CRAIG BROWN: How a cricket match knocked Dickie Attenborough for six

CRAIG BROWN: How a celebrity cricket match of politicians vs actors knocked Dickie Attenborough for six

Farewell, then, Nadine Dorries and Boris Johnson, who both occupied the fuzzy no-man’s-land between politics and celebrity. Having made their names on television, it is to television that they will now return.

We tend to view as new the drift of politics into celebrity, and vice-versa, but it has been going on for decades.

‘I took part in a cricket match (the first for 40 years!) this afternoon,’ wrote Harold Macmillan, the then Foreign Secretary (and later Prime Minister) in his diary on September 11, 1955. ‘The Lord Chancellor, the Foreign Secretary, the Home Secretary, the Minister of Labour were the stars. The actors were partly real actors, and partly film and TV notabilities.’

This celebrity cricket match took place at East Grinstead, West Sussex. It’s interesting ‘Supermac’ described the politicians as the stars, because many of the actors taking part that day were in fact much starrier: John Mills, Douglas Fairbanks, Richard Attenborough, Rex Harrison.

You can see a brief Pathe News report of this cricket match on YouTube. It’s like a real-life version of a sketch by Harry Enfield.

Dickie Attenborough had to be carried away on a stretcher by members of the St John Ambulance service

To jaunty brass band music, a plummy-voiced commentator says: ‘A Politicians XI meets a Stage team including John Mills and Richard Attenborough, whose wives are there to watch, at East Grinstead!’

We see Mills bowling to Lt-Col Walter Bromley-Davenport MP, who is now a forgotten figure but was famous at the time for his loud voice and bullish manner. A fierce Conservative, he used to startle new Labour MPs who had just risen to make a speech by screaming: ‘Take your hands out of your pockets!’

How swiftly even the most colourful politicians pass into obscurity!

‘Colonel Davenport and Lord Hawke snatch a couple, and now Leo Genn has a go at the Colonel, who sends it towards Dickie Attenborough!’

Suddenly, there is commotion.

‘But Dickie’s down! The ball has struck his face!’

The Pathe News commentator says this with a chuckle, though the next shot is of Attenborough out cold, with a crowd around him.

‘Luckily, plastic surgeon Sir Archibald McIndoe was in the crowd and took charge!’

Writing in his diary on September 11, 1955, Harold Macmillan said: ‘I took part in a cricket match (the first for 40 years!) this afternoon. The Lord Chancellor, the Foreign Secretary, the Home Secretary, the Minister of Labour were the stars. The actors were partly real actors, and partly film and TV notabilities.’

The Pathe report shows the professional Denis Compton (pictured) who was playing for the actors, bowling out David Maxwell Fyfe

Attenborough is carried away on a stretcher by members of the St John Ambulance service. ‘A nasty knock — but no permanent damage!’ chortles the commentator, and then it’s back to the game.

Macmillan doesn’t mention this accident in his diary. Instead, he places himself at the centre of attention. ‘It was quite an amusing performance — my gay (and patched) trousers (I had no white ones) seemed to amuse the Press and public . . . I made two runs, and then hit my own wicket — which amused everyone.’ The next day, his diary begins: ‘The Press is full of our cricketing exploits! My trousers fill the headlines.’

The Pathe report shows the professional Denis Compton, who is playing for the actors, bowling out David Maxwell Fyfe, the Lord Chancellor who had been raised to the peerage as Viscount Kilmuir the year before.

Actors are often considered bitchy, but they have nothing on politicians. Seven years later, Lord Kilmuir would be sacked by Macmillan in the famous ‘Night of the Long Knives’. When he complained to the PM that he was being dismissed with less notice than he would give a cook, Macmillan replied that it was easier to get a Lord Chancellor than a good cook.

The next batsman is the slapstick comedian Richard Hearne, aka ‘Mr Pastry’, who, even as a child, I found almost painfully unfunny.

The wound to Dickie Attenborough’s (pictured in 1993 film Jurassic Park) face required 12 stiches 

‘Mr Pastry believes in being prepared and keeping the field in order!’ laughs the commentator. Mr Pastry sports a mini-umbrella for a hat, and makes a big to-do of banging the grass with his bat, then pretending to hit the wicket-keeper over the head with it.

‘Now John Mills has a go!’ says the commentator. ‘But not for long! Hard luck! Anyway, it’s beginning to rain, and the match ends in a draw!’

The report closes on a shot of women covering their heads with newspapers. ‘Stop press on Dickie Attenborough — he’s doing fine!’

In fact, my researches tell me that the wound to Dickie Attenborough’s face required 12 stitches.

Today, this would lead any news bulletin, but in those stuff-and-nonsense times, 12 stitches were regarded as little more than a scratch and nothing to fuss over — just as MPs given the boot were expected to take it on the chin, and stop whining.

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