This was the stuff of those faintly embarrassing Churchill tapes that David Lloyd has brought to the dressing room, of mottoes which hang above pegs proclaiming: ``If it's to be, it's up to me.'' Giggle, giggle, but it's working, for their play was a tour de force of teamwork illuminated by Nasser Hussain, John Crawley and Nick Knight, whose confi- dent approach in the face of highly staked comeback bids suggested a real backbone to England. They batted without blinking and without a hint of the fragile minds which have plagued the middle order.
They owe someone too. They owe Alec - will he or won't he play or keep wicket - Stewart, who set it all up. Alec, the gaffer at Surrey, who was once nearly captain of England but who, more recently, has not had a game for England at all.
Imagine what Stewart has been through. Imagine be- ing really good at something, so good that you made two hun- dreds in one match against the West Indies, in the temple of the Kensington Oval in Barbados too, and yet the second you are a touch off colour you are rejected. You are told you are over that wretched hill of 30 which niggles, because you are fit as a sprinter, slim as a girl and don't feel a day out of school.
Imagine the erosion of confidence through rejec- tion. Imagine your every stutter examined by slow-mo and dissect- ed by commentary. Imagine imagining what the devil's gone wrong. Not nice for Stewart, the bristling loyalist, to sit at home without his England hat and wonder.
It was the morning that umpire Dickie Bird stole with his tears, the morning when Michael Atherton was lbw before Bird had dried them up
But as the rejection festered, so he found he was up to it and up to the other challenges that life suddenly, surprisingly, threw at him. He sorted Surrey for one thing, with a little help from an Australian coach, and deciphered the emotion surrounding family illness. He is used to sorting for himself after an early life when those who had no idea said his promotions were because of his father, so he was well equipped when he got his unexpected opportuni- ty for the first Lord's Test of the summer against India.
It was the morning that umpire Dickie Bird stole with his tears, the morning when Michael Atherton was lbw before Bird had dried them up, the morning when Javagal Srinath and Venkatesh Prasad moved the ball a mile off the seam, so far and so often that making contact was something in itself.
At lunch England were 39 for one and Stewart was unbeaten with nine runs in 59 balls. Back in the dressing room he splashed his face and smiled when others less able to rationalise the outrageous conditions on the day of their big break would have sat sulking and silent. He made only 20 and without a hint of his usual expression but he made it just the same, and in its way it made him.
His batting since has been packed with grit but only sprinkled by strokes because he has fought to re- cover his technique.
The key to his best form is the timing of his con- siderable initial movement back and across the stumps. If he moves too early he becomes stuck with the position of his head and the weight of his body out of kilter and then finds it impossible to move forward to fully pitched bowling with a bent front leg another key to his play. If he moves too late he finishes static and therefore stilted, which prompts him to flash outside off stump and away from his body, which invites problems.
On Friday, at last after months of worry, he found the zone, that wonderful combination of fluid movement, easy timing and absolute concentration that comes occasionally. By looking to attack, to play with the purpose which was the hallmark of the England innings, he found himself in ideal po- sitions to defend. He made 52 from 68 balls, a patch of purple which contained everything that the struggle of Lord's did not.
That hour confirmed his faith in his own gifts and ended his long road to self-justification. It will have also removed the doubt from those who sit in judgment. Finally and most gratifyingly, it brought a glow to his team.