Roz Kaveney (rozk) wrote,
Roz Kaveney

A friend read me this down the phone and I rather liked it...

It is an extract from "Sweet Summers, The Classic Cricket Writing of J. M. Kilburn" edited by Duncan Hamilton, reviewed in the 2009 Wisden. J. M. Kilburn was the long-term cricket correspondent of the Yorkshire Post, but he also wrote for other journals and the extract comes from a column in The Cricketer in 1940. He died in 1993.

There was walking in the promenade, but always with an unconscious hastening from one newspaper-seller to the next. We celebrated the winning of the Championship, and toasted 'next year', even as we listened to the pot of Poland boiling.

The Sussex lanes were lovely in their autumn glory, and peace curled down from the village chimney pots and through the trees and across the Downs. Near London we returned to war. An endless stream of cars, laden with luggage, perambulators, bedding and minor necessities of life, swirled away to the West. We stopped for evening papers and were not encouraged by their stories. (There was no word of Yorkshire's victory, which in itself suggested evil things). We hurried on. Hurried into a night that was thrice night because the Earth was darkened against the terror from the skies. In Leicester we stayed, and when Saturday's light came into the sky, went on again. And so to Yorkshire. Unshaven, weary and unhappy, so came we home. We took our bags, we turned and said goodbye and then 'good luck'. We went our several ways. We had come to the end of an age.

Things end and we experience their ending...
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