We’ve been doing far too many of these lately. Two more great characters of the game, Frank Tyson and Lindsay Kline, passed since we last went to print. Normally we’d run a tribute page, but sadly, our 98 pages were planned and commissioned long in advance.

Tyson was, to those who saw him and experienced his bowling, simply the fastest bowler in history for a short time. He exploded like a flare star, momentarily casting an exposing light over batsmen all over the cricket world, then faded just as quickly. With arrogance typical of our teched-up time, we have many disputing Tyson’s claim to that title, as they have Thomson’s. But set aside speed guns for a moment. They demystify none of the old arguments. Tyson was surrounded by some of history’s great quicks: Trueman, Statham, Lindwall, Miller, Adcock and Heine. He was noticeably faster than all of them. He came and went quickly, and Fred Trueman reclaimed his rightful place as England’s premier fast bowler, but for that short time, Tyson was an experience of fear and pain, regarded with trembling throughout the cricket world. He was frightening and, as his 18.56 average demonstrates, virtually untouchable.

When Tyson boarded the boat to Australia for the 1954-55 series, he was an outstanding fast bowler who’d recently felled the accomplished hooker, Bill Edrich, with a searing bouncer. But England was still on food rations after the war, and Frank was a mere slip compared with the powerhouse who disembarked a mere six weeks later, ten pounds heavier and ten yards faster.

He was a fleet, but fleeting, phenomenon, playing only 17 Tests, but his reign of terror is remembered by everyone who watched and experienced it.

He emigrated to Australia and emerged on our radios during ABC broadcasts, notable for his patrician tones and his eloquent and insightful summations and introductions to a day’s play; and then on Channel Nine, notable for all that plus his bulbous bonce. Then he turned his hand, sensibly and successfully, to coaching, journalism, schoolmastering and teaching literature – something he loved so much, even his sledges were Shakespearean, sometimes even Chaucerian. Now that’s inimitable!

Lindsay Kline was of an entirely different species. Kline was a very good bowler of Chinamen (left-arm wrist-spin) and an unremarkable batsman who happened to feature in several dramatic moments in his short career of 13 Tests. So much so, that even non-cricket followers remember his name. In the famous tied Test of 1960-61, Lindsay was the man who faced the last ball from Wes Hall’s final over of the match. Kline could barely bat, but he managed to play a shot at that ball, and took off for the single that would win the match. But his mate, Ian Meckiff, was run out, and the moment, and the West Indian jubilation at the tied result, was frozen forever in cricket’s most famous photograph.  It wasn’t the first time Kline would thwart the terrifying Wes Hall. In the Adelaide test of the same series, Lindsay featured in a 109-minute last-wicket stand with Ken “Slasher” Mackay to save the match. What few remember is that Kline also took a hat-trick in only his second Test and captured seven wickets in an innings in Lahore in 1959-60. Lindsay was well loved by his teammates and his friendships lasted until his death.

Published in Inside Cricket, December, 2015