36. In Memoriam : Richard Gracey (with thanks to Ted Rose)

Richard Gracey died on 3rd December 2019, aged 83. He was, of course, a much loved husband, father and grandfather, and he remained a steadfast friend of Hilden Grange, having been Proprietor and Headmaster (1965 – 1986).

I first met Richard Gracey playing holiday cricket for the Bluemantle’s juniors at the Vine in 1952 or 3. Even at that age he had bits of him bandaged. That never changed.

We were on a pitch on the very edge of the square on the top side and Richard kept easing their bowlers up and over mid-wicket so that the balls went careering all the way down Seal Hollow road and the game stopped repeatedly while they found replacements. I was most impressed because that was a shot I never played at that age.

What allowed him to do so were his wonderful hands and good eye. He was quite brilliant at rackets. If you don’t know about it, imagine whacking a golf ball as hard as you can at a wall about forty feet away and then being in position to hit it again as it comes back --- provided it hasn’t killed you first.

So, he didn’t have to worry much about technique for batting. It gave his friends great joy and amusement the day before he got married when he was bowled first ball by a John Farrer googly straight through the gate: Bluemantles at Rye .

But his great cricketing skill was bowling his County class off spinners. Immaculate control of length and line, with subtle variations of pace and flight. Maurice Tate, in his old age had been the coach at Tonbridge and he said, “If nothing much is happening, just keep moving the seam around in your grip and you will find it will react differently in flight and off the pitch.” He was the most intensely competitive bloke I ever knew. He hated batsmen scoring off him and we had endless discussions over the years about field placing and managing the state of a match. My own bowling was designed to get the tailenders to commit suicide, so, slower, fuller and aimed more at middle and leg, rather than top of off.

Great fun, though. He claimed he selected boys for his school on the basis of their mother’s looks – provided they were good at sports.

A bit mad: we played Blackheath at the Rectory Field on a bank holiday and played lots of stupid games ‘till late at night. The following w/e he said he had nearly had a crash because he met a bus that was going the wring way round the roundabout outside the ground and had broken the gear lever of his Reliant Scimitar and had to use a length of piping over the shaft.

Cricketing days over and he switched to golf. Determined at that too!