There are few settings in the cricketing world more imposing than the Honourable Artillery Company Ground. Nestled amidst the towers of the City, its majestic outfield, a road of a pitch (more on that later), and a gaggle of Peckers set the stage for this declaration game of cricket. HAC, the oldest regiment in the British Army and considered the second-oldest military unit in the world, hosted its first game of cricket back in 1730. To play here is a privilege, so thanks must go to Fixtures Secretary Runky, coordinating as ever from Madeira, darling.

The match was scheduled for 12:30 in declaration format. As of the previous day, we were still two players short thankfully Greasy stepped up, fresh from his five-for, and Fingers dragged along his pedalo mate Tolga, both of whom apparently plan to pedal their way from Spain to Africa. Ask them when you see them next. Hopefully after Peckers v Peckers. With XI confirmed at the final hour, the toss went up. POB called correctly and deferred to HAC, who elected to bowl much to Trass’s delight, since it meant he could sneak a watch of Man City losing 2-0.

Birthday boy Bison and Mole strode out with expectation after Bison’s knock at Kew. What followed was a rollercoaster of drama, resilience, and fireworks, ending with the Peckers posting a formidable 269 on what proved to be a road of a pitch, true for the most part, with the odd one keeping low.

It began with a jolt. Bison never looked comfortable and was bowled for just 6, his middle stump rattled and HAC celebrating. But if they thought they’d cracked the Peckers’ top order, they were wrong.

Fingers arrived and immediately took command after pulling his pants up. Crisp drives, brutal pulls, and an aura of control left HAC helpless. He raced to fifty, then powered on to a magnificent century, retiring on 100 to a round of photo ops and perhaps in need of a fresh pair of trousers. He cracked open multiple cans of San Miguel, job emphatically done, a young Rod Marsh comes to mind. He rode is luck and was dropped twice, in cricket you create your own luck and today Fingers had it in spades.

With the platform set, Mole dug in for a gritty 73. Where Fingers was flamboyant, Mole was measured, anchoring the innings until finally trapped LBW. His knock once again provided the backbone, a theme in a season where collapses have been all too familiar.

The middle order flickered but faltered. Mama Cass, under scrutiny, answered with a battling 26 and five boundaries(Bison and Chef had given Mama Cass a net session so he didn’t choke out in the middle).Beetle looked dangerous before skying one for 19. Kwakka, bat still too heavy for a marsupial, perished playing the same shot that undid him at Brook for 2. Angry Greasy was run out for 9 after chaos in the middle. Enter Trass.

Trass, full of swagger, made 15 before another fiery send-off or should that be “BYE BYE”? History repeats: the same fate befell him here two years ago when he was told to “enjoy his day out.” POB chipped in 11 before his stumps were flattened, as he departed he told me to go downtown. Debutant Tolga etched his name in folklore with a streaky but glorious boundary first ball, he took guard exposing his stumps compounding the frustration for HAC. Chef rounded things out with a feisty 12, launching one “downtown” in a show of loyalty to Trass.

Tolga’s nick for four!

When the dust settled, we had 269 built on Fingers’ brilliance and Mole’s grit, and Tolga’s edge for four.

Greasy,Chef,POB,Bison,Moleman
Mamma,Kwakka,Trass,VW,Fingers,Tolga

Tea Break

A mixture of sandwiches, vegan frittata, pâté, coleslaw, and a summer berry biscuit. Served not in the Queen’s Room, alas, but in the tent washed down with rose water and tea.

Set 269, HAC openers Hill and Haines strode out confidently. Hill batted with freedom, racing to 30 before nicking off to Beetle, smartly taken by Mole. Mohammed followed for 15, undone by Trass, with Bison taking the catch. Chandra was lured into a false stroke by Kwakka’s loop, departing for 7. Kwakka then claimed the vital Leghal for 44.

The killer blow came when Bison, enjoying his birthday in style, dismissed the dogged Haines for 47. Haines later admitted to Chef he had only ever made fifty three times, and falling short again was “awful.”

The fielding was electric. Tolga, spikeless shoes skidding across the turf, flung himself about like a slip-n-slide, saving runs. Beetle was sharp all day. Drinks brought a shuffle: Mole passed the gloves to Fingers.

But after drinks, HAC shut up shop. Defensive prods and padded blocks replaced ambition. Frustration grew. Greasy fresh of his fifer was unlucky, I offered some bowling advice about full deliveries on a flat pitch but he was unreceptive. Do we offer the Old Trafford handshake, or keep hammering? The latter.

Trass and Kwakka were recalled, no joy. POB tried with his bruised fingers but no luck. Beetle banged in short ones, semi-cautioned for his troubles. The only “crowd” was a wandering Gurkha guard, but the Peckers wanted wickets. Kwakka getting a well earned 2 wickets.

Enter Chef. With his final over his 11th he rolled back the years. A sharp short ball drew a fend, and POB at square leg redeemed himself after an earlier drop, pouching a neat catch. The spark returned.

The final over went to Moleman, who surprised everyone by generating real pace with what might diplomatically be described as a “questionable” action. He trapped Boynton LBW to close HAC’s innings at 184/7 from 46 overs. Our cause wasn’t helped by four dropped catches: Bison shelled both a straightforward chance and a bullet in the slips, Fingers missed one behind the stumps, and the skipper put down a fizzer at mid-on. Perhaps the cricketing gods weren’t with us in the field a touch of irony, given that this was the week the great Bob Simpson passed away, a man renowned for his slips catching and fielding drills. Next week, in his honour, we’ll aim to hold on to everything that comes our way, Mutley is keeping so watch this space.

Aftermath

The Peckers batted for 41 overs; HAC managed 46. The chase never really materialised—survival became the order of the day. We walked off frustrated but proud. The skip may have regretted his deferment, but in truth you can never know how the opposition will play. In my humble opinion, we mixed things up, had a laugh, and stayed true to the spirit of being a Pecker. After all, the last time we played here in 2023, we bowled them out for just 61.

From there, it was on to Finch’s for a few quick ales. Chef hopped onto the Northern Line, Angry Greasy mounted a Lime bike, and the rest marched on to Tayyab’s for a fiery curry where the real post-match analysis was served, alongside naan and lager, I’m told the poppadom’s were not up to par.

Next up Teddington.