditions.