Dear Editor,
‘The ramblings of the King of Kensington Castle’ by cricket historian Roger Seymour was a wonderful and gripping human interest piece that arrested my attention (Sunday Stabroek, August 28, 2016). I am not one of those fanatical followers of cricket matches – no way, not me! ‒ although I do follow exciting matches whenever they come around. But I’m always captivated by those man-in-the-street cricket sahibs, who keenly follow these games and the itinerary of the West Indies team every step of the way. They will possess a chest-full of statistics, information and a detailed history of every single match; they will know their performance as a team and can give a thorough account of every member who played.
Always I’m mesmerized by these gifted brothers who would school anyone without a stutter. And what really gets me is how they keep in their heads the endless stack of records of these encounters with rival teams, and in chronological order to boot. Further, this knowledge is not limited to the splendid and ugly files of victories and defeats of the West Indies team alone, but about the game and history of cricket as a whole. And so in their heads are the data relating to cricket teams around the world.
Editor, unlike some of Roger Seymour’s previous presentations which I would pick apart for the reason mentioned above, this one was meant to be read. That photograph of King Dyal, resplendent in his brightly coloured suit accentuated by white accessories ‒ shoes, gloves, kerchief, buttonhole, bow-tie and hat ‒ standing tall, with cane in one hand and a pipe in the other was a magnet. I spent some time figuring out that photograph, and had long made up my mind the piece must be read. One has to admit that it is nothing short of entertainment the way in which the king recalls events ‒ names, day and dates, time of the day ‒ and gives a colourful narration of every nuance of action that occurred on the day with startling accuracy. Now, that for me is class – total recall: “Christiani from BG get LBW on 99 pun he debut”; “De fus time deh play ah test in May hey was ’55 against de Australians when Clyde mek all dem hundred, Benaud clean bowl him in de second innings for 83”. Fantastic! This is a feat that cannot be achieved sans a nimble brain. These people are historians in their own right, endowed with an extraordinary memory. His descriptive witty expressions were smack-on. About Gavaskar he says: “Only me and the wicketkeeper didn’t bowl to him”. About Hanif Mohammed who batted for three days: “Hanif bat and bat and bat, ah know ah fall asleep … he must be the only man who was awake fuh that innings.”
I heard a number of similar stories of such remarkable characters from the celebrated village of Buxton. These people are talented in a big way; time must be spent perfecting what they do. It is true that some may be blessed with an elephantine memory, but still they must acquaint themselves with the necessary stats and information. For whatever reason characters like King Dyal can be found throughout the Caribbean, whom ordinary folks adore and who mimic to the letter the mannerisms of our colonial masters. I was amused when the King said: “My subjects never understand me”; “January ’60 first test match against my people from England”; “When you are a king there are certain privileges that come with the territory …”
For me Dyal wasn’t playing when he said: “If these Bajans were as cultured as us British Royals …” he is dead serious; he believes it; he truly sees the Queen as his distant cousin! This reminds me so much of a fellow I knew some years ago who was his equal in terms of his doting admiration for the British and Americans. the Queen and President of the USA to him were gods and the rightful rulers of the world; he never ventured beyond the village of his domicile on the West Coast of Berbice but spoke with a deep American accent always – no creole, no country talk – no Sir! He followed world politics only in so far as “his people,” the British and Americans were involved.
Certainly Kensington ramblings was a grand piece of human interest narrative; an entertaining cricket story nicely dramatized which should be treasured and revisited by cricket lovers for the pleasure of reading, relaxation and mental therapy. At 96 and never worked a day in his life, wow! Roger Seymour’s imagination did soar.
Yours faithfully,
Frank Fyffe
