John Lever was a blond who knew how to have fun – and take wickets
How old were you when you first had sporting heroes? Around 10? For me that meant 1976: Barry Sheene, Liam Brady at Highbury, Brendan Foster winning bronze at the Montreal Olympics (resembling an escaped POW needing a pie), plus cricketers from Essex. GA Gooch and KWR Fletcher were too like characters from The Jungle Book and Wind in the Willows with their bear-ish or rodenty ways. If you were a gentleman who preferred blondes, if you preferred Agnetha to Anni-Frid out of Abba, then there was only one man for you: JK Lever.
JK, better known today as the creator of Harry Potter (under the nom de plume Rowling), first made his name as the finest left-arm fast-medium bowler (but RHB) of his generation. His writing has since overshadowed his cricket but at book signings it is still unmistakeably JK. Blonde hair around the shoulders, curled under and side-parted, with that sardonic smile playing across his lips. Some say a different JK writes the novels, a woman even. Laughable. Ever seen Lever and Rowling in the same room? Harry Potter himself could not pull that off. But this is not the place to discuss his scribbling, rather for cricket nostalgia.
The spectacle of cricket at Southend
in the 70s was too exciting
for this 10-year-old
Alan Knott was an early idol. Having the same name was enough; the Welsh rugby team held a similar appeal as many of them were called Davies. Behind the stumps on television Knott was, as a jealous actor might have it, “in every bloody scene”. If not directly involved – a prod to the bowler, a push to mid-off – he would steal the scene with moves approved by aficionados of Aerobics Oz Style: bending, squatting and beaming away like an instructor trying to convince you it won’t hurt.
My allegiance to Kent, because Knotty played there, was bad form in Essex. Grandad and Dad taught me cricket in the garden while an elder brother attempted to wound me with the stupidly hard ball. Teaching did not stop at forward defensive and bowling over-arm but extended into scoring, which was practised at Woodford Wells CC. From the boundary, players were named according to headwear, physicality or technique, eg: Black Cap c Baldy b Wrong Foot 12.
We also played, possibly uniquely, ‘Dob Cricket’. Take a page of the Telegraph (preferably death notices where the print is small) and stick a pin in it. Each ‘dob’ of the pin represents a ball bowled. Landing on a space means a dot ball. Letters and punctuation marks denote runs, extras or wickets. Sadly the scoring system may now be lost. From memory, ‘m’ was worth three. Dob cricket was addictive and scorebooks were filled with imaginary games. One holiday on the Isle of Wight the teams were Shanklin and Sandown, who included Clive Lloyd, John Edrich and Brian Luckhurst.
When the time came to sample the county game Essex were using eight different grounds but the best day out was to Southend. Put on a train at Liverpool Street with orders not to lose the elder brother, who wanted to shake me off, my intention was to score diligently. It was easier said than done. The spectacle of cricket at Southend in the 70s was too exciting for this 10-year-old. Down the front you could see huge boundary fielders only feet away. When Keith Boyce threw the ball in, it was a missile. After a four, if you were quick (and rough with smaller boys), you could pick it up to hurl in, leaving a fielder disgruntled as it landed 20 feet behind him when he wanted it lobbed to his hand. All boys try for the middle the first time.
My brother scored throughout, studiously ignoring my quest for the limelight in pursuing the ball, which may explain why one of us became a turn and the other an accountant. Somehow he ate sandwiches at lunch when there were autographs to be sought. Though many were friendly, JK was the star. After another devastating over he trotted towards us. “Good luck in India, John” called someone. Incomprehensible to me, this was noisily endorsed by all. JK turned in modest appreciation. He toured with England that winter taking 10 wickets and a 50 in his first Test – brilliant, heroic, a blond having fun. Things soured later when Bishan Bedi accused him of cheating with a Vaseline strip. JK, according to his autobiography, never forgave him.
Ultimately he played 20 more times for his country and appeared unstoppable for Essex. Rushing in over the wicket like the wind, locks flowing, he took scores of wickets either swinging it in or catching edges. In 1979 JK was one of Wisden’s five cricketers of the year. He rocked.
Once we nearly collided as a ball headed towards me at the boundary. As I vaulted a board in anticipation of picking it up, a shouted warning only just prevented me from leaping into the path of JK hurtling round the boundary. At county cricket you could get so close to your heroes it was dangerous.
Perhaps unwittingly JK Lever owes his later career to me. He now coaches at my old school, Bancroft’s. The very existence of that school is dependent on my decision not to burn it down on leaving in 1982. Mind you, Hogwarts would probably have him if they ever give up quidditch for a proper game.
ALAN DAVIES is an actor, comedian and supporter of Essex CCC