Jeremy Philpot (Allan 1977)
I can’t remember my first game nor my last though I do recall thoroughly enjoying close to 25 years or so of Lynxes cricket starting in the mid 1970s. I have never been one for statistics but I am sure if you look long and hard in the scorebook, it will reveal information to support this summary: Played - a lot, Runs - not very many, Catches - a few, Wickets – probably none from a dozen or so overs, when the captain of the day wanted to give the opposition a few runs to hasten the declaration, Enjoyment - total.

I only met “Joe” Evans on a very few occasions in my early years but it was clear he was held in such high esteem by all the older OCs, who had spent much of their cricketing time on Big Side under his tuition. Peter West was held in the same high regard and I came to know him a little better in my role as Secretary during a number of years of his Presidency. Always a stickler for correctness, he would often chase me up to ensure the fixture cards had been printed (for some reason we used a printer in Retford for these), fixtures confirmed, availability letters to all members sent out by first class stamp, captains appointed, tea ladies
confirmed, team lists printed etc, etc.

Then, the second Sunday of August arrived and the Week began with old friendships rekindled, stories and antics from past weeks and time at School re-told but significantly embellished. It was as though time had stood still and, for me, regardless of whatever era you attended the School, cricket for the next 8 days was the glue for all and sundry, irrespective of ability and cricketing prowess.

The state of the pitch (be it good or indifferent), the state of the outfield, the state of the pavilion were all significant conversational topics, as was the state of English Cricket and Kent county cricket in particular, or boarding house stories decanted for the umpteenth time. That’s how the Week went from each year to the next. It could have been 1976 or 1986 or 1996 – it really didn’t matter. Nan Smyth’s memorable teas were also high up on the agenda of discussion for a number of years and as were the lunches and evenings in The Windmill,
where Lynn and Ron [Dawkins] looked after us so well. However, one of my most abiding memories was succumbing to a ball pitching just outside leg and going straight on. It clipped the outside of my pad and ran down to fine leg. For some unknown reason, there was a muffled appeal from deep mid-off and the owner of the Pink Hat [Philip Hawkins] raised his finger. I wasn’t the first and I wasn’t the last but did it matter/ No, not really, as for me the week was for more important than that.

My sadness is that the week no longer exists as such and whilst a number of Lynxes are doing their utmost to maintain some form of continuation but, with the square and outfield havingfallen into disrepair, I know it’s a struggle. But I truly hope they succeed.
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