The Catching Cradle
Joy was a slip-catch cradle
But I needed to be alone
At one end, however many mates
Stood opposite, waiting, tense…
Joy was making the catches,
Yet I had to remain alert:
The slim lathes of lengths of ash
Diverted balls at angles immense…
Joy was throwing the missiles,
Thus one’s aim became acute:
The harsh ball lashed against the wood,
One’s concentration taut, intense…
Joy was diving, leaping about
And my reactions, although innate,
Improved, despite cuts and bruises,
The hurt overriding all good sense…
Pete Ray
January 2016
Loved the ‘catching cradle’ when at school. Didn’t really need to play a cricket match, just practise with or without my wicketkeeper’s gloves on and leap about catching the seamed red ball chucked at and diverted by the lathes on the frame…
Now that was joy…
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