David Steele: His name exemplified his spirit at the batting crease
David Steele, born on September 29, 1941, was rather obdurate. Abhishek Mukherjee looks at “the bank clerk who went to war.”
.....Steele had reached Lord’s early that morning. He was not used to entering the home dressing-room of Lord’s: on his way in he bumped into Len Hutton, one of the selectors who had chosen him out of obscurity. Hutton greeted him with the phrase “’Morning, Derek”.
Steele was not amused. “’Morning, Bill”, came the retort.
He went into the dressing-room and made himself comfortable. If Steele’s teammates were surprised when they suddenly saw a man of his appearance making his way to the dressing-room they kept it to themselves. Steele waited for Tony Greig to come back after the toss with Ian Chappell.
Steele: What’re we doing?
Greig: We’re batting.
Steele: Fine.
Not a word more. There was no need to. Steele calmly brought out his pads and strapped them on. He was, after all, expected at three.
By the time Barry Wood and John Edrich were out in the middle, Steele was ready. He pushed a towel into his jockstrap and wrapped it around his left leg — that was going to be his only protection against Lillee, Thomson, and Walker.
The ball was still new; it was the 10th over; the score read 10. A short-of-length ball jagged back from just outside the off-stump and rapped Wood on his back pad. Lillee appealed vociferously, Bill Alley raised the finger, and Wood was declared out.
It was Steele’s turn. The cap was proudly pulled over the gray hair, the glasses were adjusted, the willow was picked up with all respect it deserved, the strides were more proud; he was, after all, playing for his country. The innocuous-looking ‘bank clerk’ had left for the battlefield.
The way out was not as easy as he had figured out, though. Playing for the ‘unfashionable’ Northamptonshire he had only entered the Long Room from the left till now. He went down a few flights of stairs, missed the exit, and found himself — much to his surprise — to the home team’s restrooms (which are, somewhat mysteriously, not adjacent to the dressing-room).
Steele hurried back. He met an Irish doorman who seemed unperturbed by the sight of a gray-haired bespectacled stranger in complete cricket attire coming up from the toilet. He still asked where Steele was headed for.
Steele: To the wicket.
Doorman: Don’t go in there. These are the toilets. You’ve come down too far. You’d better go back up to the Long Room.
Steele: Right. I’ll just nip back up, then.
Steele made his way up but still had problems finding the way to the middle. He was somewhat confused by the fact that there was no one to show him the way. Then, thankfully, he saw Wood coming in through a door some way above him. Four confused eyes met each other.
Wood: What’re you doing?
Steele: I’m trying’a get out! Which way?
Wood: Through that door. I’m out.
Steele: I can see that.
So Steele walked out. He was fortunate that the Australians had not appealed for a timed out. There were comments from the swarms of MCC members on either side of his way through to the stumps. A few not-too-pleasant comments flew in the air:
Member 1: Oo’s this old gray bugger they’re playin’?
Member 2: Crikey, he’s very gray, isn’t he?
Steele, of course, did not get to hear any of this. He later wrote: “I always had tunnel vision. Whenever a colleague held up play because someone walked in front of the sight-screen or moved in the crowd I used to ask them why they were looking in that direction. They should have been watching the bowler with the ball in his hand. A herd of elephants could go past and it wouldn’t bother me.”
This was oddly reminiscent of Arjun from Mahabharat — the man who looked at only the eye of the bird when taking aim; nothing more, nothing less, wasn’t it? Bank clerk or not, he was the perfect man to be sent to the front. He was not the most attractive; but he was brave, he was committed, he was determined, and he was focused.
“Steele wore his England cap with the peak turned upwards like a jockey’s, giving him a schoolboyish air, the look of a raffishly silver Puck, Andy Warhol’s spitting image puppet and Jerry Lewis’s Professor Julius Kelp rolled into one,” Rob Bagchi wrote later of his appearance in The Guardian.
The Australians were obviously confused to find a man of Steele’s appearance to walk out at 10 for 1. “Who the f**k’s this, then? Father-f**king-Christmas?” asked Thomson, his hands on his hips. “Looks like Father Christmas”, nodded a close-in fielder.
Steele reached the wicket, adjusted his cap to make it tilt slightly upwards, and aligned his steel-rimmed glasses to perfection. Lillee had meanwhile joined the fray.
Steele: Good morning, Thommo.
Thomson: Christ! They’ve even picked Groucho Marx now!
Lillee: Who’s the gray ghost? (Suddenly recognising Steele) Steeley, you little sh*t!
Steele: Bugger off, you two.
[Note: Recollections vary regarding the words uttered by Lillee and Thomson upon Steele’s arrival at the crease; however, though it is unclear regarding who said what, all sources agree on the words and the names.]
Lillee walked back to his mark. It was Rodney Marsh’s turn to join the fun: “Oi, Dennis! You didn’t tell me your grandfather was playing!”
Steele had finally heard a sledge. He turned towards Marsh, tapped his posterior with the bat, and retorted: “Take a good look at this arse of mine, Marshy. Get used to it, because you’re going to see a lot of it this summer.”
Lillee had backed himself to bowl short. He had two slips, a leg-slip, a leg-gully, and a short-leg. The third ball was bounced, as expected; Steele saw it early, moved across very fast, and pulled it hard, past the leg-gully to the square-leg boundary. He was off the mark.
David Steele: His name exemplified his spirit at the batting crease - Latest Cricket News, Articles & Videos at CricketCountry.com
