Denis Compton’s disappointment at a stand at Lord’s being named after him

Not many cricketers are expected to show disappointment when stands at the Mecca of cricket is named after them. But Denis Compton was always different. Arunabha Sengupta recalls his reaction when the Compton Stand was unveiled at Lord’s.

Denis Compton, the dashing knight in shining armour, who lighted up the sombre lives of the post-War Londoners with his extraordinary feats of run-making for Middlesex and England.

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It was not only how much he made, but how he made them. Seldom had spectators witnessed a batsman of indomitable spirit who started walking down the wicket even as a bowler of considerable pace had yet to finish his run to the crease. But Compton did that many times and oft, and with often fascinating results.

Yes, he was a nonconformist. Post-War Britain was a nation trying to emerge out of the devastations of the six years of madness. Clement Attlee admitted that Britain was a poor country. And the rationing, in food, in drinks, in every household item, seemed to encroach the domain of cricket as well. Run-making was often touched with the same caution, valour eschewed in favour of conservative methods. And amongst all these strode Compton, with the flashes of his knightly blade, touching the lives of the pessimistic masses with flights of fancy and hope.

He was a nonconformist in other ways too. Not for him the discipline and curfew hours of the standard edition Test cricketer. He had seen too much action in The War, and had survived, and therefore it had all boiled down to a question of living whatever life was left to the fullest. His nightly excursions into the good life were as legendary as the strokes essayed from halfway down the wicket. Often in the company of his great mate Keith Miller, Compton was used to painting the town red and emerging in his evening clothes at 7 in the morning, without having gone to bed.

His partner in most of the run-making feats for Middlesex, and even some for England, was Bill Edrich. A more grounded man when it came to the art of batsmanship, Edrich did not possess the talent to be as flamboyant as his comrade. But he was almost as successful in those few years for Middlesex, and the partnerships the two of them etched between themselves became stuff of legends, especially in the summer of 1947.

And outside cricket Edrich was as much a nonconformist as Compton. He enjoyed himself as fully, and while many of Compton’s escapades remained undocumented in the legal sense, Edrich went all the way. He married and divorced, married again and divorced again, till the wedlock counter stood at five. Among famous Test cricketers only Hugh Tayfield of South Africa matched him for the array of matrimonial alliances.

The exploits of these two mavericks of Middlesex were not seen with great favour by the establishment. And frequently they brought forth pressed lips and knitted foreheads in the two most solid faces of the establishment, the very embodiments of that abstract concept of spirit of cricket, Plum Warner and Gubby Allen. There are rumours about Warner being the … well, okay, we won’t go into that now. We just need to remember Warner and Allen were establishment men. On either side of the Lord’s pavilion stood stands bearing their names. The Warner Stand and the Allen Stand.

But after Compton and Edrich called time on their respective careers, MCC could not really afford to ignore their incredible achievements and contributions to English cricket in general, and Middlesex and Lord’s in particular. Hence, two new stands at the Nursery End at Lord’s were renovated and named after the duo.

Hence, at Lord’s, the Compton and Edrich stands, named after two thoroughly anti-establishmentarian cricketers, stand face to face in defiance to the two stands at the other end, named after two of the greatest faces of the establishment, Allen and Warner.

When the stands were named after the duo, Compton took the news as only he could. Instead of gratification at this supreme honour, there was a look of genuine disappointment. And the reason was pronounced unequivocally.

“Stands named after Bill and me, and you tell there is no bar in either? That’s outrageous!”

Only Denis Compton could have reacted this way.