Edwin Smith (1934-2026)

With the passing of Edwin Smith, who died today, Derbyshire has lost the last man to take over a thousand wickets for the county.

There were 1217 of them by the time he finished, the result of twenty years of graft. Not always on helpful pitches either. Derbyshire pitches were prepared for Cliff and Les, Harold, Brian, and many others over the years. Despite this, as he liked to tell me, no one took more wickets at Chesterfield than he did. Maybe they should have known that would happen, when he took 8-21 at Queen's Park in only his second first-class match, against Worcestershire in 1951. 

He was 17 and his 'reward' was to be dropped for the next game, at Trent Bridge, Derek Morgan replacing the young hero on his recovery from injury. 'They didn't like anyone getting big-headed' he told me - not that it was likely in the tough school of the Derbyshire dressing room. Such a performance would have created a media frenzy today, but Edwin was met by a solitary reporter on his return to Grassmoor, where he lived for most of his life. 

He never played for England, though he came close in 1966. There were so many good off- spinners at that time, but Edwin was top of the national averages with forty wickets at eight runs each and tipped to play against the West Indies. A torn muscle in his side put paid to that, but he wheeled away, year after year and was as good as most of them.

He never made a fuss. Even when conditions were in his favour and he still didn't get a bowl, when Cliff Gladwin slowed down and bowled cutters instead. Only Tommy Mitchell, among those taking a thousand wickets for Derbyshire, bowled spin and only Les Townsend otherwise got close.

Mind you, there were other days, such as at Scarborough in 1965. Harold Rhodes tore muscles in his side, while both Peter Eyre and Brian Jackson sustained groin injuries. It meant Edwin and Derek Morgan bowled for most of the day and Edwin bowled 37 successive overs at one point in the course of 55-21-117-4. 

'I went to the bar at tea for a pint of shandy' he told me. 'I never were a big drinker'. He earned his drink that day.

When I approached him in 2015, for an interview about his career for this blog, he immediately invited me to the home in Grassmoor that he shared with his wife Jean for so many years. As we sat and talked, it seemed as if we had known each other all of that time and I immediately realised that an article alone would not do justice to such a man, his career and life. 

After we had spoken for a couple of hours, he asked if I would like to see his scrapbooks. He disappeared into another room and returned with what I can only call cricketing Holy Grail. Photographs, scorecards, newspaper reports... it was astonishing to see. I asked if I could take a few photographs and he said that I could borrow them 'if you like'. I carried them to my car as if cradling a newborn baby and spent much of the next day scanning them in the local library, before returning to him the day after. 

I suppose it spoke volumes for his trust in me, but the ensuing success of the book was a joy to both of us. He loved the launch, in Chesterfield Library and the subsequent promotional tour was both hugely enjoyable and highly amusing. He had so many tales and enjoyed telling them, my role simply to introduce him, prompt those memories with questions and then sit back and enjoy.

The arm ball, that he perfected in the nets for years before bowling in a match. And how he bowled it first ball to Basil d'Oliveira, fresh from a Test century and applauded all the way to the wicket. But not on the way back, when his stumps were disturbed. The catch to Cliff Gladwin that was ignored, as Cliff had his eye on a bank note blowing across the ground. Even though I had heard them, every retelling made me laugh. He was good value, was Edwin.

He was a very good snooker player too and visiting professionals on tour were warned not to give him a start in any exhibition match at Grassmoor. He beat a good few of them and played for the club from 1948 until a couple of years before his passing. The trophies he accumulated in that time bore testimony to his talent.

He invited me for a game one evening and entrusted me with his favourite cue. I was more of a pool player, but was thrilled to run him quite close, losing out as he potted the last four colours. Did I fancy another game, he asked? Of course I did.

'I'll put me glasses on for this one' was his reply, with a smile and the comic timing of the best comedians. He hammered me in that second frame, but it remains a treasured memory.

So too the many phone calls we enjoyed, putting the world to rights, hearing his thoughts on the game and keeping him updated on any news of the club. Like many of advancing years - and I include myself - the game wasnt what it used to be and he bemoaned the loss of quality spinners in the game and that too many today 'roll' the ball rather than 'rip' it. Friars Balsam kept his fingers going through the summers, even if it left new recruits thinking he smoked way too many cigarettes.

I have often said that the great joy of doing this blog over nineteen summers hasn't really been the cricket. Heaven knows there haven't been that many truly glorious days to write about in that time. It has been in the people that I have been fortunate enough to get to know, to talk to, to count as a friend.

Top of all of them has been Edwin Smith and Jean, his wife, with who he shared 69 years of marriage. I have had a good many coffees with them over that time, a great many laughs and a friendship that money couldn't buy. I told them a few times that they were like surrogate parents and regard them just as fondly as I did my own. As much as we liked to talk cricket, he always asked after the family and especially our dogs, whose photos were always enjoyed.

To say he will be missed as the last Derbyshire man to take a thousand first-class wickets goes without saying. There's not many of the old legends left now, and for all of his unassuming manner, Edwin was all that.

For me, he will be missed as a very dear friend. A man I watched from afar in my formative years as a supporter, never knowing that one day I would write a book about him, swap Christmas cards and enjoy listening to his wonderful tales from many years as a player and a coach on regular phone calls. No trip home was complete without a trip (or two) to see Edwin and Jean.

I am glad that I saw him at home during last month's Chesterfield Festival. It was clear he wasn't well and the trips to hospital were getting too frequent for everyone's liking. But we talked awhile and when I left I shook that talented right hand for what turned out to be the last time. 

He was, quite simply, a very special man. As many said to me over the years, you would struggle to find anyone who said a bad word about him.

Rest in peace, Edwin. 

It really was my very great pleasure to know you and you will be so sorely missed.

My sincere condolences to Jean, their daughter Fay and the rest of the family