THERE WAS JUST one discordant note struck in the packed, perspiring conference room at Lord's that afternoon. Amid all the toothy grins and the cheerily bashful explanations of a profound change of heart, Michael Atherton suddenly bridled when a strident television reporter accused him of not enjoying his job. His eyes narrowed and his expression, previously benign, hardened perceptibly. `I have always enjoyed the job,' he rejoined with a combative stare.

The reporter took a mental step back and blathered something about appearances being deceptive. He had hit a nerve. It was not so much that he was right in the case at issue – Atherton's lugubrious demeanour should never be taken too seriously – but in the general scheme of things. Is it any longer possible to regard the captaincy of England as something to be enjoyed, when the scrutiny, expectation and judging are so constant and cruel, and when a captain is no sooner appointed than the hawks have begun to whip up speculation as to when, and how, he will lose the job?

There is an unattractive tendency in England these days to campaign for favourite sons to be elevated to positions of power and then disowned abruptly once they attain such authority. It is as if they cease to be a worthy subject for support and become an object to be heckled, harassed and generally derided until the position they hold becomes untenable.

This is a trend perpetuated in politics and sport, the two most publicly argumentative spheres of our life. And, while there may be those involved in running the country who beg to differ, the rather more trivial responsibility of captaining the national cricket team has few equals when it comes to the syndrome of the revolving door.

 Atherton, of course, is a born survivor. None can doubt it now, even if that other cliché, the one about his obstinacy, has been exploded by the complex chain of thoughts that led him to tell David Graveney that he would, after all, like to continue in charge. `Where has all the stubbornness gone?' Atherton asked, rhetorically. For the fact is he had decided before the final Test of the summer that he would stand down, an intention reinforced by England's dreadful opening day at the Oval. Victory against the odds and support from all quarters then combined with a sense of unease, a feeling that he would be walking away from a job he had become rather good at, not only leaving the work half-done but the rewards largely unexplored.

The belief, through the days leading up to his announcement, that Atherton had preserved one of the best-kept secrets proved somewhat wide of the mark. Until a few hours before he met the press, there was no secret to keep – he was not even sure himself which way it would go. There was even speculation that his soul-searching might all be in vain and that a new captain was being lined up anyway. This proved mistaken – with Messrs Graveney, Bennett and Lloyd firmly in his corner it was never a realistic option – but Atherton would not have been the first England captain of recent years to reach a momentous decision and then be upstaged by outside forces.

It was an intriguing coincidence, for instance, that Atherton played a round of golf, on the Monday following the Oval victory, in a fourball that included Ian Botham. Discount the fanciful theories that Botham counselled him to continue – cricket, I understand, was barely discussed between them – but if Botham had raised his head from a putt and cast his mind back 16 years he might have come up with an interesting anecdote about his own departure from the bed of thorns.

 Botham decided to quit in June 1981. Another Ashes series, another time, but a very similar scenario. England were being beaten by Australia and a young captain was taking the blame. During the Lord's Test, Botham made up his mind to stand down and informed the selectors. A statement from him was read to the press at the end of the game but, cruelly, Botham's dignity was ripped away when Alec Bedser, then chairman of selectors, admitted: `We were going to sack him anyway.'

 Botham was hurt by the insensitivity, the refusal to allow him to resign with honour. Later, however, as he surveyed the circumstances, he came up with another aspect of relevance to Atherton. `I had been forced into a position where all I could do was resign,' he said, `but the irritating thing was it came at the point when I felt that at last I was getting the hang of the job.'

 Botham was never a natural captain – a leader, certainly, but lacking the tactical range and communications skills necessary. Like Atherton, however, he had been thrust into the job relatively young and could only improve with experience. If Atherton had remained faithful to his first instinct and resigned, the greatest pity of it would have been that he has lately been captaining the team better and more positively than at any previous time. This realisation was a factor in his conversion. So too was the unwavering support of the chairman of selectors, a reassurance enjoyed by few of his recent predecessors.

The trail of the England captaincy, indeed, is strewn with incidents of high-level mistrust and as many of mishandling. It has sometimes appeared beyond the wit of man to administer a captaincy handover in which nobody is hurt, belittled or ridiculed. If Bedser's needless parting shot to Botham is one example of crassness, his successor in the chair, the late Peter May, showed no firmer grasp of basic human relations.

Vote of confidence: an Atherton supporter makes her feelings known

May's first act as chairman, in May of 1982, was to strip Keith Fletcher of the captaincy. Fletcher had been appointed, aged 37, for the previous winter's tour of India once Mike Brearley had made himself unavailable. It was not an especially happy tour, as evidenced by the covert planning of a tour to South Africa by some of those who took part, but Fletcher played no role in this and, indeed, stressed his loyalty to England. Any other reason for his sacking remains a matter of conjecture; May never offered one, either publicly or to Fletcher himself. Indeed, he did not even speak to his captain until the afternoon when he told him on the phone that he was to be replaced by Bob Willis.

 `If Peter May had never spoken to me again I wouldn't have been too sorry' KEITH FLETCHER

To say Fletcher was bitter and confused is to understate the case. `Peter May's phone call to me had been made just 15 minutes before he announced the change to the press and it was the first time he had spoken to me since the tour,' he recalled. `The way I felt the night, if he had never spoken to me again I don't think I would have been too sorry.' Fletcher, emotional beyond speech, took off in his car, silently leaving a sympathetic wife and bewildered children, in search of cathartic solitude. `Where I was going, I neither knew nor cared. I simply needed to be alone with my thoughts. I believed I had been badly let down and will always believe that they were wrong, if not in the decision they took, then in the way it was done.'

Darkest hour: Mike Gatting ponders the future after his clash with Shakoor Rana at Faisalabad in 1987–88. Gatting retained the captaincy after this episode, but lost it early the next summer

The way it was done. How many times have we heard that phrase in critical reference to the handling of a change of captain? If not Fletcher, driven to a blind and persecuted flight into the wilds of Essex, then try David Gower. No greater paragon, no-one more worthy of civility and respect, has existed in the English game in recent years. Yet his two spells as captain of his country both ended in disillusionment.

Gnome office: Keith Fletcher gives an informal press conference in India in 1981–82. He lost the captaincy after this tour. Right: Graham Gooch steps down from the hot seat in 1993

 `I later realised I had been the last to know rather than the first,' DAVID GOWER

At Lord's in 1986, Gower was relieved of the job in favour of Mike Gatting. There was no great surprise in all this, the move having been signposted for some while, but PBH May once more failed to distinguish himself. Gower recalls doing his post-Test television interviews, still firmly in charge, and returning to the dressing-room where May met him and led him into one of the ante-rooms. It would not have been an especially suitable way to sign off a captain even if he had not totally botched the operation by informing Gatting first. `I later realised I had been the last to know rather than the first,' said Gower.

 May's most bewildering days were still to come. Having failed to sack Gatting when there was every justification, during the infamous Pakistan tour in 1987–88, he then dismissed him following some trivia involving a barmaid six months later. In quick succession, England were then led by Chris Cowdrey (May's godson), John Emburey and Graham Gooch before, exhausted, the chairman stood down and handed over the blood-stained baton to Ted Dexter.

It was Dexter who reappointed Gower. We all thought he had been swayed by his urbanity, elegance and other Dexter-like qualities. It only later transpired that Dexter had actually wanted to restore Gatting to the job but had met with a veto from the Test and County Cricket Board. Another fine mess, exacerbated after a single Ashes series when Gower once more parted company with a job that had never quite suited him as it ought to have done.

Now here the symmetry with Atherton's story is truly striking. Gower had just presided over a losing Ashes series, suffered a deal of personal abuse from the media and decided, to all intents, that he would stand down. He confided as much to some close friends. Then he changed his mind. The difference is that while both Gower and Atherton arrived for their fateful conferences with respective chairmen still ambivalent on their future, Gower discovered that the man on the other side of the desk had decided it was time for a change. So instead of resigning with quiet dignity, as he had fully intended for some days, he went into the meeting willing to be persuaded he should carry on and came out of it having heard that nobody wanted him. `In hindsight,' he says, `it is plain that the handover was bungled by all concerned, not least myself. Personal pride and public sympathy combined to take me down a dead-end street.' Within days Gower, who had felt no support from team management, also discovered that he had been dropped from the England team for the winter tour of West Indies; he resigned the captaincy of Leicestershire and negotiated a move south. His life was suddenly in turmoil.

 Atherton's life, by comparison, seems restored to a semblance of tranquillity. His decision to soldier on has been widely applauded and if this has something to do with the mass headscratching that would have been required to settle on a replacement, it also reflects the respect in which he himself is held. More than this, however, it is a measure of a difficult decision handled with rare aplomb.

 Atherton did not lead anyone astray and David Graveney, his chairman, trod a sensitive path with some skill. There were no double standards or hidden agendas. Both men ended up doing what was best for the England team. Captaincy appointments and departures were never meant to be easy, but a captain agonising about staying on – like Botham or Gower before now – is no less complicated.

Just for once, English cricket emerged with the pieces in place, no red faces of anger or embarrassment to appease. The new era of caring, open management was one reason Atherton cited for staying on. It is also one reason to be more cheerful about the future of the England team.

  Alan Lee is cricket correspondent of The Times.

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