234 IDLEHURST : 



On the morning of the match-day we were picked 

 up at the Tanyard corner by the Arnington drag, 

 well loaded with the Second Eleven and their bags. 

 At Blackhatch we took up old Tom Fillery, a huge, 

 withered old fellow with a shrunken arm, and quite 

 the unfairest umpire it has been my fortune to play 

 against. I think we all felt a secret relief to find 

 such an ally with us, or at least to know he was 

 not to be on the other side. A little further on we 

 hailed a young farmer on the top of a rick, to come 

 and fill the place of Bill Wickens, who had informed 

 the distracted Secretary at starting-time " as how he 

 didn't seem not to care to come, like." The farmer 

 comes on board, dusting the hayseed out of his 

 breeches ; and in another twenty minutes we reach 

 the Buckfield ground and find the Buckfield eleven 

 zealously practising. The ground is a patch of peaty 

 turf, cleared out of the edge of the heathy moorland 

 rising to the Forest Ridge. The pitch has a quaint 

 indiarubbery feeling to the tread, the outfield is 

 hillocky and adorned with gorse bushes ; there is a 

 tent, and half a dozen forms from the neighbouring 

 National Schoolroom. Our horses are turned out 

 to graze ; we lose the toss and take the field, not 

 a little relieved, most of us, that we can rub the 



