Botham’s Century: My 100 great cricketing characters. Ian Botham

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СКАЧАТЬ fighter pilot, Douglas Bader.

      Bader is remembered as the man who taught himself not just to walk again, but also to fly again during the Battle of Britain after losing both legs in a flying accident in 1931. His extraordinary courage and determination gained an international audience through Kenneth Moore’s portrayal of him in the successful film, Reach for the Sky. What is not so well known is that Group Captain Sir Douglas Bader, CBE, DSO, DFC – to give him his full title – was an outstanding sportsman. The accident – ‘my own bloody stupid fault’ – after attempting a low roll at 50ft in a British Bulldog biplane at the civilian airfield of Woodley, near Reading, came the week after he played fly-half for Harlequins against the Springboks, and just before his expected selection for the England debut against South Africa.

      I was in my third summer as an England cricketer when Douglas Bader rang me out of the blue. I’d met him once before, very briefly. He’d been to the cricket, liked the way I played the game, heard that I was attempting to qualify for a pilot’s licence, and wondered whether I’d like to pop round to his mews house in London for a drink. I was round like a shot. As when I met Nelson Mandela, I was immediately aware that I was in the presence of someone very special. I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to have lost both legs at the age of 20 with the sporting world his for the taking. He was a talented cricketer, and had captained the 1st XI at St Edward’s School, Oxford as an attacking bat and fast-medium bowler. The summer before his accident, Douglas top-scored for the RAF with 65 against the Army, in what was then a first-class fixture. But there was no moaning about his bad luck, nor any hint of regret at what fate had dealt him, or any sense of his being ‘disabled’.

      The only problem was that he wanted to talk about sport – cricket, rugby and golf – while I wanted to know what it was like to fly a Spitfire and be in a dogfight. As ever, Douglas Bader’s persistence won the day. I was astonished about his knowledge of sport, and fascinated at his fight to become a decent golfer after his accident. He was determined to compete at some sport, now that rugby and cricket was lost to him, and at first it was an unequal struggle. Every time he swung the club, he would end up in a heap. As with everything else he tried, his simple refusal to be beaten by his disability enabled him to succeed in the end. Indeed, when I told him of my own concern about missing out on a licence because of my colour-blindness, he let me in on a little secret. He also suffered.

      Eventually, by way of discussing the film Reach for the Sky, I managed to coax some recollections of life in the air during World War II – being shot down, getting replacement legs flown out to the French Hospital where he was prisoner so he could attempt to escape, and his days in Colditz Castle. He felt that the movie had rather glamourized the Battle of Britain, suggesting there was not a lot of romance involved in the experience of fighting for your very existence. One of his abiding memories was just how tiring it all was. The RAF were running out of pilots and planes; every time the Germans attacked, the squadrons were ‘scrambled’ and up they went, again and again. The only respite came when the weather was bad, and the pilots would lie back on their beds, exhausted.

      Douglas was much older than most of the pilots, who were in their teens or early twenties. His life in the services seemed to have ended in late 1931 with his accident, but after the outbreak of world war in 1939 a chronic shortage of experienced pilots, his desire to get back in the air and his persistence in trying to persuade the RAF that he could still do a job earned him another chance to fly. He told me to forget the war films in which the fighter pilots stayed in the air for hours with endless supplies of ammunition. The actual firing time available in the spitfire was about three and half seconds. If you weren’t on the ball and your aim was off, you would run out of ammo before you had time to blink. The fuel gauges weren’t always that accurate either, and pilots would end up having to bale out over the sea or find a field somewhere near home. It also surprised me when he told me he was not fighting an anonymous enemy; on many occasions he could almost see the eyes of German pilots that were trying to shoot him down.

      Douglas Bader must have been an inspiration to the RAF Young Guns, as much as he was to the next generation in Britain when his story was told. Douglas was a guy who was determined to succeed in whatever he did. He was so enthusiastic and wholehearted and did not know any other way. But he also had a very practical view of life. That was evident even when he was awarded his knighthood. Buckingham Palace called to make sure that, with his tin legs, he would be able to kneel on the cushion when the Queen touched his shoulders with the sword. Douglas replied that he wasn’t sure but would go away and have a go. ‘No good,’ he told the Palace, ‘I’ve had two goes at it and fallen on my arse both times!’

      I enjoyed my evening and it convinced me this was someone who would have been a lot of fun to be with, especially in his younger days. Those who think I’m not a fan of old ways and the older generation are way off the mark. It’s the person who impresses or distresses me. Age has nothing to do with it.

      I’m not sure today’s youngsters appreciate the sacrifices made by Douglas’ generation. I did, not only because of the films. My parents had been through the War. It’s 60 years ago now and I suppose those days have passed from the memory into history. Not that Douglas was one for living in the past. I was rather saddened a few years ago when the television programme, Secret Lives, tried to slur his reputation. His widow Lady Joan Bader said at the time, ‘People either say he was a super guy or an absolute bastard.’ I’m firmly in the ‘super guy’ camp. I’m sure there was more of a touch of arrogance in his younger days, but so what? He lived life to the full. There are always people ready to try and bring down those who have made the most of their time and refuse to compromise or be beaten.

      My evening with Douglas Bader was an experience I will always cherish.

       Ken Barrington

      Kenny Barrington and I shared a birthday, 24 November, and a whole lot more besides.

      People often ask me who was my favourite cricketer when I was first getting interested in the game. Bearing in mind the way I played, most assumed that I took my lead from somebody like Sir Gary Sobers, the greatest all-rounder I ever saw, or a swashbuckling cavalier like Ted Dexter.

      But when I told them Kenny Barrington was my favourite, almost all were nonplussed. Kenny could play. Make no mistake about that.

      He scored 20 Test hundreds and nearly 7,000 runs in all, and if you look at the list of those batsmen with the highest Test averages of all time you’ll find K. F. Barrington at number six, with an average of 58.67. To put that in its proper context, of the all-time greats he made his runs at an average higher than Wally Hammond, Sobers, Jack Hobbs, Len Hutton and Denis Compton, and of the modern giants, higher than Sachin Tendulkar, Steve Waugh, Brian Lara and Viv Richards. He could play all right.

      The problem for those who assume that someone like me takes their lead from a similar player is the way Kenny generally batted. If you wanted to be kind, you’d call him obdurate. Others, less kind, said that on occasion, watching Kenny grind out the runs was like watching your fingernails grow.

      But what I loved about The Colonel, as he was known and revered, was neither the number of runs he made nor the way he made them. It was simply the look of him. Had they made a film of his life, Jack Hawkins would have been perfect for the part. Kenny brushed his teeth like he was going to war. When he marched out to bat, he looked ready to take on an army single-handed. With his great, jutting jaw and hook nose almost touching in front of gritted teeth, the expression on his face said, ‘You’ll never take me alive,’ and it made an impression on the young Botham that deepened as I grew to know him personally in his roles as England selector and later coach.

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