Aldworth. Consistently the Pilgrims best fixture and favourite day out.

Yet, this year it was a bit of a scramble to get a team together and we numbered only ten when all arrived at The Bell Inn. Our numbers had been swollen at the last by two guests, a couple of Kiwi brothers – Brendan and Gordy – that Boris had dug out of an East Acton bedsit (or somesuch).

One tradition that had been kept up was getting there early, purchasing jugs of various beers, hot crusty rolls and proceeding to ensure we were in no state to play cricket when we finally got round to it. Fortunately, the oppo have a similar ethos when playing the Pils and, considering the quality of the aforementioned comestibles, why not?

It would be fair to say that there were somewhat bewildered looks on the Kiwi brothers’ faces as they witnessed the scene unfold. “Why are we here in the middle of nowhere when we should be watching the All-Blacks play?” (Answer: you were spared the humiliation of seeing them get thumped by the Wallabies). “Why are we in a pub where they don’t serve cold lager?” (Answer: lager is for girls and you were about to be given an education in beer). “Why can’t we get any mobile reception?” (Answer: so your wife/girlfriend/civil partner doesn’t interrupt your beer drinking). Pay attention at the back.

Well, all good things have to come to an end and so it was that we tottered from the beer garden to the cricket field. Clarence was leading the Pils for the first time and got into the groove straight away by losing the toss. We were inserted – the pitch was pretty green and there looked like there might be some uneven bounce so batting could be tricky. However, the Aldworth bowlers didn’t need any help from the pitch as the Pils proved perfectly capable of getting themselves out. We were soon reeling at 32-4 as first Bully (three), then Egon (one), Flymo (nought, pretty good effort that) and Boris (nine) departed with only Boris managing not to miss a straight one and having the furniture rearranged.

Brendan strode to the wicket, soon to be joined by Moggie. We needed some consolidation and much depended on these two. Brendan played some shocking shots including a couple of straight drives where his elbow couldn’t have been much higher – straight out of the coaching textbooks and very un-Pilgrim like. At the other end Moggie showed him how it should be done – nicks through the vacant slip area, squirts behind square as he just managed to get his bat on the ball in time. A joy to watch. To be fair to Moggie he hung in there for a bit and helped steady the ship.

While Brendan had clearly done this batting thing before, his running between the wickets caused great amusement as it became evident there was a certain slackness in the box area. Each run was carried out with bat in one hand, balls in the other. In the end he (bravely?) decided to do without the box which was just as well because the lush outfield meant even his silkiest shots were arrested in their progress and fours became twos, sometimes even singles – the ball needed to be pushing a lawnmower to make the boundary. At the same time a new ally was beginning to make itself felt. Extras were piling up as the wayward youths who were the first change bowlers gave Harold little chance behind the stumps and the Pilgrims valuable runs.

Meanwhile, on the boundary a strange scene was unfolding. Egon and Flymo, both roundly disgusted with their performances, started discussing batting technique. Egon, having had a couple of coaching sessions at Lord’s, took the lead and soon Flymo was rapt. “Let’s take this over to the nets,” said Egon, “I’ll show you my grip.” That was enough for Flymo and the pair disappeared into the bushes.

Back out in the middle, Moggie departed for six and it was time for Kiwi brother two, Gordy, to join his sibling. Gordy quickly showed that he knew “proper” and not Pilgrim cricket but unfortunately had little opportunity to display his skill as the Aldworth bowlers continued to spray it everywhere but straight. Still, at least that meant the extras kept piling up.

Gordy eventually got a peach of a delivery that so surprised him he was bowled by it. Brendan toed one back to the bowler and the on-loan Ben, Julian’s son, had the unique experience of having his father bowling at him from one end, his little brother from the other. He departed for a creditable seven as did Clarence (believe me, seven, in this match, was a good score). It was left to Hansie and Curly to see us as close to tea as possible which they duly did, without exactly providing those end of innings fireworks.

127 all out, which is better than it sounds – the 42 in extras vital.

Tea was taken and a fine Aldworth repast it was.

Time for the reply. Clarence and Gordy opened the bowling, both getting the ball in the right place from the outset. Clarence was unlucky not to get a wicket but at the other end Gordy was having a right old time of it. He bowled a beautiful opening spell and soon had three wickets to his name – including two in two which saw a nervy bat facing a hat-trick delivery. Of course, it turns out Gordy’s really a wicket-keeper.

Aldworth were pretty much in the same boat the Pils had been in earlier – four down for not many. Runs, with the molasses-like outfield, were as hard to come by for the hosts as they had been for us. Their number four, Alistair, kept at it (he was to finish unbeaten on 42), but at the other end wickets fell regularly. Hansie chipped in with a fine spell of four for 15, but for real entertainment look no further than Boris. After three wayward overs he was all for having the skip pull him out of the attack. Clarence gave him one more and it was a peach with virtually all six balls beating the bat. “He’s got his mojo working,” said Clarence and gave him another. I was fielding at slip. “It’s coming your way,” Boris told me confidently as he went back to his mark. How right he was. Generally, it is thought better cricket to have the ball reach the slip cordon via the outside edge but, no, that was too mundane for Boris as his Harmison-esque delivery swung wildly to arrive in my hands unsullied by the willow and greeted with open arms by the umpire. That was his last over.

The real difference between the two teams was the extras that Aldworth had given away in our innings. Truth was we surrendered 18 extras, including 14 wides, but Moggie had a fine game behind the timbers with none of these wides surrendering another run and only two byes conceded all innings. The rest of the team’s outfielding was pretty good as well, two decent catches taken (by Flymo and Bully) with only Hansie blotting the copybook and one of these was a sharpish caught-and-bowled chance.

At the end it was down to whether we could take that final wicket. With Alistair still going strong at one end it was Harold who seemed the likely target but, in a finely judged piece of captaincy, Clarence chose to bring our own wily veteran, Brealllly, on at the end to bowl at Harold. So it was the game concluded with these two (aggregate age somewhat in excess of 140!) facing each other down. Honours finished even and the innings concluded with Aldworth on 96 for nine. Match drawn and pretty much the right result.

There was little left to do but repair to the Bell (oh the hell of it) and sample more of their fine wares with all feeling that the world was a slightly better place. Court was held and, in an unprecedented move, Bully began by fining the absentees judging, correctly it was felt by all present, that it was a bad show so many of the regulars were not available for this fantastic fixture. So, the roll of dishonour follows, all fined £1 (to be collected at next attended assizes): Penthouse, Kommander, Juggs, Omlette, Judge, Whippet, Xero, Bambi, Bumpy, Gussie, Pilco, Trout, Tipple. This is not necessarily an exhaustive list – nominations are still open.

Omlette was fined £2. Crimes? 1) Late withdrawal; 2) Admitting in public to bowing to pressure from a Brian; 3) The suspicion that he jibbed (a fine Cornish term) so he could watch the All-Blacks. This was mere speculation but perfectly admissible in a Pilgrim court. And they got thumped by the Wallabies – have I already mentioned that?

Court over, it was man of the match time. There were three main candidates (four if you count extras, but no-one knew what he drank): Hansie, Brendan and Gordy. In the end, Clarence awarded the honour to Gordy, whose spell of ten overs, two maidens, four wickets for only 14 runs conceded just edged it. That we had to order a taxi from Goring to fetch back a cold lager showed just how much we felt he deserved it.

As it got later the London-bound crew began to filter away but, in a surprise move, Boris, Gordy and Brendan decided to eschew the proffered lifts and plumped instead for a late taxi and train from Goring. What could have been the reason? The Kiwi brothers surely not converted to the fine ales already? No, it was worse than that: the three of them had discovered the local scrumpy and had fallen in love. So they stayed on a while and when they were finally poured into a taxi took a flagon of the stuff for the journey. They were never seen again.