A bit of research has uncovered, I think, the fact that the clock at the top of the Colin Atkinson Pavilion celebrates its centenary in 2024. It previously resided at the top of the scoreboard which stood, more or less, on the current site of the Colin Atkinson Pavilion, until 1979. It was then moved to its current location. It is the only remnant of the ground from before 1979. The old scoreboard was paid for by a donation of, as far as I can see, £69 from the Stragglers Club. The donation was made at the end of the 1923 season and so, and I have made a bit of an assumption here, the scoreboard was in place for the 1924 season. It was certainly in place by the 1925 season because it can be seen in British Pathé’s film of Jack Hobbs scoring his hundredth run to equal W.G. Grace’s record of 126 first-class centuries (Hobbs passed the record with another century in the second innings). It has therefore seen a few things and a bit of change in its time.

And so, to mark the centenary, I have managed to cobble together one of my occasional ‘poems’ :

 

The Colin Atkinson Pavilion Clock

1924 – 2024

I am the Colin Atkinson Pavilion clock.

I mark the walk of Old Father Time

Endlessly measuring days

Since John Daniell stood firm at the crease,

And Ramsay McDonald first reigned in Downing Street.

New, from atop the scoreboard then, I cast my gaze.

Now, I am the only remnant of those post Great War days.

I am the Colin Atkinson Pavilion clock.

Marking time. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.

 

Days when brightly jacketed amateurs formed Somerset’s front line,

With names like Critchley-Salmonson and Ulrick Considine

Playing on endless summer days.

Days when Munich’s Beer Hall Putsch simply melted away,

And winning the Championship was a thing for another day.

I saw Bill Andrews and Arthur Wellard in their prime

In days when Neville Chamberlain claimed peace for our time.

I am the Colin Atkinson Pavilion clock.

Marking time. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

 

I stood firm as another war was fought and won

And saw Gimblett strike sixes into the churchyard, as if for fun.

As times changed

Nye Bevan laid the NHS at our feet

Before our years of perpetual Championship defeat.

I saw Maurice Tremlett create a team to fear,

And Bill Alley score three thousand runs in a year.

I am the Colin Atkinson Pavilion clock.

Marking time. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

 

I saw the shift from Gentlemen to Players

And one-day cricket come to Taunton’s sacred acres

As times changed.

In the wake of the Sixties social revolution

I watched as Somerset built towards one-day trophies with professional resolution.

Close, Richards, Garner and Botham to the fore

But the Championship never came to our door.

 I am the Colin Atkinson Pavilion clock.

Marking time. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

 

The old scoreboard was the first of the old ground to go.

In its place the new Colin Atkinson Pavilion on show

As times changed

With traditional industries swept away in the face of global competition,

And wood-splintered cricket stands displaced by plastic modernisation.

For Somerset, no Championship, but five glorious trophies to ponder,

Before, beneath my gaze, a great team split violently asunder.

I am the Colin Atkinson Pavilion clock.

Marking time. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

 

I gazed on in the quieter years that followed,

Watching the artistry of Jimmy Cook and Mushtaq Ahmed

As the world moved on.

The Channel Tunnel completed. The Berlin Wall demolished.

The Soviet Union unseated. Apartheid abolished.

Then, at Taunton, a stirring: the Botham Stand erected, Jamie Cox appointed,

But still, the ever-patient wait for the Championship pennant to be hoisted.

I am the Colin Atkinson Pavilion clock.

Marking time. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

 

Then, amid the razzmatazz of a new millennium

Came energy and infrastructure regeneration

As times changed.

The Twin Towers came crashing down, filmed live in their plight.

While Andy Caddick bowled endlessly, never ceasing to fight.

And Jamie Cox produced a team which played as if in his image cast,

With atomic energy unleashed, and a trophy eighteen years after the last.

I am the Colin Atkinson Pavilion clock.

Marking time. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

 

I saw the Stragglers Bar and wooden benches fall away,

To be replaced by structures designed for the modern day

As times changed.

Lehmann Brothers crashed, and Harry Potter ruled supreme,

While Justin Langer arrived to pursue the Championship dream.

He laid the foundation for two decades of first-division play,

But the Championship still in the future lay.

I am the Colin Atkinson Pavilion clock.

Marking time. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

 

I saw Craig Overton and Jack Leach in their prime,

And Marcus Trescothick batting with touch sublime

As times changed.

In the unreal world, Twitter, Facebook and Instagram held sway,

While in County Cricket’s world, live streams became the order of the day.

I saw Alfonso Thomas take four in four,

And James Hildreth’s hundred with a broken ankle at its core.

I am the Colin Atkinson Pavilion clock.

Marking time. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

 

Now, as my second century beckons,

And another dictator threatens,

As times change, yet remain the same,

I look down with hope renewed as I have at each new season’s start,

Waiting to see who will come forth and who will play their part.

And with every run, and every wicket and cheer

Breathe the eternal hope, “This year. This year.”

I am the Colin Atkinson Pavilion clock.

Marking time. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock …