Not one player is forgotten here,
Nor single match in any year,
And always someone sat right there,
At that event who loves to share.
I hear of Statham, Lock and Laker,
And other ancient wicket takers,
Matches they played here back then,
When they were proper gentlemen.
Those soaked in sport then steeped in Kent,
If something happened, someone went,
And nothing ever goes unseen,
On pitch or track or bowling green.
And all is just a reminisce,
An echo from today of this,
Brings stories tumbling decades old,
And some are fresh and some untold.
So that is why they come to Kent,
For that is what their summers meant,
For ages ’til their laters years,
Nothing, no-one’s forgotten here.