From Distant Lands to Derbyshire 13: Michael Slater

Michael Slater will go down in Test cricket history as a very good player. To a great extent he broke the mould of how the international five-day game should be played and often set the pace for the outstanding Australian side of that era.

With Slater opening the batting, a wide half volley on the first ball of the match would no longer be allowed to go through to the wicket-keeper, as a sage opening batsman assessed the bounce and the pace of the track. Slater usually creamed it through the covers to the boundary and his approach to the game was one of asserting dominance. He took the attack to the opposition and scored centuries at unseemly pace for the international game at that time.

From the winter of 1992-93 he had become a fixture in the Australian side and had maintained an average of around 50 in playing shots all around the wicket. It was breathtaking stuff, yet the summer of 1997 had brought him down to earth, the Test series against England seeing him average under 20 with a highest score of just 47.

Part of the problem was that assertive nature. Slater  liked to make sure a new bowler knew who was boss and, rather than have a look at a new man and his action for a couple of overs, aimed to put him on the back foot straight away. When it worked it was magnificent. The problem came when it didn't, which in Derbyshire colours was all too often.

That 1997 summer suggested that sides had worked him out to some extent. Set the field, frustrate him for a while, then watch him get himself out. It worked for England, yet those in charge at Derbyshire still saw enough to engage him for the 1998 season. It was a major disappointment. In 24 knocks he had just under 850 runs at 35. There was a magnificent 185 at Derby against the visiting South Africans, Pollock, Ntini et al, but the highest championship score was 99 at the Oval and his championship average was just 27, way short of requirements for an overseas player.

Innings tended to follow similar patterns. There would be an explosion of dazzling shots and he would race to 20, then was usually caught behind or in the slips as ambition overtook common sense. It was not what a poor batting side needed and we struggled as a consequence. It perhaps didn't help that he was forever being compared unfavourably with Dean Jones.

You can see him in action below, making 169 against a very good Pakistan attack at the Gabba in the winter of 1999-2000. It contains all the trademark shots, yet for all its brilliance, there are a few where, on another day, he would have been gone.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pcxk3idTKU0

He returned in 1999, his average rising to 31 but again largely caused by one innings, 171 against Northamptonshire where he added 296 with Steve Titchard. Had it not been for that one knock, that average barely scraped twenty. There were some decent efforts in one-day games but also a realisation that a batsman of his style and ability perhaps could and should have done better. For all the fours from good balls and shots that only the very gifted can play, we watched Michael Slater with the understanding that it would not last. It rarely did.

Fourteen Test centuries confirm the talent of the man, though nine dismissals in the nineties - more than any other player - suggests that nerves could get the better of him. His Test average ended higher than that for either Derbyshire or his home New South Wales, confirming a player who was seen at his best on the big stage.

He has subsequently become an intelligent and able commentator, while the disclosure that he is a long-term sufferer from bi-polar disorder explained a few things. Cricket is an unforgiving game. When you are doing well it is fantastic, but bad trots can bring self-doubt and perhaps the expectations and burdens of the overseas role, especially in a fairly ordinary side, must have weighed heavily on Michael Slater.

In conclusion? A fine player, delightful to watch. But a long, long way from being a success as an overseas import.

From Distant Lands to Derbyshire 12 - Dean Jones

The Derbyshire dressing room of the mid-1990s was full of talent, yet a strong-willed and disparate bunch of players often seemed to lack direction. The atmosphere could change as frequently as the wind direction, but one had the feeling that if someone could galvanise this group of players they could do something special.

There had been a number of blunt-speaking players in our legendary team of the 1930s, but Arthur Richardson had overcome any personal shortcomings as a player to lead the side with considerable skill to top three positions in 1934 and 1935 before taking the title in 1936. Something similar looked feasible in 1995, but a dressing room that was all too easily fragmented needed a strong leader.

Enter Dean Jones for the 1996 season, as close to the stereotypical Australian as you could wish for. Hard as nails, blunt and with a never-say-die attitude that was just what the doctor ordered. With the benefit of hindsight it was never going to last, but it was, without doubt, magnificent while it did.

Jones was a fixture in a fine Australian side and came with the reputation as being perhaps the best one-day batsman in the world, a title for which only Michael Bevan could challenge him. By the end of the 1996 season, 'Deano' had confirmed himself as an outstanding player, but proven it across all formats. He had also, despite a brusque, often confrontational persona, managed to turn a side of talented individuals into a team that came tantalisingly close to championship success.

Jones scored 1502 championship runs at 52 that summer, but he inspired Chris Adams to over 1700 runs, while Kim Barnett contributed 1400. Adrian Rollins passed a thousand too, while Karl Krikken averaged 40 from almost 900 runs down the order. Individually and collectively, there have been few seasons when Derbyshire have batted better. Jones added a further 1151 runs at 68 in the one-day games; 2653 run in a summer led by example...

Having addressed Derbyshire's perennial weaker suit, an attack featuring Devon Malcolm, Dominic Cork and Phil de Freitas was always likely to win games. Jones set bold fields, encouraged and cajoled his charges and finished the season with a side that managed second place behind Leicestershire. With his friend and coach from Victoria, Les Stillman, Jones became an instant hero. Younger players loved him, older ones, for a season at least, tolerated and responded to his way of working.

As a batsman he had all the shots, strong on anything short, unforgiving on the overpitched ball. His footwork was quick and precise, with perhaps his strongest area between mid-wicket and mid-on. A strong bottom hand, like MS Dhoni today, often saw any bowling shortcomings treated savagely in that area, as can be seen in this video on YouTube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLwzIzu4hw0

 Yet it was his running between the wickets that seemed an even stronger suit and so impressed me. When he was batting, ones became twos, twos became threes... Derbyshire looked professional, challenging....good. We took quick singles where previously batsmen might have held the pose of a correct defensive stroke. It was impressive to watch.

Like Peter Kirsten before him, Jones played himself in and worked the ball around before unveiling a wide array of shots. He was not a stylist, like Mohammad Azharuddin, but generally looked to be balanced, composed and in control at the crease. In over forty years of cricket watching, he remains the best pacer of a run chase I have seen, never seeming to panic if the run rate mounted. He worked the ball around, timed his shots so there were two to a boundary fielder, chipped over the infield and clubbed it to and over the boundary . He would have made a fortune in the IPL.

The 'season of Deano' was magnificent yet, like all good things, it could not last. He returned for 1997 but went home in June, the dressing room once again split into factions. Senior members of the side found his abrasive style of leadership hard to deal with and a player with a track record of fall-outs back home decided he simply didn't need the hassle. His departure set off a chain of events that arguably took fifteen years from which to recover, ensuing winters seeing the gradual departure of key members of a good side.

Whatever his personal foibles - and we all have them - cricket history will see Dean Jones as an outstanding player. His many fine Test innings, including the legendary one at Madras where he ended up on a saline drip after eight hours in the intense heat, confirm he was much more than a one-day scamperer. While he was batting, irrespective of the match situation, you always felt there was a chance of salvaging something. That is a rare and special gift for any player.

Jones was a class act but his signing was like tossing a lit match into a box of fireworks. It was spectacular and memorable while it lasted, but caused a lot of damage. While well-intentioned, it ultimately fell well short of creating a lasting dynasty at Derbyshire.

Though it could have done. I'm sure several players from that side have thought back to events and wondered 'What if?'

From Distant Lands to Derbyshire 11 - Daryll Cullinan

Over the years I have read a number of articles about Daryll Cullinan and there is a word that nearly always crops up at some stage in all of them.

Enigma.

The articles usually reference him not getting on with X, or vice-versa. Herschelle Gibbs pulled few punches in his somewhar scurrilous autobiography, while Dominic Cork's Uncorked made his feelings patently clear. I'll not go into the details, but Cullinan's dislike of the practical jokes in a somewhat lively Derbyshire dressing room perhaps made him a long way from unique.

I never met him, but I saw him bat on numerous occasions and he was a very fine player, both technically and stylistically. At the Oval in 1994, as Devon Malcolm cut a swathe through the South African batting after his now legendary "You guys are history..." comment, Cullinan looked on a different level to his colleagues. He stroked 94 imperious runs from a team total of 175, an innings that played a major part in Derbyshire's decision to engage him for the 1995 season.

To be fair, Cullinan had looked a class apart from his school days, where his exploits earned him the unfortunate reputation as the 'new Graeme Pollock'. Cricket has an unfortunate habit of burdening young talents with such sobriquets and many a young talent has subsequently struggled to handle them. Cullinan didn't and had a first-class century to his name before he was 17.

At the crease he was poised and graceful, with a cover drive in the Barry Richards mould. He seemed to have plenty of time to play his shots and was equally adept against both pace and spin. The latter made his struggles against Shane Warne all the more surprising, as he scored Test centuries in five different countries and impressed whoever saw him with a wide range of strokes, accompanied by exquisite timing. Yet in Australia his average was painfully low, something many attributed to him simply trying too hard and failing to play his natural game. The talent was undoubtedly there.

He was on fire from his first innings for Derbyshire, making 134 at the County Ground against Sussex as we made 603-6 against Sussex after bowling them out for just 111. They only made two more than that in the second innings and Cullinan must have thought he'd joined a team of world-beaters. He followed this with 131 at Trent Bridge in his next, but then had to retire hurt at Chesterfield against Yorkshire on a fiery track.

I saw him play a delightful knock against Scotland at Titwood on a typically slow early season Scottish wicket, where batsmen struggled to time the ball. Cullinan worked out the conditions and ensured that he stayed in until the end, when he opened up with a flurry of strokes that took Derbyshire past 200. He reached a well-deserved and beautifully crafted century in the last over, his innings making all the difference as Scotland subsequently struggled againt Malcolm, Cork and De Freitas.

He made five centuries that summer in the first-class game, but there was a noticeable reduction in the output as his enjoyment waned and the dressing room atmosphere deteriorated. He finished the summer with an average of a shade under 46 - not bad, but far less than his early form suggested and his talent justified.

He had a somewhat tempestuous relationship with the South African cricket authorities and flitted between domestic sides in that country, befitting a man with a nomadic bent. In 1995 he appositely broke Graeme Pollock's then Test record score by a South African, his unbeaten 275 against New Zealand at Auckland a monumental effort of concentration. I can find no on line footage of that innings, but here he is making a century against England in 1999-2000, showing the shots and footwork that made him such a lovely player to watch:

Only nine South Africans with a lengthy Test career have beaten his Test average of 44. It is just a pity that we only saw him at Derbyshire for one season, as the experience could only have benefited him (and us) in the longer term. Compare that season's returns (there were a further 500 one-day runs) with the debut county campaigns of, for example, Eddie Barlow, John Wright and Peter Kirsten. Cullinan can then be looked on even more favourably.

Irrespective of the opinions of some team mates, supporters should only consider Daryll Cullinan from a playing viewpoint. He was a player of charm, grace, poise and class, a delight to watch.

I just wish it had lasted longer.

From Distant Lands to Derbyshire 10 - Mohammad Azharuddin

Even though I have now passed (in some style, might I add...) my half century, I hope that it is still understood that I never saw the legendary Indian batsman who once bestrode English cricket like a colossus, Kumar Shri Ranjitsinjhi.

Descriptions of the majesty of his batting abound, most notably from the pen of the great Sir Neville Cardus, who waxed lyrical about the bat being a magician's wand in his hand, his wrists of steel and the fact that no bowler could contain him when it was his day.

Much the same could be said about Mohammad Azharuddin.

'Genius' is a much overused word these days, but never has one been more apposite than for the Indian maestro who was Derbyshire's overseas player in 1991 and 1994. There were days when he didn't look especially interested, often when the game was in an especially dull phase and the weather was as grey and inhospitable as English weather can get.

Yet give him the sun on his back, a top bowler to bat against, a large crowd or a challenging wicket and Azharuddin could produce batting of spell-binding brilliance. On such days, one felt that he could have used a chair leg or the proverbial 'stick of rhubarb' and still sent the bowling to all parts.

An innings by Peter Kirsten was one of efficiency, playing himself in and then opening up. Dean Jones was much the same, perhaps with a more obvious desire to dominate the bowler and the opposition. Azharuddin was more of an artist, frequently producing strokes that seemed scarcely possible, often leaving it late before choosing the final destination of the ball. He rarely seemed to hit it hard, like a Hayden or Gilchrist; exquisite timing generally caressed it to the boundary, or over it, depending on his whim at the time.

In 1991, Azharuddin scored 2016 first-class runs for Derbyshire at a shade under 60. There were seven centuries and ten fifties  in his innings that summer, as well as a further 500 runs in one-day matches. No matter how impressive the batting of those around him (and the likes of Barnett, Bowler, Adams and Morris were no slouches) Azharuddin took the art of batting to uncharted waters, much as he had done at Lords against England in 1990.

He was unable to come back until 1994, which is when, straight off the plane, he played the finest innings I have seen in my 45 summers of watching Derbyshire.

It was given the most scenic of backdrops, Queens Park, Chesterfield. Durham racked up 625-6, then bowled us out for 341, enforcing the follow-on. The wicket was turning increasingly and the likelihood of Derbyshire batting out a day and a half looked remote. Chris Adams and Peter Bowler took us to 169-3 before Azharuddin came in, when the fun really started.

Adams and Azharuddin took us to a relatively calm 305-3 before the former departed just short of a century as the wicket deteriorated. From there it was a steady procession, but Azharuddin scored a century before lunch on the last day as he moved from 72 to 172. Remember, this was in a situation where his side were in peril...

He opened the day with a square cut of such timing, such panache, that the ball was rebounding from the boundary boards before most supporters picked up where it had gone. Left-arm spinner David Graveney was the obvious danger man and Azharuddin used sublime footwork to get down the wicket and negate the turn, several times hoisting him over the boundary at long off and long on.

Former Derbyshire man John Morris was by this stage at Durham and was stationed in front of us on the boundary. When exhorted by his captain to 'go back on the rope', Morris, always ready with a quip, turned to the crowd and said 'The only way I'll catch this bloke is to get up in one of these trees'...

So well - so majestically - did Azharuddin play that the game was almost saved, until Phil Bainbridge finally got him with one that 'stopped' and the Indian was well caught by John Morris at orthodox mid-on for a quite wonderful 205, scored from 270 runs while he was at the wicket. Everyone else after Adams looked like they were batting for perhaps the first time in a long while. Azharuddin looked, and was, on a different planet. It was a quite extraordinary innings for which 'genius' was the most - no only -  apposite word. We lost the game, but those present had a memory to last a lifetime.

That season ended in a degree of acrimony, Azharuddin leaving early for his international commitments but requesting that Derbyshire honour his contract in full. It sullied another year of memorable knocks, especially in the one-day games, where he averaged over 70. There were times when one almost felt sorry for those trying to bowl at him, as he seemed to have two or three shots for any ball they cared to bowl, as well as time to play them. The nature of the parting left a return impossible, but it was undoubtedly magnificent while it lasted.

Like his Derbyshire spell, Azharuddin's cricket career ended in well-documented controversy and his future involvement in the game remains in doubt. No one who saw him at his best will forget the wristy magic of his batting, however and while not perhaps a genuine great of the game, he was up there in the next tier.

Those who saw him bat will remember it for the best of reasons. Can any cricketer really ask for more?

From Distant Lands to Derbyshire 9: Adrian Kuiper

He wasn't the biggest name to sign for Derbyshire. He didn't leave a protracted legacy over several summers. He wasn't an especially good three-day player. But Adrian Kuiper won Derbyshire the Sunday League in 1990 in his only season at the club, which is a pretty impressive contribution.

Kim Barnett had been on the receiving end in South Africa, watching and bowling as Kuiper hammered a 49-ball century for South Africa in the winter of 1989-90. Such a rate was astonishing at that time and the Derbyshire skipper saw him as a key part of one-day plans for the following summer. It was a very shrewd piece of work.

Had Kuiper been in his prime today, he would be a multi-millionaire cricketer, travelling the globe to play in the T20 competitions. Younger readers who didn't have the pleasure of seeing him live should think Kieron Pollard or Chris Gayle, but perhaps with a little more common sense applied in the ball to hit. Over twenty summers after his spell at the club, he remains the biggest hitter of a cricket ball that I have seen in our colours. Given any variation in width or length, Kuiper would bury the ball into the farthest reaches of stands, or over them.

The great thing about him was that he appeared to need little time to get his eye in. In that summer, he seemed at one with the pace of the pitch, the movement of the ball and size of the boundaries from the moment he went in. On several occasions he had to cut loose immediately, as we had fallen behind the clock, yet he rarely failed to deliver, required run rates of little consequence to him.

It is all the more remarkable that in an eighteen-year career he only made five one-day centuries, but there were 35 fifties and Kuiper specialised in the short, sharp, brutal assault, thirty or forty runs in a few overs that turned games on their head.

Examples? That summer in the Refuge Assurance League he averaged over 40, with an unbeaten 53 from just 24 balls crucial in a winning start at Hove. A more sedate unbeaten 62 from 82 balls saw a win at Northampton and there were breezy thirties and forties against Warwickshire and Nottinghamshire. There were important, match-winning unbeaten twenties in a couple of games, while his effort at Taunton has passed into legend.

Chasing 258 to win in 40 overs, Kim Barnett and John Morris led the chase with a stand of 200, yet the last ball arrived with Kuiper and Chris Adams needing one to win and Adrian Jones bowling. Adams prepared for a sprint and potential dive as the bowler ran in and set off as soon as Kuiper hit the ball. He got down to the striker's end to find the South African removing his gloves, having hammered the ball over mid-wicket for six.

Another crucial fifty came in the final game against Essex, one that we needed to win to take the title. Footage of this can be seen on the club's 140 years DVD, with Kuiper atoning for two earlier dropped catches with 50 from 31 balls, following it up with a brutal 74 from just 45 deliveries against Nottinghamshire in the cup semi-final that followed a bizarrely run competition that summer.

One could argue that Kuiper's scores were nothing THAT special and that the feats of John Morris, Chris Adams, Kim Barnett and Peter Bowler were equally important, but he was exactly the player we needed in a good batting side. A finisher, someone who didn't panic when the run chase was on.

He bowled useful medium pace too and was joint top wicket-taker in the Sunday League that summer. An offer was tabled for him to return as sole overseas player in 1991, having shared the role with Ian Bishop in 1990. Kuiper didn't fancy the grind of the county circuit, having averaged only 23 in his 17 Championship innings and a quiet, modest man left Derbyshire cricket forever.

Like a good few others, the South African return from the international wilderness came too late for him, though there were glimpses of what might have been. He took 26 from an over by Australia's fast and nasty Craig McDermott in 1994, then an unbeaten 61 off England that sealed a win for his side.

Not the best overseas player we've had then, but exactly the right man at the right time. We'd have to pay a lot for a peak form Adrian Kuiper in the modern T20, that's for sure.

But it would be money well spent, there's no denying that.

From Distant Lands to Derbyshire 8: Ian Bishop

When the news broke that Michael Holding was retiring from the county game in 1989, one could almost imagine the parties that were being organised around the county circuit by top order batsmen. No more would they have to face a lightning-quick bowler on their visits to Derby and Chesterfield. Life was going to be good.

Then the news broke that Holding had helped to persuade Ian Bishop to replace him. Whispering Death had been replaced by Greased Lightning...

They alternated in 1989, the veteran passing on his wisdom to the new kid in town. He will doubtless have told him to pace himself, though there was little evidence of that as Bishop tore in. On the boundary, there were sage nods, whistles through pursed lips and chuckles as opposition batsmen hurried their strokes, ducked, dived and hoped to get off the strike.

If I'm honest, Bishop brought the raw, sustained pace that Holding would have had in his prime and was probably quicker than the Holding that we saw at Derbyshire, certainly over sustained spells. He had a long, straight run that led into a classical, sideways on action and the release of a ball at frightening speed. As back injuries interrupted his career, that early action became more chest on, but Bishop continued to swing and cut the ball, a potent combination with that blistering pace. Has any county had two fast bowlers of such reputation at the same time?

We saw him a few times in 1990 and he blew Yorkshire away at Chesterfield, taking seven wickets in the match against a side who simply didn't look comfortable against him. Much the same happened against Kent, the two openers removed in the blink of an eye, the tail blown away, courtesy of Karl Krikken and the slip cordon.  Against India in a one-day game, he only took one wicket but caused all sorts of trouble for Sachin Tendulkar, before the 17 year old got his footwork going and hit his first one-day century. Prior to that, the Indian's highest one-day score was just 36...

Yet he also displayed the naivety of youth in that game, perhaps continuing to bowl short on a lively track when there would have been greater merit in pitching it up and beating the hesitant forward defensive push for pace. Holding would have done, but you can't buy experience.

 1989 brought 41 wickets at 23, that 1990 season a further 59 at 19 in a season where Adrian Kuiper played the one-day matches with great success. Bishop, Devon Malcolm and Ole Mortensen gave Derbyshire a potency that few counties could handle and the three of them were a wonderful sight. Bishop was appreciated for his languid style, easy personality and a willingness to chat, all of which carried through to his subsequent broadcasting career. He could handle a bat too, a century against Yorkshire suggesting that as his career developed he may venture into the realms of all-rounder.

1991 saw the first major absence with back trouble and he hardly played. There were suggestions that he might not be back but he reappeared in 1992 and, with a remodelled action, cut a swathe through batting line ups with 64 wickets at just 17.

He was an awesome sight and the ball would thud into the wicket-keeper's gloves almost before the batsman had got into position. Check out this footage of him bowling for the West Indies against England in 1990 and just picture him steaming in from the pavilion end at Chesterfield...

That 1992 summer was, sadly, the last we saw of Ian Bishop at Derbyshire, though his first-class career continued, with too many interruptions, until the winter of 1998-99. He retired, much earlier than should have been the case, at the age of 31 and has subsequently enjoyed a successful career in the media.

549 first-class wickets at 23, 196 more in one-day games. I have a feeling that Bishop could have gone down as one of the all-time greats had he been blessed with a more robust spine. Like Malcolm Marshall, he had a rare ability to find movement in both directions and to do so at a pace that could be matched by very few.

Put it this way. If you had Ian Bishop at one end and Michael Holding at the other, the chances are that the top six would be padded up, just in case...

A very, very fine bowler.

From Distant Lands to Derbyshire 4: Eddie Barlow

Brilliant, battling, bustling Bunter Barlow.

Eddie Barlow was, and remains, my cricket hero. He was the first man to really capture my imagination when, in 1970, he was a star in the Rest of the World side that toured England when his native South Africa's tour here was cancelled due to political pressure.

I was eleven years old, very small and wore glasses. Those glasses had, at least for me, ruined an embryonic football career in which I was my school goalkeeper. I was pretty good too, until I realised that I couldn't see too clearly and started mishandling and missing balls that I should have held. Contact lenses weren't an option, so I started to wear glasses. My sporting 'career' was ruined.

Or was it? Barlow wore glasses, yet looked a better player than most of those on show, scoring centuries, taking wickets and catching anything that went near him. Football might not have been an option, but cricket seemed a sport in which I could at least contribute, possibly even do well. Forty years on, I'm still playing, the influence still there.

I remember watching the matches in that summer of 1970 with my Dad, and his telling me that Barlow was the man we wanted at Derbyshire. It was a pipe dream, but a nice one for all that.

Six years later, Eddie Barlow did come to Derbyshire. Maybe a year or two too late - he was 36 when he joined us - as his batting had declined. An eye player, he often got out early, but in his three years at the club he played enough innings of merit to show what he was like at his peak, from 1964-70. The highlight was an innings of 217 against Surrey at Ilkeston, when he emerged from a spell of poor form by caning a very good attack. There were numerous fifties, especially in one day cricket and Barlow did enough, as a batsman, to earn respect.

As a bowler - or boweller as we call them - he was different class. If we needed a wicket, he generally got one. If he got one, he often got two or three quickly. His short, bustling run produced great variety and he seemed to get wickets with balls that other bowlers would see head for the boundary. Don't get me wrong though, Bunter could bowl plenty of the unplayable variety. If he beat the bat he would catch the batsman's eye and fix him with a stare. We weren't used to players with that level of confidence, but Barlow had the talent to back it up. Look how he demolished England at Headingley in 1970:

As a slip, he was brilliant. Watching Bob Taylor, Phil Sharpe and Eddie Barlow as close fielders was an education. Barlow missed little, though sadly dropped an easy one in our Lords final when little went right and a win would have set the seal on an era. Yet it was as a captain that he entered legend. He got the players fitter than ever before and inspired them to deeds that few thought possible. Harry Cartwright, Tony Borrington, Colin Tunnicliffe and Alan Hill all became good county players under Barlow's tutelage. Few games were lost without a battle, as late order revivals by us and implausible batting collapses by opponents combined to revitalise our fortunes. Fielding errors were punished by the Barlow basilisk stare, but they were few and far between. Under Barlow, Derbyshire became a very good fielding side, one of the best until the current side. As Mike Hendrick once put it, if someone hit the ball into the next county, we could fetch it back faster than anyone...

Barlow also introduced Peter Kirsten to the club - not to mention Allan Lamb and Garth Le Roux. In 1977, Kirsten scored three successive centuries for the Seconds, before 'failing' with only 90... John Wright also made early appearances in his time at the club, so it is safe to say that Barlow could spot a cricketer.

It was a sad day when he decided to leave, but time waits for no man and there were business interests back home. Sadder still was news of his later illness and subsequent death. People talk about influential cricketers and their respective merits, but I saw Eddie Barlow and he is still the benchmark by which others are judged.

There are two sports headlines that will live with me to my dying day.

"Rams sign Dave Mackay" was one.

"South African legend Barlow joins Derbyshire" was the other.

I've just had goosebumps typing that last one. I hope I have them again someday, but that's a hard act to follow.

From Distant Lands to Derbyshire 3 - Lawrence Rowe

The news that Derbyshire had signed West Indian run machine Lawrence Rowe in the winter of 1973-74 was met with near disbelief.

Rowe had burst onto the international scene with a succession of innings that suggested a player of genuine brilliance. His early big scores were all made at his home ground, Sabina Park, Jamaica, but a triple century against England at Bridgetown, Barbados that winter whetted our appetite for a summer where runs would surely cascade from his bat. Would he score 1500? Maybe even 2000 runs?

On his debut against Sussex at a freezing County Ground, as far removed from Jamaica as you could be, Rowe stroked a delightful 94 against an attack including his winter adversaries, John Snow and Tony Greig. The innings showed him to be a stylish, elegant batsman with shots all around the wicket. Derby in early season was no place for the faint-hearted. but Rowe, who seemingly was loathe to leave the warmth of the electric fire in the dressing room, impressed everyone watching. This was despite wearing any sweater he could lay his hands on, making him look of far more substantial build than was the case.

I saw him several times that summer, sixteen years old and desperate for a sporting hero. I'd listened to the radio during the previous winter, as commentators waxed lyrical about his strokeplay. Dad and I just grinned at one another, envisaging Rowe leading a Derbyshire resurgence. We saw him play some of the most delightful cameos, thirties and forties of poise, beauty, charm and elegance, then were frustrated as he continually gave it away. Rowe often whistled as he batted - nerves, confidence or just an affectation? If the latter, it needed backing up with runs. If the former, maybe it was a factor in under-achievement.

That May, in a televised game against Gloucestershire played at Bristol, he eased his way to 71 runs, playing every shot in the book in what amounted to a batting masterclass. Deft late-cuts, a square cut like a rapier, a cover drive of genuine elegance, a hook for six when Brian Brain dropped one short. "His defensive technique is the best I've seen on a West Indian" said Dad, who had seen all of their post-war greats. He toyed with David Graveney, before playing around a straight one and departing in a most disappointing manner. It was as if he'd had enough, like watching a world-class tenor fluff the high C at the end of an aria otherwise sung faultlessly.

Watching Rowe, one was struck by two things - how still he was at the crease and how much time he had to play his shots. The fastest of bowlers appeared to be of little consequence, yet he kept finding ways to get out when he should have been filling his boots. He didn't so much hit the ball as caress it to the boundary, but was dismissed when his bat seemed as wide as a door. Have a look at the video below and see what I mean:

We listened to the cricket scores on the radio and it was always the same. "Lawrence Rowe made a stylish 38/45/56/72" - whatever, yet he never bettered that debut score. We saw him against Yorkshire at Chesterfield, again in the John Player League and he opened with Tony Borrington. He eased a four past mid-on and then added another with his text book cover drive, the front knee bending, the follow through held for the cameras. He was class, C-L-A-S-S. The Yorkies were about to be put to the sword, then suddenly he was gone. Run out, the bowler knocking Borrington's firmly-struck drive onto the stumps at the non-striker's end as he backed up too far. There was a draught across Queens Park from the heads being shaken as Rowe walked slowly to the dressing room with his head down.

So why didn't it work out for Lawrence Rowe? He was unlucky with niggling injuries, though there were suggestions in some quarters of hypochondria. John Wright's autobiography records a team mate telling him of Rowe undergoing a fitness test in the nets, batting on a wicket that was pretty poor. He never missed a ball, looked in a different league to anyone else and then to general incredulity, professed himself unfit. He suffered badly from hay fever, specifically an allergy to grass. In a 2007 interview, he said that his eyes were "constantly itching...sometimes I would go in to bat and I could hardly see". It explained a lot.

A knee injury hampered him to some extent, but "eye trouble" kept raising its head from people you spoke to and his later career was blighted by astigmatism in his leading left eye, something that couldn't be satisfactorily treated with glasses. Others suggested that he feared failure and disappointing people, the pressure building up inside him, something he refuted

He signed off with 26 against Northamptonshire at Derby, yet another innings that promised much but ended in disappointment. If we had known more about the seriousness of the eye problem we might have been more understanding, but Rowe was to remain a talent largely unfulfilled. A century in World Series Cricket, 175 against a fit and flying Lillee and Thomson, is still regarded as one of the finest innings played in Australia. There was another brilliant century in South Africa on the rebel tour too, but the good days for Lawrence Rowe became more sporadic. His career finished with a Test average of 43 and a first-class one of 38. His talent was enough for both of those figures to have been at least ten runs higher.

For a man who, when he batted, looked at least the equal of Viv Richards it was not enough. It just shows that all the talent in the world still needs a little luck. With a decent left eye, Lawrence Rowe would have been one of the all-time greats.

From Distant Lands to Derbyshire Number 1: Chris Wilkins

 I started watching Derbyshire in 1967. It wasn't that much fun, because we were a poor side. I perhaps didn't realise that at the time as I had no prior experience, but there were precious few wins in those early summers.

Batsmen didn't so much bat against the clock as the sundial. "He'll never die of a stroke" said my Dad about more than one regular. Attrition was the order of the day, an occasional shot being a relief from the ongoing tedium. The bowling was steady, at times penetrative, but it needed something special by them to give us any chance of the spoils.

I'd make honourable exception for Peter Gibbs, who came from Oxford University to play front foot shots that  we weren't used to seeing, especially through the covers. Worthy cricketers as they were, you didn't go home having witnessed an innings of brilliance by Ian Hall, Derek Morgan or David Smith. Functional and effective was the order of the day.

Then came Chris Wilkins. Derbyshire were late into the overseas market and didn't sign one until the 1970 season. Only they and Yorkshire held firm against the tide, the latter because they had a very good team, didn't need one and - well, were Yorkshire. Our reasons were primarily financial - money was tight.

Essex had Keith Boyce, Glamorgan had Majid Khan, Gloucestershire had Mike Procter, Hampshire had Barry Richards - the list went on. Nottinghamshire signed the big cheese himself , the great Garfield Sobers.
We signed a South African who no one had heard of named Chris Wilkins.

To be fair, a few good judges in South Africa labelled him 'better than Barry Richards'. It was an unfair comment, as there have been few in the history of the game better than the imperious South African opener. Derbyshire's decision to sign him cannot have been based on track record. Having made his first-class debut in 1962-63, by 1970 the 26-year old Wilkins had only 1800 first-class runs at an average of just over 30. Hardly overwhelming evidence that he would transform our fortunes. Two centuries in eight seasons?

When Wilkins first appeared over here, swathed in sweaters that made him look the size of Colin Milburn at early season photo calls, we wondered what we had let ourselves in for and the first few weeks did little to dispel doubters. He opened and struggled against the moving ball, making few scores above 30. It was hardly surprising for a player with limited experience (only 58 innings) on even his own wickets, so Derbyshire captain Ian Buxton decided to move him down the order to number four. And it happened...

Wilkins showed himself to be a brilliant striker of a ball. We began to turn up for matches hoping that Peter Gibbs and David Smith might make a start but that Smith wouldn't stay too long as he wasn't (to me) very exciting. Then you hoped that Mike Page, an increasingly attractive batsman, might get a few. But you hoped, really hoped, that they'd see enough shine off the new ball to enable Wilkins to come in and play his shots.

I considered myself his lucky mascot, as I never saw him make less than 35. There was an "ooh" when the second wicket went down and you would see people sitting up in their seats, others being woken up and more putting down newspapers as we waited for Wilkins to make his way from the pavilion. Even his walk to the middle bristled with aggression.

We knew that Wilkins was as likely to go for the bowling from the first ball as any other time. It could lead to his downfall, of course. In his superb book on cricket captaincy, Mike Brearley recounted how Wilkins required mid off and mid on to go deeper as soon as he took guard, as anything 'in the slot' was likely to go 'over the top'. I remember several punishing innings by him, one on a turning wicket at Chesterfield where Northamptonshire spinners Breakwell, Swinburne and Steele, were causing problems. Wilkins twice sashayed down the track and hit off spinner John Swinburne into the boating lake, finally perishing after a brisk 68. I've still not seen those shots replicated, but Wilkins was a huge hitter. He used a three-pound bat that a former team mate told me 'picked up six ounces heavier' and anything middled went a long way.

In the second innings of that match he made the fastest century of the season, from 70-odd balls and throughout the summer was near the top of a six-hit table run by a Sunday newspaper. At Derby in the John Player League he made a flawless 50 against Surrey, with one six over mid-wicket that just missed Dad's Ford Anglia, parked some way back on the mound, where the stand is today. At Buxton, we were slaughtered by Jack Bond's marauding Lancashire, with Frank Hayes, Faroukh Engineer and John Sullivan putting them way out of our reach. Yet still, Wilkins went down fighting. He hit Clive Lloyd's medium pace for a straight six that is even now the biggest I have seen, still rising as it left the arena.

By the end of the summer, Wilkins had amassed 1638 first-class runs at 40. In 1971 he made 1517 at 35 and in 1972 just over a thousand from far fewer innings. Diminished returns didn't truly reflect an enhanced technique and improved ability to capitalise on a start, but then Wilkins was gone, as quickly as he came. There were over 400 one-day runs each season too, as well as handy wickets with right arm medium pace that once dismissed Boycott on 99. Mind you, he once dismissed the outstanding Zaheer Abbas with slow-left arm...

Sadly his charisma didn't improve fortunes, despite an encouraging Sunday League and Championship season of 1970. The side slipped back into old ways and the side probably needed someone with a greater guarantee of runs than Wilkins' ebullient style offered. On his good days it was magnificent, but there were a few too many skied shots before he got into his stride for a side with precious little to follow.

He was a lively presence in the covers and a safe pair of hands at slip, as well as an occasional wicket-keeper. In short he was a good cricketer - not the best we've had, but an entertainer par excellence. You couldn't play that way and average 60, but he would have earned a lot of money in T20 today. Don't get the idea that he was like Shahid Afridi, all slog and little substance. He could play in an orthodox manner, but often chose the aerial route. His aggression was slightly tempered with each passing season, but he remained a delight to watch.

Two more memories to close. At Ilkeston we were chasing a Hampshire score of around 170 in the 40-over John Player League and were far from confident. They had a fair side and their opening bowlers were sometime England man  "Butch" White, a lively handful for any side, and the legendary Derek Shackleton, one of the game's most economical bowlers.

This was the day that David Smith went berserk. After a slow start where we despaired of any sort of challenge, he took on Shackleton and hit him to all parts. Well, mainly over midwicket, with pulls, sweeps, hoiks and cow shots. He made 80 in the time he usually reserved for reaching double figures, then got out with only ten needed. In came Wilkins. Bam! Bam! One four, one six, two balls, game won...

Finally a Sunday televised game, also against Hampshire. Barry Richards made a quite breathtaking 80 in their innings. Then Chris Wilkins did the same for us, as we won a thrilling game on the last ball.

Maybe those judges were right. On that afternoon, there really was nothing between them..

Postscript - if anyone has a picture of Chris Wilkins, I would be so grateful if you could mail me one! Sadly, there's not one to be found on the web...