The 1983 Cricketer Cup Ode

Wright's pace is very fearful; Hutton's hand is very high;

John Mountain has good judgement, and an admirable eye:

Charles Sayer's cool and clever, almost always on the spot:

Carr J.D.'s slows are often telling, though they sometimes catch it hot.

But however good their trundling - pitch, or pace, or break, or turn

Still the monarch of all bowlers to my mind is Peter Bradburn.

Though David Carr and Guyan Ralphs bowled straight and true and well,

Though Stubbs behind the wicket only Sale can excel;

Though James Ross, as third man, would but seldom grant a bye;

Though no novices in batting were the Willatts, John and Guy

Said the fine old Repton Pilgrims, with a fine old Pilgrim term

Why their ain't a man among them as can match Peter Bradburn.

Peter Gill is cool and cautious, with his safe and graceful play;

If Mark Richardson gets a loose one, he can send it far away.

You may bowl your best at Beckett, and whatever style you try

Will be vanquished by the Master's steady hand and certain eye.

But whatever fame and glory these and other bats may earn,

Still the monarch of hard hitters to my mind is Peter Bradburn.

And whatever is the issue of the frank and friendly fray

(Aye and often has his bowling turned the fortunes of the day)

Still the Repton men fought bravely, never losing hope or heart,

Every man of the Eleven glad and proud to play his part.

And with five such mighty cricketers 'twas but natural we won

As Hutton, Gill, Carr, Wright and Peter Bradburn.

You may praise the pluck of Pilch, as he plays an uphill match;

You may thunder cheers to Wesson, for a wondrous running catch;

You may join with me in wishing that the Square one and all

Shall resound with hearty plaudits to the praise of Frank Russell;

But the Pilgrims of Repton the match will hardly be won

Till they find another bowler, such as glorious Peter Bradburn.

With his tall and stately presence, with his nobley moulded form,

His broad hand is ever open, his brave heart is ever warm,

All are proud of him, all love him. As the changing seasons pass,

As our champion teaches overlooking the Paddock grass,

Proudly gladly we will name him, the man who played to earn

The Cricketer Cup in '83, kind and manly Peter Bradburn.

When the great Repton Pilgrims, full of pluck and hope began

The grand battle with Old Malvernians, single handed man to man,

How the Moet men watched their hero, massive, muscular and tall,

As he mingles with the players, like a King among them all;

Till to some Old Mitre enthusiasts it would seem an unconcern

To doubt their team's triumph when led on by Peter Bradburn.