by Abhishek Mukherjee
“If it is not true it ought to be; it certainly observes the highest order of truth, which is truth to character.” – Neville Cardus.
“I reckon Mr Cardus invented me.” – Emmott Robinson.
It is impossible to choose my favourite Neville Cardus lie, so I decided to open Christopher O’Brien’s Cardus Uncovered (the ultimate collection), selected a random number using Microsoft Excel, and picked the lie from the corresponding page. Or, as it turned out in one case, the lie immediately following that page.
Emmott Robinson: The man and the picture oblivious of the halo painted by Cardus
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The Emmott Robinson lie
Make no mistake: Emmott Robinson was an outstanding bowler at the county level. But even then, it was Cardus who turned Emmott Robinson into a Yorkshire cult figure. Cardus was from Manchester, home of Lancashire cricket, and obviously watched innumerable Roses matches.
It was uncharacteristic, the way Robinson – unglamorous, workmanlike, accurate, relentless military-medium-pace-bowling Robinson – captured Cardus’ imagination. Cardus typically lionised attractive cricketers; he did not care much for men who catered to the black oblong figure-clad structures he classified as members of the Equus africanus asinus family.
And yet… “Robinson seemed to be made out of the stuff of Yorkshire county. I imagine that the Lord one day gathered a heap of Yorkshire clay and breathed into it and said: ‘Emmott Robinson, go on and bowl at the pavilion end for Yorkshire.’”
Cardus, for whatever reason, was hell-bent on creating the ubiquitous Yorkshire cricketer out of Robinson. And he succeeded.
But we are digressing. Let us return to a Cardus quote on Robinson, and – who else, given that this is a Yorkshire story? – Wilfred Rhodes. This is from the July 25, 1935 issue of The Spectator:
“Emmott Robinson and Rhodes liked to walk on a Leeds wicket before a match began and examine the turf. They would press and cajole it tenderly with their fingers. ‘It’d be sticky at four o’clock, Emmott,’ Rhodes would say. ‘No, Wilfred,’ Emmott’s reply would be, ‘half past!’”
He repeated the story in Manchester Guardian (April 18, 1936).
O’Brien theorises: “The idea had arisen back in 1934 when, following the early closure of a Yorkshire innings against Lancashire at Sheffield, Cardus fancied that Robinson would have favoured a later declaration as he had a special gift of knowing at what time a wicket would become helpful.”
He then wrote the following in Robinson’s obituary in Wisden in 1970: “One day, at Headingley, rain soaked the field, then the sun shone formidably. After lunch Emmott and Rhodes walked out to inspect the pitch. Arrived there, Rhodes pressed the turf with a forefinger and said, “It’ll be sticky at four o’clock, Emmott.” Whereat Emmott bent down and also pressed the turf with a forefinger. ‘No, Wilfred,’ he said, ‘half-past’.”
So far, so good. The quotes more or less corroborate. It is to be noted that all these pieces were generally Robinson-centric.
Now, in a tribute to Rhodes in Guardian on October 31, 1972, Cardus reversed the roles of the characters. Thus, Rhodes, and not Robinson, got the half-past-four punchline. This obviously raised suspicion: who said what?
In the August 23, 1974 issue of The Spectator, Cardus added more meat to the anecdote. He narrowed down the incident to a Roses match. He also added that he had accompanied the two men to the pitch inspection.
Now comes the fun bit. Cardus mentioned Rhodes predicting “four o’clock” here, in other words, he took a U-turn. Then came the punchline: “I put words into his [Robinson’s] mouth that God intended him to utter.”
Yes, he had made it all up. He used the lie several times, then changed it, then changed it back – over almost four decades.