This article is taken from the August-September 2024 issue of The Critic. To get the full magazine why not subscribe? Right now we’re offering five issues for just £10.

Bill Edrich is the least well-known of those formidable England cricketers who brightened British life in the black and white days after the Second World War. Leonard Hutton, the great Yorkshire opening batsman, was knighted. Denis Compton, the Middlesex middle order cavalier, should have been. 

Peter May, Colin Cowdrey (later Baron Cowdrey of Tonbridge), Tom Graveney, Ken Barrington and Ted Dexter, batsmen of contrasting character, remain much loved. Of the bowlers Fred Trueman, Brian Statham, Frank Tyson and Jim Laker are frequently recalled; Trueman as often for tales about him as for what he did on the field, which was plenty. Edrich, a very good rather than great cricketer, hardly gets a look-in.

As the title of Leo McKinstry’s book makes plain, however, Edrich had many lives, and all were colourful. Married five times (a teammate claimed to have “a season ticket” to his weddings), he rose to be squadron leader in the RAF. Leading a mission in 1941 to destroy power stations in the heavily-defended Ruhr, the fearless pilot was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross.

Edrich the cricketer took time to get going. It wasn’t until the so-called Timeless Test at Durban in March 1939 that the promising young batsman found his feet, making 219 in England’s second innings. Then, in the fabled year of 1947, a cricketing Shangri-La, he established himself in the English pantheon. 

That was the season the “Middlesex Twins”, Compton and Edrich, grooved all summer long as shoppers queued for whalemeat. Compo made 3,816 runs, with 18 centuries, both first-class records. “There were no rations in an innings by Compton,” wrote Neville Cardus. Edrich’s contribution was hardly negligible: 3,539 runs, with 12 centuries. Those figures seem almost unbelievable today, when leading batsmen fail to pass 1,000 runs in the much-reduced championship programme.

Compo was always the star. The most dazzling batsman ever to play for England, “the Brylcreem boy” was everybody’s favourite cricketer. He was a fine footballer, too, shining as a left winger as Arsenal won the First Division title in 1948, and the FA Cup two years later. Edrich was a decent footballer himself, turning out for Tottenham Hotspur, but his role was to serve uncomplainingly as Compton’s ally.

Stylistically, they were miles apart. Compton, the improviser, could direct strokes to every part of the meadow. Edrich, the son of a feckless Norfolk tenant farmer, prospered with agricultural force, smashing the ball as hard as he could, and bowling it with uncomplicated vigour. Trevor Bailey, who shared an England dressing-room, noted “a certain wildness of spirit” which did not always please those who sat on committees.

Like many servicemen who saw things they could not share with those untouched by the horrors of war, Edrich found civilian life frustrating. His alcoholism got in the way of a steady working life, and he could not be faithful to a woman for more than a week. Those who warmed to him considered him to be a lively character. Others found him a bore. Some publicans, bored with his carousing, wouldn’t have him back. 

A professional cricketer before the war, when the distinction between “players” and “gentlemen” defined the game, Edrich reverted to amateur status in 1946 in the hope of becoming captain of England. The invitation went instead to Hutton, the first pro to lead out an England side. 

Though disappointed with his lot, Edrich persevered. He played Minor Counties cricket for Norfolk into his fifties and carried on boozing and fornicating until his 71st year, when he fell down the stairs, drunk, at his house in Buckinghamshire. It was a tragic if predictable end to a remarkable life; or to many remarkable lives.

Compton, who outlived him by 11 years, thought no braver cricketer ever took the field. For Edrich, as for Keith Miller, the great Australian, who also had “a good war”, cricket was a game to be enjoyed. Those men had witnessed life at its limit and sought pleasure in recreation on green fields.

McKinstry has written some fine books about sportsmen, including a joint study of Jack and Bobby Charlton. His cricketing subjects include Jack Hobbs, the first cricketer to be knighted and Geoffrey Boycott. This portrait of a gifted and not particularly pleasant man adds another feather to his hat. 

Edrich, you may think after reading this biography, was a batsman who would have enlivened two hours of anybody’s afternoon. Equally he was not a man to be trusted with wine, women or song after 9pm.