In a fit of randomness on a thread that is doomed to oblivion, I began rambling aimlessly about the Essex and S. Africa cricketer Ken McEwan. I rated Ken very highly, having watched him bat on numerous occasions. One or two YACFers from the other end of Africa became engaged in this dialogue.
Ken was next-door-neighbour to a colleague of mine, a certain Andy Grant. Andy was Head of PE at my first school and helped me a lot in the first couple of years of my teaching career. Andy told me a lot about Ken - how he was a "victim" of the apartheid era and was pretty well unable to do anything menial for himself because he had always had black servants to do stuff for him. Andy had helped Ken a lot as well, in basic household maintenance stuff, e.g. fuse mending, or simply keeping an eye on Ken's house in Westcliff when he was off to South Africa or Australia for his winter's cricket. Andy himself had been a very accomplished sportsman, having represented Scotland at hockey and having been selected to represent GB at gymnastics for the 1948 Olympics - but having been unable to take part in the latter because he couldn't afford the fare from his home in Aberdeen to London!
At the end of the 1970s, Andy was looking to get out of PE. He was approaching 50 and wanted to spend the last 15 years of his career in a pastoral role. This did not come easily to him.
In 1979, Essex won the B & H cup and Ken put in a stunning batting display for his 72, eclipsed only by Gooch's 120. Essex beat Surrey by 35 runs in a wonderful day's cricket.
In 1980, Essex were back again, this time against Northants. I had tickets once again, but it pissed down and not a ball was bowled on the Saturday. Everything was put off to the Monday. Andy of course had free tickets courtesy of Ken. During the previous week, Andy had had a particularly stressful week in school, trying to keep discipline during the annual Sports Day. The kids ran riot and he had no control. Late on the Saturday night, Andy died of a heart attack. He was 51.
On the Monday, I arrived in school, wondering how I could reasonably take the afternoon off to go to Lords, but everyone in the staff room was dumbstruck by the news about Andy. Attending a cricket match was out of the question.
For the record, Ken McEwan, normally a scintillating and free-flowing batsman, got very bogged down at one end, couldn't score any runs, and Essex lost a match which I am sure, but for the death of my mate Andy Grant, they would have won.
The following term, I was given a temporary promotion as Head for First Year, a post previously occupied by Andy.
