The thwack of willow on wood
Echoes dull, through the summer air
As children squeal and wives will clap
Over English tea and sandwich triangles,
Sat upon those tartan picnic rugs.
The women look so wealthy as they cheer
For men in whites, running stump to stump,
A gentlemen’s sport played in cableknit jumpers,
With grass stains on knees
That will be soaked away soon,
As cold beers are swallowed in cricket club houses.
I live on the edge of a lovely green park and during the summer it is used for all sorts of activities. There are tennis courts that are always busy and a Junior Parkrun takes place every Sunday morning.
But one of my favourite things about the park is the cricket that is played all Saturday afternoon. There is something so quintessentially English about that sound of the ball hitting the bat and the slightly restrained clapping of the spectators.
I used to go to the cricket with a friend of the family when I was about seven. I used to love the vibe of the club house, with the women in beautiful summer dresses serving tea and sandwiches as we played on the edge of the green.
These summer days are so special and I know that it will only be a matter of time before the hot weather is blown away and the greens turn to the golden browns and reds of autumn. Until then, I will enjoy those endless summer afternoons of tennis and cricket and running. Autumn will bring its own joys in the form of hot water bottles and crochet blankets to read under.