The book is laid out in logical fashion, There is a chapter on county cricket in the 1920s, and another in the 1930s. There are two corresponding chapters on the Ashes contests of both decades. Each of the other Test nations of the time gets its own chapter which deals with their domestic cricket as well as their efforts in Test cricket – formative years in the case of India, New Zealand and the West Indies. He is pessimistic, writing in 1989, on the prospects of a return for South Africa, in a piece entitled ‘Cricket for the Few.’  Interestingly he notes “I have to record that one distinguished South African Test player of the 1930s and 1940s told me in unequivocal terms that he supported apartheid.”

Finally, Howat makes his case for the period 1920-48 being considered ‘cricket’s second golden age.’ There is much in his favour, Huge crowds attended three-day championship matches (at reasonable prices), players were in many cases approachable – often travelling by public transport – and aware of their responsibility to entertain, and international cricket was rare enough to be special. Only Australia and South Africa played five Tests in a series in England and without constant exposure on TV players from overseas had a particular aura. “Every cricketing country was touched by the excitement of players arriving from another land perhaps with distinct cultural differences or bringing to the descendants of emigrants a whiff of the land of their forebears.”

There is plenty about Bodyline of course, but Howat points out that (even in 1989) a number of books had appeared on that series, and the dozen or so pages he devotes here are quite sufficient. Interestingly, at the end of such an acrimonious series, the state premier of New South Wales declared at a dinner given for the tourists that ‘our visitors played cricket in the best tradition of the British people’ – a view somewhat at odds with most of his countrymen.  And there are a few good anecdotes – Neville Cardus once met Wilfred Rhodes and Emmott Robinson on a Sunday in London, remarking on the fine weather after the rain, and they grumbled that there was ‘a sticky wicket wasting at Lord’s.’ The illustrations include a number of contemporary cartoons as well as one photograph of the ill-fated airship R101 over Lord’s during the 1930 Ashes Test.

To deal with almost thirty years of cricket, around the world, in a book of this size meant that many seasons and series had to be given light treatment, but nothing of importance has been omitte??d here, and as a brief guide to?? the interwar and immediate postwar years, this does its job.

And it was one that I delayed reading for a number of weeks – having picked it up for less than a quarter of its original retail price, it regarded me somewhat balefully from the bookshelf while I demurred with magazines and papers. After all the title hardly promised an uplifting read. Yet it was a book that I enjoyed somewhat more than I was expecting to. I feared a rather worthy, or doom-mongering work – but it is written with a sense of humour, and namechecks some writers and thinkers you don’t often encounter in a cricket book – Machiavelli and Goethe, Pinter and Seneca. Furthermore, many of the writer’s grimmest prophecies have not come to pass.

Wright picks up the story in 1963, a notable year in English cricket of course. The abolition of the distinction between amateur and professionals (henceforth, all players were to be known as ‘cricketers’) came in the same year as the new one-day domestic competition which we came to know as the Gillette Cup, and then the Natwest Trophy. In discussing these themes Wright makes some interesting observations on the reluctance of the modern game to cater for the part-timer – a talent such as Phil Edmonds lost to the game in consequence.

From then on he goes on to look at the many issues and controversies which would envelop cricket, and English cricket in particular, in the ensuing thirty years. World Series Cricket, the rebel tours, ball-tampering and throwing, Close at Edgbaston, pitches, over-rates, the often uneasy relationship between England and Pakistan. The current England captain at the time of publication, Graham Gooch, gets a chapter to himself – a solid and yet complicated individual, rebel turned inspirational (to some) leader. His role in the notorious omission of David Gower from the 1992 Indian tour party is examined.

I found only two factual errors: Sir Alec Douglas-Home did not fight two general elections against Harold Wilson (in 1966, Edward Heath was the leader of the opposition), and he also states that England did not select any Packer players in the summer of 1977. In fact all five were picked, although Bob Woolmer and Dennis Amiss only signed during the Ashes series, Amiss after he’d lost his place to Boycott (and there’s also plenty about him, little of it favourable).

I finished the book still unsure of whom or what the writer felt had been betrayed, but perhaps that’s not important. He talks a lot about the relationship between the TCCB, ICC and MCC, and how the money men took over the game from the men with three initials. “Overall self-interest will prevail, which is why the struggle for cricket’s soul is a struggle being lost.” He was writing ten years before the advent of Twenty20, with its many attendant horrors for the traditionalist. But twenty-five years on this is an absorbing read, if somewhat needlessly pessimistic in places.

The long-running annual started by the eponymous retired all-rounder more than 150 years ago has always been good at picking up on the strange and unusual, and listing them is a recent development which provides for perfect ‘dip-in’ material. Some of them you may recall – ‘England batsman refunds spectator’ for instance. It is a book of the cricket year, but it has always been much more than that. In its early days it used to come out in time for Christmas, but that was a time of few overseas Tests – series taking part between the end of the English season and the end of the calendar year are now included, when they never used to be. Indeed the last international fixture to be included, so far as I can make out, is the fifth ODI between Australia and Pakistan on 26 January this year.

He was of course, Scottish by birth, still the only man born north of the border to captain England, although his successor Tony Greig had Scottish parents. He was encouraged by his father, himself a keen cricketer who moved the family to Ayr, and a short distance from the local club, when Michael was seven years old. He joined straight away, and showed promise in adolescence – named Butlins’ ‘number one cricketer of the week’ at the age of 12 – and, the following year, taking all ten wickets for six runs, unlikely as it may seem – which earned him a bat and a congratulatory message from Alec Bedser. It would not be the last time their paths would cross, of course.

Caps for Scotland followed in due course, and in those days they played an annual first-class match against Warwickshire. MJK Smith approached Denness with an offer to play for the Bears after the 1959 fixture, but Kent got in first. The connection was Jimmy Allan, an all-rounder who played for Warwickshire and Kent as well as Scotland, who tipped off EW Swanton about the young Scotsman. He duly made his debut for the county in 1961. He seems to have encountered some ignorance along the way into county cricket: “I have heard it queried many times: how on earth can a Scotsman play the game of cricket? … People tend to regard a Scot who has any degree of success at cricket as something of a freak, rather like Dr Johnson’s talking dog – he is not expected to perform well, the wonder is that he performs at all.” (I thought the Johnson quote was about a dog walking on its hind legs, but I may be mistaken)

The Denness story thereafter is quite well known – after establishing himself in the Kent side he was offered the captaincy in 1971 after Colin Cowdrey’s long reign, and the following year was named vice-captain to Tony Lewis for England’s tour of England and Pakistan, despite having played just one Test at that point – against New Zealand in 1969. Lewis himself of course, had not even played once for his country. If that seems extraordinary now, and even then must have seemed like a throwback to the early Fifties,Denness is quite matter-of-fact about it, while acknowledging his good fortune. A year later the captaincy was his – not to universal approval. He led England on two tours and in one home season in 1974. There were two incidents of his captaincy that I was especially interested to read about – the notorious Greig/Kallicharran run-out in the West Indies and the occasion in Australia when he dropped himself – both are covered fully and thoughtfully.

Written, I’m sure, without the benefit of a ‘ghost’ this is a slim volume compared to the doorstop memoirs of more recent stars of the game. Of course Denness’s time at the top was considerably shorter than the likes of Steve Waugh or Ricky Ponting but it was certainly eventful. It’s a pity he never updated it as it would have been interesting to hear his take on the controversial India-South Africa Test when he attracted so much opprobrium for his decisions as a match referee. In short a book worth seeking out for anyone with an interest in cricket of the Seventies, and Kent supporters of course.

This more recent offering tells the story of the Ashes series from 1972, Marcus’s earliest memories of the historic rivalry, to (very briefly) 2006-07, from the viewpoint of the England supporter. It hardly needs adding that Australia have been on top for most of that period – which accounts in part for the book’s subtitle – “35 Years of Humiliation (and about 20 Minutes of Ecstasy) watching England v Australia.” Some matches were watched live, but most on TV – and often he finds he has to bunk off work or miss lessons to catch the action. When England are upsetting the form book at Edgbaston in 1997, for example, he’s at a wedding with his girlfriend, but manages to find a set in another room. “Why do you keep disappearing?” he gets asked, suspiciously. Unfortunately the only live play he manages to see is the long partnership between Taylor and Blewett on day three.

There’s a big supporting cast of friends, too. They make the book, really. Tim, Julian, Andy and others pop up regularly – they’re never properly introduced, but I assume they’re friends of the writer – and chip in with their own memories. Again, some were at the games, but for the most part they’re watching on the BBC, Channel 4 or Sky. Or listening to radio broadcasts from Australia, which many of us of a certain age will attest have their own unique allure: “it’s a very personal thing, following cricket” remarks Ben. “Lying in bed listening to Test Match Special into the early hours: it’s like a vigil, a semi-devotional sort of thing. And feeling the searing heat … and here it’s cold, and you’re tucked up in bed.” Remembering the commentary from Melbourne in 1977’s Centenary Test (covered here in detail, although the one-off matches of 1980 and 1988 aren’t mentioned), I know exactly what he means.

Ashes to Ashes is not a straight account of each series, although the results and main contributors are detailed. It’s an Ashes history in the form of a fanzine. “I would like to think that it is the first emotional history of the Ashes” as Berkmann writes in his introduction. It is nostalgic, funny and unashamedly sentimental. People fondly recall Jim Laker and Peter West, relate their ‘A’ level results, even Elvis Presley gets a mention (he died during ‘Boycott’s Match’ – the 1977 Headingley Test). For those of us whose memories go almost as far back as 1972, and who have suffered along with the writer and his friends, it should make a reassuring accompaniment to this summer’s resumption of hostilities.

I don’t know how many Test cricketers the west midlands county of Staffordshire has produced – SF Barnes, David Steele and Kim Barnett are three that come to mind – but Robert William Taylor, known to the world as Bob, is in my view fit to stand with any of them. It was, as Christopher Martin-Jenkins once wrote, one of the happiest repercussions of the Packer revolution that this genial, dedicated craftsman, surely one of the nicest men to ever wear the three lions, finally got the Test career that his exceptional ability warranted. Starting out with his native county at the age of 16, he played three full seasons for Staffordshire, actually making his first-class debut in 1960 for the Minor Counties against the South Africans, before being snapped up by Derbyshire, whose long-serving George Dawkes was coming to the end of his career. Taylor made his debut for the county in June 1961; before long Dawkes had seen enough and, happy that the county had found a worthy successor, announced his retirement. Taylor later acknowledged his good fortune at arriving at the right time and also spared a thought for Gerry Wyatt, Dawkes’s longtime understudy, who had left the staff in 1960 after managing just a handful of games in a decade at the club.

Although forever an unfashionable county, Derbyshire had a reasonably strong seam attack in the sixties and Taylor had plenty of opportunities with the likes of Les Jackson, Harold Rhodes, Ian Buxton and later Alan Ward to keep to. Although few of his victims were stumpings he was soon racking up the dismissals – 80 in 1962, 83 in 1963 and 86 – his best season’s haul – in 1965. Meanwhile word was going around the circuit that this young keeper was one to watch. His weakness was his batting – in eight seasons his best score was only 57 and in more than 300 innings from 1961-68 he passed 50 just three times – and this was a time when batsman-keeper Jim Parks was generally preferred to the superior gloveman, John Murray, for England.

Not that this was anything new of course. Les Ames’ batting ability restricted George Duckworth’s England chances, while after the war the flamboyant Godfrey Evans, although nothing like as good a batsman as Ames, was still good enough to see off a host of rivals such as Surrey’s Arthur McIntyre and Northamptonshire’s Keith Andrew. And it was Andrew, who played just twice for England in 1954 and 1963, who was idolised by the young Taylor and whose career looked likely, for many years, to be repeated by his young fan. For while Knott was the showman, enormously popular with the crowds (and nobody can argue with five Test hundreds), Taylor was it seemed the craftsman, the keeper’s keeper, one who could perhaps have worked harder at his batting but who could stick around at number eight and provide valuable support when needed.

After almost a decade of county cricket recognition came with selection for the tour of Australia and New Zealand in 1970. Taylor would have been under no illusions that he was there as Knott’s understudy, there in case his rival was ill or injured, but at that time he was happy to have a winter away, even if he managed just four first-class matches in Australia. As he put it later, “I couldn’t really complain, and it was some consolation when everyone kept telling me that I had helped to keep Alan Knott on his toes. Alan and I forged a strong mutual respect for each other on that tour … I was most touched by his gesture when the team was picked for the first Test – he came over to me and said, ‘bad luck Bob, keep going.’ ” There was to be an unexpected bonus for Taylor when the side reached New Zealand after their successful Ashes campaign – captain Ray Illingworth put him in the side for the first Test at Christchurch – although the player himself considered his selection as somewhat unsatisfactory. Knott had appeared in 28 consecutive Tests – after this blip he would go on to appear in another 61 in a row – and hardly deserved to miss out. On a tricky pitch Taylor kept as well as ever but was disappointed to be given out stumped when he believed his foot had never left the crease.

It was on this tour, the first of three as England’s number two, that Taylor acquired his nickname, ‘Chat.’ There were numerous social functions for the team to attend and he was happy to talk to anyone who wanted to discuss cricket, even if, as he sometimes suspected, the other person didn’t know who he was talking to or what he was doing in the squad (“so tell me Bob, do you bat or bowl?”). He was thrilled with his first visit to Australia, particularly as it included meeting with Sir Donald Bradman and Bert Oldfield.

There was an unexpected return to Australia the following winter – after the cancellation of the scheduled tour by South Africa, a Rest of the World side was assembled to go there instead, just as had happened in England in 1970. England had no tour that winter and Alan Knott was originally named in the World squad, but Taylor took his place when the Kent man dropped out. Farokh Engineer was the first choice, but Taylor played in the final unofficial Test at Adelaide, taking five catches.

The next few years would prove frustrating ones for Taylor – firstly missing out on the trip to India and Pakistan in 1972-73 with an ear infection, along with the realisation that Knott had cemented his England place and never seemed likely to lose it. There were some consolations – in 1973 he had a benefit with Derbyshire, raising £7,000 – a tidy sum for the time – and in the same year he was picked for two one-day internationals against the West Indies, at Headingley and the Oval. In view of the limitations of his batting Taylor seems an odd choice now – Roger Tolchard had been to India, and even in 1973 David Bairstow would have been an adventurous choice – but he took his opportunity, and a fine stumping of Alvin Kallicharran off the bowling of Derek Underwood, helped, he believed, to get him on the trip to the Caribbean in early 1974. Despite batting well on that trip, and Knott being below his best form, he was unable to displace his rival. The same happened in Australia the following year; there was no chance of him being picked to face the rampaging Lillee and Thomson unless Knott sustained an injury. And this time there was no consolation cap in New Zealand either.

Taylor succeeded Brian Bolus as captain of Derbyshire the following season and did the job for two years but he was no disciplinarian, however much he cared about the county’s fortunes, and he was glad to relinquish that responsibility to Eddie Barlow. He felt that it was affecting his keeping, though naturally nobody had noticed any decline in his performance. After being overlooked for the tour to India in 1976 he sadly told wife Cathy he wouldn’t be needing his touring equipment again. He would have loved to be at the Centenary Test which took place in Melbourne at the end of the trip. Unbeknown to him though, Taylor’s life was about to be transformed.

Recognition came first in April, when he was named as one of Wisden’s Five Cricketers of the Year – the piece, by Michael Carey, began “wicket-keepers the world over will rejoice in the news that the Editor of Wisden has stepped in where England’s selectors have so often feared to tread and recognised the skill of Bob Taylor, whose artistry – there is no other word for it – behind the stumps has long illumined even the darkest hours of Derbyshire cricket.” It ended with a glum quote from the man himself – “there are about 300 county cricketers and we can’t all play for England.” But even as the almanack was hitting the shops plans were afoot for a scheme – World Series Cricket – which would take Alan Knott, by his own choice, out of the England reckoning. When the party was announced in September to tour Pakistan and New Zealand that winter RW Taylor was, to general delight, named as first-choice wicket-keeper – his understudy, young Paul Downton, had played just a handful of games for Kent and was unknown to most cricket watchers.

While neither leg of the tour was especially successful for England, both series being drawn, Taylor relished his late opportunity and contributed with the bat, making 32 in his ‘comeback’ Test at Lahore and improving on that with a 45 at Christchurch. At that stage he believed he was keeping a seat warm for Knott on his inevitable return, but like everyone else had no idea when that might be. England were unbeaten in six home Tests in 1978 and Taylor was staggered to be named player of the series against New Zealand by Jim Laker – Ian Botham having taken 24 wickets in three Tests. In Australia that winter England prevailed 5-1 against a much-weakened Australian team led by Graham Yallop, Taylor’s most notable contribution being a 97 – his highest first-class score – at Adelaide. He was especially pleased to add 135 with county colleague Geoff Miller at an important time. He was retained in the squad for the World Cup in England the following year, but England were well beaten by the West Indies in the final and Taylor would make few appearances in the shorter format from then on.

England had not lost a series since Taylor’s recall, but came down with a bump in Australia in 1979-80, going down 3-0 with both sides restored to full strength. In fact only Derek Underwood of England’s Packer players returned for that trip – Knott stayed in England. But Taylor’s unforgettable part in the Jubilee Test at Bombay in March 1980 – he took ten catches, mostly off Botham, and made 45 in a stand of 114 – with Botham again of course, it was the Somerset all-rounder’s greatest all-round performance – was not enough to keep him in the England team that summer. Knott returned to face the West Indies, and when he failed, Bairstow was tried instead. Taylor was disappointed and believed his Test career was over after 26 caps. He would be 40 in 1981, after all. Although left out of the party for the West Indies – as he expected to be – Taylor occupied his time that winter with his testimonial which Derbyshire had given him for the following season; but that season would prove to be a memorable and rewarding one. He was awarded the MBE, made a maiden hundred against Yorkshire at Sheffield, set a new world record for the number of catches taken in a career, netted £54,000 from his testimonial, and to cap it all was recalled to the England side and played in two of the greatest finishes in Ashes history, at Headingley and Old Trafford.

Although he lost his place to Knott for the final two Tests these would prove to be the Kent keeper’s last England appearances and Taylor was confirmed as the first choice again for the tour of India under Keith Fletcher. He also went on the next two winter tours, on the last occasion, to New Zealand and Pakistan, without a recognised back-up (Graeme Fowler kept wicket in a one-day match), testament to his legendary fitness at the age of 42.

In 1984 the West Indians were back in town and once again Taylor made way, this time for Paul Downton. He knew that this time it was for good, and retired at the end of that season, now holder of the record for dismissals in first-class cricket – one that seems likely to be held by him indefinitely. There was, though, one pleasing postscript – at Lord’s in 1986 England’s Bruce French was injured and unable to take his place behind the stumps; Bill Athey was tried briefly but then someone remembered that Bob Taylor was at the ground with Cornhill Insurance, and he was persuaded, with the agreement of New Zealand’s captain, to fill in for the rest of the day. The only sadness is that he was unable to make a dismissal – how good the line ‘c sub (RW Taylor)’ would have looked on the scorecard.

It is unlikely, as he acknowledges, that someone with his limited batting skills would be able to play 57 Tests today – witness the fortunes of Chris Read and James Foster, both far better batsmen than Taylor but not quite as good, it would appear, as Matt Prior. Thankfully in 1977 the selectors went for the best keeper available to them, and a rewarding and satisfying career was the result.