Assalaamo-3laekum
The third of this series looks at the batsmen’s gloves, and the evolution from the earliest gloves to the modern equipment used today. As with pads, there has not really been a massive amount of change in the design and style of this piece of gear – they pretty much got it right first time. However, as with all cricket equipment, the materials used to make the gloves has changed in recent times. To view the two previous instalments in this absolutely riveting sequence of cricket history
More so than with pads, or helmets, I feel that choosing one’s pair of cricket gloves is something that just feels ‘right’ to the individual. If they are too big the bat will feel lost in the gloves; if they are not padded enough you are terrified as soon as a ball starts to rear on you. They have to be perfect to the batsman.
As stated above, because the design has not really changed much in the past 60 years, there is not a great deal I can inform you, dear reader, about. Other than the difference in material used to make the little fella that stops your hand from exploding. However, during my research, I stumbled across this glove, from 1934:
One of the gloves worn by Jack Hobbs when he scored his 197th First Class century in 1934
it seems as if the green spiked leather mitt was the usual design of cricket glove up until the 1950s – slightly before my time. Minimal protection on the back of the hand, maximum grip. Though it does appear as if there is some protection on the fingers – clearly the peril of having the little finger crushed against the bat handle existed even in the 1930s.
This painting I found accompanying a poem by Arthur Conan Doyle, penned to celebrate the fact that he had winkled out WG in a match at Crystal Palace:
WG in a painting popping on a pair of gloves that resemble those worn by American Football players
The poem goes like this:
These are the kind of gloves that I remember from school – straight padding on each finger, with no flexibility. Usually, the palms would be brown or yellow from sweat of 5 previous pairs of hands having been inside them that afternoon.
And these are the modern gloves that can set you back in excess of £50. Heavily padded, with plenty of holes to allow air to reach your hands and cool them down. The segmented design of the fingers allows for plenty of flexibility and range of movements, in an attempt to recreate the movement that your knuckles allow your hands to do.
The third of this series looks at the batsmen’s gloves, and the evolution from the earliest gloves to the modern equipment used today. As with pads, there has not really been a massive amount of change in the design and style of this piece of gear – they pretty much got it right first time. However, as with all cricket equipment, the materials used to make the gloves has changed in recent times. To view the two previous instalments in this absolutely riveting sequence of cricket history
More so than with pads, or helmets, I feel that choosing one’s pair of cricket gloves is something that just feels ‘right’ to the individual. If they are too big the bat will feel lost in the gloves; if they are not padded enough you are terrified as soon as a ball starts to rear on you. They have to be perfect to the batsman.
As stated above, because the design has not really changed much in the past 60 years, there is not a great deal I can inform you, dear reader, about. Other than the difference in material used to make the little fella that stops your hand from exploding. However, during my research, I stumbled across this glove, from 1934:
One of the gloves worn by Jack Hobbs when he scored his 197th First Class century in 1934
it seems as if the green spiked leather mitt was the usual design of cricket glove up until the 1950s – slightly before my time. Minimal protection on the back of the hand, maximum grip. Though it does appear as if there is some protection on the fingers – clearly the peril of having the little finger crushed against the bat handle existed even in the 1930s.
This painting I found accompanying a poem by Arthur Conan Doyle, penned to celebrate the fact that he had winkled out WG in a match at Crystal Palace:
WG in a painting popping on a pair of gloves that resemble those worn by American Football players
The poem goes like this:
Once in my heyday of cricket,
One day I shall ever recall!
I captured that glorious wicket,
The greatest, the grandest of all.
One day I shall ever recall!
I captured that glorious wicket,
The greatest, the grandest of all.
Before me he stands like a vision,
Bearded and burly and brown,
A smile of good humoured derision
As he waits for the first to come down.
Bearded and burly and brown,
A smile of good humoured derision
As he waits for the first to come down.
A statue from Thebes or from Knossos,
A Hercules shrouded in white,
Assyrian bull-like colossus,
He stands in his might.
A Hercules shrouded in white,
Assyrian bull-like colossus,
He stands in his might.
With the beard of a Goth or a Vandal,
His bat hanging ready and free,
His great hairy hands on the handle,
And his menacing eyes upon me.
His bat hanging ready and free,
His great hairy hands on the handle,
And his menacing eyes upon me.
And I – I had tricks for the rabbits,
The feeble of mind or eye,
I could see all the duffer’s bad habits
And where his ruin might lie.
The feeble of mind or eye,
I could see all the duffer’s bad habits
And where his ruin might lie.
The capture of such might elate one,
But it seemed like one horrible jest
That I should serve tosh to the great one,
Who had broken the hearts of the best.
But it seemed like one horrible jest
That I should serve tosh to the great one,
Who had broken the hearts of the best.
Well, here goes! Good Lord, what a rotter!
Such a sitter as never was dreamt;
It was clay in the hands of the potter,
But he tapped it with quiet contempt.
Such a sitter as never was dreamt;
It was clay in the hands of the potter,
But he tapped it with quiet contempt.
The second was better – a leetle;
It was low, but was nearly long-hop;
As the housemaid comes down on the beetle
So down came the bat with a chop.
It was low, but was nearly long-hop;
As the housemaid comes down on the beetle
So down came the bat with a chop.
He was sizing me up with some wonder,
My broken-kneed action and ways;
I could see the grim menace from under
The striped peak that shaded his gaze.
My broken-kneed action and ways;
I could see the grim menace from under
The striped peak that shaded his gaze.
The third was a gift or it looked it-
A foot off the wicket or so;
His huge figure swooped as he hooked it,
His great body swung to the blow.
A foot off the wicket or so;
His huge figure swooped as he hooked it,
His great body swung to the blow.
Still when my dreams are night-marish,
I picture that terrible smite,
It was meant for a neighboring parish,
Or any place out of sight.
I picture that terrible smite,
It was meant for a neighboring parish,
Or any place out of sight.
But – yes, there’s a but to the story -
The blade swished a trifle too low;
Oh wonder, and vision of glory!
It was up like a shaft from a bow.
The blade swished a trifle too low;
Oh wonder, and vision of glory!
It was up like a shaft from a bow.
Up, up like a towering game bird,
Up, up to a speck in the blue,
And then coming down like the same bird,
Dead straight on the line that it flew.
Up, up to a speck in the blue,
And then coming down like the same bird,
Dead straight on the line that it flew.
Good Lord, it was mine! Such a soarer
Would call for a safe pair of hands;
None safer than Derbyshire Storer,
And there, face uplifted, he stands
Would call for a safe pair of hands;
None safer than Derbyshire Storer,
And there, face uplifted, he stands
Wicket keep Storer, the knowing,
Wary and steady of nerve,
Watching it falling and growing
Marking the pace and curve.
Wary and steady of nerve,
Watching it falling and growing
Marking the pace and curve.
I stood with my two eyes fixed on it,
Paralysed, helpless, inert;
There was ‘plunk’ as the gloves shut upon it,
And he cuddled it up to his shirt.
Paralysed, helpless, inert;
There was ‘plunk’ as the gloves shut upon it,
And he cuddled it up to his shirt.
Out – beyond question or wrangle!
Homeward he lurched to his lunch!
His bat was tucked up at an angle,
His great shoulders curved to a hunch.
Homeward he lurched to his lunch!
His bat was tucked up at an angle,
His great shoulders curved to a hunch.
Walking he rumbled and grumbled,
Scolding himself and not me;
One glove was off, and he fumbled,
Twisting the other hand free
Scolding himself and not me;
One glove was off, and he fumbled,
Twisting the other hand free
Did I give Storer the credit
The thanks he so splendidly earned?
It was mere empty talk if I said it,
For Grace had already returned.
The thanks he so splendidly earned?
It was mere empty talk if I said it,
For Grace had already returned.
That is unrelated. But awesome. And far more interesting than the history of cricket gloves, no?
Anyway.
Back to gloves.
Modern mitts are made of cloth, rubber, foam, cotton and with velcro straps to fasten them together. You may have noticed that in the thumbs of gloves, there is a load of foam stuffed down the end? This is stop your thumb rubbing through and wearing away at the material.
These are the kind of gloves that I remember from school – straight padding on each finger, with no flexibility. Usually, the palms would be brown or yellow from sweat of 5 previous pairs of hands having been inside them that afternoon.
And these are the modern gloves that can set you back in excess of £50. Heavily padded, with plenty of holes to allow air to reach your hands and cool them down. The segmented design of the fingers allows for plenty of flexibility and range of movements, in an attempt to recreate the movement that your knuckles allow your hands to do.And there we go. A fascinating look at the history of cricket gloves.
I can absolutely promise that the next two will be more interesting for they concern everyone’s two favourite piece of cricket equipment. The box and the bat. I’ll delve into the history of the abdominal guard so you don’t have to.