THE HAMBLEDON OLD CRICKET CLUB.
(Continued from a previous week.)
Observing a short paragraph in the columns of your valuable paper of the 12th inst. respecting Tom Sueter, whose real name was Thomas, and a member of the old Hambledon Club, I have taken the opportunity of forwarding the following account of the above-named far-famed cricketer. Thomas Rueter was a builder, and resided in the village of Hambledon, to which he belonged. His height was about 5ft. 10in., and he was as handsome a grown man as you would have seen in a day's march. He had an eye like an eagle—rapid and comprehensive—nothing went by him; and for coolness and nerve in his trying and responsible post, which was that of a wicket-keeper, there was not in those days his equal to be found. As a proof of his quickness and skill, he has been known numberless times to stump a man out when there have been some of the fastest bowlers of the day bowling. Added to this valuable accomplishment, he was one of the most manly and graceful of hitters. Few would cut a ball harder at the point of the bat, and he was moreover one of the most excellent short runners of the day. He was the first who departed from the custom of the old players before him, who deemed it a heresy to leave the crease for the ball. He would get in at it, and hit it straight off and straight on; and, egad, it went as if it had been fired. Sueter had a most amiable disposition, and was the pet of the neighbourhood. He had such an honourable heart, that his word was never questioned by the gentlemen who associated with him, and a voice which, for sweetness, power, and purity of tone (a tenor), would, with proper cultivation, have made him a handsome fortune. It was the rule of the club at the trial matches that no man was allowed to get more than thirty runs. He generally carried his number earlier than any of the rest. Sueter and Richard Flood, from Horndean, built the tower of the village church of Hambledon in the year 1788. His name will be long remembered by all who had the pleasure to be acquainted with him. The name of Thomas Sueter is over the Hambledon church doors, and will shortly be published in Lillywhite’s book of biography and scores. Sueter, when seventeen years of age, went up to Lord Tankerville’s, and made one of the eleven on Lord Tankerville’s side. In those days the name of a Hambledon man was quite enough, whether a cricketer or not. As soon as it was known that a Hambletonian was to play one was peeping at him, and then you might hear them enquiring, ‟Where is the Hambledon cricketer?” and we believe that had Sueter even been put behind a screen, a man might have taken a pretty good round sum for admitting parties to see this fine grown man. All were anxiously waiting to see Sueter go in to have his innings. It so happened that Sueter in his first innings got out the first ball. Then his opponents laughed and cheered, and told the party present they had better take him home to his mother, poor boy; they did not care how many Hambletonians they played against. Sueter knew how to work the ropes. He told them they were not to go off into a laughing fit; he had to have another innings yet, and so he made himself very comfortable, and seemed to enjoy the laugh and jeers of his opponents. It certainly must have been very interesting in those days, as a match was never played for less than from £500 to £1,000. Sueter, when his time was up to go in to have his second innings, went in with a smile on his countenance. ‟Now,” says he, ‟bowlers, I will give you some work,” and they found his words come to truth, for he remained in upwards of three days before they could get him out. While he was in the second time, instead of his opponents laughing, they looked as long-featured as a donkey. Sueter was continually cheered while he was playing and after the match was ended.
Thomas Taylor was one of the old Hambledon eleven. He was a short well-made man, strong, and as watchful as a cat, and was an admirable field. His station was between the point of the bat and the middle wicket, to save the two runs. Taylor had a lucky knack of gathering into the wicket, so that if the ball was hit to him he had so quick a way of meeting it, and with such a rapid return, for no sooner was it in his hand than, with the quickness of thought, it was returned to the top of the wicket. He had got many a man put out by this manoeuvre in a single run, and when the hit might be safely calculated upon for a prosperous one. He had an excellent general knowledge of the game, fielding in particular. He was perfect both in judgment and practice; was also a most brilliant hitter, but his great fault lay in not sufficiently guarding his wicket. He was too fond of cutting at the point of the bat balls that were delivered straight. In some matches he would obtain a large number of runs, yet from the above-named habit, he could not be securely depended on. The old Hambledon cricketers, when living, gave him an excellent name, and he was respected by them all. Some say he belonged to Westmeon, and others to Petersfield, but the exact place is not known here. Any persons knowing the date of his death and age would greatly oblige by forwarding the same to our agent in the district.
The following song (says old Nyren) was very popular in the year 1778. A great many times has this song been sang when crossing Broad-halpenny and other parts. It was composed by the Rev. Mr. Cotton, of Winchester, with the exception of the fifth verse, which was composed by Mary Nyren, daughter of Richard Nyren, the general of the old Hambledon Cricket Club, and whose name you have published in a previous number;
Assist all ye muses, and join to rehearse
An old English sport never praised yet in verse
’Tis cricket I sing of, illustrious game,
No nation e’er boasted so noble a game
Derry down, &c.
Great Pindar has bragg’d of his heroes of old—
Some were swift in the race, some in battle were bold;
The brows of the victor with olives were crown’d;
Hark, they shout, and Olympia returns the glad sound,
Derry down, &c.
What boasting of Castor and Pollux’s brother,
The one famed for riding, for boxing the other—
Compared with our heroes they’ll not shine at all;
What were Castor and Pollux to Nyren and Small?
Derry down, &c.
Here's guarding and catching, and throwing and tossing,
And bowling and striking, and running and crossing;
Each mate must excel in some principal part;
The Pentathium of Greece could not show so much art.
Derry down, &c.
The parties are met, and array’d all in white;
Famed Elis ne’er boasted so pleasing a sight;
Each nymph looks askew at her favourite swain,
And views him, Half-stripp’d, both with pleasure and pain.
Derry down, &c.
The wickets are pitched now, and measured the ground,
Then they form a large ring, and stand gazing around;
Since Ajax fought Hector in sight of all Troy,
No contest was seen with such fear and such joy.
Derry down, &c.
Ye bowlers take heed, to my precepts attend,
On you the whole fate of the game must depend;
Spare your vigour at first, now exert all your strength,
But measure each step, and be sure pitch a length.
Derry down, &c.
Ye fieldsmen look sharp, lest your pains ye beguile;
More close, like an army, in rank and in file;
When the ball is returned back it sure, for it trow
Whole States have been ruined by one overthrow.
Derry down, &c.
Ye strikers observe when the foe shall draw nigh,
Mark the bowler advancing with vigilant eye;
Your skill all depends upon distance and sight—
Stand firm to your scratch, let your bat be upright.
Derry down, &c.
And, now the game’s over, ten victories ring;
Echo doubles her charms, and fame spreads her wings;
Let’s now hail our champions, all steady and true,
Such as Homer ne’er sung of, nor Pindar e’er knew.
Derry down, &c.
Buck Curry and Horseflesh, and Barber and Brett,
Whose swiftness in bowling was ne’er equalled yet,
I had almost forgot they deserve a large bumper—
Little George, the longstop, and Tom Sueter, the stumper.
Derry down, &c.
Then, why should we fear either Sackville or Mann?
Or repine at the loss both of Boynton and Lann?
With such troops as these we’ll be lords of the game,
Spite of Minshill and Miller, and Lumpy and Frame.
Derry down, &c.
Then fill up your glass, he’s the best that drinks most;
Here’s ‟the Hambledon Club.” Who refuses the toast?
Let’s join in the praise of the bat and the wickets,
And sing in full chorus the patrons of cricket.
Derry down, &c.
And when the game’s o’er, and our fate shall draw nigh—
For the heroes of cricket, like others must die—
Our bats we’ll resign, neither troubled nor vexed,
And give up our wickets to this that come next.
Derry down, &c.
Lumpy, whose real name was Edward Stevens, was one of the best bowlers in the year 1777 that England could produce. Lumpy did not belong to the Hambledon Club in the year of the above date. He played the All England side against the Hambledon eleven. Lumpy was a short man, round-shouldered, and stout. He had no tricks about him; he was as plain as a pike-staff in all his dealings, and was a most amiable creature. On one occasion (relates old Nyren in his immortal work) Lumpy played a country fellow for £5, after finishing a match with the Hambledon eleven. After the club had concluded their match, a long raw-boned devil of a countryman came up, and offered to play any one of the twenty-two at single wicket for £5. Lumpy put down a pound, and the other four pounds were subscribed for him to play. He made the countryman go in first, for he thought to settle his business in a twink, but the fellow having an arm as long as a hop-pole, reached in at Lumpy’s balls, bowl what length he might, and slashed away in a most ludicrous style, hitting his balls all over the field, and always up in the air. This fellow, with his long hop-poles, mad an uncommon large number of runs from this prince of bowlers before he could get him out, quite enough to beat him. Lumpy was not a good batter, while the other was a very fast bowler, all along the ground, and straight to the wicket; consequently Lumpy was soon put out, the whole ring roaring with laughter. The far-famed old bowler made an oath that he would never play another single match as long as he lived, which oath it is believed he always kept. Lumpty was at Hambledon about eighteen or twenty years ago; the old gentleman was then 84 years of age. He was nearly blind, but walked upright, and looked jolly and well. Lumpy related the particulars of the above match, and several other incidents, and talked away respecting the old cricketers, and asked for Minshull and Nyren, and Brett and Sueter, Lord Tankerville, and several others, but they were all dead. Lumpy called at several gentlemen’s houses. He wore eight or nine waistcoats, which were all in rags. He was a Surrey man, but resided not many miles from Hambledon. In his young days he was great smuggler. In those days the waistcoats were those of the old cricketers and smugglers, and he wore them to commemorate the past. The old gentleman says:—‟Hambledon is my favourite spot. I used to like to play on the side of Hambledon; they were such a jolly lot of fellows. I don’t suppose I shall ever see Hambledon again. I am going up the country.” The last place he was seen was at in this parish was Barn Green. We believe Mr. Harris, of the Waterloo, has Lumpy’s likeness at the present time. The reason why he was called Lumpy was because he was out playing with the Hambledon Club one day, when Stevens took a great liking to an apple pie that was on the table, which he managed to eat himself, and he was always called Lumpy afterwards. When Lumpy was here last he seemed to enjoy the joke, and said to some of the old men in the village, ‟Lumpy eat an apple pie; that is the reason they called me Lumpy.”