There was a time when cricket was fun

Two tykes, one maybe nine, the other about seven, stood with knobbly knees and jug handle ears on the paved path that runs between the back of the Western Pavilion and the nets at the Wanderers this week. They wore khaki school uniforms, and each held a bat, the faces of which were as virginally free from the scrawl of an autograph as their own faces were free of the troubles of life.