by Arunabha Sengupta

30 June 1953.
England had not won a home series against Australia for 27 years. By the start of the fifth day of the second Test at Lord’s the tradition seemed destined to continue.

Set 343 to win, England had tottered at 20 for three at the end of Day Four, having lost Len Hutton, Don Kenyon and Tom Graveney. On the final morning, after a stubborn 33, Denis Compton was trapped in front by a vicious low ball from Johnston. 73 for 4. End in sight. All but one of the specialist batsmen gone, an all-rounder walking out. Aeons still left in the match.

The specialist batsman was Willie Watson. Debut for England in 1949, but in a different sport. It was against Northern Ireland for the England football side. The following year, he made it to Brazil as a part of the England World Cup squad. He was not fielded as a player, with the English think tank opting for a defensive rather than an attacking wing-half. He played four times for the country. Then he became a batsman for England.

He was joined at the wicket by Trevor Bailey, with all-round skills were as pronounced or more. He had been part of the 1952 FA Amateur Cup winning Walthamstow Avenue. And on the cricket field he excelled in all departments. “A capable number five or six batsman,” wrote the 1950 Wisden, adding what seems curious to the ones who knew him later. “He is an attractive stroke-player, with fondness for the cut, but can score freely with the drive and leg side strokes.”
And of course, he was a splendid medium pacer.
On this day, he would reinvent himself … as the Barnacle.

There were Lindwall, Miller, Benaud, Davidson, Ring and Johnston. A side loaded with all-rounders, Australia had plenty of bowling options. Several of them genuine greats.

But at one end was the poker faced left-handed Yorkshireman, never a frown of anxiety, most often the jaw set tight. At the other was the right-handed man from Essex, capless, the sheen of his dark hair glinting in the sun, his eyes blinking rather like those of a mole emerging into the light.
Watson was elegant in his resistance. Bailey simply got his front foot out to the pitch of the ball, stuck his nose down and looked as if he would not budge for a squadron of tanks, let alone the Australian attack.
Watson once in a while allowed himself a radiant smile. Most often he was expressionless. And for all Bailey’s stubborn defence, he was gregarious enough to pop inquiring glances and discuss everything under the sun with the close in fielders.

Lunch. England 116, Watson 54, Bailey 10. New ball at three, England on 163 for four, the two rooted like pillars. At four, England 183 for four, Watson 84, Bailey 39. Lindwall hit Bailey on the hand. Painful. After tea Watson snicked Davidson just short of Hole in the slips. Otherwise they just kept going.

A vehement sweep off Ring whistled past on onrushing Benaud at a catchable height to give Watson his hundred. He waved his bat slightly in acknowledgement of the cheers.

As the score crossed 200 and then 225, there was a suggestion from Watson that they should go for the 343-run target. Bailey simply turned his back and walked away

The partnership between Watson and Bailey lasted from 12.42 pm to 5.50 pm, a period that kept the country on tenterhooks and the Australians on the verge of lunacy.

Then Watson, at 109, snicked Ring via his pad to Hole. Even the tormented Aussies cheered him. The members in the pavilion rose like one. 236 for five.
Ten runs later, Bailey drove Ring to the cover-point, and Benaud clutched the ball near his midriff. According to Essex teammate and life-long friend Doug Insole, “For what seemed an eternity, Bailey stood, swayed slightly to and fro, as if from shock, and then drew his gloved hand across his forehead in a gesture of despair.” He was mortified at his lapse of concentration. Even Wisden reported, “Bailey’s annoyance was plain for us to see.” He at last walked back for 71, scored in well over four and quarter hours.

Freddie Brown and Godfrey Evans and then Evans and Johnny Wardle saw England to a draw through the last 35 minutes of knuckle cracking and nail gnawing tension.

It was late that day when Sir Donald Bradman left the Lord’s Press box. “If we get another Test Match like this I shan’t be able to stand the strain,” he summed up the situation.