Apathy apart, another contributory factor to the feeling of peaceful isolation at the club has been the business with the bridge. Many moons ago a small bridge over a flood channel on the approach to the village was declared unsafe. Since then the road has been closed, meaning an end to the steady procession of traffic behind the bowler's arm. Local legend has it that the longest hit ever seen on the ground was a six into a farmer's truck which deposited the ball in Prestatyn.
The new bridge was finally opened on Saturday after what must be a record for slow bridge building. The rumour is it took longer than the Sydney Harbour bridge. Not that we built a bridge exactly. What the council did was erect a second-hand Bailey bridge. All I can say is if it had taken the military as long to bridge the Rhine as it did our council to lay a plank over a ditch, the war in Europe would still be going on.
Nonetheless it will come in useful in a couple of weeks' time, as we hope to fill the ground when my team of odds and sods takes on the club in the name of charity. In the past I have skippered teams involving mixtures of such diverse talents as Gary Lineker and Jimmy Tarbuck, Imran Khan and Billy Connolly, Dennis Lillee and Ernie Wise, George Best and Lionel Blair. Gordon Greenidge has played, so has David Gower. Any skipper handling such a mixed bag of talent and ego needs more than a David Lloyd figure to assist. Ideally he needs a man armed with a chair and a whip.
I learned the hard way. I played my very first game of charity cricket in the Sixties in Manchester when a West Indian quick bowler called Gilchrist was terrorising the Lancashire League. He was one of those players who seem unable or unwilling to throttle back no matter what the occasion and who take the view that if the opponent has a bat in the hand he is able to defend himself even if he is sitting in a wheelchair.
A local disc jockey wearing one pad, a Hawaiian T-shirt and a false nose walked to the wicket, whereupon Gilchrist charged in and reduced his stumps to a heap of smouldering sawdust. I have never seen such devastation. Our captain called ``No ball'', whereupon Gilchrist bowled an even quicker ball which beat everyone including our wicketkeeper - a retired newsreader - who was standing level with the sightscreen. Prolonged and agitated negotiations between captain, batsman and bowler followed and were resolved peacefully after the disc jockey promised to play Mr Gilchrist a record if he didn't kill him.
MANY years later I found myself in a similar situation when facing Bob Willis at Edgbaston. This was not the nice, benign chap who commentates on the telly, but a rampant, pumped-up fast bowler intent on doing serious damage. I got a bouncer first ball and then a yorker which, from my position standing next to backward short leg, I watched hit my stumps. The old one-two. Easy. ``No ball'' said John Jameson, whose benefit game it was. ``No thanks,'' said I, having seen the look in Mr Willis's eyes and the steam coming out of his nostrils.
I think fast bowlers have a particular problem in adapting to charity cricket. To begin with they are not, generally speaking, possessed of a pleasant nature. Moreover they have been conditioned to believe that a man with a bat in his hand - any man - is the enemy. Imran Khan is undoubtedly one of the most civilised of human beings, yet even he finds it difficult to differentiate between a knockabout in a meadow and a Test match in Karachi.
Opening the bowling against a company director who had paid a considerable amount of money to charity to play with the likes of the captain of Pakistan, Imran bowled the poor man twice in two balls, both being declared illegal by the umpire. He was advised to give the batsman a chance by pitching it up, whereupon he delivered a fast swinging yorker on to the batsman's instep. I cannot remember if Imran appealed for lbw but would be surprised if he didn't.
Yet for all the inherent dangers it is a foolish fellow who turns down the chance to accompany great cricketers. I was umpiring at Victor Blank's ground in Oxfordshire the other day when players like Sunil Gavaskar, Clive Lloyd, John Edrich and David Gower brought back memories of the way they were. Even now young players should watch Gavaskar's footwork and timing, although I doubt if they can be copied.
Similarly David Gower, playing in a floppy sun hat, demonstrated why I would rather watch him bat than any other player I can think of. Gower fits perfectly into charity cricket. He doesn't have to change his natural game. He played all his cricket as if he was having a knock on the village green. I was standing at square leg when I was approached by Peter Jay of the BBC. ``That chap in the floppy hat looks a fair player. Who is he?'' he asked. ``David Gower,'' I said. ``That would explain things,'' he said without blushing.
Thinking of my own game coming up I wondered if I might invite the West Indian Test cricketer Keith Arthurton, who is playing for High Wycombe in the Thames Valley League. I had the perfect opportunity the other day when he came to play at our ground. Our lads were looking forward to the encounter but concerned he might win the game for the opposition. As it was, he went in first wicket down and was caught behind off a good delivery from our opening bowler which swung and took the edge.
It was an edge so thin it might have escaped the attention of the umpire but Mr Arthurton, noting the official's indecision, walked. By doing so he pleased me greatly, not simply for an act of sportsmanship but because the bowler was one of my sons. The wicketkeeper who took the catch was another of my offspring, which gave the scorebook - K Arthurton c A Parkinson, b M Parkinson 0 - an intriguing entry for future generations to ponder. Who, they will no doubt ask, was the father of these talented children?
WHAT they should know is that son Michael is not the only Parkinson with a West Indian Test cricketer as a victim. In that game at Edgbaston where I was humiliated by Mr Willis I managed to bowl Alvin Kallicharran with a slow bouncer. Looking through my files to refresh my memory I came across an auto- graphed scorecard of the day. It belonged to Michael jnr who would have been nine or 10 at the time. Underneath the signa- ture of Alvin Kallicharran he had written: ``My dad bowled him out.'' He was so proud. The other day I knew how he felt.