by E Ford ISBN 13: 9781846930201
Published: Jan 2007
Pages: 163
Description

In this story the author has captured completely the feeling and dedication of a boy's involvement with his village cricket team.
It is in such a setting as Wilborne that many young people gain their interest in cricket, perhaps as the scorer in Tony's case, or helping out with the groundwork like his friend Bob.
Such a village setting was where I learned the art of cricket when I was no older than Tony, and watched by the author himself.
The book should be compelling reading for cricket lovers who find magic in the game, and the author has sprinkled a little magic of his own as you will discover throughout the pages.

About the Author

Ernest Ford was born in a small mining village halfway between the towns Of Bolton and Wigan in Lancashire, England, UK. His hometown of Westhoughton had reared in the past a number of sporting Personalities but also had links with former West End actress Jan Holden and was the birthplace of internationally known author and actor of the small and silver screen Robert Shaw.
It is amongst such a background of talent that Ernest Ford gained the inspiration to write as well. Taking up pen and paper his first foray into the literary sphere was to compose poems. This he did but was amazed to discover that he could write poems in his native dialect. His first poem in Lancashire dialect appeared in the glossy magazine Lancashire Life who requested more of his dialect material. From his dialect verse there came a request from his local newspaper to publish a series of his humorous dialect tales with great success plus a series on local history.

Other successes followed as a local folk group used his lyrics in their act and the words appeared as songs on T.V, stage and L.P's. His interesting features have been published in a number of glossy magazines and then followed the publication of various books.

Book Extract

Please note the short cameo was written by Michael Watkinson, Westhoughton C.C. Lancashire C.C.C and England.
The early morning sun shone lazily through the window of Tony's bedroom giving extra warmth to the gay pattern of the wallpaper. The village clock chimed the hour of nine as with both hands he grasped at the air, as if the freshness of it was going to lift him clear out of bed without the slightest effort from himself.
"Saturday! It's Saturday!"
He squirmed on top of the bedclothes with glee.
"Yippee! No school."
With delight, he rode the pillow as if it was a horse. Soon he found himself at the window, gazing across the hedgerow onto the green of the cricket field beyond. The little scorebox stood out like a fortress beneath the shadow of the pavilion,
"Another five hours to go, and then." he told himself. He just couldn't wait to take up his position inside the little box with his score book neatly placed before him. Fumbling in the drawer, he took out his treasured book and placed it on the bed. Slowly he began to turn over the pages.
Wilborne v Bryshore. Lost!
Cregan v Wilborne. Lost!
Wilborne v Dartley. Lost!
The sparkle soon disappeared from his eyes. "Someday I'm going to build myself a robot that will score for Wilborne. One that scores a win every game!"
Perhaps you think that it was one of Tony's idle boasts. But believe me, if Tony made up his mind to make a robot, then I certainly believe that he had the ability to do so. Who had the only front door in Wilborne that would open and shut just by the press of a button? Why Tony of course.
And who was the person responsible for this intricate gadget? Tony again!