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 DAYS IN
THE DIRT
UNIVERSITY
CRICKET AND
EMERGING
ADULTHOOD
Harry C. R. Bowles
 University Cricket and Emerging Adulthood

“University Cricket and Emerging Adulthood provides an e­ xcellent insight into

the everyday lives of young adults as they attempt to negotiate their way towards,
or transition away from, a career in professional cricket. The book is an impor-
tant read for those seeking to gain a critical understanding, and in-depth exposi-
tion, of identity construction as it relates to the life chances and choices of young
individuals seeking to make sense of their occupational journey. This richly
informative and evocative study translates beyond the realm of sport, offering a
strong conceptual anchoring to the theoretical appreciation of identity work.
Drawing upon a blend of social theory and ethnographic empiricism, in its most
honest form, the book is an indispensable work that uncovers the consequences
of those who are investing their lives into the uncertain and precarious world
that embodies professional sport.”
—Dr Andrew Manley, Lecturer at University of Bath, UK

“This text offers a compelling read and an excellent insight into the world of elite
university cricket and the ‘lifestyle’ it creates for its participants. All ethnogra-
phies are enshrined in time and location—after all, they reflect stories from a
specific time and place—but some present timeless accounts that cross the con-
textual barriers of sport and continue to resonate with the reader long after read-
ing. Whether you are a sociologist, social psychologist, coach or simply a cricket
lover, this book will intrigue and engage you. Throughout, Harry Bowles shines
a warm and empathetic light on the occasionally cold, closeted side of cricketing
life and captures the human side of his participants’ stories, while delivering a
frank dose of realism to those ‘chasing the dream’.”
—Dr Chris Wagstaff, Practitioner Psychologist and Principal Lecturer in
Performance Psychology at University of Portsmouth
 Harry C. R. Bowles

University Cricket
and Emerging
Adulthood
“Days in the Dirt”
Harry C. R. Bowles
Cyncoed Campus
Cardiff Metropolitan University
Cardiff, UK

ISBN 978-3-319-76281-4    ISBN 978-3-319-76282-1 (eBook)

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 Foreword

There are many types of studies undertaken by PhD students. Some are
prescriptive and formulaic. Others are more free-form where the student
sets out on a kind of academic expedition largely unaware of where their
intellectual journey will take them. These latter projects are not trying to
prove or disprove anything. Rather, they are personal explorations of the
unique dialectic between researcher and researched and the melee of
activity in between.
It would be fair to say that the period since the 1970s has witnessed the
emergence of a body of knowledge around the social and cultural aspects
of sport whereby qualitative research methods and methodologies have
become a staple in the field. Yet relatively few social researchers have
managed to breach the institutional bounds of elite sport and fewer still
have carried out in-depth qualitative work within cricketing contexts. For
all the modern-day media coverage that it commands, elite sport remains
a heavily guarded affair, particularly in terms of who and what gains
access to its inner sanctums. The truth is, ethnographies of sport are hard
to find—and good ones are even harder. Here we are in luck.
In July 2014 I had the privilege of examining Harry Bowles’ PhD the-
sis—upon which this book is based. I knew from the moment that I
started to read Harry’s work that I was going to find out as much about
him as I was about his research. One of the hallmarks of ethnographic
craft is its deployment of empathy and sensitivity and, as you are about
v
vi Foreword

to discover, this work is replete with both. Seldom have I enjoyed reading
a PhD so much. Rarely have I met a beginning scholar with such an
innate sense of how to make the familiar strange. Indeed, one of the
things that impresses me the most about Harry’s work is his ability to tell
an accessible and engaging story whilst at the same time maintaining the
level of academic rigour expected within the ethnographic tradition.
For anyone even remotely involved with or interested in the inner
workings of elite sport this book is essential reading. It tells of cricket’s
insularity, its folklore, its characters. In so doing, it serves to contextualize
the investigative climate within which the underpinning research was
carried out whilst providing a highly reflexive account of the ethno-
graphic experience itself. It charts the complexities of data collection
(long days in the field, relentless note taking, ‘hanging around’ as the
awkward interloper), the tensions and anxieties of personal interaction,
the significance of researcher integrity. This is ‘real world’ research at its
best.
In turn, of course, we are treated to the detailed nuances of elite sport-
ing life and, more specifically, the experiences of trainee professional
cricketers. Presenting a case-study analysis of one elite cricket academy,
the work utilizes those methods of sociological enquiry traditionally asso-
ciated with ethnography (i.e. participant observation, semi-structured
interviews, and documentary analysis) in order to explore the day-to-day
lives of the young people concerned. The study depicts the way in which
academy recruits are socialized into the culture of professional cricket and
how their career expectations and aspirations are subsequently shaped by
the detailed complexities of institutional experience. At the same time,
the study provides insight into the personal and social lives of trainees.
Notably issues of self and identity emerge in terms of individual experi-
ence and interpretation. Furthermore, the influence of academy officials
is also considered in relation to the pressures, pitfalls and constraints of
trainee development.
What all of this illustrates is that sport does not exist in a social vac-
uum. On the contrary, it is shaped and formed amidst the richness of
broader social life, evolving and developing in accordance with the insti-
tutional practices and popular cultural messages that surround us. In this
sense, this book not only allows readers to reflect upon the ways in which
 Foreword
   vii

the underpinning principles of social science might challenge the values

and practices of elite sport, but also how they might enhance the way in
which we see the future of sport both in terms of its participatory and
structural formation. I believe that it is by way of such reflection that our
understandings of sport can continue to thrive and that the desire for on-­
going scholarship in this area will be stimulated and encouraged. Needless
to say, I trust that this book will act as both a stimulus and an encourage-
ment to all who read it.

University of Gloucestershire, UK Andrew Parker

January 2018
 Preface: An Insider to the Context

In his dossier on the practice of social science as an intellectual craft, Mills

(1959, p. 195), as though speaking to his apprentice, writes:

It is best to begin, I think, by reminding you, the beginning student, that

the most admirable thinkers within the scholarly community you have
chosen to join do not split their work from their lives. They seem to take
both too seriously to allow such disassociation, and they want to use each
for the enrichment of the other.

Mills’ account of ‘intellectual craftsmanship’ is one that holds true to his

thesis on the sociological imagination that places self at the centre of a
theory and research epistemology. According to Mills, scholarly craft
concerns more than the application of technical skills, knowledge and
practical wisdom. It involves the sculpting of identity, becoming one’s
work and allowing one’s intellectual curiosity to enter into one’s personal
experiences and vice versa. For Mills, research begins in the biography of
the researcher and develops to coexist and coevolve. This study, like many
others that have gone before it, followed much the same course.
Reflecting on my childhood, it seems strange that I should be writing
the Preface to my first academic publication. At school, I did not display
much of an appetite for academic work. It was on the sports field where
I excelled and I basked in the sense of achievement sport gave me, which

ix
x Preface: An Insider to the Context

I never felt in the classroom. Looking back at some of my formative expe-

riences involving education and sport, I am able to piece together some
of the fragments of my life’s history that connect me to the context and
central themes of this book.
I was eight years old when my father first took me to Lord’s Cricket
Ground to watch England in a Test match. I don’t recall who England
were playing, nor do I remember much about the day’s play. What I do
recollect is sitting there staring at my hands, transfixed by the enormous
pair of wicket keeping gloves he had bought to keep me entertained. It
was a cunning parental ploy and the beginning of our annual pilgrimage
to NW8 that remains to this day like the blood that binds us as father and
son. It was also the start of a relationship with the game that would have
its many highs and lows.
Since then, cricket, in a number of ways, has influenced the decisions
I have made as part of my life’s course. Indeed, this book is the product
of a body of ethnographic research that I completed as a Doctoral student
on the transitional experiences of aspiring professional cricketers. The
fieldwork context is based in one of six university centres of cricket excel-
lence that have been in operation since 2000, and a context that I once
attempted to join as a player and undergraduate student.
I never truly believed that I was good enough to make it as a profes-
sional cricketer, but on choosing to go to university, I thought it would
be good to spend three years training, playing and living under the pre-
tence that I could. Unfortunately, things did not transpire as I had hoped.
Time to move on and redefine myself through my studies—a process that
would eventually give me access to a community of aspiring professional
cricketers I had previously attempted to join, albeit under an entirely dif-
ferent guise.
I must, however, be careful not to discredit the role my cricketing
biography played in the process of gaining entry a second time around.
As I shall explain in introductory chapter of this book, my standing as an
‘insider to the context’ (Dandelion 1997) would prove crucial to the lon-
gevity of my fieldwork, and the richness of data I was able to capture. The
text, whilst grounded in data gathered from October 2010 to June 2013
(although the actual finishing date is hard to pinpoint accurately), is a
revision of the original work that draws upon new professional and
 Preface: An Insider to the Context
   xi

­ ersonal experiences, and a more mature understanding of the issues

p
addressed. It also contains supplementary data derived from follow-up
interviews and the relationships I have maintained with the people at the
centre of the study.
Before moving on to discuss the focus of the research in greater detail,
it is worth touching upon the academic disciplines from which the inves-
tigation draws. The research leans primarily on traditions of sociology
and social-psychology in their various theoretical and empirical forms, as
well as a number of other relevant ‘ologies’ and ‘isms’. Whilst this runs the
risk of frustrating some ‘ologists’ and even ‘osophers’, it may open up the
text to a wider audience and appeal to those interested in other, less con-
ceptual aspects of the work. Qualitative social science is an ever-growing
and diversifying field of inquiry which—despite its disciplinary and
methodological fractures—comes together around the common purpose
of shedding light on personal experience in a detailed, relatable and ethi-
cal way (Young and Atkinson 2012). It is interdisciplinary by nature and
its products should reflect—and be of value to—a broad community of
research and practice.
This work is intended as a piece of conventional ethnographic research.
It is conventional in the sense that I became immersed in the research
context as an active member of the participant group for an extended
period of time. Notwithstanding the inherent complexities of the pro-
cess, like Pryce (1986), the methodological approach was used to get
behind the scenes of cultural practice and obtain an up-close and per-
sonal account of the studied context and its people. Application of tradi-
tional ethnographic techniques such as participant-observation and
unstructured, field-based ‘interviews’ provided the means through which
day-to-day experiences were captured and explored on the pages of my
journal. What is presented, therefore, reflects some of the contextual
responses to real-life situations experienced by the group, mediated
through my interpretation and writing of those events. As both a process
and product of research the ethnography is reflexive and self-aware rather
than apologetic of its realist claims. What I recount as true is as close to
the truth as I could make it—in spite of some inevitable empirical and
editorial stage-management.
xii Preface: An Insider to the Context

There are of course always two sides to every story and the story that I
have chosen to tell is centred around one aspect of the players’ experi-
ences—namely the questions of self that were encountered by a group of
young men on their shared transitional journey towards professional
cricket and adult identity commitments. The research provides a compre-
hensive account of a process of identity exploration through which this
group of predominantly white British, middle-class and able-bodied
student-­cricketers actively constructed and made sense of their lives. The
analysis takes into account the particular characteristics of a collegiate-­
sport context that encouraged a process of self-questioning that featured
within the experiences of its student-athlete population, from the per-
spective of a white British, middle-class and able-bodied researcher in his
early to mid-twenties.
At the centre of this book, lies the notion of ‘self ’ and ‘identity’; two
closely related concepts which are often used in conjunction or inter-
changeably. Questions about the nature and importance of self and iden-
tity have captivated social scientists for many centuries and the literature
is littered with theoretical language pertaining to constructs of mind and
body. For simplicity, and to frame the empirical and interpretive elements
of the research, throughout this book, the term identity is used to refer to
a set of meaningful definitions ascribed to self, including a hierarchy of
goals, values and priorities, and conceptions of one’s potential (Baumeister
and Mauraven 1996). Self, on the other hand, is used in reference of a
more ‘global, multirole, core conception of the real person’ (Adler and
Alder 1991, p. 28). Both concepts are central to the research problem
that emerged during fieldwork of how a group of young men developed
the self and situational knowledge upon which to base prospective iden-
tity decisions.
Epistemologically, the research is rooted in what Willis (1978,
pp. 196–197) describes as the ‘self-reflexive technique’ which refers to the
ability of the participant-observer to experience empathy and analyse
‘how his [sic] own experience is minutely locked into another’s’. The
interpretative method I used involved me being able to recognise and
relate to some of the personal and shared anxieties expressed by the
researched group, and connecting them to the context in which they were
in and a wider social and historical frame of reference. Therefore, ­alongside
 Preface: An Insider to the Context
   xiii

relevant theoretical interludes, I continue to appear within the chapters

of this book not, I hope, to distract from the voices of the young men at
its heart, but to make explicit my voice among theirs and more accurately
reflect how I made sense of their concerns.

Cardiff, UK Harry C. R. Bowles

References
Adler, P. A., & Adler, P. (1991). Backboards and Blackboards: College Athletes and
Role Engulfment. New York: Columbia University Press.
Baumeister, R. F., & Muraven, M. (1996). Identity as adaptation to social, cul-
tural and historical context. Journal of Adolescence, 19(5), 405–416.
Dandelion, B. P. (1997). Insider dealing: researching your own private world. In
A. Tomlinson & S. Fleming (Eds.), Ethics, Sport and Leisure: Crises and
Critiques (pp. 223–244). Oxford: Meyer & Meyer.
Mills, C. W. (1959). The Sociological Imagination. New York: Oxford University
Press.
Pryce, K. (1986). Endless Pressure: A Study of West Indian Life-Styles in Bristol.
Bristol: Bristol Classic Press.
Willis, P. (1978). Profane Culture. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.
Young, K., & Atkinson, M. (2012). Introduction: The practice of qualitative
research and thinking qualitatively. In K. Young & M. Atkinson (Eds.),
Qualitative Research on Sport and Physical Culture. Bingley: Emerald.
 Acknowledgments

I would like to express my gratitude to Professor Scott Fleming for his

continued guidance and the intellectual input he has donated to this
body of research. I would also like to thank my devoted parents,
Christopher and Elizabeth Bowles, for their unconditional love and sup-
port and Jessica Creak for putting up with me throughout the writing
process. Finally, I would like to extend my indebtedness to the people at
the centre of this study who accepted me into their lives in spite of the
nuisance this must have caused.

xv
 Contents

1 Introduction: A Day in the Dirt   1

2 Mr Cricket: The Story of a Cricket Aficionado  39

3 The Cricket Bubble: Notes on a Cricketing Lifestyle  67

4 Lady Cricket: From Flirtation to Cohabitation 117

5 Finding Their Level: Trial and Repudiation of a

Cricketing Identity 147

6 Conclusion: University Cricket and Emerging

Adulthood 187

Epilogue 203

References 219

Index  229

xvii
 List of Abbreviations

ECB England and Wales Cricket Board

HE Higher Education
MCC The Marylebone Cricket Club
PCA Professional Cricketers Association
TCCB Test and County Cricket Board
UCCE University Centres of Cricket Excellence
YCs Young Cricketers

xix
 List of Figures

Fig. 1.1 Adapted version of ECB strategic plan for cricket 2006–
2010: player pathway and programmes 7
Fig. 1.2 England cricket pathway—boys (2014) 8
Fig. 1.3 Indoor Cricket Centre interior layout (not to scale) 13
Fig. 1.4 Indoor Cricket Centre located in plan view (not to scale) 13
Image 1.1 Hanging out on the player’s balcony: Lord’s 17
Image 1.2 Caught in the act: the art of eavesdropping 17
Image 1.3 Writing fieldnotes the ‘old fashioned’ way: Wormsley
Estate Cricket Ground 18
Image 1.4 A lap of the boundary: a way of getting to know
individuals more personally 19
Image 1.5 Establishing a role: helping Josh with his warm up 20
Image 1.6 Celebrating the end of the 2011 university season 21
Image 3.1 Changing room entertainment: a spot of tennis to
pass the time 86
Image 3.2 No play due to rain. The Parks: Oxford 94
Image 3.3 Feeling captive: view from my hotel room:
Derbyshire CCC 106

xxi
 1
Introduction: A Day in the Dirt

The Indoor Cricket Centre is a white, metal clad building on the grounds
of a county and international cricket stadium. This purpose-built, box-­
like structure, with its elevated roof and synthetic floor, plays host to
cricketers of all age groups servicing the local community and elite athlete
populations. Cricketers as young as 8 years old can learn to play here with
access to all the facilities that international cricket stars use to fine-tune
their skills. It was inside this lofty space, amid bats, pads and sweaty kit,
that my association with a group of university cricketers began, and the
observational fieldwork upon which this book is based started in
earnest.
Armed with an A5 Black ‘n’ Red notebook, and rubber tipped pencil, I
watched from a respectful distance; my vision obscured by netting that
hung from the ceiling separating me from twenty or so young men going
through their paces. Caught up in my own self-consciousness, ears filled by
the sound of cricket balls hitting their targets, I stood still, afraid to disturb
the natural order of things, wondering what the hell I should be doing.
If truth be told, I was little prepared. I had read the handbooks and ‘how-
to texts’ and understood some of the principles, but the process of ethnog-
raphy was not a technical procedure that I could simply roll out. The sights
and sounds of cricketers practising in the nets was a scene with which I was

© The Author(s) 2018 1

H. C. R. Bowles, University Cricket and Emerging Adulthood,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-76282-1_1
2 H. C. R. Bowles

familiar. As an insider to the context, I was not put off by the particularities
of the cricketing rituals taking place in front of me. I was, however, unsure
of my purpose and whether my investigations would get off the ground—
familiar territory for those who have attempted this type of research. So, I
picked up a bat that lay on the ground next to me and started to shadow a
few shots, comforting myself with each swing of the blade.1
It was January 2011 and preparations for the season were well underway. By
the end of March I would be taken further out of my comfort zone as gymna-
siums and sports halls were replaced with pavilions, dining tables and motor-
way service stations. It would take a while for players to let me into their lives
and for me to develop the confidence to pry. But cricketers spend a lot of time
together helping to spark relationships where there once were none. In sixty
cricket-related days that would follow the players’ last indoor practice, I would
spend twenty-two nights away with them, staying in ten different hotels and
travel more than four thousand miles up and down the country. Like getting
to know the players, it would take time for me to piece together the meaning
of their everyday experiences, and draw a connection between their lives and
the cricketing environment of which they were a part. What, for example,
could be learned from watching a game of first-class cricket in a thirteen thou-
sand seat stadium with no one in it? Or by witnessing the reactions of eleven
young cricketers come off the field at the close of play with their county oppo-
nents 447 for 1,2 and groan at the prospect of spending another “day in the
dirt.” This is, after all, what they wanted to do, right?

The Research Context

There is an inevitability about the start of the English cricket season. Rain
will stop play and a team of teens and early 20 somethings will get roundly
beaten by their professional opponents causing somebody to whinge
about the ‘first-class’ status of university cricket.3 First-class cricket has a

1
Parlance for cricket bat.
2
The score and situation of the match expressed in runs scored (by the side batting) and wickets
taken (by the side bowling).
3
In total, there are eighteen professional county cricket teams in England and Wales who compete
against each other domestically in a two-tier, ‘first-class’ competition, The County Championship.
 Introduction: A Day in the Dirt 3

longstanding association with higher education (HE) in the United

Kingdom (UK). The relationship dates back to June 1827 and the first
recorded two-day match between Oxford and Cambridge University at
Lord’s Cricket Ground, St. John’s Wood, London.4 After the first day’s
play, the game was abandoned due to bad weather with Oxford in a com-
manding position over their rivals. Regardless of the result, the match was
still one to be savoured for the student-cricketers who participated in the
fixture, whose destinations in life and sport were only beginning to
unfold. Out of the twenty-two students who played, fourteen registered
their first-class debuts of which six also registered their last.
The Varsity Match, as it is known, is a game that remains to this day,
and a fixture from which ‘first-class’ cricket’s affiliation with British
Universities has grown. It is a tradition of the English cricket season to
begin with first-class games ‘against the students’. This was once the
privilege of Oxford and Cambridge University Cricket Clubs, but is
now in the remit of six university centres of cricketing excellence
spread regionally across England and Wales. Founded in 2000 by the
England and Wales Cricket Board (ECB), the six university centres
incorporate thirteen separate HE institutions that offer a range of
degree courses to match the interests and academic abilities of the
aspiring cricketers they hope to attract.5 Individually and collectively
the academies are said to provide:

… an alternative pathway into professional cricket for young players who

might be unsure of their abilities or plans, or for those unwilling to make
an early choice between academia and sport, or simply for those who are
late developers. (Atherton 2013, p. 58)

Between October 2010 and June 2013 when the majority of this research
was conducted, each centre received a financial stipend from the Marylebone

4
Data on history of the Varsity Match retrieved from: http://cricketarchive.com/.
5
For more information on the origins of the university centres of cricket excellence go to:
https://www.ecb.co.uk/news/domestic/mcc-universities.
4 H. C. R. Bowles

Cricket Club (MCC),6 who took over the sponsorship of university cricket
from the ECB in 2005, of £82,400 per annum.7
The model upon which the university centres of cricketing excellence
(UCCEs) were based pre-dates the existence of the ECB as the national
governing body for cricket in England and Wales. The idea behind ‘the
scheme’ came from the former England, Lancashire and Durham open-
ing batsman Graeme Fowler who received the support of the Test and
County Cricket Board (TCCB), and a Prime Minister with a soft spot for
cricket, to start the first centre of excellence at Durham University in
September 1996. According to Fowler (2016, p. 196), the aim was pure
and simple. The centre of excellence at Durham was about giving young
players the chance to “finish their education and progress their game into
first-class cricket and beyond”. The priorities, he describes, were “educa-
tion first, cricket second, social third” in an environment built not just on
bricks and mortar, but on an “attitude” of excellence, and thus the centre
at Durham set itself apart from traditional university sport in its organ-
isation and focus. As the former Middlesex batsman and England cap-
tain, Andrew Strauss, recollects in his autobiography (2013, p. 31),
“overnight, the Durham University CC had gone from a ramshackle
organisation of talented students … to a highly professional set-up.”
While Oxford and Cambridge University had a long history of produc-
ing first-class cricketers and future England captains, the centre at
Durham was a forerunner to the start of a new high-performance sport
culture that was set to emerge amid a fast expanding HE sector.
A year after the centre of excellence at Durham University began, the
TCCB was superseded by the ECB which set about restructuring the gover-
nance of cricket in England and Wales, and resurrecting the success of a
national team in decline. In this context, the formalisation and regional
development of an organised system of elite university cricket can be read as
part of the ECB positioning itself as the central authority and governing body
for the UK’s national summer sport. It did so against a political backdrop that

6
Founded in 1787, the MCC is the largest private members cricket club in the world who sponsor
a number of cricketing initiatives aimed at ­developing the game both nationally and internation-
ally. Representing part of the cricketing establishment historically, the MCC remain involved in the
governance of the game as guardian of the Laws and ‘Spirit of Cricket.’
7
See  also  https://www.lords.org/mcc/youth-cricket/mcc-universities/centres-of-excellence/.
 Introduction: A Day in the Dirt 5

had seen a significant shift in government policy and funding for sport. In
1995, as Fowler was beginning to canvass support for his idea of a university-
based cricket academy, the then Conservative Government published a White
Paper, Sport: Raising the Game (Department of National Heritage 1995).
The policy statement signalled a move away from central government sup-
port for mass participation in favour of developing elite sport, and the role
HE institutions could have in fostering elite athletes (Green 2004).
Within the Conservative’s new policy framework, the allocation of
funding to national governing bodies (NGBs) would become conditional
on the explicit support of government objectives, forcing NGBs to (re)
consider their investment in performance sport (Houlihan 1997).
According to Green (2004), the mid 1990s can be viewed as a watershed
that would go on to shape the direction of sport policy into the t­ wenty-­first
century. Indeed, much of the rhetoric that features in Sport: Raising the
Game later featured in the Labour government’s strategy for sport, A
Sporting Future for All (Department for Culture, Media and Sport 2000).
Under Labour, funding to NGBs became directly linked to performance
targets and NGBs were required to produce national talent performance
plans identifying pathways from grassroots to international level (Green
2004). Furthermore, HE continued to be viewed as a site in which gifted
sportspeople could be nurtured, with attention placed on ensuring “con-
tinuity and progression” between the school sector and HE to prevent
talent being lost at this key transition point (Department of Culture,
Media and Sport 2000, p. 17)
Another central theme to the political discourse at the start of the ECB’s
reign in 1997, and the initiation of the UCCEs in 2000, was an emphasis
on widening participation to HE and encouraging more young people to
go to university as a means of reaching their socio-economic potential
(Leatherwood and O’Connell 2003). With the political stars aligned, the
ECB set about harnessing a helpful policy landscape to attract universities
to support the model of cricket and education successfully piloted at
Durham. To deliver the scheme, the ECB established a working group
consisting of several former professional cricketers with university back-
grounds who put the scheme out to tender and began the process of
6 H. C. R. Bowles

arranging the university consortiums to house five additional centres of

excellence in Leeds, Loughborough, Cardiff, Cambridge and Oxford.8
In an interview undertaken for the purpose of this research with a
member of the ECB’s original working group, the driving force behind
the expansion of the scheme was described as twofold:

As I recall there was certainly some discussion and debate around the fact
that the government of the time was really encouraging young people to go
to university. And I think there was a statistic being bandied around that
they wanted 50% of the population to go … and if that was the case then
a lot of cricketers would go down that route. So that was a part driver to it
I’m sure … [Another] key driver was that we had a number of players who
were going to university, who were either on first-class staffs or had played
a bit of first-class cricket, who were obviously talented cricketers and there
was a concern that their cricket development would drop-off.

These sentiments echo those found in the original University Cricket

Prospectus produced by the ECB. In the opening section ‘Commonly
Asked Questions’, the ECB state:

The potential benefits of the UCCE scheme for cricket are clear and well
founded: It is estimated that by 2005 nearly half of 18 year olds [in the
UK] will seek to enter higher education (many of England’s current Under
17 squads … wish to go to university). With this fact in mind, it is impera-
tive that cricketers with an inclination to go on to higher education are
given the facilities to develop their talent whilst completing their educa-
tion. ECB has a very real responsibility to look after the best interests of
existing and future cricketers. The scheme gives talented younger cricketers
… the best of both worlds—an excellent cricketing education to enable
them to fulfil their cricketing ambitions and greater security through
improved career opportunities outside of the game.

In one sense, the ECB understood its responsibility and duty of care towards
its young athletes. In another, it saw the development of the university centres

8
For more information on types of youth sports see European Commission DG Education and
Culture’s final report on the Education of Young Sports Persons (2004).
 Introduction: A Day in the Dirt 7

of excellence as a means of keeping “genuine talent” in the game and ensuring

going to university was not detrimental to player progress. Funding was thus
provided for high quality coaching and cricket facilities to be available at each
centre—including sports science and medical support—and a match pro-
gramme consisting of a minimum of 20–25 days of cricket for male cricket-
ers with the “potential to play first-class cricket.”
Following the MCC’s takeover of the scheme in 2005, the ECB con-
tinued to recognise the UCCEs as part of their player development path-
way in their 2006–2010 Strategic Plan for Cricket (see Fig. 1.1). The
centres were a component of the ECB’s County Programme aimed at
developing a ‘vibrant domestic game’, and part of the filtration process
through which players could progress from ‘playground to the Test arena.’
As a collective provision, the centres of excellence are unique in that no
other major cricket playing nation has a dedicated university cricket sys-
tem that rivals the scheme in its financing, organisation and scale.
Nevertheless, the system has not escaped criticism for the universities’
performances against county opposition that has caused many from inside
the professional game to question their ‘first-class’ status. Arguments of
this nature add to a growing sense of marginalisation despite the scheme’s
well publicised success. Since their inception, it is frequently quoted the

England
England Development Squad
National Academy
First-Class Counties England Programme
England
U15/17/19 Minor Counties County Programme

County Academies Community

Programme
Age Group Cricket UCCEs
District, County, Regional Premier League Cricket
Focus Clubs
Affiliated Clubs
Schools Cricket
3. Train to Train 5. Train to Win
1. Fun 2. Learn to Train
4. Train to Compete 6. Retirement and Retention
Age 5yrs 9 11 13 15 18 19 21 35 65+

Fig. 1.1 Adapted version of ECB strategic plan for cricket 2006–2010: player
pathway and programmes
8 H. C. R. Bowles

centres of excellence have produced around one fifth of the English quali-
fied players in the county system. Although a well-trodden route into pro-
fessional cricket, the university system is no longer an official part of the
ECB’s restructured Cricket Pathway (see Fig. 1.2). When the MCC cut
the funding to each centre to £46,000 per year in 2016, the ECB failed to
make up the financial shortfall arousing suspicion that the long-term
future of the scheme—as it was originally conceived—is under threat.
Against this uncertain backdrop, the Cambridge graduate and former
England captain, Michael Atherton (2017), provided a timely reminder of
the value of the university centres for cricket excellence. Writing in The Times,
he describes university cricket as an essential “buffer between the amateur
and professional game” and an important delay in a young player’s transition
into the all-encompassing realities of professional sport. Recognising the
holistic benefits of the scheme, Atherton (2017) highlights:

The most important reason for encouraging university cricket, though, is

to act as a brake on a game that is becoming ever more demanding of its

Years to World’s Best Normal Age

England

-3 22

England Performance
Prog. / Lions

-6 19

England Development Programme

-10 U16

Emerging Talent Programme

-13 U13

County Talent Programme

U8

Fig. 1.2 England cricket pathway—boys (2014)

 Introduction: A Day in the Dirt 9

players. More and more, the focus of professional cricketers is narrowing

because of the uber-professionalisation of the game, and that, in turn, is
storing up problems for when cricketers contemplate moving on in life.
Anything that encourages breadth and diversity of interest, or a chance to
gain qualifications that will help in later life, should be welcomed.

Atherton’s argument becomes even more pertinent when read in context

that the average age a professional playing career ends is 26. Some players
leave fed-up, or burnt out by the precariousness of short-term contracts
or a lack of first-team opportunities. Most simply find themselves surplus
to requirements forcing them to make a sudden and disorientating
­recalibration of their lives, just as many of their contemporaries in other
fields are beginning to progress.
Data from a Past Players Survey conducted by the Professional Cricketers
Association (PCA) (2013) on 500 former professional cricketers, with an
average playing career of 11 years, provides further illustration of some of
the vulnerabilities of a professional playing career. Of those sampled, the
highest proportion (31%) reported being made redundant (wanted to con-
tinue playing but couldn’t get a contract) as the reason they stopped playing,
with only 7% reporting they stopped playing because they had achieved
what they set out to do. At the point of retirement, 48% of ­professional
cricketers who had played 100 first-class games or more had no work lined-
up, and only 9% had saved enough money so that finding full-time employ-
ment was not a priority. This is in-spite of the fact that an overwhelming
majority of the sample reported either ‘a need to work’ (48%) or perceived
‘work as a priority’ (41%) as their careers came to an end. Furthermore,
57% of the cricketers surveyed were ‘not in control’ within 6 months of leav-
ing the professional game, with 33% still ‘not in control’ after two years.
Reflecting on their past and present occupational experiences, the data
are even more interesting in as much as just under half reported being less
than satisfied (33%) or disappointed (14%) with their playing careers, in
comparison to most of the sample reporting their post playing career to
have either satisfied (50%) or surpassed (34%) their expectations. These
findings point to the possibility that for many former players, life after
10 H. C. R. Bowles

cricket can be as rewarding professionally as their lives were as cricketers.9

For the few who ‘make it’, the data also suggest that to sustain a profes-
sional playing career and reach a level that provides long term financial
security and sense of fulfilment, is the exception rather than the norm.
Graeme Fowler’s appreciation of the difficulties professional cricketers
can face during and after their careers, and the value of education and
higher qualifications to unlock opportunities for young cricketers,
inspired the first university centre of excellence. In Fowler’s own words,
(2016, p. 206), a crucial component of the centres of excellence was
about helping young cricketers to “grow up … using cricket as the
model”, and in doing so, encourage them to think beyond the game so
that a career in professional cricket could be pursued out of choice, and
in the knowledge of alternatives, rather than necessity.

The Research Approach

It was within one of the six university centres of cricket excellence that
the data upon which this study is based were drawn. From the time the
research began in 2010, in the build-up to the 2011 season, the academy
consisted of a full-time Head Coach and Director of Cricket (Coach)
who had been in charge of the academy since its inception, a Team
Manager, an Assistant Coach and a squad of twenty-one players of a pre-
dominantly white, British, middle-class demographic. As students, play-
ers studied at three HE institutions—although most of the squad (15)
attended one ‘post 92’ university from which the academy was adminis-
trated and where most of the academy’s training facilities were based.
Players were enrolled on various courses ranging from degrees in
Mathematics, to Higher National Diplomas in Sport Coaching reflecting
a mix of secondary education backgrounds and academic achievements.
In cricketing terms, players’ biographies were consistent in as much as
they were all involved with other forms of representative cricket, from

9
For a journalistic account of what cricketers get up to at the end of their careers, see Felix White
(May, 2017) on ‘life after cricket’ in issue 152 of All Out Cricket Magazine.
 Introduction: A Day in the Dirt 11

‘minor’ county10 and second XI county cricket, to international playing and

development squads. All players were members of local cricket clubs com-
peting in Premier Leagues and other national competitions, and were
actively recruited by the Head Coach on the strength of their cricketing
CVs. For a few, this process led to a place at university on the grounds of
being talented sportspeople with an assumed interest in studying something
related to sport. Out of the original twenty-one players who consented to
take part in the research, seven were contracted to professional county teams
on a part-time, developmental basis, and it was these individuals who would
usually make up the core of what was an unofficial ‘playing squad’ of around
fourteen players that competed in the majority of the academy fixtures
throughout the summer (see Table 1.1 for complete player participant list).
To help them train and prepare throughout the winter, players were given
free access to university gym and fitness facilities where they would congre-
gate twice a week for one evening and one morning session of weights and
strength and conditioning. To practise their skills, they also had the use of
university sports halls for one-to-one and small group coaching sessions, as
well as the Indoor Cricket Centre at the local County and International
Cricket ground (see Figs. 1.3 and 1.4). It is here where the squad practised
together every Wednesday afternoon for three hours from late November to
the start of the season at the end of March. During the winter period, players
were also required to attend team meetings that were usually arranged at the
end of squad training on Wednesday afternoons in the Conference Suite that
overlooked the indoor practice area, or corporate hospitality box in view of
the ground, where Coach would set out his expectations and goals for the
season. The meetings also provided the opportunity for the Team Manger to
perform some of his basic ‘house-keeping’ by using the time to explain the
contents of the Season Handbook, and take orders for team “stash” (training
clothes and playing kit) complete with players’ initials and squad numbers.
No amount of fitness training, net practice or team meetings could
quite prepare the squad for Spring when, at the start of the season, the
team began travelling around the country from one cricket ground and
hotel to another in a nomadic type of cricketing existence. Games were

10
‘Minor’ county cricket differs from ‘major’ county cricket primarily for its ‘minor’, amateur status
and represents an organizationally distinct division of the game in England and Wales.
12 H. C. R. Bowles

Table 1.1 List of university players who agreed to take part in the study. Information
recorded at the time of consent
Year of
Participant Age Degree course study Role Contract
Josh 19 Social Policy 1st Wicketkeeper/ No
batter
Lewis 19 Philosophy 1st Batter Yes
Patrick 20 Accountancy 1st Batter Yes
Connor 19 Sport Coaching 1st Batter Yes
Simon 18 Business 1st Bowler No
Alan 21 Sports Massage 3rd Bowler No
John 19 Business 1st Batter Yes
Greg 19 Sport and PE 1st Batter No
James 18 Business 1st Bowler No
Lee 23 Management 4th Wicketkeeper/ No
batter
George 19 Sports Coaching 2nd Bowler Yes
Tim 21 Sport Management 2nd Batter/ No
all-rounder
Ben 19 Sport Coaching 2nd Bowler/ Yes
all-rounder
Ryan 20 Sport Science 2nd Wicketkeeper/ No
batter
David 20 Sports Coaching 3rd Batter No
Mark 21 Maths 3rd Bowler No
Luke 20 Sport Science 2nd Bowler No
Tom 21 Design 3rd Bowler No
Martin 18 Ancient History 1st Batter No
Michael 18 Sport and PE 1st Batter No
Steve 20 Sport Management 2nd Batter/ No
all-rounder
Alex 19 Sports Coaching 2nd Batter No
Andy 19 Sport Management 1st Batter No
Paul 21 Business and 3rd Bowler No
Management
Scott 18 Sports Coaching 1st Bowler Yes
Chris 24 Sport and PE 1st Bowler No

scheduled within a condensed period of approximately three months,

with the exact length of the season dependent on how well the team per-
formed in the various competitions. The back-to-back intensity of the
team’s fixture list gave players a taste of life on the road as a domestic
 Introduction: A Day in the Dirt 13

Outer wall
Access to
Seating area playing area

Net lane 1

2 Weights gym
Office
Fixed perimeter netting

area/surface
surface

Fixed perimeter netting

3

25m playing
playing 4
Retractable lane netting
UniturfUniturf

Changing
machines
Vending

6
rooms and
showers

36m 7

Stairwell Seating area Bowling machines

Main Outer wall

entrance

Fig. 1.3 Indoor Cricket Centre interior layout (not to scale)

Access Road
Security gates
(Player/staff access)

Indoor Cricket Centre

Spectator
Stand

Walkway from car park

Spectator Stand

Cricket Field Pavilion Car Park

Fig. 1.4 Indoor Cricket Centre located in plan view (not to scale)
14 H. C. R. Bowles

professional cricketer, and those with existing ‘summer contracts11’

(see Table 1.1) time to join up with their respective county squads for the
rest of the season. The best of the rest then had the chance to compete for
places in the MCC Combined University side that played in the County
Second XI Championship for the remainder of the summer, where uni-
versity teammates would often meet as opponents.
The schedule—which inevitably clashed with the summer exam period at
the end of the university academic year—consisted of a number of games
that existed outside of any formal competitions against county second XIs,
minor county teams and other sub-elite representative sides. Between these
fixtures, the academy played in a two-day and twenty over (t20)12 competi-
tion against the five other centres of excellence, and a one-day (50 over)
British Universities and Colleges Sport (BUCs) competition that included
two other university cricket clubs. In many ways, though, the focal points of
the season were the three matches played at the outset against professional
county opposition. These games were all three days in length and—as has
been the case for many previous generations of student-cricketers—would
represent a player’s first and possibly only taste of first-class cricket. For
some, however, selection to play against Somerset, Warwickshire, Middlesex
or Surrey, for example, would mark the start of a career in professional sport.
But for all, the games symbolised what a future in cricket had in store, and
a platform on which to perform in front of potential employers.
With the aim of getting to know the group and the meaning behind their
university cricketing experiences, the season’s busy playing schedule was a
chance for me to get closer to players’ lives within the confines of various
cricket related locales, and for extended periods of time. My fieldwork—
which took place over the course of two seasons (including both winter
training and playing months)—was conducted to gain insider perspectives
on everyday events that I began to place into the context of an emerging
research problem and set of analytical hunches. Indeed, ethnographic

11
‘Summer contracts’, otherwise known as ‘development contracts’ are a cost-effective way that
county teams retain young players and bolster their professional playing squads. They are often
short—one or two seasons in length—comprising of two to three months of the playing season
only and are easily extended in order to monitor how young talent unfolds.
12
Shortest and most explosive format of the game for players and spectators alike with games lasting
approximately three hours in length.
 Introduction: A Day in the Dirt 15

research does not necessarily begin with a set of well-­formulated aims and
research questions. Instead the researcher often goes in with a set of perspec-
tives that change through his or her engagement with real people in real
settings (Corrigan 1979). As Becker (1958, p. 653) points out:

[Ethnographers] attempt to make their research theoretically meaningful,

but they assume that they do not know enough about the organisation a
priori to identify relevant problems and hypotheses and that they must
discover these in the course of research.

This is not only a characteristic of ethnographic investigation, but an

important methodological strength of research aimed at studying people
in natural environments (Brewer 2000; Atkinson 2015) that sees the
researcher become part of the research situation—both affecting it and
becoming affected by it (Fleming 1995).
To strengthen the intrinsic advantages of this type of research inquiry
and reduce distortion inherent in the ‘participant-observation-­problematic’,
also known as the ‘Hawthorne effect’, Willis (1978, p. 195) recommends:

The researcher should be as flexible as possible, and suspend so far as possible

specific theories—while admitting his general theoretical orientation—for
the explanation of what he [sic] expects to encounter. He [sic] should spend
time acclimatising himself [sic] to particular situations before making efforts
to collect material of any kind. He [sic] should try to avoid the initiation of
activities in the group. During group discussions, for instance, although the
researcher may start with general questions he [sic] should aim to ‘take off’
whereby the discussion goes into areas quite unsolicited by him [sic].

Following Willis’ advice—largely out of character rather than design—I

progressed my investigations gradually, from standing at the edge of prac-
tice every Wednesday afternoon in the early stages of fieldwork, to a par-
ticipatory member of the researched group. Indeed, I would eventually
be given a number of minor roles like writing the team blog, driving the
team mini-bus to and from games, and helping out with the warm-up
dressed in my own, personalised team training kit. My immersion in the
group extended to all aspects of players’ structured cricketing routine, but
fell short of deliberately pursuing or socialising with players in other areas
16 H. C. R. Bowles

of their lives unless invited (see Image 1.6). As time went on, invitations
became more frequent and I mixed with members of the squad socially
where I felt it appropriate. I even ran errands for them like offering a lift
to the station, or proof-reading pieces of coursework.13
In addition to the extended amount of time I spent immersed in the
cricketing routines of the group, data collection was performed in proximity
to the activities witnessed in a variety of places and different circumstances,
from sitting in traffic on the motorway to standing on the home team bal-
cony at Lord’s (see Image 1.1 and 1.2). Whilst observing, I sought to under-
stand what was shared by the group and differentiate it from individual
feelings or experiences. My familiarity with cricketing parlance helped in
this regard. It also helped to breakdown communication barriers and avert
inevitable changing room faux pas that could have jeopardised my position
from the start. It would take longer, though, to become close with individu-
als and build trust among the collective party so essential to the longevity of
the research, and the richness of my fieldwork experiences (Fleming 1995).14
To this end, I approached the task of relationship building in the ‘spirit of
friendship’ (Fleming 2013, p. 39) which I used as an ethical and method-
ological principle to inform my research practice.
Alongside all the hanging around, I relied heavily on the ‘discipline of
daily writing’ (Hammersely and Atkinson 2007, p. 144) as a way of record-
ing details of major conversations and observations (see Image 1.3). The
laborious task of putting ‘pen to paper’ was important for it helped to mark
a passing moment so that I could revisit it at a later date. The craft of con-
temporaneous note taking was a skill I become proficient at and found a
way to mask, not to deceive people, but to normalise the process. To make
note taking more practical and less visible, I used an iPhone to capture
information as close to an event as possible (e.g. an interesting discussion
between two or more people), and blend it in with the modern, everyday
practice of being on one’s phone. My notes contained a combination of
substantive descriptions, words, phrases and ‘fringe-thoughts’ (Mills 1959,

13
On the varying degrees of ethnographic engagement, Sugden and Tomlinson (1999, p. 387) dis-
tinguished between prolonged forms of ‘depth immersion’ that became characteristic of this research,
and more fleeting forms of ‘ethnographic visiting’ which my earliest research encounters reflected.
14
In order to reduce social distance and enhance field relations, I adopted a similar strategy to
Fleming (1995, p. 58) who decided to adopt a ‘least authoritative’ role as a ‘sort-of P.E. teacher’ in
his school-based study on the leisure lifestyles of South Asian youths (see also Fleming 1997).
 Introduction: A Day in the Dirt 17

Image 1.1 Hanging out on the player’s balcony: Lord’s

Image 1.2 Caught in the act: the art of eavesdropping

18 H. C. R. Bowles

Image 1.3 Writing fieldnotes the ‘old fashioned’ way: Wormsley Estate
Cricket Ground

p. 196) that became starting points for salient themes within the data. After
a morning of lifting weights in the gym with the squad, or back at the team
hotel after a day’s play, I would find a space to reflect and add meat to a
skeleton of prompts and cues recorded in close to chronological order. Data
captured and expanded in this way is of course limited by the strength of
my recollection and power of expression, but I am confident that if not
accurate ‘word-for-word’ it is accurate in ‘tone’ (Pryce 1986, p. 299).
Observational data were supplemented by information gathered by
other traditional ethnographic techniques such as informal, and often
impromptu, field-based conversations recorded on a digital Dictaphone,
and the collection of documents and other artefacts (e.g. photographs,
newspaper articles, paperwork and other forms of correspondence) perti-
nent to the research. When it came to talking to people, like Atkinson
(2003, p. 78), I adopted a strategy that would ‘elicit free-ranging and highly
descriptive responses from individuals about their experiences’ which
involved a significant degree of self-disclosure by both researcher and par-
ticipant. One-to-one or small group conversations were a chance to delve
into the personal narratives couched within the collective ­experience of
playing cricket. But this presented me with the methodological problem of
 Introduction: A Day in the Dirt 19

how to extract individuals away from the group in a manner that did not
draw attention to what I was doing or undermine team dynamics. The
answer was not to extract individuals at all, but to wait and allow the natu-
ral rhythm and routines of cricket to drive the process—like taking a “lap”
around the boundary, when invited, as cricketers often do during periods
of inactivity created by the game (see Image 1.4). Primed with ideas rather
than questions, I allowed conversations of this kind to follow a natural
course, with some developing into more purposeful and systematic discus-
sions with individuals who became key informants (Parker 1998).
The principles and practices of ethnographic fieldwork, however, are
not to be confused with a simple ‘look, listen and learn procedure’ (Van
Maanen 1995, p. 2), and I am mindful not to depict them as so. According
to Fine (1993), ethnographers create illusions about themselves, their
technical skill and the sensitivity of their approach. This is all part of a
complex participant-observer-research equation that is built into the final
product, that has been written about and reflected upon at length else-
where (e.g. Van Maanen 1988; Hammersley 1992; Brewer 1994; Van
Maanen 2011). Suffice it to say ethnographers are not passive bystanders
in the research process, but flawed and active agents in the production of

Image 1.4 A lap of the boundary: a way of getting to know individuals more
personally
20 H. C. R. Bowles

Image 1.5 Establishing a role: helping Josh with his warm up

the ethnographic text (Van Maanen 1988; Atkinson 1990). Many of my

personal and social characteristics that mitigated against the difficulties I
could have encountered gaining access and remaining involved, also acted
as potential blind spots in the data collection and interpretative process.
As Josh—a player I became close to during fieldwork—put it, whilst I
helped him with his pre-match rituals (see Image 1.5), “the lads see you as a
cricketer H, not some weird anthropology guy”.15 Being “a cricketer” of a
similar age and social demographic whilst advantageous in many ways—not
least for relationship building and the quality of interaction between
researcher and participant—also led me to focus on certain aspects of shared
and individual experience and take other bits for granted that I either missed
or discounted as unimportant. Thus, somewhere out of the blurred line
between the ‘auto’ and ‘ethno’ (de Rond 2008), evidence and intuition, a
story emerged around the questions players asked about themselves and
their situations in relation to cricket, work and future lifestyle choices.

15
On the topic of the researcher’s ‘appearance’, Fetterman (1989, p. 56) emphasises the value of
honesty when it comes to researchers attempting to adapt their behaviours and manage their image
to fit their research surroundings. In his opinion, being ‘natural is more effective than any perfor-
mance’ as even the most accomplished actor is bound to ‘slip up’ at some stage during the research.
That said, the ‘ethnographic self ’ is still to be managed in strategic ways to facilitate the process of
researching (Hammersely and Atkinson 2007), making ‘identity work’ a pervasive feature of the
ethnographic enterprise (Coffey 1999).
 Introduction: A Day in the Dirt 21

Image 1.6 Celebrating the end of the 2011 university season

 he Research Problem and Conceptual

T
Framework
Cricket can present something of a challenge for the modern genera-
tion of cricketer (Brearley 2012). A game spread across many hours and
often multiple days is at odds with contemporary culture that demands
­‘happiness’ and ‘quick fixes’ that could easily frustrate those who crave
excitement and the ‘capacity to succeed early’ (Brearley 2012, p. 33). In
fact, many writers and former players have paused to reflect on cricket’s
essential qualities and whether cricket attracts a certain type of person
(see Frith 2001; Roebuck 1985). Some have gone so far as to ponder
the extent to which cricket takes its toll on the characters of those who
22 H. C. R. Bowles

play it, and what impact society might have on the way a generation of
cricketers think about and approach the game (James 1963). On cricket
and the temperament of cricketers, Kavanagh (1981, p. 113) wrote:

cricketers spend unimaginable numbers of hours doing something as near

pointless as possible, trying to dig an elusive perfection out of themselves in
the face of infinite variables … Like poets their faces are deeply engraved by
introspection—all cricketers seem prematurely lined—because they are as
deeply locked in a struggle with themselves as they are with the opposition.

The struggle to which Kavanagh refers provides an indication of the psy-

chology and emotions elicited by cricket’s nature, and a useful starting point
for the research problem that emerged over the course of fieldwork.
Entering the field at the start of the research, I had anticipated finding
a group of student-athletes running through their paces committed to
the ambition of becoming professional cricketers. Having harboured the
same aspiration, I was also expecting to feel a touch envious of players’
talent and the cricketing opportunities on offer. What I had not expected
to encounter, however, was the level of ambivalence players demonstrated
towards the prospect of playing cricket for a living. Nor had I expected to
empathise with the critical perspectives they expressed on the game in a
context that appeared to make them question whether a career in cricket
was really what they wanted.

It’s the middle of the season. It’s hot, and the wicket is flat. Your team is in
the field and the opposition are a decent batting side, so you slap the sun
cream on and go out with the realisation you’re going to be standing in the
field for the rest of the day. [At times like this] you have got to keep remind-
ing yourself that this is it … it’s just part of the game and somehow you
have got to find some pleasure in doing it. But it’s tough—it’s a constant
battle to keep motivating yourself on days like this. On the field, there’s a
bit of banter to start, but that soon wears off, and slowly you get that feel-
ing … You don’t give up, but you certainly feel like it whilst you think
about all the things you’d rather be doing. And you know you shouldn’t
think like that, but you just can’t help it … From 11 o’clock you are just
counting down the minutes to lunch, and then to tea, just wilting as the
day goes on. You’ve done all the practice, all the weights and all the fitness,
 Introduction: A Day in the Dirt 23

but it’s a mental thing because nothing prepares you for days like this …
Then you finally come off at the close of play and I mean you can literally
smell the dirt. It’s just that feeling and that smell of sweat. You look around
and everyone is burnt. Your skin is red and glowing. Your whites are filthy.
Your socks are soaked. The day’s been long. You’re tired, you feel beaten,
and as you sit there moaning about it to your teammates it starts to sink in
that you’re in the field again tomorrow [for another day in the dirt] … It’s
even tougher though when you’re staying away in a hotel on the side of a
motorway. That’s when you really start to question whether you want to do
this at all?

“A day in the dirt”, as described by Connor—a member of the academy

squad who became a key informant over the course of the research—
crystallised a salient feature of players’ student-cricket experiences in an
image far removed from those which are otherwise associated with
cricket and professional sport. Despite my ease with cricket language
and the terminology used by players, “a day in the dirt” was not an
expression I had come across before in amateur cricketing circles, and I
first dismissed it as an interesting yet throw-away remark. It was not
until my second season with the squad that I started to identify with the
phrase’s contextual meaning and draw connections to a wider develop-
mental and social research problem. The phrase not only captured the
long hours Connor and his teammates had and continued to invest in
the game, but also spoke of the arduous characteristics of playing cricket
that challenged players’ perceptions of a childhood goal of turning
cricket into a profession. Indeed, “a day in the dirt”, as I came to under-
stand it, encapsulated a tension between aspiration and reality that play-
ers experienced as both aspirant cricketers and as young people. Alongside
their higher education, the university cricket environment provided
players with an authentic vocational experience through which they
developed knowledge about themselves and the game. Whilst university
cricket acted as a ‘confirmatory experience’ (Hodkinson et al. 1996,
p. 144) for some individuals, for others, it dislocated their expectations,
stimulating a process of disassociation that would eventually lead them
to bring a halt to their pursuit of professional cricket, or worse, exit the
game entirely. This came as a surprise not least because it seemed, to
some extent, to buck the trend of previous research.
24 H. C. R. Bowles

The experiences of academy sportspeople and their professional coun-

terparts has been a popular area of investigation for many years. In the
context of elite youth sport, ethnographic research has largely focused on
the culture of academy environments and the institutional demands and
socialization processes that cause young athletes to commit to careers and
identities bound in sport. For example, Parker (1995, 1996, 2000, 2001,
2006) illustrated how a group of Youth Training Scheme (YTS) football
apprentices assimilated the values and expectations of their working envi-
ronment through a complex process of situated learning and ‘occupa-
tional inheritance’ (Parker 2001, p. 77). The findings of Parker’s research
places emphasis on the regulatory practices used within a professional
football club (e.g. adherence to ‘official’ club rules, values and behav-
ioural standards) and the informal learning (e.g. observing and living up
to ‘unofficial’ habits, norms and social expectations) that served to shape
players’ identities and facilitate their progression from trainees to full-
time professionals. In a similar vein, Manley et al. (2012, 2016) shone
light on the surveillance techniques (e.g. video analysis, physiological
testing, human observation and socio-technology) and disciplinary
mechanisms (e.g. the promotion and of a professional attitude, measur-
ing performance and encouraging self-discipline and self-surveillance)
utilised to enter the consciousness of young sports performers in academy
environments. According to Manley et al. (2016) such practices diminish
the ability of academy athletes to develop alternative selves outside rigid
identity-­frameworks used to define professional attitudes, and what it
takes to be successful in sport.
The narrowing of personal horizons are findings that are echoed through-
out an extensive research literature on the issue of athletic careers and iden-
tities (e.g. Gearing 1999; Wacquant 1995, 2004; Robidoux 2001; Bruner
et al. 2008; Brown and Potrac 2009; McGillivray et al. 2005; McGillivray
and McIntosh 2006; Stier 2007; Roderick 2006, 2006, 2012a, b, 2014;
Brown and Coupland 2015; Parker and Manley 2017). Even in university
sport contexts, a similar story has emerged showing the extent to which
elite student-athlete populations commit to, and become engulfed by, their
athletic roles (Adler and Adler 1991; de Rond 2008). These findings add to
a recurrent perspective that describes the development of a single-minded
orientation towards a career in ­professional sport which young athletes
 Introduction: A Day in the Dirt 25

learn to accept rather than question. Indeed, it has become a truism that
elite athlete populations, including those in higher education, are at risk of
identity-­foreclosure due to the culture of professional sport, wider social
expectations and a lack of formative identity-exploration leading to feelings
of loss and dilemma when their careers come to end (Sparkes 1998; Douglas
and Carless 2009).
The sociological nature of previous ethnographic research on the expe-
riences of youth athletes has meant little consideration has been given to
the psychosocial characteristics of these young people at a particular stage
of their life-course—characteristics that are likely to influence the nature
of the interactions young sportspeople have with their sporting environ-
ments. Against this empirical backdrop, the criticality players displayed
towards professional cricket as an occupation and identity commitment
stood out as a focal point to the research, particularly when read in con-
text of their wider developmental transitions as young people.
From a theoretical point of view, even within restrictive occupational
cultures like those found in professional sport, the self is not passive or
immune to the conditions of late modernity that have caused questions of
identity to become a prevalent feature of people’s day-to-day lives (Giddens
1991). Scholars from the disciplines of sociology and ­psychology have
argued that dramatic social and cultural change has resulted in a loosening
of traditional social structures (e.g. class, gender roles etc.) and geographical
ties, altering individuals’ relationship with the contexts in which they lead
their lives (Baumeister 1986, 1987). Where identity is concerned, the flex-
ibility of modern Western societies provides people with the autonomy to
make decisions about who they are and where they see themselves in the
future. Whilst these actual or perceived freedoms are liberating in one
sense, individuals are also saddled with the burden of self-definition in soci-
eties where identity is increasingly seen as a matter of personal choice (Beck
1992). With choice comes the complication and increased pressure to
choose the right path and establish an identity that provides meaning,
direction and emotional prosperity over the life-­course. Although many
have claimed that the personal freedoms offered by late modernity have
been exaggerated in the context of youth transitions (e.g. Hodkinson and
Sparkes 1997; Roberts 1997; Furlong et al. 2006; Bynner 2005), it is widely
accepted that social structures that once anchored people’s perceptions of
26 H. C. R. Bowles

themselves, and the opportunities a­vailable to them, have become more

fragmented and obscure (Furlong and Cartmel 2007). Thus, at points
within their lives, people are forced to confront the issue of self-definition
(Côté 2000) and engage in the everyday biographical work necessary to
build and navigate a life-course in late modernity (Woodman and Bennett
2015). In this sense, the ‘project’ of self-identity has become a stress of
modern life that must be actively negotiated and reflexively resolved, as
with increased opportunity, comes the pressure of having to decide and the
risk of making the wrong choice (Beck 1992; Beck and Beck-Gernsheim
1995; Giddens 1991).
In modern, secular societies, where the search for an identity has become
more diffuse, what an individual does for a living is particularly signifi-
cant. It has been acknowledged that (waged) work is an important source
of self-confidence and self-fulfilment (Bain 2005) and a vehicle from
which individuals derive meaning (Karp 1996). For Gini (1998, p. 708):

Work is one of the primary means by which adults find their identity and
form their character. Simply put: where we work, how we work, what we do
at work and the general ethos and culture of the workplace indelibly mark
us for life.

Regardless of its sort, work provides people with access to goods and ser-
vices and a way of achieving status and a certain lifestyle (Gini 1998). It
also provides a means of social comparison used to integrate with or dif-
ferentiate self from others (Law et al. 2002), with self-definition often
expressed through the narration of career stories (Meijers and Lengelle
2012). Given work absorbs much of people’s physical and mental resources
(Thomas 1999) it requires a level of personal commitment and self-sacri-
fice that acts as a central pillar for identity-formation into adulthood and
a means of constructing a path through life (Marcia, 1980, 2002).
In the face of having to make a series of enduring life-choices, Erikson
(1968) theorised adolescence and early adulthood as a fraught and often
conflicted period during which the young may experience a sense of con-
fusion as they strive to get a foot on the career ladder and find resolutions
to the basic questions of their identity. Erikson is an example of one of the
classic identity theorists (e.g. Cooley 1902; Mead 1934) who ­ruminated
on the extent to which identity is formed as an individual, psychological
 Introduction: A Day in the Dirt 27

project, a function of interaction in social and cultural contexts, or a

­combination of both (Schwartz 2001). Erikson’s extensive writing on
identity and the life-cycle has been the theoretical foundation of much
research and debate on the nature of identity and its role in youth transi-
tion, as for Erikson, the life-long process of identity-formation is a process
that reaches a ‘normative crisis’ in adolescence.
Erikson (1968, p. 22) saw identity-development as a reciprocal rela-
tionship between individual and context, and a process that involves rec-
ognising and being recognised by ‘relevant’ others.

In psychological terms, identity-formation employs a process of simultane-

ous reflection and observation, a process taking place on all levels of mental
functioning, by which the individual judges himself in the light of what he
perceives to be the way in which others judge him in comparison to them-
selves and to a typology significant to them; while he judges their way of
judging him in the light of how he perceives himself in comparison to
them and to types that have become relevant to him. This process is, luck-
ily, and necessarily, for the most part unconscious except where inner con-
ditions and outer circumstances combine to aggravate a painful, or elated,
identity-consciousness.

Erikson’s theory on identity (1958, 1968, 1980) reflects some of the the-
oretical propositions offered by Mead (1934) who argues self-­development
to be dependent on interaction with other people. According to Mead,
‘the self ’ is not initially there at birth. To exist, it is reliant on social con-
text as an ‘object’ that arises out of social experience (Mead 1934, p. 247)
making the very nature of identity-formation a process that incorporates
a reflexive dialogue between individual and his or her social surroundings
(Adams and Marshall 1996; Adams 2003).
The ‘identity-consciousness’ to which Erikson (1968) refers arises out
of a complex mix of social interactions and subjective experiences that
throw early childhood identifications and parental expectations into
doubt. Identity-formation in adolescence is often accompanied by a sense
of confusion as the young person tries to cultivate a new sense of inner
continuity around new social roles, interests and competencies (Kroger
2004, 2005), and other criteria free from parental and family influence
(Baumeister 1986).
28 H. C. R. Bowles

To a certain extent, Erikson’s theory (1968) contends that some form of

‘crisis’ is a necessary part of young people’s psychosocial development in
societies that offer ‘youth’ the opportunity to delay the initial commit-
ments of adult life in order to arrive at a more firm and definite sense of
who they are. An important feature of Erikson’s theory, therefore, is the
role played by a period of ‘psychosocial moratorium’ during which time
the young can experiment with roles and alternative identities in an
attempt to find the person they wish to be. Whilst some young people find
the search for an identity disorienting and distressing, Erikson positions
himself as a proponent of the healthy function a moratorium can play in
providing the opportunity for self-exploration and preventing identity-
disturbances in later life that may be caused when a person realises they
have over committed to something that they are not (see Erikson 1958).
For the young to enter a period of moratorium, pockets of time and
space need to be created where exploration can take place and authentic
experiences be gained, in the relative absence of commitment. A pri-
mary example is the expansion of HE that has become a popular and
politicised destination for the young to go before making their transi-
tion into the labour market and committing themselves to a life of work
(Baumeister and Muraven 1996; Arnett 2004; Côté and Bynner 2008;
Côté and Allahar 2011; Furlong et al. 2011). With more young people
entering HE, scholars have argued that it has become commonplace for
young people to delay the psychological and social transition into adult-
hood (Arnett and Taber 1994; Côté 2000; Côté and Allahar 2011). For
Arnett (2000, 2004, 2007), the developmental processes of adolescence
have become elongated and more decoupled with age as the young take
longer to develop a clear idea about themselves and what they desire
from their adult futures. As an advocate of the extended transitions the-
ory, Arnett (2004) proposed the concept of ‘emerging adulthood’ to rep-
resent a new stage in the life-course commencing in the late teens and
continuing through the twenties. During this period, Arnett (2004)
claimed young people perceive themselves neither adolescent nor adult,
but on the cusp of making life-long decisions as they engage in a pro-
tracted process of identity-exploration full of uncertainty, instability as
well as a sense of possibility.
 Introduction: A Day in the Dirt 29

The concept of emerging adulthood, however, has received criticism not

least for an explicit emphasis on personal choice that down-plays the struc-
tural determinants that continue to enable and constrain youth transitions
and shape young people’s experiences (Brynner 2005; Furlong et al. 2006;
Roberts 2009). Côté (2014) warned the universal application of the emerging
adulthood concept to represent extended youth transitions risks homogenis-
ing the developmental experiences of young people despite the obstacles
many encounter that could limit or prevent prolonged and active explora-
tions of identity in relation to work and other lifestyle choices. As Shanahan
describes (2000, p. 682), ‘young people are strategic in that they foster plans
and pursue them, but they are also constrained by the limits that attend their
position in the educational and occupational system.’ Against the backdrop
of late modernity, the concept of emerging adulthood does, however, draw
attention to the agency and opportunity that some young people have, at least
in principle (Bynner 2005). Furthermore, it re-emphasises the centrality of
occupational identity in young people’s attempts to construct their lives.
In this regard, Arnett’s (2004) notion of emerging adulthood provides a
useful descriptive framework in operationalizing a time in life relevant to
specific cohorts of young people, particularly those in environments that give
them the time and encouragement to engage in a process of self-­examination
to gain a clearer insight into themselves and their abilities relative to a specific
occupational context and identity goal. As I came to understand it, much of
the worry and questioning I witnessed among the group was rooted in the
open-ended nature of identity and, more specifically, a cricket-based identity
that was still up for debate. The questions players asked of themselves
embraced not only the constraints imposed upon their identities by the
encompassing nature of their student-cricket experiences, but also the direc-
tion in which they wanted to take their lives and whether cricket was part of
it. The problem then became how did they decide, and what questions did
they ask themselves (and the game) in the process?

The Research Product

Presented with an environment and the opportunities to help them
develop, for the student-cricketers in this study, university cricket repre-
sented an avenue towards a career in professional sport. There were,
Another random document with
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Plate 16.

Plate 17.
 MECHANICK EXERCISES:
Or, the Doctrine of

Handy-works.
Applied to the ART of
Mold-Making, Sinking the Matrices,
Casting and Dressing of
Printing-Letters.

§. 15. ¶. 1. Of making the Mold.

The Steel-Punches being thus finish’d, as afore was shewed, they
are to be sunk or struck into pieces of Copper, about an Inch and an
half long, and one quarter of an Inch deep; but the thickness not
assignable, because of the different thicknesses in Letters, as was
shewed in §. 2. and shall further be shewed, when I come to the
sinking and justifying of Matrices. But before these Punches are
sunk into Copper, the Letter-Founder must provide a Mold to justifie
the Matrices by: And therefore it is proper that I describe this Mold to
you before I proceed any farther.
I have given you in Plate 18. at A, the Draft of one side or half of the
Mold; and in Plate 19. at B, its Match, or other half, which I shall in
general thus describe.
Every Mold is made of two parts, an under, and an upper Part; the
under part is delineated at A, in Plate 18, the upper part is marked B,
in Plate 19, and is in all respects made like the under part, excepting
the Stool behind, and the Bow, or Spring also behind; and excepting
a small roundish Wyer between the Body and Carriage, near the
Break, where the under part hath a small rounding Groove made in
the Body. This Wyer, or rather Half-Wyer in the upper part makes the
Nick in the Shank of the Letter, when part of it is received into the
Grove in the under part.
These two parts are so exactly fitted and gaged into one another,
(viz. the Male Gage, marked C in Plate 19, into the Female-Gage
marked g, in Plate 18.) that when the upper part of the Mold is
properly placed on, and in the under part of the Mold both together,
makes the entire Mold, and may be slid backwards for Use so far, till
the Edge of either of the Bodies on the middle of either Carriage
comes just to the Edge of the Female-Gages, cut in each Carriage:
And they may be slid forwards so far, till the Bodies on either
Carriage touch each other. And the sliding of these two parts of the
Mold backwards, makes the Shank of the Letter thicker, because the
Bodies in each part stand wider asunder; and the sliding them
forwards makes the Shank of the Letter thinner, because the Bodies
on each part of the Mold stand closer together.
 Plate 18.
The Under half of the Mold
This is a general Description of the Mold; I come now to a more
particular Description of its parts.

a The Carriage.
b The Body.
c The Male-Gage.
d e The Mouth-Piece.
f i The Register.
g The Female-Gage.
h The Hag.
a a a a The Bottom-Plate.
b b b The Wood the Bottom-Plate lies on.
c c e The Mouth.
d d The Throat.
e d d The Pallat.
f The Nick.
g g The Stool.
h h g The Spring or Bow.

I have here given you only the Names of the parts of the Mold,
because at present I purpose no other Use of it, than what relates to
the sinking the Punches into the Matrices: And when I come to the
casting of Letters, You will find the Use and Necessity of all these
Parts.

¶. 2. Of the Bottom-Plate.

The Bottom-Plate is made of Iron, about two Inches and three

quarters long, and about the same breadth; its thickness about a
Brevier: It is planisht exactly flat and straight: It hath two of its Fore-
Angles, as a a cut off either straight or rounding, according to the
pleasure of the Workman.
About the place where the middle of the Carriage lies, is made a
Hole about a Great-Primmer square, into which is rivetted on the
upper-side a Pin with a Sholder to it, which reaches about half an
Inch through the under-side of the Bottom-Plate. This Pin on the
under-side the Bottom-Plate is round, and hath a Male-Screw on its
end. This Pin is let through a Hole made in the Wood of the Mold to
fit it; so that when a square Nut, with a Female-Screw in it, is turned
on the Male-Screw, it may draw and fasten the Half Mold firm to the
Wood.
The Hind-side of the Carriage lies on this Bottom-Plate, parallel to
the Hind-side of it, and about a Two-Lin’d-English within the Hind
Edge of it; and so much of this Bottom-Plate as is between the
Register and the left-hand end of the Carriage (as it is posited in the
Figure) is called the Stool, as g g in the under half of the Mold,
because on it the lower end of the Matrice rests; but on the upper
half of the Mold is made a square Notch behind in the Bottom-Plate,
rather within than without the Edge of the Carriage, to reach from the
Register, and half an Inch towards the left-hand (as it is posited in
the Figure) that the upper part of the fore-side of the Matrice may
stand close to the Carriage and Body.

¶. 3. Of the Carriage.

On the Bottom-Plate is fitted a Carriage, (as a) This Carriage is

almost the length of the Bottom-Plate, and about a Double-Pica
thick, and its Breadth the length of the Shank of the Letter to be cast.
This Carriage is made of Iron, and hath its upper side, and its two
narrow sides filed and rubed upon the using File, exactly straight,
square and smooth, and the two opposite narrow sides exactly
parallel to each other.
On one end of the Carriage, as at g, is made a long Notch or Slit,
which I call the Female-Gage: It is about a Double-Pica wide, and is
made for the Male-Gage of the other part of the Mold to fit into, and
to slide forwards or backwards as the thickness of the Letter to be
cast may require.

¶. 4. Of the Body.

Upon the Carriage is fitted the Body, as at b. This Body is also made
of Iron, and is half the length of the Carriage, and the exact breadth
of the Carriage; but its thickness is alterable, and particularly made
for every intended Body.
About the middle of this Body is made a square Hole, about a Great-
Primmer, or Double-Pica square; and directly under it is made
through the Carriage such another Hole exactly of the same size.

¶. 5. Of the Male-Gage.

Through these two Holes, viz. That in the Body, and that in the
Carriage, is fitted a square Iron Shank with a Male-Screw on one
End, and on the other End an Head turning square from the square
Shanck to the farther end of the Body, as is described at c; but is
more particularly described apart at B in the same Plate, where B
may be called the Male-Gage: For I know no distinct Name that
Founders have for it, and do therefore coyn this:

a The square Shanck.

b The Male-Screw.

This square Shanck is just so long within half a Scaboard thick as to

reach through the Body, Carriage, and another square Hole made
through the Bottom-Plate, that so when a square Nut with a Female-
Screw in it is turned on that Pin, the Nut shall draw and fasten the
Body and Carriage down to the Bottom-Plate.
The Office of the Male-Gage is to fit into, and slide along the
Female-Gage.
¶. 6. Of the Mouth-Piece.
 Plate 19.
The Upper half of the Mold
Close to the Carriage and Body is fitted a Mouth-Piece marked d e.
Letter-Founders call this altogether a Mouth-Piece: But that I may be
the better understood in this present purpose, I must more nicely
distinguish its parts, and take the Freedom to elect Terms for them,
as first,

c c e The Mouth.
d The Palate.
c c e d The Jaws.
d d The Throat.

Altogether (as aforesaid) the Mouth-Piece.

The Mouth-Piece hath its Side returning from the Throat filed and
rubb’d on the Using-File exactly straight and square to its Bottom-
side, because it is to joyn close to the Side of the Carriage and Body;
but its upper-side, viz. the Palate is not parallel to the Bottom, but
from the Side d d, viz. the Throat falls away to the Mouth e, making
an Angle greater or smaller, as the Body that the Mold is made for is
bigger or less: For small Bodies require but a small Mouth, because
small Ladles will hold Metal enough for small Letters; and the smaller
the Ladle, the finer the Geat of the Ladle is; and fine Geats will
easier hit the Mouth (in a Train of Work) than the course Geats of
Great Ladles: Therefore it is that the Mouth must be made to such a
convenient Width, that the Ladle to be used and its Geat, may
readily, and without slabbering, receive the Metal thrown into the
Mold.
But again, if the Mouth-Piece be made too wide, viz. the Jaws too
deep at the Mouth, though the Geat of the Ladle does the readier
find it, yet the Body of the Break of the Letter will be so great, that
first it heats the Mold a great deal faster and hotter; and secondly, it
empties the Pan a great deal sooner of its Metal, and subjects the
Workman sometime to stand still while other Metal is melted and hot:
Therefore Judgment is to be used in the width of the Mouth; and
though there be no Rule for the width of it; yet this in general for
such Molds as I make, I observe that the Orifice of the Throat may
be about one quarter of the Body for small Bodies; but for great
Bodies less, according to Discretion, and the Palate about an Inch
and a quarter long from the Body and Carriage. The reason that the
Orifice of the Throat is so small, is, because the Substance at the
end of the Shanck of the Letter ought also to be small, that the Break
may easier break from the Shanck of the Letter, and the less subject
the Shanck to bowing; for the bowing of a Letter spoils it; and the
reason why the Palate is so long, is, that the Break being long, may
be the easier finger’d and manag’d in the breaking.
If it be objected, that since the smalness of the Break at the end of
the Shanck of the Letter is so approvable and necessary for the
reason aforesaid, then why may not the Break be made much more
smaller yet? The Answer will be, No; because if it be much smaller
than one quarter of the Body, Metal enough will not pass through the
Throat, to fill both the Face and Shanck of the Letter, especially if the
Letter to be cast prove thin.
Near the Throat and Jaw is made straight down through the Palate a
square Hole (as at k.) This square Hole hath all its Sides on the
Upper-Plain of the Palate opened to a Bevel of about 45 Degrees,
and about the depth of a thick Scaboard. Into this square Hole is
fitted a square Pin to reach through it; and within half a Scaboard
through a square Hole, made just under it in the Bottom-Plate which
the Mouth-Piece lies upon. On the upper end of this square Pin is
made a square Sholder, whose under-sides are filed Bevil away, so
as to comply and fall just into the Bevil made on the Palate
aforesaid, and on the under end of the Pin is made a Male-screw
long enough to contain a square Nut, with a Female-screw in it about
a Pica or English thick, which Nut being twisted about the Pin of the
Male-screw, draws and fastens the Mouth-piece close down to the
Bottom-Plate, and also close to the Carriage and Body of the Mold.
Note, that the square Hole made in the Bottom-Plate to receive the
square Shanck of the Pin, must be made a little wider than just to fit
the square Shanck of the Pin, because the Mouth-piece must be so
placed, that the end of the Jaw next the Throat must lie just even
with the Body it is to be joyned to; and also that the Throat of the
Mouth-piece may be thrust perfectly close to the Sides of the
Carriage and Body: And when Occasion requires the Shanck of the
Letter to be lengthned, it may be set farther off the Carriage, that an
Asidue, or sometimes a thin Plate of Brass may be fitted in between
the Carriage and the Throat of the Mouth-piece, as shall farther be
shewed when I come to justifie the Mold.

¶. 7. Of the Register.

Behind the Mold is placed the Register, as at f i h, which I have also

placed apart in the aforesaid Plate, as at C, that it may the more
perspicuously be discerned, and a more particular account of its
parts be given, which are as follows:

C a a b c d e The Register.
a a The Sholders.
b c The Neck.
d The Cheek returning square from the Plate of the
Register, and is about an English thick.
e The Screw Hole.

It is made of an Iron Plate about a Brevier thick; its upper-side is

straight, but its under-side is not: For at a a projects downwards a
small piece of the same Plate, which we may call the Sholders, of
the Form you see in the Figure. These Sholders have two small
Notches (as at b c) filed in them below the Range on the under-side
of the Register, which we will call the Neck, and is just so wide as
the Bottom-Plate is thick. This Neck is set into a square Notch, filed
so far into the Bottom-Plate, that the flat inside of the Register may
stand close against the hind-side of the Carriage and Body; and this
Notch is filed so wide on the left Hand, that when the side b of the
Neck stands close against the left-hand-side of this Notch (as it is
posited in the Figure) the Cheek of the Register stands just even
with the Edge of the Body. And this Notch is also filed so wide on the
right-Hand-side, that when the Neck at c stands close against the
right-hand Side of the Notch, the Cheek of the Register may remove
an m, or an m and an n from the edge of the Body towards the right
hand: And the Sholders a a are made so long, that when either Side
of the Neck is thrust close against its corresponding side in the
Notch of the Bottom-Plate, the upper Edge of the opposite Sholder
shall hook or bear against the under-side of the Bottom-Plate, and
keep the whole Register steady, and directly upright to the Surface of
the Bottom-Plate.
In the Plate of the Register, is made a long square Hole, as at e, just
wide enough to receive the Pin of a Male-screw, with a Sholder to it,
which is to fit into a Female-screw, made in the Edge of the
Carriage, that when the Male-screw is turned about in the Female-
screw in the Carriage, it shall draw the Sholder of the said Male-
screw hard against the upper and under Sides of the square Hole in
the Plate of the Register, close to the side of the Carriage and Body.
The reason why the Hole in the Plate of the Register is made so
long, is that the Cheek of the Register may be slid forwards or
backwards as occasion requires; as shall be shewn when I come to
justifying the Mold.

¶. 8. Of the Nick.

In the upper half of the Mold, at about a Pica distance from the
Throat, is fitted into the under-side of the Body the Nick: It is made of
a piece of Wyer filed flat a little more than half away. This Nick is
bigger or less, as the Body the Mold is made for is bigger or less; but
its length is about two m’s. It is with round Sculptors let exactly into
the under-side of the Body.
In the under half of the Mold, is made at the same distance from the
Throat, on the upper-side of the Body, a round Groove, just fit to
receive the Nick in the upper half.

¶. 9. Of the Bow or Spring.

This is a long piece of hard Iron Wyer, whose Diameter is about a
Brevier thick, and hath one end fastned into the Wood of the under
half of the Mold, as at h; but it is so fastned, that it may turn about in
the Hole of the Wood it is put into: For the end of it being batter’d
flat, a small Hole is drilled through it, into which small Hole the end of
fine Lute-string Wyer, or somewhat bigger is put, and fastned by
twisting about half an Inch of the end of the Lute-string to the rest of
the Lute-string: For then a considerable Bundle of that Wyer, of
about the Size of a Doublet Button, being wound behind the Hole,
about the end of the Spring, will become a Sholder to it, and keep
the end of the Spring from slipping through the Hole in the Wood:
But this Button or Sholder must also be kept on by thrusting another
piece of Wyer stiff into the Hole made on the end of the Spring, and
crooking that Wyer into the Form of an S, that it slip not out of the
Hole.
The manner how the Spring is bowed, you may see in the Figure:
But just without the Wood is twisted upon another Wyer about an
English thick five or six turns of the Wyer of the Spring, to make the
whole Spring bear the stronger at its point: For the Office of the
Spring is with its Point at g, to thrust the Matrice close against the
Carriage and Body.

¶. 10. Of the Hooks, or Haggs.

These are Iron Wyers about a Long-Primmer thick: Their Shape you
may see in the Figure: They are so fastned into the Wood of the
Mold, that they may not hinder the Ladle hitting the Mouth. Their
Office is to pick and draw with their Points the Break and Letter out
of the Mold when they may chance to stick.

¶. 11. Of the Woods of the Mold.

All the Iron Work aforesaid of the Mold is fitted and fastned on two
Woods, viz. each half one, and each Wood about an Inch thick, and
of the shape of each respective Bottom-Plate. The Wood hath all its
Sides except the hind-side, about a Pica longer than the Bottom-
Plate; but the hind-side lies even with the Bottom-Plate. The Bottom-
Plate, as afore was said in ¶. 2. of this §. hath an Iron Pin on its
under-side, about half an Inch long, with a Male-screw on its end,
which Pin being let fit into an Hole in the Wood does by a Nut with a
Female-screw in it draw, all the Iron Work close and fast to the
Wood.
But because the Wood is an Inch thick, and the Pin in the Bottom-
Plate but half an Inch long, therefore the outer or under-side of the
Wood (as posited in the Figure) hath a wide round Hole made in it
flat at the Bottom, to reach within an English, or a Great Primmer of
the upper-side of the Wood. This round Hole is wide enough to
receive the Nut with the Female-screw in it; and the Pin being now
long enough to receive the Female-screw at the wide Hole, the
Female-screw may with round nosed Plyers be turned about the
Male-screw on the Pin aforesaid, till it draw all the Iron Work close to
the Wood.
The Wood behind on the upper half is cut away as the Bottom-Plate
of that half is; and into the thickness of the Wood, close by the right
and left-hand side of this Notch is a small square Wyer-staple driven,
which we may call the Matrice-Check; for its Office is only to keep
the Shanck of the Matrice from flying out of this Notch of the Mold
when the Caster is at Work. And the Nuts and Screws of the
Carriage and Mouth-piece, &c. that lie under the Bottom-Plate, are
with small Chissels let into the upper-side of the Wood, that the
Bottom-plates may lie flat on it.

Sect. XVI. Of justifying the Mold.

Although the Mold be now made; nay, very well and Workman-like
made, yet is it not imagin’d to be fit to go to work withal; as well
because it will doubtless Rag (as Founders call it; for which
Explanation see the Table) as because the Body, Thickness,
Straightness, and length of the Shanck must be finisht with such
great Nicety, that without several Proofs and Tryings, it cannot be
expected to be perfectly true.
Therefore before the sinking and justifying the Matrices, the Mold
must first be Justified: And first, he justifies the Body, which to do, he
casts about twenty Proofs or Letters, as they are called, though it
matters not whether the Shancks have yet Letters on them or no.
These Proofs he sets up in a Composing-stick, as is described in §.
17. ¶. 2. Plate 19. at G, with all their Nicks towards the right Hand,
and then sets up so many Letters of the same Body, (which for
Distinction sake we will call Patterns) that he will justifie his Body too,
upon the Proofs, with all their Nicks also to the right Hand, to try if
they agree in length with the same Number of Letters that he uses
for his Pattern; which if they do not, for very seldom they do, but by
the Workman’s fore-cast are generally somewhat too big in the Body,
that there may be Substance left to Justifie the Mold, and clear it
from Ragging. Therefore the Proofs may drive-out somewhat, either
half a Line (which in Founders and Printers Language is half a Body)
or a whole Line. (more or less.)
He also tries if the two sides of the Body are parallel, viz. That the
Body be no bigger at the Head than at the Foot; and that he tries by
taking half the number of his Proofs, and turning the Heads of them
lays them upon the other half of his Proofs, so that if then the Heads
and Feet be exactly even upon each other, and that the Heads and
Feet neither drive out, nor get in, (Founders and Printers Language,
for which see the Table) the two sides of the Body are parallel; but if
either the Head or Foot drives out, the two sides of the Body are not
parallel, and must therefore be mended.
And as he has examin’d the Sides of the Body so also he examines
the thickness of the Letter, and tries if the two Sides of the thickness
be also parallel, which to do, he sets up his Prooves in the
Composing-stick with their Nicks upwards. Then taking half of the
Prooves, he turns the Heads and lay the Heads upon the Feet of the
other half of his Prooves, and if the Heads and Feet lies exactly upon
each other and neither drive out or get in the two Sides of the
thicknesses are parallel. But if either the Head or Foot drive-out the
two Sides of the thicknesses are not parallel; and must therefore be
mended.
Next, he considers whether the sides of the Body be straight, first by
laying two Letters with their Nicks upwards upon one another, and
holding them up in his Fingers, between his Eye and the Light, tries if
he can see Light between them: For if the least Light appear
between them, the Carriage is not straight. Then he lays the Nicks
against one another, and holds them also against the Light, as
before: Then he lays both the Nicks outward, and examines them
that way, that he may find whether either or both of the Carriages are
out of straight.
But we will suppose now the Body somewhat too big, and that it
drives out at the Head or Foot; and that the thickness drives out at
the Head or Foot and that the Sides of the Body are not straight.
These are Faults enough to take the Mold asunder: but yet if there
were but one of these Faults it must be taken asunder for that; by
unscrewing the Male-Gage, to take the Body off the Carriage, and
the Carriage off the Bottom-Plate.
Having found where the Fault of one or both sides of the Body is, he
lays the Body down upon the Using File; and if the Fault be
extuberant, he rubs the Extuberancy down, by pressing his Finger or
Fingers hard upon the opposite side of the Body, just over the
extuberant part; and so rubbing the Body hard forwards on the
Using-File, and drawing it lightly backwards, he rubs till he has
wrought down the extuberancy, which he examins by applying the
Lyner to that side of the Body, and holding it so up between his Eye
and the Light, tries whether or not the Lyner ride upon the part that
was extuberant; which if it do, the extuberancy is not sufficiently
rub’d off, and the former Process must again begin and be continued
till the extuberancy be rub’d off. And if the Body were too big, he by
this Operation works it down: Because the extuberancy of the Body
rid upon the Carriage, and bore it up.
And if the fault be a Dawk, or Hollow in the Body, then he Works the
rest of that side of the Body down to the bottom of the Dawk, which
by applying the Lyner (as afore) he tryes, and this also lessens the
Body.
If the Body drive-out at Head or Foot, he lays the weight of his
Fingers heavy at that side or end of the Body which is too thick, and
so rubs that down harder.
If the thickness of the Letter, drive-out at Head, or Foot, he Screws
the Body into the Vice, and with a flat sharp File, files the Side down
at the Head, or Foot. At the same time, if the Shanck of the Letter be
not Square, he mends that also, and smooth-files it very well.
Then he puts the Mold together again: And melting, (or laying aside)
his first Proofs, lest they should make him mistake, he again Casts
about twenty New Proofs, and examins by them as before, how well
he has mended the Body, and how near he has brought the Body to
the size of the Pattern: For he does not expect to do it the First,
Second, or Seventh time; but mends on, on, on, by a little at a time,
till at last it is so finisht.
If the Body prove too small, it is underlaid with a thick or a thin
Asidue; or sometimes a thin Plate of Brass.
Then he examins the Mouth-piece, and sees that the Jaws slide
exactly true, upon every part of the Pallat without riding.
If the Throat of the Mouth-piece lie too low, as most commonly it is
designed so to do; Then a Plate of Brass of a proper thickness is laid
under it to raise it higher.
He also Justifies the Registers, making their Cheeks truly Square.
And Screwing them about an n from the Corner of the Body.
He tryes that the Male and Female-Gages fit each other exactly, and
lie directly straight along, and parallel to both the Sides of the
Carriage.
All this thus performed he needs not (perhaps) take the Mold
assunder again. But not having yet consider’d, or examin’d the
length of the Shanck of the Letter, he now does; and if it be
somewhat too long (as we will suppose by forecast it is) then the
Body and Carriage being Screwed together, and both the Halves
fitted in their Gages, the Edges of the Carriage and Body are thus
together rub’d upon the Using-File, till the Carriage be brought to an
exact length.
Having thus (as he hopes) finisht the justifying of the Mold; and put it
together, and Screwed it fast up, he puts the two Halves together,
and then Rubs or Slides them hard against one another, to try if he
can perceive any little part of the Body Ride upon the Carriage, or
Carriage ride upon the Body: To know which of them it is that Rides,
or is extuberant, he uses the Liner; applying it to both the Places, as
well of the Body as the Carriage: where he sees they have Rub’d or
bore upon one another: And which of them that is extuberant, the
Edge of the Liner will shew, by Riding upon it: And that part he Files
upon with a small flat and very fine File, by little and little, taking off
the extuberancy, till the Bodies and Carriages lie exactly flat upon,
and close to one another: Which if they do not, the Mold will be sure
to Rag.

§. XVII. ¶. 1. Of Sinking the Punches into the

Matrices.
That the Matrice, and all its parts may be the better understood, as I
shall have Occasion to Name them, I have given you a Draft of the
Matrice in Plate, 18 at E. and shall here explain its parts.

E The Matrice, wherein is Punched E, the Face of the

Letter.
a The Bottom of the Matrice.
b The Top of the Matrice.
c The Right-side of the Matrice.
d The Left Side of the Matrice.
f g The Face of the Matrice.
h i The Leather Grove of the Matrice.

In the Back or Side behind the Matrice, just behind E is filed in

athwart the Back, from the right to the left Side a Notch, to settle and