Memories of Brian – Jonathan Kydd
When I kept to our much-loved Chairman Brian Jackson—who sadly died in July 2022 at 91—I never felt I was actually up to the job. You got such an array of deliveries all bowled with his immaculate action. And I don’t mean he was out of control (well, when he was still bowling in his 70s he wasn’t as accurate obviously). But he was devastatingly accurate in his pomp. And had a fine cricket brain; and would get very waspish if he didn’t agree with your field placings. I remember when skippering him having to carefully explain my decisions for moving players.
‘But what if I bowl the off-cutter and he hits me over there and there is no one there as you’ve moved him?’ he’d ask.
‘Yes, good point Brian’ I’d reply and I’d move the player back. It was a good idea to talk it though with him every time. And if you took him off you needed to explain why.
“Oh I thought I had him tied up.” And you’d agree. But it was the other one who’d been scoring four an over.
He loved bowling with a passion and once he’d started didn’t want to stop. But was the first to admit if he’d not bowled well. ‘No more please.’
And if you hadn’t bowled him he’d get very fidgety and do his stretching exercises. And a glare. I remember not bringing him on at Richmond one year till four others had bowled before him. He wasn’t pleased. And immediately took a wicket. And suggested he should have been on earlier. Not rudely. With a grin.
He’d played Lancashire League. He’d been very, very nippy when he was younger. You got cutters, both off and leg. Slower balls. Quicker balls. A man ahead of his time really. Standing up meant you were as bamboozled as the batsman. Yet standing up to him was obviously what you were supposed to do, once his speed had waned. But he was still accurate and tricky forming a fine partnership with left-arm-over Ted Cast. I have to admit when Brian was ‘cooking’ I’d have to lump it and just get on me haunches several yards away. No byes then and the odd catch. Stick him on a wicket with a bit of grip and he was unplayable. If you stood up, the leg cutter beat you all ends up. And woe betide if you dropped one. The Jackson glare was demonic. I remember Tony Ainley (the Master in Dr Who, what a character he was!) dropping a sitter in the covers and words were exchanged of a basic nature that didn’t really sit with Brian’s amicable off-field nature. Mind you, Ainley was barking and inclined to catch the difficult ones and drop the sitters. And wore a wig. But Brian was very competitive and demanded high standards. All through his acting and producing career as well.
He’d started off as an actor – his handsome matinee-idol swarthiness and growly voice (a big voiceover man in the 60s) being very attractive for casting directors and he was eventually the original ‘Man from Del Monte’ (he always say Yes!) which earned him a fortune. The RSC and Old Vic for whom he had also worked were artistic triumphs but commercials were where the dosh was for the jobbing actor. No ‘buy outs’ then. And it was a pan-European success. 25 commercials in 32 countries. Blimey. And each country was a separate contract. (Don’t knock advertising campaigns. They could make you enough money to be arty). In this instance Brian became a producer. And a hugely successful one. He had plays on Broadway. He owned film and recording studios (the Hampden Gurney Complex in Marble Arch) He was a big player. And he still turned out for the Stage. Even in his 80s when we were short and he would stand at slip. And catch the odd scorcher. And ask to bowl! I could definitely stand up then! He was a decent bat too. Always limpet-like as he got older but early on a very decent batter indeed. You could rely on Brian to be a match winner or a barnacle. I remember him frustrating Adastrian CC when we’d collapsed and he’d endured an onslaught from a very quick youth. He was deservedly given a guard of honour off the pitch.
He was of course a member of the side in the 50s and 60s. There’s a wonderful picture in the Taplow CC clubhouse of Stage in 1960 (see below). Nearly the whole team is a regular on TV and film. The general public would flock to some of these away games and be disappointed if the ‘stars’ weren’t playing. 
‘I’ve come to see Sam Kydd. Where is he? Or ‘Is that Bill Franklyn?’ ‘Ooh there’s Russell Napier. He’s in Scotland Yard as Duggan!’
This was a period where the original philosophy of the club was fully maintained. You had to be in the entertainment biz. Obviously with time and the proliferation of other ‘show biz’ cricket clubs the pool has grown shallower. The rules have been somewhat relaxed just to get a side out. And yet Brian when on the committee and subsequently Chairman was a staunch and determined advocate of maintaining these traditions where possible. I subsequently had several meetings with him before his death where he was cooking up schemes to gain new members from drama schools and cross fertilise from other theatrical clubs; but sadly illness put an end to his enthusiasm.
So. Dear Brian, I will above all remember your warmth and camaraderie. Your quiet confidence. Your fun. Your self-effacing ‘ooh I didn’t do much’ approach when getting a fivefer. Your enormous generosity when handing me a fifty quid note when someone had stolen my wallet at a match when I was a student. And your refusing to let me pay you back.
He was a very fine man indeed. I miss him.
