By Arthur Mailey
Arthur Mailey's vintage autobiography, first released in 1958, is a wry and interesting account by way of a skilled cricketer from a really varied era—full of zest, various, quickly, transferring the purpose of assault, occasionally extravagant, usually incredible and regularly considerate. For 50 years, Arthur Mailey performed and watched top quality cricket. in the course of his attempt occupation he performed opposed to a few of the greats, and on one amazing social gathering brushed aside his idol, Victor Trumper, to his rapid remorse: "I felt like a boy who had killed a dove." it is a reminder of the distinction days of cricket—amateurs and pros, Bradman, Noble, and Trumper batting, and Barnes, O'Reilly, and Fleetwood-Smith with the ball.
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Additional info for 10 for 66 and All That
Opposing my hero ore unemployment—and still I carried a cricket ball as I trudged the streets. I had drifted into a lower grade of cricket, though it was still of a fairly good standard, and I was told by some of my team-mates that I was capable of bowling a very dangerous ball. It didn’t come up as often as it should, but it might lead to something. However, I should be well advised to lessen the spin and concentrate on length. I was flattered that my fellow cricketers should think that even a few of the balls I delivered had devil in them.
I made an effort and slapped the paper open at the fateful page. Although there was a mass of print before my eyes the names of the team hit me as if they were printed in headline size. MAILEY, NSW . . yes, I was in. I cannot be sure whether I reassembled the water meter. After all, it was thirty-six years ago. Perhaps the poor old lady in the cottage hasn’t had any water since. But I do remember what happened in the tram-car on the way home. All the men on the tram were greedily devouring their papers.
What reputation he had was vindicated a few weeks later. Willie, the village hag’s son, working in the same factory scalded his legs when carrying an urn of boiling tea up a flight of stairs. After weeks of unemployment owing to his injuries he returned to the factory and made a personal claim for compensation. ’ roared the boss. ’ By comparison Simon Legree was a gentleman. During my unemployment I often walked to the Sydney Domain—about three miles from my home—where I knew men from adjacent offices would be practising in the nets.