The famous three: Frank Worrell, (left), Everton Weekes and Clyde Walcott (right), the most feared batting trio in the world in the early '50s, pictured at their last meeting in cricket flannels at Sabina Park in 1963.
This is the third of five extracts from the autobiography of legendary West Indian allrounder Sir Garfield Sobers. The fourth will be in tomorrow's Gleaner
THE WEST Indies were thrice blessed when Frank Worrell, Clyde Walcott and Everton Weekes came along in the same era. I was priviledged to play alongside all three of the great men. Known worldwide as the three Ws, they were all truly outstanding player.
Throughout the history of cricket, pundits and critics have tried to make comparisons between the three of them, but each had particular, distinctive qualities, which makes that hard to do. All three were world class and any failings can be measured against only the very, very best.
Frank was undoubtedly a great player but between the three of them I reckon Everton was marginally the best. Frank has always been described as elegant, beautiful and very controlled but he was never comfortable with the short-pitched delivery, the quick bouncer.
Anything medium paced and just above, he was at home with and would punish, but the really quick stuff from the highest quality fast bowler on a bouncy pitch would cause him difficulties. That doesn't mean he wasn't brave. He once said to me that he didn't mind how fast they bowled at him; once he had covered his face, he reckoned he had enough flesh on his body to take whatever they could throw at him.
It needed a bowler of the highest quality and pace to unsettle him, but I thought that was where he fell down a little bit as far as real greatness was concerned. He was very calculating and could read a match and bat on all types of wickets, but I believe that great players always control the game when they are batting, against all types of bowlers. Not taking full control of the short-pitched delivery from the really quick balls counted against him. Everton could do that; it didn't matter what you bowled to him. He had good technique, was a good hooker and had a good defence.
That was why, for me, he was just about the best of the three and was probably one of the best batsmen the West Indies ever produced.
Clyde Walcott was also a superb hooker. He had his very own style and was something special on bad wickets, probably because he was tall and a back-foot player who was able to control the ball. He hooked well but he did not have the range of shots nor the full control that Everton showed.
Nice people
On thing they all had in common was that they were nice people, and to have three players of that calibre in the dressing room was tremendous. They were not only great cricketers but also superb human beings, always willing to help others, particularly the youngsters.
I grew up watching top players at the Wanderers club, feeling my way into cricket and especially admiring the three Ws when they were all young players. Later on, they were not around that much during our domestic cricket season because they were usually away on your playing in Tests or in the Leagues in England. It was rare for them to play inter-island cricket, but we occasionally caught a glimpse of them. Our season didn't always run from May to December; sometimes it started later, which gave us a better opportunity to watch them. Eventually, I was able to mix with them and talk to them. They were always approachable and I found out what wonderful people they were. There was nothing snobbish about them and they were always ready to offer their help and advice.
I recall when I first went to Jamaica I was shy and would sit in the hotel lounge at nights or in my room watching television. If Clyde and Everton saw me on their way out, they would insist that I join them. More often than not we would to one of their many friends' homes for a meal and a few drinks. The Jamaicans were always very friendly and welcoming. The important thing was to get away from the hotel room and the game, and get out and meet new people. It helped relieve some of the pressure on a young lad and they were both aware of that.
I had followed Everton's progress from Barbados to the Test team in 1947-48, and seen him at the trials in 1953, but I didn't meet him until I played my first game for Barbados. After that, he often invited me around to his house and we became very close. He would sometimes pick me up in his car and take me home. Joan, his wife, would cook us a meal. Everton gave me my first bat and after he signed for Herbert Sutcliffe's company and was given them free, he would often pass on a couple to me.
There was only one bone of contention between us and that was a slight misunderstanding in our running between the wickets. He was run out on several occasions when we were batting together. There was a particular shot he played to midwicket. He would immediately call for a run and take off down the wicket. I would be watching and occasionally I would start off too late or say 'no' and he would finish up at the wrong end. But, typical of the man, he never showed my resentment or tried to offload the blame on me.
Opportunity
I relished the opportunity to sit down and talk with him when he returned from far-off places. He would regale me with stories, not just of the cricket but of the people and the culture as well. I especially loved to hear about India where he had first gone in 1948. In his early days, it was the tour no one wanted to go on. Players from many of the Test-playing countries simply would not make themselves available because of the heat, the living conditions and the food. He described what the players had to go through and generally how tough and arduous any tour of India was in those poineering days. By the time I went there in 1958, it had changed a great deal but he prepared me for the tough days - and there were still some of those. Today, India is a superb and fascinating place to visit and now everyone wants to go on that tour.
The poverty, of course, used to strike everyone who went there. Everton told me that often their cricket clothes would mysteriously disappear during the tour and then, on their way out of an area where they had previously played, they would see the fishermen wearing white flannels, shirts and West Indies sweaters.
To me, these were tales of the unknown and they gave me a flavour of what I hoped was to come my way, and encouraged me all the more to make the top grade. The thought of travel excited me intensely. You learn so much from travel and meeting people in their own environment. Everton's traveller's tales not only forewarned me of the problems I could face but excited me about my future.
His experience and wise counsel were invaluable. One example was when we were in the team that toured New Zealand in 1956 along with fellow Bajans Dennis Atkinson, who was captain of the West Indies, former captain John Goddard and Clairmonte Depeiza. I had been close to Dennis since our time together at Wanderers but one day we had serious words, but not so bad because I can't remember what they were about.
Some remark he made had not gone down well with me and I blew my top. Dennis became very upset because he had done so much for me. He went to Everton who told him that if he approached a youngster in that manner he could not expect any other sort of response. Everton came down firmly on my side, not just because it was me but because he had standards in the way he thought players should be handled, especially the seniors with the juniors. After any little spat like that he would work out a compromise to settle things down. Not only did he act as peacemaker but he also found the time to score three successive hundreds in that series.
Friendship
Everton was the one who stayed in Barbados and when I came back from England he was coaching the island team along with Seymour Nurse and Charlie Griffiths. When I had the opportunity to sit down and have a drink and talk to him, I was delighted to discover that the years had not changed him at all. Happily, our friendship has remained intact. We still meet for a game of dominoes - and he is a fair player at that, too.
I hadn't known Frank that well at home. He had played for Barbados in the early forties but by the time I made the step up, he had gone and was playing in Jamaica where he went to university. When I went to play league cricket at Radcliffe in 1958, I became a lot closer to him. He had been the previous professional at the club, spending three or four years there before moving on to play in the Staffordshire League. He lived on Bury Road in Radcliffe and was the only West Indian whom I knew in the area. He and his family were terrific, immediately opening their doors to me. His wife Velda told me straightaway that this was my home and anytime I wanted to come just to arrive, no need to call. I took her at her word and used to go there regularly to eat with them and play with their daughter Lana. Frank was a fascinating and intelligent man; he was studying hard at Manchester University for an economic degree at the time. He and I would talk for hours, not just about cricket but about life in general.
Of course, I picked his brains, particularly about playing in the Lancashire League. He would tell me about various players' characteristics, their strengths and their families. I suppose the name that cropped up most was that of the outstanding and eccentric Australian all-rounder Cecil Pepper. Cec was playing for Oldham and Frank warned me to watch him if he dropped anything short and not to play across the line because he had perfected the flipper, one of the best I've ever seen.
In my first game for Radcliffe against Oldham I was batting high in the order as the professional. We'd lost a couple of quick wickets so I was in earlier than I anticipated. It was the tradition that as soon as the professional came in, the opposing skipper would bring on his professional if he bowled and, sure enough, Cec came on straightaway.
He bowled a couple of leg-spinners that came into me and I played them. He bowled another and I played him across to midwicket; then he bowled a googly, which I played down the line. Then, suddenly, he whipped one in short and I was halfway through my shot when I remembered Frank's warning. I dropped my bat, the ball thumped into the middle of it and dropped at my feet. Cec came down the wicket, glared at me and said accusingly, 'You've been talking to that bloody Frank Worrell, haven't you?'
Frank knew his cricket very well. When everyone else was getting excited and things were happening, Frank was an oasis of calm. A typical example, was an incident in Adelaide in 1961, during the Fourth Test against Australia when the last Aussie pair, Lindsay Kline and Ken Mackay, batted right through to stumps, defying us for over 90 minutes. Norm O'Neil had been bowling to Kline in the nets before he came out and knocked him over four times out of every six balls, but although all of us tried - Wes Hall, Frank Worrell, me, Lance Gibbs, Alf Valentine and even Joe Solomon - none of us could winkle him out. He finished on 15 not out.
I must say I thought I had finished them off when I took a catch and we all started to walk back to the pavilion, even Frank. No one bothered appealing but the batsmen stood their ground, we stopped, somebody appealed and the umpire said not out. Some of us started to become a little agitated but Frank took charge of the situation, told us to cool down and said that there was still time to get one of them out. He was unruffled and the fact that we were unable to break the partnership left him outwardly untroubled, even though a wrong decision had cost us a victory.
In the famous tied Test in Brisbane, Wes Hall was bowling the last ball with Australia needing one run to win and the last pair at the crease It could not possibly have been tenser. Frank walked up to Wes and said to him, 'Now Wes, if you bowl a no-ball, you know you will never be able to go back to the West Indies? All of those five and a half million people will want to hang you!'
It was the perfect comment, light-hearted but with an underlying message for Wes to contemplate as he walked back. When he ran in to bowl, he made sure he planted his foot five feet behind the popping crease, just in case they had some belligerent, conniving umpire.
That was the type of man Frank was. He was always seemed to have the right word for the right moment. At the time of his death in March 1967 he was working his way back to Barbados. Sadly, he never made it.
I did not see nearly so much of Clyde. He was playing for Guyana and coaching for a sugar factory there when he retired. Clyde came back to Barbados later and worked for the Barbados Shipping and Trading Company, the largest company on the island, and also with the Barbados Cricket Association, eventually becoming president before he moved on once again.
He and I ran into problems on one occasion when he was a selector and I was recovering from a knee operation. I was also in the process of giving up the captaincy and the West Indies teams were being selected to play against Australia in 1972-73 and for the short series in England in 1973. It was all very unfortunate but we got over it, of course. I always found him to be a warm personality and a likeable man.
Extracted from GARRY SOBERS: MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY published in hardback by Headline Book Publishing and available from all good bookshops. Copyright (C) 2002 Sir Garfield Sobers.
