Ryedale Beckett League: Lost balls and stained whites at Harome

In common with every other cricket enthusiast, I found April a frustrating month, as rain, rain then a bit more rain dashed my spectating plans.

So, the early May arrival of long overdue sunshine and warmth saw me scrambling to find a midweek fixture belatedly to get my 2024 season up and running.

Keen as mustard, on a Wednesday tea-time, I popped down to Wheldrake Cricket Club, who were scheduled to host Westow in the Foss Evening League’s third tier.

Kitted out, appropriately, in shorts (with a fleece for when the golden sun began to dip), I arrived in good time at the sports club, and bagged a spot in the small car park next to a pavilion that doubles as the village hall.

Cars began to arrive – containing either elderly men and women attending some sort of meeting in the hall or pony-tailed teenage girls set on a game of tennis. No blokes. No sign of a cricketer. Twenty minutes before the scheduled 6.30 start, perplexed and disappointed, I headed home.

Hours later, play-cricket.com updated to inform the Wheldrake-Westow match had been ‘abandoned’. Was the pitch unfit (although, to my inexpert eye, it seemed okay)?

During a half-term week, containing a bank holiday, had it proved impossible to raise a team? I did notice three other Foss Evening League games – at Bishop Wilton, New Earswick and Woodhouse Grange – had been ‘abandoned’. Would ‘cancelled’ be more accurate?

Now, I’m not one to give up easily.

The following evening, with a re-run of the same glorious weather, I suggested to my wife we might try visiting Harome (pronounced as in harum-scarum) Cricket Club, who play-cricket.com advised were at home to Malton & Old Malton, their Ryedale Beckett League Division One rivals.

Even if the game didn’t happen, at least we could enjoy a scenic drive. North, from York, via Sutton-on-the-Forest, Stillington, Sheriff Hutton, Hovingham and Nunnington (passing the hall) then home, after checking out what was or was not happening at Harome, via Helmsley, Oswaldkirk, Gilling East and Brandsby, before picking up our outbound route at Stillington.

Joy of joys, however, cricketers were preparing for action as we arrived at Harome’s Pockley Lane ground, set delightfully in the Vale of Pickering, that fertile carpet of farmland separating the Howardian Hills from the North Yorkshire Moors.

In ordinary circumstances, Harome Cricket Club stage only Ryedale Beckett League (i.e. Thursday evening) games. The club field two teams in the competition.

Until the end of May, we learned, neighbouring Nawton Grange Cricket Club are staging, at Harome, their Saturday fixtures in the Division Three Galtres section of the Yorkshire Premier League North.

A Nawton Grange follower advised the club’s ground is still drying out. Hopes are it will be ready for play by the time June rolls around.

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Good conversation, with the same gentleman, about cricket goings-on in the Vale of Pickering.

Producing a pocketbook, containing hand-written notes, he revealed that in the 1950s and 1960s, the district boasted 56 cricket clubs. Quite something.

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Harome, gathered around a meeting of back roads, is everybody’s idea of a pretty village. Farms rub shoulders with handsome cottages. Harome’s chief claim to fame is the presence of a Michelin-starred gastro inn-with-rooms, The Star, which has a thatched roof.

I recall reports, some years ago, of Yorkshire’s last thatcher retiring. Where do The Star’s owners now have to go for roof maintenance and replacement?

Encouraging to see The Star is a major sponsor of Harome Cricket Club. Its logo features on the back of the players’ shirts. I’m sure I overheard someone say one of the kitchen staff counts amongst the Harome players.

As with many North Yorkshire villages, the cricket ground is part of a community hub. The large building housing the dressing rooms doubles as the village hall. Adjacent is a bowling green.

Arrowed signs indicate the opposite directions, from the car park, cricketers and bowlers are required to take. Left for cricket, right for bowling. The two sports are reflected in a splendid, ridge tile-mounted weathervane.

The cricket pitch is rectangular, with the wickets laid out east-west, across the narrower section. Space is at a premium. Indeed, the boundaries at each end are barely a couple of yards from the ring of white discs. The margin for fielding error is minimal.

From benches beneath a veranda, in front of the dressing rooms, one looks north, across the pitch. Just visible, dead ahead, are the moors, with the 1,030ft Bilsdale transmitter, to the northwest, rather more prominent.

Otherwise, this is a landscape of crop fields. In the field on the other side of the single-track Owmen Field Lane, Harome’s umbilical link to the vehicle-choked A170, a farmer, his vast barn rammed with hay bales, was busy spraying.

Malton & Old Malton’s players had a careful look at the pitch, which the groundsman was fine-tuning as we arrived, before winning the toss and electing to bat. 

From their 14 eight-ball overs (saves time on turnarounds), the visitors piled up an impressive 174-3. Jordan Ludgater (57 off 40), Brad Freer (56 not out off 29) and Charlie Allott (38 off 30) led the scoring spree. Ludgater and Allott put on 85 for the first wicket. Harome captain Tim Whincup took 2-45 off four overs.

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As you can imagine, the home fielders spent a deal of time jumping over the boundary fence then crossing Owmen Field Lane to retrieve the ball from a privet hedge. Much rustling amid the thorns then a cry of: “It’s gone through!” Into the sprayed field.

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Taking photographs from the lane, I kept a sharp eye out for tractors, several of which rumbled past, without stopping. Accompanied by a rush of displaced air, aboard an expensive-looking cycle, a MAMIL (Middle Aged Man in Lycra) swept through. 

At length, the delivery van of a major supermarket (shall we say) hove into view, from the A170 direction, before parking on the crop field access. The driver jumped down from his cab. Leaning casually on the fence, he started watching the game.

“Has your shift finished?” I asked. “No,” he replied. “My next delivery isn’t until half-seven.” [it was about 6.45].

Hailing from Cayton, near Scarborough, he told me he liked cricket, as did his boss, who wouldn’t object to the pregnant pause. He made the job, tootling around country lanes across the seasons, sound rather idyllic. “I wouldn’t – couldn’t – do it in York,” he confided. “Too much traffic.”

By the time Harome began batting, it was starting to cloud over, scuppering any further photography, so I rejoined my wife, in the shade of a large tree, occupying the southwest corner. The only other tree, equally large, is opposite. Some lovely blossom on the latter.

In the meantime, a woman, accompanied by a child, had turned up, swelling the number of onlookers, some of whom declined to leave the warmth and shelter of their cars. A Harome player trotted over.

She tutted at his whites. “Your mum’s going to have trouble getting those stains out.” How did mums, wives and girlfriends manage with flannels?

As Harome set about their run-making, one of the Malton & Old Malton players good-naturedly criticised his fellow fielders. “Lethargic, at best”, was his description of one ball chase. As a shot whistled to the boundary, passing well wide of a fielder, he remarked: “You could have at least dived.”

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His team-mates took their revenge, a few minutes later, when he dropped a regulation catch. “Sorry, mate,” he said to the bowler. “I lost it in the, err…” “Clouds?” suggested a fielder, close enough to overhear the exchange.

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Moments later, the critic was despatched to the boundary. “Are you getting me out of the way?” he asked, with a smile.

From 7-1 (Wilf Baum caught off a skier), Harome batted gamely, to close on 105-8. A 69-run defeat. We were pleased they made three figures. Well beaten but not disgraced.

Whincup, opening, struck 27 off 32 balls. Ludgater finished with 3-17 from three overs.

As the players trudged back to the dressing rooms, in fading light, my Nawton Grange-supporting friend (he of the notebook) wound down his car window to say goodbye. He handed me photocopied sheets of Nawton Grange’s 2024 fixtures.

“We bat well but we’re not so good at bowling,” he said. “Hope to see you there, some time this season.” Then, with a grind of tyres on the car park’s loose gravel, he was gone.

And so, too, were we – as soon as our chairs had been folded and stowed, and our picnic detritus tidied away. All that remained was a bit more roaming, this time in the gloaming, back through the Howardian Hills Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty (sorry, National Landscape. Who dreamt up that?).