Lords, June 1910

Let’s go back to the afternoon of June 16, 1910. Middlesex, buoyed by recent triumphs, are testing the resolve of Yorkshire. The venue is Lord’s. How fortunate we are that the lens of history has captured the scene, and how fortunate I am to have acquired a copy—even if, as an ardent Yorkshire supporter, this is a season I tend to skim past. 
Coming into this match, the northerners have stumbled thrice in succession, an aberration almost without parallel in their storied history. Middlesex, having won the toss, are batting first, but have struggled to make headway against Yorkshire’s disciplined bowling. The standout contributor is J.W. Hearne, just turned nineteen, who holds the fort with the quiet poise of modest youth. His innings of 48 is a warranty that time and experience will mold him into greatness. But George Herbert Hirst has time and experience and greatness already—and is not to be denied. Here he sends Hearne’s stumps flying. The crowd is just 4,000, limited by a cold wind and the counter-attractions of Ascot, but this moment rings through the stands like the tolling of a bell. In the foreground, between Hearne and the umpire, we catch a rare glimpse of the Yorkshire opening batsman James Rothery, his face a portrait of glee. It is pleasing to see him enjoying himself; this is to be his final season.
Middlesex’s 240—respectable, yet suggestive of missed opportunities—give Yorkshire their reply. Rothery and the indefatigable Wilfred Rhodes take the crease, but Rothery’s stay is brief, leaving Rhodes to anchor the innings. By the close of play, the scoreboard reads 119 for two.Victory ultimately favours Yorkshire, though only by the slimmest of margins: Two wickets separate victor from vanquished. By season’s end, however, Middlesex find themselves third, while the White Rose has fallen to eighth. Amid the wreckage of Yorkshire’s season, Hirst stands out like a beacon, finishing with 1,840 runs and 164 wickets. A man of inexhaustible spirit, he will not retire until 1920.Rothery’s story extends little beyond the war. Injured in service, he bears with dignity the wounds that will bring his days to a premature close in 1919. Hearne’s journey stretches much further: An all-rounder to rival Hirst himself, he plays twenty-four Tests, and accumulates 37,252 first-class runs to go with 1,839 wickets. Every picture tells a story, and this one is especially eloquent. It speaks of the forgotten dramas of an English afternoon—of promises and farewells, of legacies yet to be built and others already crumbling into memory.