The Ashes are burning bright all right. A lot of cricket still to play. Two Tests remaining — the fourth begins at Nottingham on Thursday, and how might things stand as they go for the grandest of finales at Kennington on 8 September? The series has easily outstripped its ballyhoo billing, every dramatic switch and swash pinning back the ears of the nation. ‘What’s the score?’ is the ubiquitous question. In every high street you see huddles of the citizenry pausing on pavements, fretfully to peer through the plateglass shopfronts of premises which sell television sets. A month ago the Australian captain, with disdainful sauce, reckoned that only a solitary Englishman — Flintoff — was worthy even to challenge for a place in any combined XI made up of the two teams. Now Trescothick, Strauss, Vaughan, Pietersen, Harmison and even the Welsh bowler Jones would demand a game alongside big Freddie. Nor would Ponting captain this imaginary side: tactically, Vaughan’s controlling calm has shown up the Aussie gum-chewer at almost every turn so far.
And so to Nottingham. Might the whole thing be settled there? If so, there is no better field for it. Trent Bridge, with its knowing crowd, is my favourite of England’s ‘out grounds’ especially basking in the sun, with sweet breezes from the river. Trent Bridge is trim and businesslike, yet still with a pastoral air; the reverie of cricket’s heritage always pervades. John Arlott said a distinguishing pleasure of Trent Bridge was always its fond welcome to veteran players, those ancients who once adorned in their flannels the famous field — and on Thursday morning we shall once again sniff the aura and savour those spirits…. Parr and Carr and the Gunns, Larwood and Voce, the two Harrises and the handsome Hardstaffs, Hadlee and Keeton and the engaging Retford ragamuffin Randall.
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