Home > Tales from the Meadows > Rowdy and the Horse

The historic village of Tottington nestles amidst the leafy surrounds of the Kirless Valley Nature Reserve, a beautiful spot two miles north west of the industrial market town of Bury. The village, or at least the first settlement recorded at its location, dates to the early 13th Century, around the same time as the protagonist of our first story.

There seems no better place to begin our tales of Tottington St John's Cricket Club and the unlikely characters that have inhabited it past and present than perhaps the unlikeliest of all, Phil 'Rowdy' Yates. Emerging at birth in the late 1960s balding, wrinkled and ginger, not much has changed since.

Rowdy's storied career at TSJCC began in the mid-1980s, alongside a plethora of amazing characters that we'll revisit in later tales. An opening batsman, his tempo at the crease was, shall we say, obdurate. A plodder. Nudging and nurdling his way through over after over, grinding down and frustrating opposition bowlers and the loyal smattering of spectators in equal measure. Imagine Sir Geoffrey or Kieran with the batteries removed.

So to our opening tale, set thirty years ago at the dawn of the new season.

The spring of 1996 was beautiful. Each day dappled sunlight poured onto the Meadows through the branches of the fabled trees around the boundary edge, yet to be hacked and sliced into oblivion by one Richard Peacock. Rowdy turned up for the opening day of the season to be greeted by his slightly stressed looking captain, the usually-unflappable Frankie Brockway.

"Rowdy, we've got a bit of a crisis. Paul and Ash are away and some clown has left me this bloody great horse and a note. Simply says 'stick some pads on and let him bat'. So I'm thinking he'll be opening up with you."

Fortunately, our reliable skipper won the toss and duly elected to bat. Rowdy strode out to the middle to be met by his new opening partner, casually attired in four makeshift pads from the old equipment box found in a dusty corner of the dressing room. With the opening bowler already marking out his run, Rowdy settled in next to the umpire to await whatever farce would surely transpire.

"Play", intoned the umpire, and the 1996 season commenced.

The opening bowler ran in and sent his first delivery arcing in towards the leg stump. To the astonishment of all, not least his opening partner, the horse casually flicked the ball over the leg side boundary for a first ball 6.

"Flippin' eck" breathed Rowdy, a man notable for his erudite nature.

The bowler was less than impressed and next ball decided that, animal or no animal, the horse was getting bounced. He pounded in, slammed the ball down mid-pitch and watched in horror as the horse rocked back and played an exquisite pull shot to send the ball somewhere near the middle of the Island Lodge.

"Flippin' eck" shouted Rowdy, getting more excited by the moment.

The rest of the over passed in similar vein, the horse unveiling shot after shot and leaving the score an incredible 30-0 after the opening six balls of the game, with three sixes and three fours recorded.

Rowdy took strike for the second over, scarcely able to believe what he'd just seen. In typical Phil Yates fashion, the next few balls were played very carefully and sedately, the straightest of bats pushing the ball back to the bowler each time. On ball four, Rowdy turned the ball off his pads to fine leg and set off for what looked to be an easy single. Rowdy was three quarters of the way down the pitch before realising in horror that the horse hadn't moved and was leaning on its bat at the non-striker's end. He turned to try and make his ground back, fearing the worst.

"Flippin' eck" screamed Rowdy as the bails were whipped off and he was run out by half the length of the pitch to whoops of joy from the fielders and groans from the sidelines.

Incensed, Rowdy stormed up to the horse and yelled "Why didn't you run, you idiot?"

"Run? Run?" replied the horse. "If I could run, I'd be competing in the Grand National next Saturday!"