OWZAT... (My new poem inspired by Leigh Lambert's painting...)

 Owzat…

(From Leigh Lambert’s painting…)

The batter’s view of the ball, despite the grim murk

Of terraced housing enclosed like a prison’s exercise yard, is  enhanced

By sight-screens of washed white bedsheets and rather oddly 

 The pallid chimney smoke billowing, albeit safely distanced.

No stumps on worn, dank cobbles, just bin lids

Which would clank loudly if struck by the ball 

On a true spinner’s wicket… Arms are raised as the bowler

And the fielders yell “OWZAT!” awaiting the umpire’s call.

Knitted, short-sleeved pullovers in a variety of colours

Seem to be yesterday’s replica kits, as lads with desperate concern  

Expect someone’s elected grandad at very short-leg 

To signal ‘OUT’ and offer some other boy a batting turn…

And a trio of girls watch from pavements, one clutching 

A hoop but all having been left out of the cricket in the road,

Whilst a wooden, home-made trolley lies abandoned

With its pram wheels and string reins and an uncomfortable splintery seat…    

Pete Ray

18th August 2025…

Strangely, in Shard End, Birmingham, the local kids and I never played cricket in the street.

I played in my back garden, then at primary school, becoming a wicketkeeper.

I played all through secondary school and finally for Lucas, Great King Street, when I left college…

THE ONLY IMAGE I POSSESS OF ME WEARING THE WICKETKEEPER'S PADS & GLOVES... 

OPENING THE BATTING WITH MY EX-BROTHER-IN-LAW, VIC BALLINGER, NOW SADLY DECEASED...