Brian Viner: A chance to celebrate one of cricket's finest men

Gubby Allen was the only amateur fast bowler in Douglas Jardine's England team

At the time of writing, I am preparing to haul my 40-year-old joints, one or two of which need a pretty thorough oiling, on to a cricket ground for the first time in years. And not just any cricket ground, but the splendidly appointed one at the Royal Military Academy, Sandhurst, where the England and Wales Cricket Board's conscripts were put through their paces for a week before wintering in Australia under the beady eye and bushy moustache of Rodney Marsh, and where my old university friend Angus MacLeod – in his time a rather fine medium-slow left-armer in the manner of "Deadly" Derek Underwood – is chaplain.

At the time of reading, it will all be over. Several months ago, Angus threw down the gauntlet, or whatever it is that chaplains throw down, and challenged The Wanderers, the Sandhurst staff team, to a match against a chaplains' XI – ie a team made up largely of chaplains.

Cricket, of course, has traditionally provided a platform for muscular Christianity to shine. The Reverend David Shepherd, later Bishop of Liverpool, graced the England team in the 1960s, and on taking a particularly brilliant catch was said to have inspired a characteristic one-liner from Fred Trueman: "When Reverend David puts 'is 'ands together, 'e stands a better chance than most." Imagine, then, what divine force might be unleashed by an entire team of chaplains. Except that, perhaps foolishly, the match was arranged for a Sunday, with the result that no chaplains other than Angus were available, necessitating a discreet shift of the apostrophe, from the chaplains' XI to the chaplain's XI. Accordingly, I got the call, along with another old university friend, Howie, plus eight willing officer cadets, mercifully younger and more able-bodied than Howie and me.

Now, I like to be modest about my own cricketing talent; indeed, I have much to be modest about. That said, I have from time to time harboured the delusion that I might have some natural ability, a delusion that briefly blossomed, and just as quickly withered, when the aforementioned Angus, then university cricket captain, threw his weight behind my candidacy for the second XI captaincy. I would make an excellent captain, he said, on account of the fact (I beamed, waiting for him to extol my virtues as a nagging off-spinner, a solid middle-order batsman, an inspirational leader of men) that I had a car and a phone.

What nobody can deny, however, is that I have plenty of experience, having played without distinction for my school, my university, and in the South-West Lancashire League for the famous Southport Trinity club. Famous in the Roe Lane area of Southport, anyway.

Along the way I picked up many of the game's more arcane secrets, learning how to impart minimum spin, how to take guard as if you know what you're doing ("leg please, umpire"), and learning the uncomfortable way that you need a jockstrap if you wish to wear a cricket box under boxer shorts.

It has also been my good fortune to play with some of the amateur game's great characters, among them Roy Kavanagh of Southport Trinity, a fast bowler of sorts, who, when fielding at third man, and on one controversial occasion at second slip, was not averse to turning his back on play and peeing away his lunchtime pint.

Actually, I never wholly endorsed this practice, and on one occasion gave Roy both barrels of my disapproval, which, equipped as he was with brilliant Scouse repartee, he met with two words, the second one letter shorter than the first.

All of which brings me, improbably enough, to Sir George "Gubby" Allen of Eton, Middlesex and England. On Wednesday it will be the centenary of Allen's birth, and it is a centenary worth celebrating. In the infamous Bodyline series of 1932-33, Allen, the only amateur fast bowler in the England team, refused to embrace Douglas Jardine's inflammatory tactics. It has been suggested that one of the reasons for his refusal was that he lacked the necessary accuracy, but all the same, it took guts to make a stand. Just as it took guts for me to object to Roy Kavanagh piddling in the outfield, although I will accept, if pushed, that the two scenarios do not really merit close comparison.

Like most cricket-lovers of my generation, I saw Allen only when he was in his anecdotage, being interviewed by a reverential Peter West during the tea-break of a Lord's Test match. But he was by all accounts, not least Mike Brearley's, a fine man. Brearley was devoted to him, and mentions him frequently in his wonderful book The Art of Captaincy. He relates a story Allen used to tell about the Eton v Harrow match of 1920. Apparently, after Eton had won by 198 runs, Allen and a friend went to see their housemaster, doubtless expecting congratulations.

"Disappointing match," grumbled the housemaster, adding that Eton could have won by 200 if a boundary had been properly signalled six instead of four. I wonder what he would have made of Roy Kavanagh?

b.viner@independent.co.uk