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Robin Parke

A BOOK of obituaries may seem odd reading material for a holiday or business trip but, believe me, it does pass the time quite pleasantly.

 We all know only too well that there are not too many certainties in life, and death is one of them. The particular book is a choice presentation of obituaries which have appeared in London's Daily Telegraph, which has a department devoted to writing them.

 And they are not all of the rich and famous.

 Thieves, bartenders, wayward aristocrats and a woman who sought and found the headwaters of the Amazon have all graced the obituary page.

 As a regular reader of the page, one finds its most surprising feature is the age to which its subjects live or, on this occasion, die. We had a 95-year-old and two 87-year-olds last week, and septuagenarians abound.

 And we also had Sir Denis Compton. Reading of the life and times of this superb athlete brought back memories of a long-gone age in sport.

 Even suggesting today that a player could represent his country at both cricket and football would cause most people to shake their heads in mystification. Not without reason, of course.

 The demands placed on professional sportsmen these days - physically and mentally - make it almost impossible to play at the highest level in different sports.

 Compton was one of the few who did it, representing England in a string of wartime internationals at football - he was on the opposite wing to Sir Stanley Matthews - and starring as a consummate batsman, chalking up records in 1947 which stand to this day and which are unlikely to be bettered.

 His football career ended with an FA Cup medal for Arsenal in 1950, and obituaries last week suggested he was a first-class winger who played heavily on a very natural talent.

 He actually went to Arsenal before the last World War because his mother did not want him simply playing cricket in the summer for the equivalent of HK$30 a week. Compton was required to get winter employment to tide him over to the following cricket season.

 His injured knee, which became as important to the general public during an Ashes year as the health of the then King or the impending birth of a Royal baby, was a legacy of his Highbury days.

 Ironically, as I am not a true cricketing buff and my footballing memories begin some time after Compton played his last game for Arsenal, he is best remembered in this corner for his Brylcreem ads.

 Along with the first GBP100 footballer, Johnny Haynes, he was the Brylcreem boy who graced the nation's billboards for years. He was also the first professional athlete to retain an agent in an age when that was simply unheard of.

 But reading last week's clutch of obituaries was to be removed in time to an obviously gentler age. Compton was something of a national treasure and simply lifted a nation's spirits with his joie de vivre and his superb batting prowess.

 In pre-television days when motorways were not in use, Compton packed them into cricket grounds all over the country - and not just for Test matches.

 He was also the life and soul of the party, one factor that may have contributed to his changeable family life. He was married three times.

 While his timing with the bat was exemplary, that was apparently not the case in everyday life, and a number of presentation ceremonies went awry when the winner of the award failed to turn up on time.

 But, by reliable accounts, he was equally readily forgiven.

 One of the enduring discussions on football centres on just how good a player such as Matthews or Tom Finney would have been in today's game. As Matthews was lightning over 10 yards, he would almost certainly have been most gainfully employed, but might not necessarily have made the same impact at international level.

 On the cricket field, it is the prowess of Sir Don Bradman and Sir Len Hutton that is measured against the West Indian giants of recent years. Of course, there can be no definitive answer. Imagine a Derby involving Sir Ivor, Nijinsky, Sea Bird, Mill Reef, Shergar and Santa Claus - somebody would have to finish last and yet all were champions.

 But Compton appears to have straddled the years, and the tributes that flowed last week were united in their praise of a man who played his sport at the highest levels - and enjoyed every last minute of it.



Compton a rare breed from an era long gone