Recently by Brian Halford

In 1988, professional snooker player Les Dodd earned the nickname "Less" Dodd after shedding seven stones in weight.

However the new slimline physique did not prevent Dodd squandering an 8-2 lead to lose 9-8 to Dennis Taylor in the UK Open at Preston that year.

By Siegfried Sassoon

"Good-morning, good-morning!" the General said
When we met him last week on our way to the line.
Now the men that he smiled at are most of 'em dead,
And we're cursing his staff for incompetent swine.
"He's a cheery old card," grunted Harry to Jack
As they slogged up to Arras with rifle and pack.

But he did for them both by his plan of attack.

The return of Essex to Warwickshire's championship fixture list next season evokes memories of a fascinating low-scoring match at Leyton in 1976.

Every run had to be earned on a damp wicket assisting seam and spin alike. Warwickshire led by 58 on first innings, thanks principally to Neal Abberley's plucky 67, but Ray East then took five for 30 as the Bears' second innings declined from 124 for four to 130 all out.

Requiring 189 to win, Essex lost both openers for ducks but Ken McEwan's classy 66 lifted Essex towards victory and they won by four wickets.

Brian Hardie bagged a pair, dismissed both times by Steve Rouse. Rouse also secured a pair and was (you wouldn't make it up) caught by Hardie in the first innings.

On the first day, the home supporters' joy at seeing Warwickshire bowled out cheaply was tarnished by news from the north that Orient had begun the season with three successive defeats following a 3-0 trouncing at Blackpool.

Bob Hatton was in the Tangerines' team.

In front of a crowd of 7,928,

By Edward Thomas

The flowers left thick at nightfall in the wood
This Eastertide call into mind the men,
Now far from home, who, with their sweethearts, should
Have gathered them and will do never again.

When the Australians played a tour match against Warwickshire at Edgbaston in 1961 their bowling attack included Quick, who, as a slow left-armer, was far from quick, and Gaunt, who, as a strapping fast bowler, was far from Gaunt.

by John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Dulce et Decorum est. (Wilfred Owen)

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime.
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's, sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud,
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.

They. (Siegfried Sassoon)

The Bishop tells us: 'When the boys come back
'They will not be the same; for they'll have fought
'In a just cause: they lead the last attack
'On Anti-Christ; their comrades' blood has bought
'New right to breed an honourable race,
'They have challenged Death and dared him face to face.'

'We're none of us the same!' the boys reply.
'For George lost both his legs; and Bill's stone blind;
'Poor Jim's shot through the lungs and like to die;
'And Bert's gone syphilitic: you'll not find
'A chap who's served that hasn't found some change.
'And the Bishop said: 'The ways of God are strange!'

There's a Mike Gatting lookalike sitting at a corner table at Hilton Park services.

At least I think it's a lookalike. It is a colossal breakfast he's tucking into.

Next month cricket writers from all over the country will gather to hold a "wake for county cricket coverage" in newspapers up and down the land.

The event has been prompted by the "collapse in coverage" of the county game, significantly from the traditional mainstays - The Times and Daily Telegraph - as well as other nationals and many regional papers.

The gathering will be an affectionate one but also tinged with deep sadness. Not just in harsh, practical terms as many cricket writers lose work and also contact with colleagues they have dealt with during summers over many years, but with respect to the diminishing profile of the great institution that is county cricket. Most county cricket reporters love the game and care for it deeply.

Cricket-reporting is perceived as a genteel business and a delight. For a long time it was the former and it still, at times, can be the latter. But in recent years press-boxes at county grounds have been increasingly full of anxiety, disillusionment and bad news as the national papers dispatch fewer correspondents and fewer local papers staff games.

That many of the country's most experienced and astute cricket scribes will soon assemble for a wake suggests they believe the battle is lost. And that is very sad.