Playing for Oxted First Eleven in the late 1960’s is burnt into my mind three great memories of Les Brown, Tim Kentish and Arnold ‘Basher’ Bates.

Les was a fine batsman, Tim a fine and chirpy wicketkeeper, and a man to avoid batting with. Arnold was a seam-artful bowler, and one of my teachers.

I played football with Les at Whyteleafe for a year, and knew him to be the most competitive sportsman I had yet met. Playing in a game when he was still in on 60+ when I went in at number 9, he said when you go out in a minute, tell the scorebox I have hit one run more than they have accorded me.

About seven balls later I duly returned via the score box, I was told that Les always counts every run he gets, and is always right. Apparently, a bye was signalled, and the umpire had changed his mind once Les had spoken to him about a tickle. This bit the scorer missed.

I learned that Tim might be tricky to bat with when Flossy Withers (see later story) told me to stay stock still at my end, when “Tim starts to dance”.

Tim would hit a sumptuous shot through the covers. Most batsmen would run the first fast so that a second run may be possible, but not Tim. He could turn twos and even threes into dangerous ones, with his “Come One”. “No”. “Yes, come one”. “No”. “Yes!” “No”. “Yes then”.

There were times when Tim just got on and ran. And times when he ran people out. But every 30 could have been 50, and it sure was fun trying to gamble your wicket away. He is an Oxted CC legend who was great to know.

Arnold Bates ('Basher' to his pupils at Oxted School) and I experienced the bad sportsmanship side of cricket, in such darkness it was difficult to see from anywhere, including the wicket.

Playing away at Woodmansterne, the light was so bad the umpires should have called the players off four wickets earlier, but in I had to stride at number 11. Three times I had to ask where the game was being played.

But I found the wicket and shouted to the umpire for a guard at Two. As the ‘W’ of TWO was uttered, the middle and off stumps vanished towards the pavilion. I was not even scratching a mark yet.

Off went the deliriously happy fielders and the men in white coats. On returning to the pavilion in a purple fury, things were made worse by two Oxted players asking what the hell did I think I was doing.

How they knew I was doing anything at all was a miracle, but Arnold waded in in my defence, and said I had not even taken guard, and that the umpire was at fault. Furthermore, the bowler had not taken his medium pace run up, he had just hurled the ball as I asked for Two.