A Last English Summer - Duncan Hamilton

Here's a book recommendation for you. Duncan Hamilton won the William Hill Sports Book of the Year for his Provided You Don't Kiss Me, an account of his time working with Brian Clough of Nottingham Forest while he was a reporter on the Nottingham Evening Post. He followed that up with several awards for Larwood, a captivating biography of the former Nottinghamshire and England bowler Harold Larwood. I have the book and have read it three times, finding it quite absorbing in its tales of pre-war cricket.

Now Mr Hamilton is back with A Last English Summer, a succession of essays on various aspects of cricket last season from village green to Test matches that is by turn nostalgic and euphoric. He sees the season as a turning point in the history of the game. I pre-ordered the book through Amazon and it does not disappoint in any way.

He has a way with words that few of his contemporaries can match. While I am a fan of Stephen Chalke, David Foot and David Frith, for me Duncan Hamilton is the now the man that others must aspire to. He even namechecks Derbyshire, covering their match against Gloucestershire at Cheltenham in which Greg Smith got a century. One paragraph highlights the author's writing:

In mid-afternoon I saw Smith play one shot that alchemised into pure gold. It was a late cut off Anthony Ireland...he gently cocked his wrists and caressed the ball to the third man boundary. The shot was so late that Smith played it posthumously. When Smith late cuts so stylishly, the fact that he did it in Division Two is immaterial... As the result or the figures of individual performances hazily fade and cease to matter, I'll retain, freeze-framed, the image of Smith's stroke in my mind - a bright little fragment of beauty.

If you love cricket, or more importantly love to read some of the most glorious modern prose I've seen on the game, I would strongly urge you to buy this book. I have only one negative comment, in that the author deserves a far better proof reader. That Daniel "Vittori" and George "Hedley" feature in the first thirty pages or so is disappointing. Yet it does not detract from a book that I can see entering the list of my all-time favourites by the time I have finished it.

Mr Hamilton should start looking out his suits for those awards dinners...