I love the Woolley Stand. Its home. Its normally pretty quiet, too, but maybe the light, maybe the heat, certainly Middlesex, made it a little busier. There was conversations all around me.
They talk of Colin Cowdrey here,
With reverence as you should know,
The numbers of his whole career,
And everywhere he chose to go.
They also raise Lord Harris’ name,
Expecting you know him as well,
They never saw him in a game,
Their fathers told the tales they tell,
And Deadly Derek’s name is heard,
As lesser spinners twirl away,
For Deadly is the final word,
Knows anyone who saw him play,
One day they’ll talk of Denly, too,
And Darren Stevens’ golden autumn,
Our sons will tell the tales we do,
We’ll listen on and know we taught ’em.