County Championship 2025. Division 1. Somerset v Worcestershire. 4^th, 5^th, 6^th and 7^th April. Taunton.

Will Smeed was unavailable for selection due to injury.

Somerset.  A.M. Vaughan, S.R. Dickson, T.A. Lammonby, T.B. Abell, T. Banton, J.E.K. Rew (w), L. Gregory (c), K.L. Aldridge, C. Overton, J.H. Davey, M.J. Leach.

Worcestershire. G.H. Roderick (w), J.D. Libby, Kashif Ali, E.A. Brookes, A.J. Hose, B.L. D’Oliveira (c), M.J. Waite, T.A.I. Taylor, B.M.J. Allison, T.I. Hinley, A.W. Finch.

Overnight. Worcestershire 154 and 280 for 5. Somerset 670 for 7 dec. Worcestershire trail by 236 runs with five second innings wickets standing.

Final day – Lightning doesn’t strike twice

The Quantocks were stunning all day. They looked so close, it felt as if you could reach out and touch them. And yet, they remained, as always, tantalisingly out of reach. On the field, as the day progressed, the match seemed just as tantalisingly out of reach for Somerset. Victory was as clear in the eye as the Quantocks, and yet, by the middle of the afternoon, winning seemed a wicket too far. The Somerset bowlers kept to their task. Lewis Gregory and his close advisers tried every tactic under cricket heaven as they tried to hew a wicket out of a pitch as steadfastly unforgiving and obdurate as the bats of the Worcestershire batters. In the field, the players repeatedly shouted encouragement to each other. The crowd, a typical final day crowd of perhaps five or six hundred, shouted and clapped its own encouragement, especially in a tense final hour when the eye was as much on the clock as on the middle.

It was a day that began in bright sunshine as most days did in the dreamlike spring weather of 2025. For those of us at the top of the Trescothick Pavilion, the dream was for looking at rather than feeling as the chill wind that inhabits the elevated section for much of the Championship season blew its normal course across the seats. It was a day for shirt sleeves or summer jumpers on the Colin Atkinson Pavilion terrace, but anoraks still ruled in the Trescothick Pavilion. My own arrival at the partly re-opened Brian Rose Gates, coincided with the second ball of the day. It was bowled by Craig Overton, and like most balls on the final day it met with a solidly defensive bat, in this case, from Brett D’Oliveira.

It was the fifth over of the day before I had watched my way to my seat at the top of the Trescothick Pavilion. With Somerset needing five wickets, a tense quiet was settling on the ground, and as I reached into my bag to find my notebook, I heard the unmistakable sound of ball striking stumps. Adam Finch, sent in the night before to carry out the nightwatch duty, had been bowled by Kasey Aldridge, defending. Aldridge had been Somerset’s bowler of the match and now, as the silence erupted into a cheer, he brought hope again. Worcestershire were 288 for 6, Finch 8. Worcestershire were still 228 behind, but the figure that mattered was the four wickets Somerset still needed if they were to collect maximum points from the match. With at least 91 overs left in the day, even taking into account a pitch more extinct than the dinosaurs, those four wickets were expected among Somerset supporters rather than hoped for.

D’Oliveira had been the epitome of resolution and defiance on the third day, adding 158 runs for the fifth wicket in 47 overs with Adam Hose, and he had been at the wicket 50 overs for his 71 runs when the players walked off at the close. Thirty-three overs further into his innings, having faced 94 more balls, he reached lunch on the final day having added just 28 more runs. The exhortation, ‘They shall not pass,’ which originated in the trench warfare of the First World War now applied in cricketing terms to the performance of D’Oliveira and Matthew Waite who joined him at the fall of Finch’s wicket.

My ball-by-ball notes for the morning are littered with the obdurate dots of the Worcestershire batters. In one twelve-over phase shortly after Waite came to the wicket there are 64 dots, six singles, a leg bye and one four steered past the slip area to the Hildreth Stand by Waite. In those twelve overs, D’Oliveira scored three singles. As Leach bowled, the bats and the front legs endlessly came forward to push the ball away. Rarely was a ball from Leach left, for as someone said, “He is making them play virtually every ball.” As Leach span away from the River End, the pace bowlers ran in from the Trescothick Pavilion End. By mid-morning it was clear that Waite and D’Oliveira were intent on nothing but being at the crease at the close. ‘They shall not pass’. Long-time Taunton watchers bad seen sides bat interminably on the final day of a Championship match before and, as the first twinges of anxiety took hold, the quiet was becoming audible.

At the top of the Trescothick Pavilion, a single conversation broke the silence. It continued unbroken as the overs slipped by, apparently oblivious to the intensity of the struggle going on in the middle. The Colin Atkinson Pavilion scoreboard kept a tally of the minimum number of overs remaining. Eighty-eight. When I looked again it was 79, then 76, and still no wicket. The day before, at lunch, I had made a note that there were a minimum 160 overs left in the match. It seemed a silly note at the time, Worcestershire were already two down and a million miles from saving the game or even making Somerset bat again. Now, I was beginning to wonder. So was the father of a young boy. “Somerset should win,” he said, repeating for emphasis, “Should win.” But the “should” was infused with doubt, as if he were trying to convince himself as much as his son.

Somerset were trying. They never stopped trying. Rew came up to the stumps for Gregory, but D’Oliveira didn’t stir from his metronomic, prodding defence. An inside edge did run towards fine leg, but there was no chance and the game ground on. For Leach, Overton was put at second slip for a while, he even tried kneeling, but nothing of consequence came his way. Early in his innings, Waite had edged Leach through Gregory at slip. There was an intake of breath, but the ball looked to have yorked Gregory. So close, yet so far. Aldridge did, briefly, trouble D’Oliveira. He beat him past the outside edge, it even looked like the ball might have moved a whisker, then D’Oliveira cut and missed and was then beaten again to applause, but no edge. When Vaughan replaced Aldridge, in successive balls, D’Oliveira slog swept and missed, and an inside edge bounced past the stumps. Lapses in concentration perhaps after so long at the crease. But those moments were no more than the straws that a fielding side’s supporters clutch at when a session has passed by, only one wicket has fallen, the next refuses to come and the ticking overs are beginning to niggle at the mind. At lunch, it had been 28 overs since the fall of the sixth wicket and a minimum of 62 remained, although a few more than that would be bowled with Leach and Vaughan expected to take the lion’s share of the bowling.

Lunch was spent perambulating, as the Club had termed the practice of spectators walking on the outfield, although the numbers were well down on the second and third days reflecting the much-reduced final-day crowd. There was still optimism about the outcome among those I spoke to, but it was tinged with doubt, for those few overs before lunch apart, D’Oliveira and Waite had looked as solid as the proverbial rock and, more worryingly, totally unflustered as they worked their way through the overs. A total of 57 runs came from the 34 overs of the morning session.

After lunch, Worcestershire crept doggedly on towards their still distant goal. Along the way, Waite registered the fifty partnership with a drive off Vaughan through extra cover to the Brian Rose Gates. D’Oliveira went to his century with an off drive for four to the Colin Atkinson Pavilion off Aldridge after spending eight overs on 99. His century had taken him 258 balls, and he looked no more like getting out than he had when he came to the wicket a few minutes short of 24 hours previously. It brought to mind a sweltering day 59 years before when I and a small group of boys had played schoolboy cricket beneath the shade of a tree near the moat around the Bishops Palace at Wells while listening to Test Match Special on a transistor radio. Brett’s grandfather, another B.L. D’Oliveira, was scoring a similarly battling 88 against a dominant West Indies side at Headingley. Time passes, but history sometimes repeats itself, if this time in a Championship rather than a Test match.

With the seemingly interminable loop of ball, prod, ball, prod showing no sign of being broken, Somerset experimented, or perhaps theorised. Gregory bowled short on leg stump with no slip, but a leg slip and two forward short legs. Waite played out a maiden and another over ticked by. Still four wickets to take. Fifty-three overs the minimum remaining. Three overs later, Gregory had added a long stop to his three close fielders as he continued to bowl short, waiting, or hoping, for the top edged pull or hook. For Vaughan there were two slips, a leg slip and a silly mid-off. Against Vaughan, Waite drove through the covers and one of Worcestershire’s spasmodic fours took them to 378 for 6, the partnership to 90 from 43 overs, with 49 overs, plus perhaps a dozen left. Midway through the afternoon, in the middle of a sequence of four consecutive maidens, a no ball from Leach apart, Gregory set what can best be described as a fan field. consisting of seven fielders spread in a perfect arc from short midwicket to short cover for Josh Davey’s first over of the day. It availed Somerset nothing as the pitch, D’Oliveira and Waite remained resolutely unmoved.

With the scoreboard registering Worcestershire at 398 for 6 in the 153^rd over of their innings with a minimum of 34 remaining, although that would probably stretch to somewhere in the mid-40s, Somerset had five fielders around the bat for Vaughan, three on the off side and two on the leg side, Gregory perhaps now hoping rather than theorising as the clock and the metronomic prodding of the Worcestershire bats ticked on. Waite turned Vaughan innocuously into the leg side as he had done all day, but this time a single brought up his fifty from 195 balls. Another two balls, and D’Oliveira padded up to Vaughan. The ball pitched eighteen inches outside off stump, D’Oliveira got his foot to the pitch, but this time, it was one of those balls which occasionally on a dead pitch, and to the watcher beyond the boundary, inexplicably, turns sharply. Vaughan appealed, the umpire raised his finger, and the rest of the Somerset team flocked to congratulate Vaughan. D’Oliveira looked dumbstruck, but quickly walked off. At the top of the Trescothick Pavilion there was disbelief. It just didn’t look out. D’Oliveira’s foot seemed planted far too wide of off stump. The umpire took a different view, and he did have a better view than any of us sitting slightly off line and eighty yards away. D’Oliveira had been at the crease while 282 runs were added, had scored 121 of them himself from 360 balls in a quarter of an hour under six hours. The applause which took him back to the Caddick Pavilion reflected the acknowledgement of the Somerset crowd that they had seen an innings of exceptional endurance and real quality.

But a cricket match has to move on, and Ben Allison joined Waite. “One more,” shouted Tom Abell and Leach went past Allison’s defensive prod. “Come on boys. Outside edge here,” someone else shouted, but when Waite edged Vaughan it flew between first and second slip to the Lord Ian Botham Stand boundary for four. The frustration was evident in the gasps. When Waite left a ball from Vaughan it passed excruciatingly close to the stumps. So near and so near again, but Worcestershire’s three wickets still stood and a back foot cover drive from Allison off Vaughan helped Worcestershire to tea on 414 for 7, still 102 behind Somerset.

My teatime circumnavigation stretched well into the evening session. As I walked, people were still hoping, but two sessions of fierce Worcestershire resistance with little return for Somerset despite all their efforts had left an uneasy feeling that Somerset would not quite make it. One person did try to sustain hope when he said, “Remember Surrey.” It was a reference to that astonishing end to the Surrey Championship match at Taunton in 2024 when seven wickets fell in the final hour to take Somerset over the line with an over to spare.

The return of the players soon put the Surrey comment in context. I stopped to watch the game from different vantage points looking for signs of hope. I stood against the boundary board between the Lord Ian Botham Stand and The Hildreth Stand and watched Overton running in from the Trescothick Pavilion End. The ball did nothing. I watched Gregory running away from me. The ball did nothing. I moved to the top of the steps in front of the Garner Gates. The batters looked serenely untroubled, although I imagine they were anything but serene. Could even Joel Garner have made an impact on this pitch I wondered? From near the Brian Rose Gates, the pitch looked equally unforgiving even though the bowlers seemed to be giving their all. Any thoughts that by being continually on the move, especially when walking behind stands, I might ‘take’ a wicket, or that “Surrey” might be repeated went unrequited.

And then, as I watched from behind the covers store, Overton powered in from the Trescothick Pavilion End. He seemed to be bowling with the same energy he had shown at the start of play. Allison tried to turn him square and popped the ball to Tom Lammonby at midwicket. “Yes!” the shout that erupted next to my ear as cheers broke out from raucous throats around the ground. Worcestershire 436 for 8. Allison 22. Worcestershire had been picking up the pace a little, the eighth wicket had added 38 in 12 overs, but they were still 95 in arrears. Even with over an hour and a half still to play, and the 19 remaining overs shown by the scoreboard to be more like 30 if Leach and Vaughan took the bulk of the overs, there seemed little prospect of Worcestershire moving into the lead. Everything hung on Somerset taking those final two wickets in those 30 or so overs.

As I regained my seat in the upper level of the Trescothick Pavilion, Overton struck Waite on the pads and let forth a truly prodigious appeal. All eyes bored into the umpire, but his arm remained steadfastly at his side. Apart from a final over from Overton, and two from Aldridge, from there, Somerset relied on Vaughan and Leach. As they wheeled away, Vaughan from the Trescothick Pavilion End and Leach from the River End, a grim stalemate developed. The Somerset bowlers ripped through their overs as if they were trying to squeeze in as many as possible, but no matter how quickly they sent an over down, Waite and Tom Taylor, the new batter, just kept pushing the ball back down the pitch. In the 17 overs after that huge Overton appeal, just 21 runs were scored, only 11 of them off the bat. In the first seven of those overs, there was not a single run off the bat. Just once in the 17 overs was the ball struck to the boundary, Taylor driving Vaughan through the close field. Somerset applied pressure. Constantly, there were five or six fielders around the bat. Occasionally a ball turned past the edge, the bat was beaten five times, once to significant applause, and once, in one of Aldridge’s two overs, an inside edge rolled past Waite’s off stump. But Worcestershire survived and it felt like Somerset were bowling against a brick wall.

By the end of the 17 overs, the match was well into the last hour and at times Somerset had eight fielders around the bat, shades of the Surrey match. Once, Taylor clipped Vaughan square and the ball ran into the dug outs in front of the Caddick Pavilion. The runs made no difference, but another ball had slipped away with perhaps ten or 12 overs remaining. Waite was not protecting Taylor who, 65 balls into his innings, seemed perfectly capable of protecting his own stumps. Three balls into Leach’s next over, with six close catchers plus a short mid-on and a short mid-off, Taylor came forward. The ball turned a shade. It was enough to take the edge. Overton was crouched at second slip, assuming fielding positions could be allocated to the overcrowded cluster of close fielders waiting to pounce. And pounce he did, scooping up the catch and running into the leg side in celebration, Gregory danced down the wicket, punching the air and the rest of the field converged into a celebratory swarm. Worcestershire 469 for 9. Taylor 12 from 68 balls in 64 never-ending minutes. More to the point, there was half an hour remaining. Half an hour. One wicket. “Remember Surrey,” the man had said at tea.

Remember Surrey. The crowd certainly did, at least around me. As those final 30 minutes ticked by, the encouragement from the crowd grew. As Leach prepared to bowl an over, a crescendo of applause accompanied him. There was applause for a leg before wicket appeal. Applause when Leach kept Waite at the non-striker’s end for Vaughan to target last man, Tom Hinley. When a ball to Waite popped up from a blur of bat and pad and was caught by a close fielder, the umpire determined that the contact was with the pad alone. “Oh, come on umpire!” the shout. There was applause for maidens when four came in succession. Leach let forth two huge leg before wicket appeals in an over against Hinley, playing only his second first-class match, his first having been three and a half years previously. The umpire remained unmoved. With tension bringing silence as every ball was bowled, and every ball bringing disappointment or frustration, the minutes on the clock were fast ticking down. Minutes not overs the focus, for Somerset were already past the minimum number of overs for the day. Ten minutes, seven, five, three, and still the bats of the final two batters came remorselessly down the pitch. By now the appeals had stopped, and four runs had been scored in nine overs, just two twos. No singles. Waite, a right hander, was now facing Vaughan’s off spin, Hinley, a left hander, despite his lack of experience, was facing Leach’s slow left arm.

Finally, Vaughan was running back to his mark, trying to squeeze one more Leach over out of the clock. “Remember Surrey,” the man had said. Three seconds before the digital clock on the scoreboard flicked over to 18.00, the umpire reached the non-striker’s stumps and Leach had his over, the 200th of the innings. “Come on Leachy,” the shout. With eight around the bat, Hinley drove his first ball through the covers. The fielder let it pass. Four runs. Hinley retained the strike. Four more balls he survived with not so much as the sound of a pin dropping being heard. The final ball, he pushed into the hands of silly point who flicked it at the stumps. “He’s dropped it!” shrieked a Worcestershire supporter in the Ondaatje Stand followed by a shriek of delight. The fielder hadn’t dropped it. He had held it, but it had bounced a yard short of him. The flick missed the stumps, but Hinley’s foot never left the ground, and the match remained just as tantalisingly, and now permanently, beyond Somerset’s reach, as it had for most of the day. The players looked emotionally and physically drained as they walked off, and there was a stunned silence in the crowd before the traditional applause for the teams broke out. “So, lightning doesn’t strike twice,” said a resigned voice as it died away.

Result. Worcestershire 154 (G.H. Roderick 58, K.L. Aldridge 5-36, C. Overton 3-24) and 485 for 9 (B.L. D’Oliveira 121, M.J. Waite 87*, A.J. Hose 82, M.J. Leach 4-107).  Somerset 670 for 7 dec (T. Banton 371, J.E.K. Rew 151, T.B. Abell 52). Match drawn. Somerset 16 points. Worcestershire 9 points.