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DEAR REDIFF

Au revoir, Denis

K N Prabhu

It will soon be fifty years since Denis Compton, who died on Wednesday, cornered all the glory of an English summer. Those tall scores for Middlesex in the county championships, and for England in the Tests against South Africa, made him the pride and joy of a generation which, literally, had been on meagre rations right through the war.

Neville Cardus wrote touchingly of the scene when, after a long sojourn in Australia, he returned to Lord's to see a pale-faced crowd, the rocket bomb still echoing in the ears of most folks, all worn and dowdy, watching Compton. The strain of the long years of anxiety and affliction passed from all hearts at the sight of Compton in full sail, sending the ball here, there and everywhere, each stroke a thing of delight, a propulsion of a sane, healthy life.

In those days, whenever I read about Compton's run-getting feats, I wondered whether he had picked up the habit from our own Vijay Merchant. For just before he became popular as the Brylcream Boy, Compton had bared his genius to the crowds at Chepauk, the Brabourne Stadium and Eden Gardens. For, a serving officer in the eastern theatre of World War II< Compton in his spare time had played for Holkar in the Ranji Trophy - and also unofficially spoken up for Arsenal, his home club, in the occasional soccer game in Calcutta.

It was as one of Holkar's trusted men that I first saw him at Chepauk. He was seated in a wicker chair at the MCC pavilion, with a mug of beer at hand, while thumbing through a copy of Wisden. I had the temerity to break in on his thoughts - with the rather fatuous question of what he thought of our wickets and our cricket. "Quite testing," he replied, adding that he felt only the Eden Gardens provided pitches comparable to the ones back home.

Later, I saw the batsman who had played with skill and panache against O'Reilly and, along with Hutton and Hardstaff, had tested Australia's strength in the last of the pre-War Ashes series. I saw Compton do battle against Gopalan, Rangachari and Ramsingh. Holkar had lost some early wickets when Compton and C K Nayudu retrieved the situation. Compton played a typical innings, full of saucy strokes, while CK responded by giving him most of the strike.

I shall never forget the duel between Compton and Ramsingh, who bowled left arm leg spin from round the wicket, pegging the ball just an inch outside off stump. Compton rose to the challenge by cutting him just beyond Johnstone's ample reach at leg spin. This prompted Johnstone to move squarer and, when Ramsingh sent down another curler, Compton cut him again past Johnstone's outstretched hands, with a wide grin on his face.

Compton made 81 to CK's 52, and later, he and Mushtaq kept Bombay on their toes in the final. Mushtaq made a century in each innings, while Compton's unbeaten 249 is remembered by oldtimers to this day. In his memoirs, Compton also recalled his century at Eden Garden's against Hassett's team. He was on 94 when the game was interrupted by a riot. One of the intruders advanced on him and said, "Mr Compton, you a very good player, but game must stop." Order was restored, but for years afterwards, whenever Compton came to bat, Miller, who was then in the slips at Calcutta, used to repeat those words to him with an air of menace.

Compton was also a useful left-arm spinner who could bowl an effective Chinaman. There were critics who felt that the then captain, Yardley, should have kept Compton on in the Leed's Test of 1948, since he had bowled Hassett and then had Morris missed at the wicket and Bradman dropped in the slips. Compton was, however, taken off after a calculated, tactical assault by Morris.

Tales of Compton's carefree cavalier attitude are legion. His call for a run, according to a critic, was like a gambler's opening bid. Colin Cowdrey recalls Compton turning up for the Manchester Test of 1955 against South Africa without his kit bag. Borrowing a bat which looked as if it was a relic of W G Grace's time, he scored 155 and 79 not out. Off the field, he was inclined to misplace his passport, miss trains and flights, and his room was almost invariably a mess.

But what mattered was his cricket. And after all the runs have been totalled, what stands out is his carefree approach to it. Perhaps the most typical, and heart-warming story, concerns his call for an impossible run, which led to his brother Les Compton being run out in his benefit match.

Neville Cardus once summed up the man and his cricket in the Playfair Cricket Monthly (1960) as follows: "He batted with respect and knowledge of rational law, though frequently he appeared to play according to a law of his own, which he made up as he went along." This undoubtedly accounts for the number of times he would slip and yet, from a recumbent position, sweep the ball to the boundary.

Cardus also mentions an incident which indicates how popular Compton was. Cardus once took the beautiful singer Kathlene Ferrier to dinner at a top class restaurant, but not many people there knew who she was. But when Compton was his guest, diner after diner came up to ask for his autograph, prompting Cardus to remark that the next time he had dinner with Compton, he would engage a private room.

The sweep stroke was Compton's copyright. Perhaps the fact that his right hand was dominant had something to do with it, though he used to roll his wrists over the ball to ensure he kept it down. The strong right hand also accounted for his superb onside play and his penchant for the hook shot. Despite his bravado and tendency to improvise, Compton was always true to the basic principles.

The crowning tribute belongs to Bill Edric, his team-mate and partner in that prolific summer when they outpaced Hobbs and Hayward: "Denis' tremendous sense of adventure rubbed off on me. He would have played cricket for nothing, if necessary, he loved the game so much!"

Of how many cricketers of today can this be said?