Derbyshire Cricket - Peakfan's blog
News and views on Derbyshire County Cricket Club from a supporter of 58 years standing. Follow me on X/Twitter @Peakfanblog
Thursday, 30 October 2025
Book Review: Maestro - A Portrait of Garry Sobers by David Tossell
Tuesday, 28 October 2025
Andersson signs on until the end of 2028
Monday, 27 October 2025
Bill Bestwick
George Davidson
Were it not for one feat, many modern Derbyshire fans would perhaps be unaware of the name of George Davidson.
Indeed, things were so bad at one point that Chatterton and Davidson reputedly went through a season without speaking to one another, after an argument at dinner one evening. Davidson made a comment to the giant bowler George Porter, who suffered from sweaty feet, that apparently reduced the latter to tears. Chatterton took exception to it and laid down the law in no uncertain terms.
Wright also separately refers to him being challenged to a fight by 'Jimmy Burns', perhaps the Essex bowler of the period. Even his obituary notices, which were sufficiently effusive commensurate to his talent, referred to a 'brusque exterior concealing a kindly heart' and to 'his quick temper and hot-headed conduct'.
Maybe not always an easy team mate then, but an extremely talented cricketer, one with a very interesting story.
In considering his attitude to new team mates, let us not forget that the lot of the professional in the 1890s was relatively glamorous, the challenge of someone new a threat to their livelihood. A good county player might earn only £150-250 a year, but that compared favourably to the lot of a labourer, the alternative for many, which was around £80-£100. To earn that money, you had to be selected. The standard contract was £5 a match for home games, £6 for away matches, out of which accommodation had to be paid for. On top of that, talent money might be paid, while collections would be taken for a good performance by a home player, which could earn as much as ten pounds. The irony of George's record score being made at an away ground, Old Trafford, was probably not lost on him.
A few professionals, like William Gunn and Arthur Shrewsbury of Nottinghamshire, did well in business ventures, but many worried about a life outside of the game and more than a few ended up in the workhouse when their playing days ended.
Like William Mycroft, George Davidson came from Brimington, near Chesterfield and honed his bowling skills with his father, Joseph. He was a good enough player to be a member of the first Derbyshire side to take the field, in 1871, and was known as an accurate bowler of off-spin. He took plenty of wickets in local cricket, even though he played only four first-class matches and took just six wickets. The two played together for Brimington Common and Davidson junior developed quickly.
He worked in the iron works there as an unskilled labourer for 10d a day, before becoming professional at Keighley Cricket Club. He did well for them in 1885 and was offered a role on the staff at The Oval. Surrey wanted him to qualify and sign for them, as did Warwickshire later, but he only wanted to play for the county of his birth and made his debut for Derbyshire in 1886, against the MCC at Lord's. He took 5-37 on debut, something he was to do on 43 occasions, going on to take ten wickets in a match ten times. By means of comparison for modern supporters, his strike rate per wicket lies between that of Mike Hendrick and Harold Rhodes, confirming his ability quite nicely.
For all that he holds that record score, Davidson averaged only a shade under 24 as a batter from 260 innings, including two other centuries, but he added to that with 621 wickets at 18. If one takes the claim of any cricketer as an all rounder seriously, their batting average should exceed their bowling one, and these figures confirm that Davidson must have been a very fine player.
The Lancashire game in which he scored 274 saw him bat for seven and a quarter hours. He followed this by bowling 57-34-75-3 in Lancashire's first innings, in which they were forced to follow on. To the modern viewer, used to players complaining of burnout and tiredness after a Test series, this makes astonishing reading.
Davidson also reached a century as part of another then record, the team score of 645 against Hampshire at Derby in 1898. With declarations not possible at this time, his captain, Sydney Evershed, told him to get out so the bowlers could get to work, but Davidson, confirming his contrary nature, ignored him and batted on to score his century, following it with another 31 overs and 6-42. As a batsman he was described as defensively sound, with the ability to play strokes when he got going.
His annus mirabilis was in 1895, when he scored 1296 runs at 28 and took 138 wickets at less than 17. These are the figures of a special player, one who deserves to be mentioned when discussions of the county's finest take place. It was the first time a Derbyshire player did the double, and perhaps the result of spending the previous winter coaching and playing in South Africa, keeping his eye in quite nicely. He returned from the Cape 'bearing gifts and testimonials' after a series of fine performances. His record season for Derbyshire saw him presented with a gold watch and chain by his friends at Brimington, as well as being talked about as one of the finest all round cricketers in the country.
He took a benefit in 1897, but contemporary reports blame Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee celebrations and the weather for a cheque 'of meagre proportions' (£200) and comment 'it is not pleasant for the sportsmen of Derbyshire to feel that their favourite's reward was such a wretchedly small one and amounted, in fact, to absolute insult'.
It is hard to argue. Three times he took nine wickets in an innings for the county, every season but one that he played being the leading wicket-taker, while in 1892 he headed both the batting and bowling. Several reports comment that he was the 'biggest single reason' that Derbyshire remained a first-class county. His line and length were especially noteworthy and after twice bowling A.C.MacLaren, a giant of the age, on a flat wicket in 1895, the Lancashire captain declared that 'he would exhaust anyone's patience with his metronomic accuracy'.
His final game for the county saw another record to which he contributed, albeit inadvertently. He had missed several matches with a strain when Yorkshire visited Chesterfield in 1898 but declared himself fit to play in Walter Sugg's benefit match. Wright recalled that it was obvious from the first ball that he wasn't himself, and it was all he could do to finish his only over. His absence from the rest of the innings left Yorkshire openers John Tunnicliffe and J.T. Brown a novice attack to face, and they responded with a then record opening stand of 554. It was the other side of a complex character, trying his best to play in the match to help his friend, even when he likely knew in his heart that it wouldn't work.
George never played for the county again. During the winter that followed, a bout of influenza quickly worsened into pneumonia and the man with the iron constitution died on 8 February 1899 at the tragically early age of 32, leaving a wife, six children under the age of seven and very little money. The editor of Cricket magazine in 1899 hoped that 'energetic steps might be taken by the gentlemen of Derbyshire on their behalf'. Given that the club was in its perennial impoverished state, it is unlikely that they ever did so.
It was an 'irreparable loss to the county and to the game of cricket', evident in the outpouring of the newspaper reports of the day. Few knew that he was unwell, so the shock was considerable for supporters and cricket followers. The story was covered in local press around the country, the opinion firmly of a very fine player cut off in his prime. Maybe, even yet, one of international standard.
In his obituary, Wisden recalled him as a cricketer 'just short of the highest class' who 'had he played for a better county might have enjoyed a still more brilliant career'. Former England captain Henry Leveson-Gower, a contemporary, in his book Off and On The Field said that 'he would have gone much further had he plied his skills elsewhere'.
We have heard that plenty of times over the years. Given that players at that time continued well into their forties, he had at least another ten years ahead of him, when further records may well have been set.
There is perhaps an opportunity for the club and its supporters to do right by George Davidson. My research suggests that his grave at Tipton Cemetery is unmarked and may even be that of a pauper. It would be proper to look to mount a plaque, at least, to mark his last resting place.
After all, it is the longest surviving record in the county's cricket and his loyal and significant contribution to its early years is worthy of belated recognition.
(This piece originally appeared in 2020)
Peate recognised at last: could Derbyshire do the same for Bestwick and Davidson?
Regular readers will recall that earlier this year I reviewed a book on Ted Peate, the old Yorkshire cricketer.
With the permission of the author, Brian Sanderson of the Association of Cricket Statisticians, I publish the following account of the recent erection of a headstone hearing his name:
On a Tuesday in early March, in the year 1900, the Yorkshire skies hung low with grey as Edmund Peate, once the darling of Headingley and the scourge of southern batsmen, was laid to rest in Yeadon Cemetery. No marble marked his passing. No inscription testified to feats that once stirred thousands to applause. He was buried in an unmarked grave beside his old companion Thomas Bletchley.
The funeral was no lonely affair. From the White Swan Hotel, spiritual clubhouse of Yeadon cricket, emerged a procession of cricketers, old comrades of the fallen. They had assembled by arrangement, as for a benefit match or a reunion of the faithful, to accompany their friend to his grave. The White Swan, where Peate had held court with pint and anecdote, was the antechamber to his final journey.
And so this great cricketer, who had bowled for Yorkshire and England, who had once taken eight for five against Surrey and made the Australians hop like sparrows on a hot griddle, was consigned to anonymity. Ten other Yorkshire players lie in that cemetery. Each has a stone, but none a record to match Peate’s. None of them stirred the county’s pride quite as Peate did in those golden summers of the 1880s.
I have often visited Yeadon Cemetery, drawn by a sense of unfinished business, of justice deferred. Over the decades the grass grew long over Peate’s grave, and the wind whispered through the trees as if in lament at the want of a suitable memorial. There was a wrong here crying out for redress.
Some years ago I met Keith Handley, a man of quiet passion, who first recognised that Peate’s reputation had faded undeservedly into the shadows. He began a biography, a labour of love and restoration. But fate, cruel umpire, gave him out before his innings was complete. His research did not survive him. Peate’s story remained in limbo.
Then came Ian Lockwood, a man of vision and resolve, who took up the bat where Handley had left it. He wrote a book chronicling Peate’s life and death with humour and heart. The proceeds were pledged to erect a headstone.
And at last, the deed was done. Under skies much brighter than those under which he was consigned to his place of rest, the Yorkshire Old Players Association gathered to honour him. Geoff Cope and Kevin Sharp stood as emissaries, and were joined by Peate’s descendants and admirers. A service was held, simple and beautiful, beside the new headstone that bears his name:
(Photo shows Geoff Cope, Ian Lockwood and Kevin Sharp)It has taken 125 years to correct a wrong—a wrong born of bankruptcy and neglect, and of a club unwilling or unable to honour its finest. But today, in the sunshine, that wrong has been righted. The headstone stands as symbol of remembrance, of cricket’s conscience, of the enduring grace of a game that, at its best, does not forget those who have served it.
When wanderers pass through Yeadon Cemetery, let them pause at the grave of Edmund Peate. Let them read his name and recall his deeds, and let them know that here lies a man who once made the ball to talk and the crowd to sing. And let them be sure that Yorkshire, in the end, remembered him.