Country Diary: Lake District

The outline of Black Combe soaring above Haverigg describes a trajectory like that of the steepling six struck by young cricketer Ryan Brown last bank holiday against this grand mountain setting. As I watched the ball take flight, the cracking shot fleetingly blanked out the embarrassment I had just felt after my attempt earlier that day to climb the combe. I had parked by the little church in the Whicham valley and laboriously made my way up the 1,970ft hill, reaching the upper slopes with its blush of pink-toned scree, only to rick my ankle while photographing the view. Looking close enough to touch from my bird's eye view was the Isle of Man seemingly just across a glittering, sunlit sea. Nearer at hand loomed the compound of HM prison at Haverigg, a more sombre note by far. And there almost adjacent was the village cricket field. To relieve the pain in my ankle, I resolved to make that my destination and rest it rather than hobble on upwards.

Haverigg was playing Millom in a local derby on the banks of the river Lazy. Suddenly the ball flew across the grass, thwacked into the wall and rebounded by my feet. As the perspiring fielder vainly following in pursuit stopped short, expecting me to lob the ball back to him, I found my limbs had seized-up thanks to my previous exertions on Black Combe and remained glued to the bench as if paralyzed. The crowd was reduced to silence as it took in this pitiful cameo, and the fielder was obliged to run the extra yards and wearily retrieve the ball himself. The six came later to win the match for Millom. Only as everyone drifted away was I finally able to stand upright at last without the probability of making a further exhibition of myself.