COMPTON THE CAVALIER
100 years ago, English cricket’s biggest star since WG was born . . .
On debut he was only given out when the umpire needed the loo His kneecap was removed and given to Lord’s for safekeeping
At AN England selection meeting some years ago, Mike Atherton enquired of Fred titmus: ‘Just how good was Denis Compton?’ titmus replied: ‘I can’t tell you, Mike, because you wouldn’t believe me.’
Compton, born 100 years ago on Wednesday, was that rarest of breeds — a sportsman who left other sportsmen in awe. Even better, he became a national symbol at a time when cricket was the national sport.
In the summer of 1947, with Britain still wheezing from the cost of the war, he gave the people something to cheer about, scoring 3,816 runs, hitting 18 hundreds and forging a partnership with his Middlesex and England team-mate Bill Edrich that still trips off cricket lovers’ tongues. As Neville Cardus put it: ‘there was no rationing an innings by Compton.’
Compton, who died in 1997, wasn’t always organised. Chaos attached itself to him as surely as anecdotes; Michael Parkinson reckoned he would arrive in a cloud of dust even when walking with a stick.
But his batting was a thing of beauty, full of improvisation, forays down the wicket — no matter how fast the bowler — and trademark sweeps.
the stats were impressive enough: 5,807 test runs at 50, and nearly 39,000 in all first- class cricket, to say nothing of 622 wickets with his left-arm wrist- spin. Yet bald numbers barely told the story: Compton was a cavalier, not an accountant.
Without ever intending to, he transcended cricket — and not simply because he was a talented left winger for Arsenal who won 12 wartime and victory football caps for England. His glory lay in his insouciance, and in the stories that surrounded it. the Daily Mail’s legendary sports writer Ian Wooldridge saw this for what it was, but was powerless to resist its charm: ‘ Wicked rumours enhanced the legend: that Denis had probably just arrived from a night on the town, ripped off his dinner jacket, picked up the nearest bat and walked straight to the wicket. Sometimes he had. the point was that as often as not what followed was an innings of breathtaking élan.’
All the while, Compton was becoming a celebrity — England’s first star from the sporting world since the days of WG Grace.
the transformation began in typically haphazard fashion when Compton handed a suitcase full of unopened letters to sports journalist Reg Hayter. two of the letters were from the
News of the World: the first offering Compton £2,000 a year to write a column, the second withdrawing the offer because he had failed to reply.
Hayter took him under his wing, effectively becoming cricket’s first agent. Soon, Compton was the Brylcreem Boy — an advertiser’s dream ahead of his time. As his stature as a cricketer grew, so did his eye for a chance. At Adelaide in January 1955, it was said he was offered £100 by an American admirer to hit the winning runs. Compton was at the crease as England sealed victory over Australia — and retained the Ashes — but the decisive blow came from Godfrey Evans. Compton was unimpressed.
Perhaps the irritation had its roots in a modest upbringing in Hendon, north-west London. His dad earned money decorating and driving lorries.
Young Denis worked his way up in the cricketing sense, too. He batted at No 11 on his first-class debut for Middlesex against Sussex in 1936, scoring 14 in a last-wicket stand of 36 with Gubby Allen. Umpire Bill Bestwick later said he only gave Compton out lbw because he needed the toilet. In his next game, against Nottinghamshire’s Bodyline duo of Harold Larwood and Bill Voce, Compton went in at No 8, scoring 26 not out. In the next, now at No 7, he made 87 against Northamptonshire.
Within a year, he was playing for England, making 65 against New Zealand at the Oval. ‘there was no mistaking his sound judgment of the ball that could be hit with safety,’ said Wisden. His next test innings, the following summer, brought him 102 against Australia at trent Bridge.
One story goes that, years later, the Australians were discussing what the best ball was to Compton, when Don Bradman piped up: ‘there’s no bloody best ball to bowl at him, although with any luck he’ll run himself out.’
Compton’s running between the wickets was as close as he came to a proper weakness, at least until his right knee began to trouble him — supposedly the result of a collision with Charlton goalkeeper Sid Hobbins. And so, long before David Beckham’s metatarsal, the saga of Compton’s knee gripped the nation.
the dodgy kneecap was eventually removed and handed to Lord’s for safekeeping. these days, it would have been sponsored. And for that — as well as all the runs and the fun — cricket should probably thank Denis Compton.