Sequels to the hilarious bestseller Tales From A Long Room. Now it's the lugubrious tale of the Norwegian playwright Sibson and how he came to write The Wild Duck, and unusual insight into the Royal Wedding, and the languorous, tragic story of the corruption of youth, Blofeld Revisited. The Brigadier is back with his most eccentric, hilarious tales to date.
More than any other sport, cricket lends itself to literature, and is particularly ripe with potential for humorous writing. I suppose it’s due to the long-form nature of the game, the bucolic setting of much of the grass roots level of the sport, the arcane language and ceremonies and the rich range of characters at all levels. Peter Tinniswood hit a rich seam of comedy gold in the early eighties with his books featuring the tall stories of ‘the Brigadier’, a superannuated regular at Witney Scrotum village cricket club, happy to bend the ear of anyone willing to listen (very much in the mould of ‘the oldest member’ in Wodehouse’s golf stories). I’m pleased to report that the Brigadier’s tales are as funny now as when I first read them many years ago. How much they would mean to a reader not versed in the characters and issues of English county and test cricket of the seventies and early eighties though, I don’t know.
I love Tinniswood and his northern humour. The Brigadier is one of his most outrageous creations. Reminiscing about the greater times of his cricketing life and colonial times. I am not a prejudiced man, but he is everything I dislike about the English, speaking as a Yorkshireman. However, Tinniswood manages to create small points of empathy that draw you into his flights of fancy and fantasy. He is at his funniest when you almost feel sorry for the Brigadier, but sometimes you feel he just steps too far over the edge into the darker side. Even so, laughs are to be had, and laugh out load at least twice a tale and that rates as very funny on my scale.
I don't know why I so enjoy these somewhat odd tales, maybe because they are so English and so mocking of an age now gone. Gentle, irreverent and notable weird, if you are not of the cricketing persuasion.