Only twice in history — in 1926 and 1953 — have England regained the Ashes in the final Test match at the Oval. No knowing, of course, if 2005 will be the third time, for this is being written on the eve of this weekend’s nerve-racking conclusion to our heady cricketing summer. In 1893, Dr Grace’s men won back the Ashes by playing out a canny draw in the last Test at Old Trafford, and nine years later the fabled denouement at Kennington in 1902 — Jessop’s match when Hirst and Rhodes got ’em in singles — was, in fact, only a consoling victory because Australia had already retained the urn with victories at Sheffield and Manchester. Nevertheless, the flag-waving frenzies surrounding that match under the same south London gasometers galvanised the nation just as stirringly as it has done 103 summers later. I know, because I once met a man who was there when the irrepressible Gloucester hitter ‘Croucher’ Jessop went to his match-turning century — the twinkling playwright, ancient Ben Travers: ‘As Jessop made his stroke dozens of straw boaters were sent sailing from the crowd like boomerangs. Unlike boomerangs they failed to return to the owners. But who cared? England’s victory caused a sudden tidal wave of public jubilation, in sentiment an echo of the recent unprecedented exultations of Mafeking Night …When by some means long forgotten I managed to arrive back home from the Oval that evening, there was my father waiting to welcome me in the open doorway, his arms outstretched in mutual rejoicing.’
In 1926, like now, the England team came to the Oval to avenge a string of clobberings, having won only once in 15 Tests. For the decider, they recalled the same Yorkie, Rhodes, now a gnarled, knowing greybeard of 49, to partner with the ball a strapping young Nottinghamshire miner, the gale-force Larwood, just 21.
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