Never change, Crakehall

In a roundabout way, I can thank Bradford’s inner-city development for discovering the delights of Crakehall Cricket Club.



An expectation of traffic congestion meant that Woodlands of the Bradford Premier League would have to wait.

Instead, something very different indeed. A 100-mile round trip to Crakehall, a village in the Hambleton district of North Yorkshire, off the A1(M).

Crakehall is very special indeed. 😍 pic.twitter.com/15EIKe2gOA

— Cricket Yorkshire (@cricketyorks) May 11, 2024

It was somewhere I’ve wanted to get to for years because the ground is said to be jaw-droppingly scenic and also about as small as they come.

(🚨 Spoiler alert: it is on both counts.)

Meanwhile, a theme of my most recent book, Dales, Bails and Cricket Club Tales, was red kites and an assortment of birds of prey on trips to the cricket.

So it was that once we’d bobbed past Pool in Wharfedale and headed towards Harrogate, there was a pleasing five-minute purple patch where I spotted half a dozen.

Red kites hooping gracefully above our car and at one point, a buzzard fighting with a raven.

There had been an accident on the A1(M) and the traffic slowed to a crawl past Knaresborough. Google Maps (who I would be lost without) had already alerted me and picked out an alternative route.

A static wall of cars as far as the eye could see suggested avoiding that section of the motorway had saved us hours – and as things turned out, quite possibly not missing all of the match.

The A684 brings you into the village of Crakehall and we parked up near other cars on a section of grass.

With the sun blazing down, the temperature up to mid-twenties, my first impression was of a cricket ground looking at its best.

Near us is a line of pretty stone cottages; sweeping further right is the ivy-covered Georgian country house of Crakehall Hall. A giant Grade II* listed building, with the cricket ground to its right.

I’m told later that the owner, Russell, is the cricket club president and occasionally appears with a collection of balls that have been fired over the handsomely high garden walls.

As Mrs F and I walk around to say hello and then plonk ourselves on a bench by the pavilion for a picnic, it hits me quite how close we are to the match.

Their opponents, Burton Leonard 2nd XI, have just started batting in this Division 7 encounter of the Theakston Nidderdale League.

There can’t be many village cricket clubs in Yorkshire that still play on the green. Thornton Watlass, another beautiful postage stamp, springs to mind.

***

Watching from square of the wicket, we are really close. Up-the-nose-hairs-of-the-batter close. A gentle forward push can – and does – whistle for four.

***

A few feet in front of us is one of the giant sycamores that line this gorgeous ground. I’m told it has lime trees too. Would it be wrong to admit I cannot tell one gigantic tree from another without Googling?

Importantly, it is enormous, one of a line inside the boundary and its long branches hang down within a deft scoop, switch-hit or slog.

Which brings us neatly to local rules.

If you hit any part of that tree, it’s four. In fact, if you belt it high and handsome 100m, IPL-style, into the upper branches…. it’s still four.

No sixes allowed here.

Allow me to briefly give you the rest of the tour.

While I thoughtfully if noisily chomp through some black pepper-encrusted crisps, there’s the wooden pavilion to consider. The scorers are sat out with a small changing room on either side.

The scoreboard is built into the small pavilion and just has runs, wickets and overs. The numbers are changed by hand and strings hang down. (There is a separate blackboard with the last innings score elsewhere).

It is literally the village cricket club pavilion I used to change in as a teen in Somerset and I like it enormously.

To our left at the top end of the ground is another row of stone cottages, so that they act as bookends around a cricket scene.

Opposite, as the crow flies, is the famous St Gregory’s churchyard wall. Famous in that the corner juts out and forms part of the boundary.

Today, it feels as if our side of the boundary is marginally closer but later in the season, when pitches are cut further away, you’d be able to pad up on the church wall and then stride into bat in a dozen steps.

Any which way, I think it’s the smallest boundary-to-stumps distance I’ve seen with shoutouts to Thornton Watlass, Glasshouses and Triangle, of the ones I know.

I’ve been to quite a few grounds that are small in places but nothing that has felt quite so intimate as Crakehall.

It’s not fully enclosed and the longer grass stretches out beyond to the main road where occasionally the rumble of a farm vehicle interrupts the tranquillity.

Or maybe adds to it.

I was also struck by how friendly everyone was. I’ve long since come to expect that at most clubs but it was particularly evident here.

I must have talked to a dozen players, in whites or spectating, who all had a tale to tell, or a bit of extra colour to life at Crakehall.

Luke Hallam is Secretary and kindly gave me a snapshot of why Crakehall are currently in a good place. Bucking either the trend (or the narrative) that village cricket is perpetually in crisis, they are settled, seemingly not short of players nor financially struggling.

The local pub, The Bay Horse Inn, sponsors the shirts and is the heartbeat of the village. There’s also the annual fundraiser with a match against an Emmerdale XI (although that’s not happening this year).

There is a simplicity here that is resonating with me almost as loudly as the resident birdlife. Crakehall’s name is derived from kráka meaning crow or raven and they are in fine voice this afternoon, I can tell you.

***

To finish my train of thought, the cricket club don’t have covers, sightscreens or even running water. No juniors either.

***

They are a one-team club. Two teams if you count the Wensleydale Evening league side but I imagine there’s plenty of crossover.

Availability isn’t generally a problem until harvest time when some players have other priorities and most of the squad is based in the village or nearby.

They can’t progress above Division 4 of the Nidderdale League due to the size of the ground and the lack of facilities but that ceiling doesn’t feel like it’s particularly low or anything to bother about.

So, Crakehall: Tiny, unchanged and that’s absolutely fine with me.

I guess you want to read about the match, right? Well, don’t blink or you’ll miss it.

Burton Leonard’s second team were dismissed for 39 in 19.4 overs; a combination of sharp reflexes, plenty of batters hearing the dreaded death rattle behind them as stumps were rearranged and even a run-out.

John Love, a bearded metronome, was relentless from the Crakehall Hall End en route to 4-15. His partner-in-wickets was Dean Norman (5-16), tattooed and bespectacled but no less impressive.

At 36-4, the visitors lost another three more wickets without advancing the score. It was one of those days for Burton Leonard (and we’ve all had them).

Pleasingly, tea was then taken.

I understand every Crakehall player brings enough for two and it works well. I spied mini Yorkshire puddings with beef and gravy so clearly, it’s not a stroll down the road to the petrol garage for a generic cheese and pickle sandwich.

🚨 If you’re reading this and visit cricket clubs in any capacity then nominate a club for the Cricket Yorkshire Tea of the Year!

The interlude gave me time to examine the square and the wicket; the ground is in fine shape it has to be said. Shoutout to Bob who keeps it looking like a picture.

On my perambulations, I spotted a couple of rollers. I’m not sure when I became slightly obsessed with them but there is also healthy interest out there, put it that way.

If I post a photo of a roller on the Cricket Yorkshire Facebook page then, sure as loam is loam, the groundskeepers’ community will give it a blue thumbs up. Or even a heart if I’m lucky.

My own fascination lies in that often cricket rollers, even in decent condition, still look a bit knackered and speak to a bygone era.

They are mechanical workhorses, often painted a green and red livery; their custom paint job hiding a lifetime of tinkering (and perhaps swearing) under the hood.

As it happens, I learnt about Crakehall’s own roller-gedon when a family of birds was believed to have nested underneath and somehow a spark on dry wood ignited. A small fire became a considerable fire and the fire brigade came out.

The roller was wrecked but nothing some imagination, fundraising and a £500 engine off Ebay couldn’t fix.

***

In the middle, Crakehall’s reply began ominously. At 1-1 and then suddenly 8-3, there were doubtless a few flutters before calm heads Dean Norman (12 not out) and Andy Nelson (18 not out) conjured up the seven-wicket win.

***

We were done and dusted by 4pm but Burton Leonard had struck a few blows with the ball, notably Lenni Greveson (3-24). Another 50 runs might have made things interesting.

Some opponents like the quirkiness of Crakehall, others arrive, take one look at the minuscule boundaries and blaze away to their peril.

Proper cricket? Absolutely. There is a magic to Crakehall just as it is.

MATCH PHOTOS