Willow Walks is a new competition to find Britain's best village cricket grounds.
Forget mundane sports such as baseball, where the best view to be had during a game is the opposite grandstand full of obese, sweaty, baseball-capped red-necks dripping tomato ketchup down their shirts. In cricket, that most quintessentially British of games, views during games, especially games between pretty little villages, encompass rolling green hills, cows, sheep, rivers, forest or the local pub.
An ideal English cricket ground would have a pub nearby known as The Cricketers' Arms or The Bat and Ball with old photos of past games.
Here's more about the beautiful views during cricket matches, and about the Willow Walks competition....
Willow Walks: Field of dreams
By Max Davidson
15/07/2008
Telegraph
Enter the Telegraph's new competition at telegraph.co.uk/willowwalks
Howzat!: Chagford in Devon provides a stunning backdrop for the local cricket team's matches
It is Sunday afternoon and, at Great and Little Tew Cricket Club in Oxfordshire, an under-11 match is taking place. Boys in white trousers scamper across the grass, watched by proud, beer-swilling parents. A breeze rustles the trees by the fine leg boundary. Fleecy white clouds scurry across a pale blue sky. Corn fields stretch into the distance. The only building in sight is the pavilion.
"Howzat!" squeaks a voice that has not yet broken. Up goes the umpire's finger and off trots the pocket-sized batsman, without a flicker of dissent. "That's what I like to see," says the club barman. "The Corinthian spirit."
Green and pleasant: the village cricket ground in Tilford, Surrey
The club has just celebrated its centenary, which makes it a seasoned institution, without quite being a venerable one. In some parts of the country, village cricket, as we know, love and occasionally mock it, dates back to the 18th century. The game of cricket may have changed, the English village may have changed, but as an icon of nationhood, village cricket still holds its own. It speaks to something in all of us.
Even people who find the game incomprehensible or tedious respond at a visceral level to the sight of flannelled fools on a village green - preferably one that adjoins a duck pond and is overlooked by a church and a pub, and surrounded by centuries-old elm trees.
Imagining England without such scenes is like imagining it without the Lake District or the White Cliffs of Dover.
The quintessential English village green, for better or worse, is what we are and where we have come from. It links us to an agricultural, pre-industrial world that is the closest thing we have to an English Eden: a bit rough-hewn, a bit scruffy, but possessed of a timeless, fugitive beauty.
"The cricket field," wrote AG Macdonnell in his 1933 satire England, Their England, "was a mass of daisies and buttercups and dandelions, tall grasses and purple vetches and thistledown, and great clumps of dark-red sorrel, except, of course, for the oblong patch in the centre - mown, rolled, watered - a smooth, shining emerald of grass, the Wicket."
Macdonnell, a Scot, was right to lampoon the reverential attitude that English cricket-lovers have for the 22 yards of rolled grass that separate the two sets of stumps. But his description of a country cricket ground captures its very essence: it is a place of romance, a place of beauty, a place where the whole world suddenly seems at peace.
I have just been invited to play cricket in deepest Surrey later this month - one of those sentimental reunions, like an ageing rock band on tour, where pacemakers outnumber cricket bats. It will be my first game in 15 years and, if I score a single run, it will be a miracle. But I am so a-twitter with anticipation that I feel like a schoolboy.
All the various administration arrangements seem so cosy, so familiar - from the lunchtime rendezvous at a picturesque country pub to the plaintive message from the opposition captain: "Are your team able to supply cakes and biscuits for tea?" A whole social world, ripe in comic possibility, has survived the millennium intact.
In the field: Devonshire side Chagford in search of wickets as they entertain visitors Feniton
Time never stands still, of course. No doubt some of the players will try to locate the ground by satnav, and the odd mobile phone will go off in the slip cordon. But this still feels like the national game at its dottiest. If all 22 players turn up on time, it will be a miracle in itself. GK Chesterton once got lost on his way to a cricket match and sent a telegram to his wife: "Am in Market Harborough. Where should I be?" Expect the phone-text equivalent in Surrey.
But one thing is certain. Come rain or shine, a good time will be had by all. Cricket is that sort of game. Trivial considerations such as winning and losing are subsumed by the yeasty benevolence of an eccentric English pastime, open to all.
"If the French nobility had been capable of playing cricket with their peasants," wrote the great historian GM Trevelyan, "their chateaux would never have been burnt." Trevelyan was writing about an idealised rural world in which the village squire and village blacksmith could play in the same team. Just pie in the sky today, of course. How many people who turn out for village teams even live in the village? But he put his finger on one of the glories of cricket, and of village cricket in particular: its inclusiveness.
Visit a private golf club and it is a racing certainty that you will see English snobbery at its worst. The prissy dress codes, the "Keep off the putting green" signs, the space in the car park reserved for the ladies' captain… they all convey the same message: "You can come in, but on our terms." Village cricket is not so discourteous.
Cricketers are only human and, if you walk in front of the sight-screen when a batsman is on 99, you may get sworn at for your pains. But the prevailing ambience at a village cricket match is relaxed, friendly and non-confrontational. Passers-by stop and watch an over or two. Ramblers skirt the ground on their way to the pub. Octogenarians doze on rustic benches. Children frolic in the afternoon sun.
You can watch a whole match, but even better, in some respects, is to incorporate the cricket, the way you might incorporate a visit to a local Norman church, into a long, rambling walk.
What are the key ingredients of English village cricket at its best? Everyone will have his or her own preconceptions, but here, for what they are worth, are mine.
One: the cricket ground should not be too flat, or too symmetrical. It should look as if it has grown organically over the years - the exact opposite of a purpose-built sports pitch. A pronounced slope from left to right or a large beech tree where third man should be fielding make the perfect setting for village cricket.
Two: there should be water - a duck pond for preference, although a small stream is just as good - within no more than a hundred yards of the pitch.
To see a six end with a splash, followed by a hiatus while fielders scramble about in the mud, is one of those sadistic little pleasures to which spectators of village cricket are entitled in return for their loyalty.
Three: there should be a rickety wooden pavilion that looks as if it is about to collapse of dry rot. Smartness is not a prerequisite of village cricket: it is a contradiction of village cricket.
If the pavilion is topped by a mouldy clock, running 10 minutes slow, and there is a cracked window in the visitors' dressing-room, held together by sticking plaster, then so much the better.
Four: obviously, there should be a pub within spitting distance of the boundary edge. Ideally, it should be called The Cricketers' Arms or The Bat and Ball, its walls hung with black-and-white photographs of matches past.
But the point is that it must be there, as old as the ground itself, a visible link between the national game and the national drink. Real ale, served at 80 degrees Fahrenheit, is de rigueur.
Five: there must be a Victorian vicarage, complete with herbaceous borders, next to the pitch. Ideally, the vicar will be a slow left-arm bowler who turns out for the village second XI.
Six: without wanting to sound snobbish, the area surrounding the cricket field must contain no football goals, rugby posts or other reminders of winter games. The all-purpose municipal sports field is all very well, in its harsh utilitarian way, but it has nothing to do with the village cricket green, which must look as if as if it has been around, unaltered, since 1784.
Find all, or most of, these ingredients as you roam across the English countryside and you should stop to savour what you are seeing. You are within touching distance of the real England, the one the politicians, at their most stridently patriotic, always seem to miss.
A couple of years ago, I met a woman who, although undoubtedly destined for the divorce courts, seemed to embody the spirit in which village cricket should be played.
Her husband turned out for the local team and, as it was a sunny day, she went along to watch. "I feel awful," she told me afterwards. "I missed Derek's innings."
"What happened?"
"Well, just as he was going out to bat, I moved my deck chair from the sun to shade. And what with getting really involved with my book…" "He was out for a duck, I suppose?" I said, feeling a bit sorry for Derek, but willing to forgive and forget.
"No! That's the awful thing. He got a century."
At the time, I was so stunned by the callousness of her behaviour that I was lost for words. But perhaps, looking back, she was on to something. In village cricket, what matters, ultimately, is not who loses and who wins, who is in, who is out, but the physical ambience: a piece of English turf put to a very English use and, on a fine summer day, a spectacle to rival the prettiest vineyard in France.
Willow Walks: A search for the most beautiful cricket grounds in Britain
"Willow Walks" is a new competition created by The Daily Telegraph and Buxton Water.
'Willow Walks' are walks in Britain's beautiful countryside which start or end at the village cricket green/ground, ideally with a game in progress. They can be long or short, gentle or arduous, but they will be those which show Britain at its most beautiful during the unique summer months of the cricket season.
Cricket clubs are encouraged to devise a 'Willow Walk' of their own that involves a visit to their cricket club ground, but also take in surrounding beauty spots and great local pubs or tea rooms.
What the judges will be looking for
The expert panel will be looking for entries that celebrate the 'Willow Walk' concept and will be assessed on three core criteria - the most beautiful ground (including pavillion), the best views and the best 'Willow Walk'.
The panel's decision will be final.
How to enter the competition
Clubs wishing to enter the competition should submit an application to
willowwalks@telegraph.co.uk. The application should follow the following format and be no more than 800 words in length.
a) Name of and a brief description of the cricket club making the application (100 words max)
b) Description of the ground, pavillion, location and views (250 words max).
c) Description of the 'Willow Walk' (400 words max)
d) Entrants are also encouraged to submit up to three photos to support their entry.
These should be no larger than 2MB in size.
e) Contact details for a club representative - name, address and telephone number.
Prizes
The winner will receive: 11 tickets to a match between England and Australia in summer 2009 and a commemorative plaque celebrating their achievement.
The nine runners-up will receive: A selection of cricket equipment and england cricket clothing and merchandise.
Competition rules
Please note that we will accept only one entry per cricket club or ground. Entries must be received by midnight on the August 13, 2008.
The top 10 will be informed in the week commencing the 18th August and will be announced to the public in the Weekend section on the 23rd August.
telegraph.co.uk
Forget mundane sports such as baseball, where the best view to be had during a game is the opposite grandstand full of obese, sweaty, baseball-capped red-necks dripping tomato ketchup down their shirts. In cricket, that most quintessentially British of games, views during games, especially games between pretty little villages, encompass rolling green hills, cows, sheep, rivers, forest or the local pub.
An ideal English cricket ground would have a pub nearby known as The Cricketers' Arms or The Bat and Ball with old photos of past games.
Here's more about the beautiful views during cricket matches, and about the Willow Walks competition....
Willow Walks: Field of dreams
By Max Davidson
15/07/2008
Telegraph
Enter the Telegraph's new competition at telegraph.co.uk/willowwalks
Howzat!: Chagford in Devon provides a stunning backdrop for the local cricket team's matches
It is Sunday afternoon and, at Great and Little Tew Cricket Club in Oxfordshire, an under-11 match is taking place. Boys in white trousers scamper across the grass, watched by proud, beer-swilling parents. A breeze rustles the trees by the fine leg boundary. Fleecy white clouds scurry across a pale blue sky. Corn fields stretch into the distance. The only building in sight is the pavilion.
"Howzat!" squeaks a voice that has not yet broken. Up goes the umpire's finger and off trots the pocket-sized batsman, without a flicker of dissent. "That's what I like to see," says the club barman. "The Corinthian spirit."
Green and pleasant: the village cricket ground in Tilford, Surrey
The club has just celebrated its centenary, which makes it a seasoned institution, without quite being a venerable one. In some parts of the country, village cricket, as we know, love and occasionally mock it, dates back to the 18th century. The game of cricket may have changed, the English village may have changed, but as an icon of nationhood, village cricket still holds its own. It speaks to something in all of us.
Even people who find the game incomprehensible or tedious respond at a visceral level to the sight of flannelled fools on a village green - preferably one that adjoins a duck pond and is overlooked by a church and a pub, and surrounded by centuries-old elm trees.
Imagining England without such scenes is like imagining it without the Lake District or the White Cliffs of Dover.
The quintessential English village green, for better or worse, is what we are and where we have come from. It links us to an agricultural, pre-industrial world that is the closest thing we have to an English Eden: a bit rough-hewn, a bit scruffy, but possessed of a timeless, fugitive beauty.
"The cricket field," wrote AG Macdonnell in his 1933 satire England, Their England, "was a mass of daisies and buttercups and dandelions, tall grasses and purple vetches and thistledown, and great clumps of dark-red sorrel, except, of course, for the oblong patch in the centre - mown, rolled, watered - a smooth, shining emerald of grass, the Wicket."
Macdonnell, a Scot, was right to lampoon the reverential attitude that English cricket-lovers have for the 22 yards of rolled grass that separate the two sets of stumps. But his description of a country cricket ground captures its very essence: it is a place of romance, a place of beauty, a place where the whole world suddenly seems at peace.
I have just been invited to play cricket in deepest Surrey later this month - one of those sentimental reunions, like an ageing rock band on tour, where pacemakers outnumber cricket bats. It will be my first game in 15 years and, if I score a single run, it will be a miracle. But I am so a-twitter with anticipation that I feel like a schoolboy.
All the various administration arrangements seem so cosy, so familiar - from the lunchtime rendezvous at a picturesque country pub to the plaintive message from the opposition captain: "Are your team able to supply cakes and biscuits for tea?" A whole social world, ripe in comic possibility, has survived the millennium intact.
In the field: Devonshire side Chagford in search of wickets as they entertain visitors Feniton
Time never stands still, of course. No doubt some of the players will try to locate the ground by satnav, and the odd mobile phone will go off in the slip cordon. But this still feels like the national game at its dottiest. If all 22 players turn up on time, it will be a miracle in itself. GK Chesterton once got lost on his way to a cricket match and sent a telegram to his wife: "Am in Market Harborough. Where should I be?" Expect the phone-text equivalent in Surrey.
But one thing is certain. Come rain or shine, a good time will be had by all. Cricket is that sort of game. Trivial considerations such as winning and losing are subsumed by the yeasty benevolence of an eccentric English pastime, open to all.
"If the French nobility had been capable of playing cricket with their peasants," wrote the great historian GM Trevelyan, "their chateaux would never have been burnt." Trevelyan was writing about an idealised rural world in which the village squire and village blacksmith could play in the same team. Just pie in the sky today, of course. How many people who turn out for village teams even live in the village? But he put his finger on one of the glories of cricket, and of village cricket in particular: its inclusiveness.
Visit a private golf club and it is a racing certainty that you will see English snobbery at its worst. The prissy dress codes, the "Keep off the putting green" signs, the space in the car park reserved for the ladies' captain… they all convey the same message: "You can come in, but on our terms." Village cricket is not so discourteous.
Cricketers are only human and, if you walk in front of the sight-screen when a batsman is on 99, you may get sworn at for your pains. But the prevailing ambience at a village cricket match is relaxed, friendly and non-confrontational. Passers-by stop and watch an over or two. Ramblers skirt the ground on their way to the pub. Octogenarians doze on rustic benches. Children frolic in the afternoon sun.
You can watch a whole match, but even better, in some respects, is to incorporate the cricket, the way you might incorporate a visit to a local Norman church, into a long, rambling walk.
What are the key ingredients of English village cricket at its best? Everyone will have his or her own preconceptions, but here, for what they are worth, are mine.
One: the cricket ground should not be too flat, or too symmetrical. It should look as if it has grown organically over the years - the exact opposite of a purpose-built sports pitch. A pronounced slope from left to right or a large beech tree where third man should be fielding make the perfect setting for village cricket.
Two: there should be water - a duck pond for preference, although a small stream is just as good - within no more than a hundred yards of the pitch.
To see a six end with a splash, followed by a hiatus while fielders scramble about in the mud, is one of those sadistic little pleasures to which spectators of village cricket are entitled in return for their loyalty.
Three: there should be a rickety wooden pavilion that looks as if it is about to collapse of dry rot. Smartness is not a prerequisite of village cricket: it is a contradiction of village cricket.
If the pavilion is topped by a mouldy clock, running 10 minutes slow, and there is a cracked window in the visitors' dressing-room, held together by sticking plaster, then so much the better.
Four: obviously, there should be a pub within spitting distance of the boundary edge. Ideally, it should be called The Cricketers' Arms or The Bat and Ball, its walls hung with black-and-white photographs of matches past.
But the point is that it must be there, as old as the ground itself, a visible link between the national game and the national drink. Real ale, served at 80 degrees Fahrenheit, is de rigueur.
Five: there must be a Victorian vicarage, complete with herbaceous borders, next to the pitch. Ideally, the vicar will be a slow left-arm bowler who turns out for the village second XI.
Six: without wanting to sound snobbish, the area surrounding the cricket field must contain no football goals, rugby posts or other reminders of winter games. The all-purpose municipal sports field is all very well, in its harsh utilitarian way, but it has nothing to do with the village cricket green, which must look as if as if it has been around, unaltered, since 1784.
Find all, or most of, these ingredients as you roam across the English countryside and you should stop to savour what you are seeing. You are within touching distance of the real England, the one the politicians, at their most stridently patriotic, always seem to miss.
A couple of years ago, I met a woman who, although undoubtedly destined for the divorce courts, seemed to embody the spirit in which village cricket should be played.
Her husband turned out for the local team and, as it was a sunny day, she went along to watch. "I feel awful," she told me afterwards. "I missed Derek's innings."
"What happened?"
"Well, just as he was going out to bat, I moved my deck chair from the sun to shade. And what with getting really involved with my book…" "He was out for a duck, I suppose?" I said, feeling a bit sorry for Derek, but willing to forgive and forget.
"No! That's the awful thing. He got a century."
At the time, I was so stunned by the callousness of her behaviour that I was lost for words. But perhaps, looking back, she was on to something. In village cricket, what matters, ultimately, is not who loses and who wins, who is in, who is out, but the physical ambience: a piece of English turf put to a very English use and, on a fine summer day, a spectacle to rival the prettiest vineyard in France.
Willow Walks: A search for the most beautiful cricket grounds in Britain
"Willow Walks" is a new competition created by The Daily Telegraph and Buxton Water.
'Willow Walks' are walks in Britain's beautiful countryside which start or end at the village cricket green/ground, ideally with a game in progress. They can be long or short, gentle or arduous, but they will be those which show Britain at its most beautiful during the unique summer months of the cricket season.
Cricket clubs are encouraged to devise a 'Willow Walk' of their own that involves a visit to their cricket club ground, but also take in surrounding beauty spots and great local pubs or tea rooms.
What the judges will be looking for
The expert panel will be looking for entries that celebrate the 'Willow Walk' concept and will be assessed on three core criteria - the most beautiful ground (including pavillion), the best views and the best 'Willow Walk'.
The panel's decision will be final.
How to enter the competition
Clubs wishing to enter the competition should submit an application to
willowwalks@telegraph.co.uk. The application should follow the following format and be no more than 800 words in length.
a) Name of and a brief description of the cricket club making the application (100 words max)
b) Description of the ground, pavillion, location and views (250 words max).
c) Description of the 'Willow Walk' (400 words max)
d) Entrants are also encouraged to submit up to three photos to support their entry.
These should be no larger than 2MB in size.
e) Contact details for a club representative - name, address and telephone number.
Prizes
The winner will receive: 11 tickets to a match between England and Australia in summer 2009 and a commemorative plaque celebrating their achievement.
The nine runners-up will receive: A selection of cricket equipment and england cricket clothing and merchandise.
Competition rules
Please note that we will accept only one entry per cricket club or ground. Entries must be received by midnight on the August 13, 2008.
The top 10 will be informed in the week commencing the 18th August and will be announced to the public in the Weekend section on the 23rd August.
telegraph.co.uk
Last edited:
