More Cricket Songs   By: Norman Gale (1862-1942)

by Norman Gale

Author of "Cricket Songs" "Barty's Star" "A Country Muse" And other works.

1905

DEAR JOHN DENTON,

Not long ago you reminded me that once, when you were a boy and I was a schoolmaster, I was angry with you because you pouted all through a lesson in arithmetic. Let bygones be bygones, and accept as a proof of my continuing friendship the dedication of this little volume, in which there are no other sums than those of the Telegraph.

Most sincerely yours,

NORMAN GALE.

Here's to the lad with his useful Fifteen, Here's to the Bowler that's thrifty, Here's to the Bat who is Lord of the Green With his frequent and thundering Fifty!

For their courtesy in allowing him to reprint some of these songs the Author thanks the Editor of The Westminster Gazette , Prince Ranjitsinhji, Mr. James Bowden, the Editor of The Country , and the Editor of The Sun .

OILING THE GOLDEN GAME THE FEMALE BOY THE DARK BOWLER UNCLE BOB INDIGNANT THE TUTOR'S LAMENT A WIGGING THE TWO KINGS THE APPEAL THE OLYMPIANS THE OLD PROFESSIONAL FIVE YEARS AFTER DOCTOR CRICKET PHILOSOPHY THE ENTHUSIAST CRICKET AND CUPID A BOUNDARY THE COMMENTATOR LUCKY LADS CRICKET IN THE GARDEN THE PRINCE, BATTING THE REASON A LONG GRACE REMEMBER, PLEASE! THE FORERUNNERS NET PRACTICE THE CATCH OF THE SEASON

OILING.

(A Song In and Out of Season.)

Excuse me, Sweetheart, if I smear, With wisdom learnt from ancient teachers, Now winter time once more is here, This grease upon your lengthy features! Behaving thus, your loyal friend No whit encourages deception: Believe me, Fairest, in the end This oil will better your complexion. Fairest, believe!

Did you imagine in the bag To sleep the sleep of Rip Van Winkle, Removed from sunshine's golden flag And duller daylight's smallest twinkle? Well have you earned your rest; but yet, Although disturbance seem uncivil, Unless your cheeks and chin be wet With oil, your beauteousness will shrivel. Rarest, believe!

Absorb, that, when for our delight The May unpacks its lovely blossom, With beaming face, with shoulders bright You leave the bag's congenial bosom. Then shall the Lover and his Lass Walk out toward the pitch together, And, glorying in the shaven grass, Tackle, with mutual faith, the leather. Dearest, absorb!

THE GOLDEN GAME.

If ever there was a Golden Game To brace the nerves, to cure repining, To put the Dumps to flight and shame, It's Cricket when the sun is shining! Gentlemen, toss the foolscap by, Gentlemen, change from books to leather! Breathe your fill of the breeze from the hill, Thanking Bliss for the great blue weather.

If ever there was a bag could beat The box possessed by Miss Pandora, 'Tis that in which there cuddle neat The tools to shape the flying Fourer. Gentlemen, watch the purple ball! Gentlemen, keep your wits in tether! Take your joy with the heart of a boy Under the dome of the big blue weather.

If ever I feel my veins abound With zealous blood more fit for Twenty, 'Tis when upon the shaven ground Fair Fortune gives me runs in plenty. Gentlemen all, while sinews last, Bat ye, bowl ye, friends together! Play the play till the end of your day, Mellowest mates in the big blue weather!

But ever the ancient tale is told, And History (the jade!) repeated: By Time, who's never over bowled, At last we find ourselves defeated. Gentlemen all, though stiff we be, Youth comes along in finest feather, Just as keen as we all have been Out on the turf in the great blue weather!

There's ever the deathless solace left To gaze at younger heroes smiting, Of neither grit nor hope bereft, Up to the end for victory fighting. Gentlemen all, we taste delight, Banished now from the stream and heather, Calm and cool on an old camp stool, Watching the game in the big blue weather!