At a match played at Cambridge, a lost ball was found so firmly fixed on the point of a broken glass bottle in an ivied wall, that a new ball was necessary to continue the game.
Among remarkable games of cricket, are games on the ice—as on Christchurch meadow, Oxford, in 1849, and other places. The one-armed and one-legged pensioners of Greenwich and Chelsea is an oft-repeated match.
Mr. Trumper and his dog challenged and beat two players at single wicket in 1825, on Harefield common, near Rickmansworth.
Female cricketers Southey deemed worthy of notice in his Common-place Book. A match, he says, was played at Bury between the Matrons and the Maids of the parish. The Matrons vindicated their superiority and challenged any eleven petticoats in the county of Suffolk. A similar match, it is noted, was played at West Tarring in 1850. Southey also was amused at five legs being broken in one match—but only wooden legs—of Greenwich pensioners.
Eleven females of Surrey were backed against Eleven of Hampshire, says Pierce Egan, at Newington, Oct. 2. 1811, by two noblemen for 500 guineas a side. Hants won. And a similar match was played in strict order and decorum on Lavant Level, Sussex, before 3000 spectators.
Matches of much interest have been played between members of the same family and some other club. Besides “the Twelve Cæsars,” the four Messrs. Walker and the Messrs. B Ridding have proved how cricket may run in a family, not to forget four of the House of Verulam.
Pugilists have rarely been cricket players. “We used to see the fighting men,” said Beldham, “playing skittles about the ground, but there were no players among them.” Ned O’Neal was a pretty good player; and Bendigo had friends confident enough to make a p.p. match between him and George Parr for 50l. When the day came, Bendigo appeared with a lame leg, and Parr’s friends set an example worthy of true cricketers; they scorned to play a lame man, or to profit by their neighbour’s misfortunes.
In the famous Nottingham match, 1817, Bentley, on the All England side, was playing well, when he was given “run out,” having run round his ground. “Why,” said Beldham, “he had been home long enough to take a pinch of snuff.” They changed the umpire; but the blunder lost the match.
“Spiked shoes,” said Beldham, “were not in use in my country. Never saw them till I went to Hambledon.” “Robinson,” said old Mr. Morton, the dramatist, “began with spikes of a monstrous length, on one foot.” “The first notion of a leg guard I ever saw,” said an old player, “was Robinson’s: he put together two thin boards, angle-wise, on his right shin: the ball would go off it as clean as off the bat, and made a precious deal more noise: but it was laughed at—did not last long. Robinson burnt some of his fingers off when a child, and had the handle of his bat grooved, to fit the stunted joints. Still, he was a fine hitter.”