It was one of those cloudy but perfectly serviceable Devon evenings: warm enough for cricket, grey enough to make one look with suspicion towards the heavens, and with just enough fading light later on to make batting feel less like a sport and more like an eye test conducted at speed.
Modbury welcomed Harberton CC for a midweek T20 match. The visitors won the toss, elected to bat, and posted a sturdy 132 for 4 from their 20 overs. Modbury, in reply, reached 59 for 7, leaving Harberton winners by 73 runs.
Modbury took to the field first with enthusiasm, optimism, and — as the evening wore on — hands that appeared to have been lightly buttered. There were several chances that might, on another day, have nestled safely in the palms. On this occasion, the ball tended instead to pass briefly through the fielding zone before continuing it’s earthly journey.
The most memorable of these came when James Sloman, stationed beneath a high, slow offering, prepared himself for what looked to be a regulation catch. Alas, the ball descended with all the menace of a falling piano and, rather than settling into the hands, cannoned firmly into the knee. This was particularly cruel on debutant Callum “The Viking” Lee-Oldfield, who bowled with real promise and thoroughly deserved a wicket for his efforts. In the halls of Valhalla, stern men with axes were almost certainly shaking their heads and saying that, in their day, catches were taken.
Elsewhere in the field, Daniel Clayton treated spectators to several dramatic full-length dives, each performed with great theatrical commitment and, it must be said, limited practical consequence. Sam Collidge, meanwhile, found himself twice bamboozled by the local topography, as the ball struck mounds in the ground and changed direction like a hare being pursued by creditors.
Toward the end of the innings, Howard Williams, fielding near the boundary, attempted to return the ball with purpose and authority. Unfortunately, the throw travelled less “flat and fast to the keeper” and more “straight into the ground nearby”, prompting immediate claims of a sore arm. This same Williams had earlier been confidently expecting a tea, only to discover — with something approaching personal grief — that there are no teas in a T20 match. A brutal lesson, and one from which he may not quickly recover.
Still, amid the comedy, Modbury had their moments. The bowling effort had spells of real control, and Callum’s debut was a definite bright spot. Harberton’s total was competitive, but not beyond the realms of imagination — provided, of course, Modbury’s batting could begin in orderly fashion.
It did not.
The early wickets fell rather too quickly for comfort, and the chase soon had the air of a picnic blanket being folded in a strong wind. Yet Dan Clayton dug in admirably, batting with patience and good sense as the light began to fade and the Harberton bowlers tightened their grip. If Kipling had been watching from the boundary, he might have noted approvingly that here was a man keeping his head while, around him, others were busy losing theirs. Dan remained at the crease deep into the innings, offering some much-needed stability while others came and went around him.
On debut, Ben Lane also showed excellent composure, coming in at a tricky moment and helping to steady the ship. Captain John Compston then added some welcome momentum, getting a few runs flowing and giving Modbury something to cheer as the evening drew on.
But with the light disappearing, the target rising ever steeper, and Harberton bowling tidily, Modbury were unable to mount the sort of late charge that might have made matters interesting. The innings closed on 59 for 7 from the full 20 overs, and Harberton were deserved winners.
And yet, as ever, there was plenty for Modbury to take from the evening: a promising debut from Callum, a steady debut knock from Ben, a determined innings from Dan, and enough fielding mishaps to keep the post-match discussion lively for some time.
A defeat, then — but not a gloomy one. The clouds stayed largely civil, the cricket was played in good spirits, and Modbury marched on with heads held high, knees bruised, arms allegedly sore, and one or two members still asking quietly whether anyone had brought the sandwiches.
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