by Brett Lee
‘Jim!’ I called. ‘Scott?’
‘Over here,’ Scott waved, calling from near the toilet block. I raced over.
‘Toby,’ said Jim. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Quick, we’ve got to move away!’ I called, keeping my head down.
I set off, staring at the grass below me, Scott and Jim following. I didn’t turn, fearing I’d see myself behind the others. We pressed on, walking quickly, until we reached another stand.
‘Jim, are you with us?’ I called, still not turning back. There was no answer. ‘Jim?’
‘He’s stopped,’ said Scott.
‘Jim!’ I yelled, turning around.
‘Toby, go on, I’ll follow you shortly,’ he called.
I walked back to him. ‘Jim, you can’t. You didn’t do the travel. Didn’t you tell me that no one who’s carried is able to return themselves?’ I stood looking at him. Scott, who wasn’t letting me out of his sight now, was just behind me.
‘Toby, you have brought me back to 1930. This is my dream come true. It was meant to be.’
‘But Jim, your real life is—’
‘Toby, I’m home. These are my people—here, around us.’
They looked totally alien to me and I couldn’t understand where Jim was coming from. He must have seen the concern on my face.
‘Toby, please, trust me.’
‘But, Jim, you’ve only got two hours. You told me yourself.’
‘Toby, those two hours will be a long time for me. I’ve been waiting for this for over 60 years. Goodbye, my boy.’ Jim held out his hand.
I looked up into his kind, wrinkled face. He smiled gently. I took his hand, then rushed forwards and hugged him. I felt tears brimming in my eyes.
‘Toby, you and your father are as close as family to me. Take care, dear boy.’
I bent close to his ear. ‘Smale’s got the scorecard,’ I whispered quietly so Scott couldn’t hear.
‘I know he has, but it’s going to be all right,’ he whispered back. ‘Now off you go. Hurry. I’m missing the innings of a lifetime!’ With one last wave, he turned and headed back towards the stand.
‘You heard him. Let’s go,’ Scott said, looking anxious.
I wiped the tears away, not caring that Scott had seen me crying.
‘Do you have any idea who’s batting out there at the moment?’ I said.
‘Who cares?’ he replied. ‘C’mon!’
I turned and started walking back towards the exit.
‘Hey, what’re you doin’? We’ve gotta—’
‘Scott, just hold my arm,’ I said, stretching it out horizontally as I recited the lines from the poem:
‘Respect this gift. Stay calm, stay clever, And let the years live on forever.’
22 Tobler
Thursday—afternoon
SCOTT was away from school the first two days of the following week, and I couldn’t get near him on the Wednesday. But on Thursday I cornered him. He’d been avoiding me.
‘Scott, what’s going on with everything?’ I asked him.
‘What’s it to you?’
‘Have you told anyone about what happened?’
‘What do you think?’ he sneered.
‘What about Gavin?’
‘What about him?’
I sighed.
‘Don’t worry. He doesn’t know anything,’ he added.
‘And what’s your uncle up to?’
‘Listen, Jones, I’ll make a deal with you. I say nothing, you say nothing. Got it?’
The old Scott had returned. I nodded and walked away.
‘Good luck Saturday!’ I called, as an afterthought. He didn’t reply.
The atmosphere at training was different without Scott. Everyone was more cheerful and people were queuing up for a hit in the nets—a part of training that was never much fun with Scott steaming in to bowl.
I watched Ally and Martian have a solid workout with Mr Pasquali out in the middle. Jimbo’s dad was looking after the net session. He was a good coach too. He helped me with my grip and showed me how he held the ball when he bowled. (See Tip 5.)
Then Mr Pasquali called the whole team over for some outfield catching. We had to take five catches each before we could go home. A dropped catch meant you had to take three extra catches. I managed to take my five cleanly and waited around, watching the others finish.
After training, Georgie and I got together with Rahul, Jimbo and Jay to tell them the whole story. We’d given them snippets of info during the week, but they were impatient for the rest.
‘Smale is Scott Craven’s uncle?’ Jay still couldn’t believe it.
‘So this guy Smale has got the scorecard, and you reckon he’s planning some sort of business to make money?’ Rahul said when we’d finished our tale.
I nodded.
‘And we’ll never see Jim again?’ Jimbo asked, looking a bit confused.
‘Well, I don’t think so.’
‘He can’t just go and start that sort of business. They’ll be on to him in a shot,’ said Rahul.
‘Who will?’ I asked.
‘Well, everyone. The media, the police, scientists. You name them.’
‘Smale’s a weird guy, but he won’t do anything for a while, I don’t reckon,’ Georgie said.
Our parents started arriving and we broke off the conversation. I waved at Dad as he pulled up and started walking over to meet him.
‘Hey, Toby, can I get a lift?’ It was Ally. ‘Mum said she can’t be here till six,’ she added, holding out her mobile phone.
I looked at Dad, who shrugged.
‘I think it’s on our way, isn’t it, Ally?’ I asked, hoping that it actually was.
‘Fine then,’ Dad said, opening the boot. I threw my stuff in and then Ally’s bag.
I wanted to tell Ally everything about the Wisdens and Jim and the scorecard, but with Dad in the car chatting away about the game coming up, the chance didn’t come. In no time, we were parked outside Ally’s house.
‘Thanks, Mr Jones. See ya, Tobler!’ she called, dragging her stuff out of the boot.
‘Tobler? That’s a new one, isn’t it?’ said Dad, pulling away from the kerb.
‘Yeah,’ I mumbled. ‘Dad?’
‘Hm?’
‘I guess we won’t be seeing Jim for a while.’
‘Oh, why’s that? Have you seen him recently?’
I smiled, thinking how dumb it would sound to say Not since 1930. ‘Yeah, you know, when we went up to the ’G the other day? He said he’d be away for a while.’
‘Probably out chasing old books,’ Dad said, smiling. ‘Dear old guy. We’ll get him around for that barbecue, Toby. I’ll show him my studio. You know what I’m going to call it?’
I shook my head.
‘The Wisden Studio. Hey, we’ll get Jim to open it! He’d love that.’
‘Sure. That’d be cool.’
I sat back and wondered if I would ever see Jim again. It seemed ridiculous that he was gone from this life, my life. And even weirder that he was living in a different time.
I took the paper to bed with me that night and stared at last week’s results, the ladders and the teams for tomorrow’s game. There was Scott Craven, vice-captain for the Scorpions. His uncle would probably make him captain for the grand final. And then I saw Smale’s name: Team Manager—Phillip Smale.
He just couldn’t keep his name out of the limelight.
I flicked off the light and lay wondering what the next turn of events would be. But for all the drama and action of the last few weeks, my last thought before falling asleep was of steaming in to bowl the first ball of the semi-final tomorrow. It would be just short of a length, pitched just outside off-stump and moving away slightly off the seam…
The most runs scored by an Australian off one over was 30. Ricky Ponting achieved this in a game against New Zealand in Auckland, in 2005. The bowler was Daryl Tuffey. His scoring shots were 6 – 2 – 6 – 6 – 4 – 6.
See page
603 for more details about Toby’s Under-13 competition.
BOOK 3 TOBY JONES AND THE MYSTERY OF THE TIME-TRAVEL TOUR
IT’S NOT JUST A GAME—IT’S TIME TRAVEL!
1 Runs on the Board
Thursday night—late
‘READ the poem to me again, Toby,’ said Ally.
‘Again?’
‘Yeah. Slower.’
Pushing my bedroom door gently closed, I settled into the desk chair, adjusted the phone and started reading.
‘Wow,’ she sighed when I was finished. ‘So, this all began on that excursion? Why didn’t I pick the MCG?’
‘Dunno. But that’s where I met this amazing old guy in the library called Jim. He also has the gift—the ability to travel back to cricket matches in the past using Wisdens. They’re those yellow cricket books I brought into school for my sports project, remember?’
‘I remember.’
‘Yeah, well, a few of us—Georgie, Rahul, Jay, Jimbo…even Scott Craven—have actually travelled back in time. And I thought it was about time you knew—especially since you’re one of us now, playing cricket and everything. Jim was sent a diary and Jay found an old scorecard inside it. Anyone can travel with the scorecard; it’s awesome. But Scott’s uncle, Phillip Smale, has it now, and I know he’ll use it. Sooner rather than later too.’
‘He’ll use it to travel back in time to a cricket match?’ Ally asked. ‘But isn’t that just what you do, except you use a Wisden?’
I sighed. ‘I do it to watch the cricket. Well, mainly,’ I added, thinking of the scary times I’d had. ‘Phillip Smale will do it to make money. To become famous.’
‘Can he time travel without the scorecard?’ Ally asked.
‘Nope.’
‘So, let’s get the scorecard from him,’ she said, like it was the easiest thing in the world.
‘Well, it’s not quite as simple as that,’ I explained. ‘Anyway, there’s someone else I want to get back first.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Jim is in Leeds, at the 1930 Test match he’s dreamed of going to all his life. I took him there, and I left him. I’m really worried about him, Ally; he’s like a grandpa to me.’ Neither of us spoke for a moment. ‘Anyway, I hope that fills you in.’
‘Toby?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Thanks,’ Ally said quietly. ‘I’m really glad you told me.’
I smiled. ‘No worries, Ally.’
Friday—afternoon
‘Okay. We’re batting first,’ Mr Pasquali announced to the team. It was the semi-final against Benchley Park, the team we’d struggled against a few weeks ago. I was going to have to wait another day before I’d be steaming in to bowl that perfect off-cutter—the one I’d been dreaming about last night. ‘Jono and I have discussed the batting order,’ Mr Pasquali continued, nodding to our skipper.
‘Yep,’ Jono said, picking up the cue from our teacher and coach. ‘Cameron and I are opening. Then Rahul, Jimbo, Toby and Ivo. Seventh is Ally, then Jay, Georgie, Gavin and Jason. Any volunteers for scoring?’
I wanted to watch the cricket without the hassle of keeping track of runs. Minh, our 12th man, finally put up his hand.
Both our openers were warming up with some parents. I put my pads on carefully, then walked around the oval to sit behind the bowler. It was good playing at school, on our home ground. Mr Pasquali had been plugging the game all week: there was a note in the school newsletter and he’d even mentioned it at assembly on Friday. Quite a few kids had turned up to watch.
‘If you make it through to the final we’ll parade the entire team in front of the school assembly next week,’ he’d told us.
‘But not Scott Craven,’ Ivo burst out.
‘He’s been a part of this team,’ Mr Pasquali replied. ‘Perhaps I’ll give him the choice.’ Scott had been our number-one strike bowler before he switched teams. Given the way his new team, the Scorpions, had played during the season, there was every chance they’d make it through to the grand final. Now that Scott had joined them, that seemed even more likely.
We made a solid start with our batting. There was good, sound defence from our openers against the accurate deliveries but also some attacking shots on the looser ones. When Jono mistimed a pull shot and holed out to mid-wicket, we had already scored 43 runs at more than five an over.
Rahul played fantastically, fluently driving balls to the boundary. The Benchley Park umpire moved his fielders all over the place, but Rahul kept on finding the gaps.
When drinks were taken out, we were 1/81 and looking good. Both Rahul and, soon after, Cameron retired when they got their 40, and each got a huge clap as he came off the field.
With the score at 1/121, I strode out to the wicket to join Jimbo. There were still plenty of overs left, but I sensed that now was the time to crank up the scoring, especially with wickets up our sleeve. Jimbo agreed. He was already on eight (from two fours) when I joined him, and he hit another three boundaries before scoring his first single.
Each of his fours was greeted with beeping car horns and cheering from the boundary. Dad honked when I nudged my first two runs through point. For the next four overs we belted 37 runs off the tired Benchley attack.
‘Looks like they’re bringing on their openers again,’ I said to Jimbo at the end of that fourth over, recognising the tall blond kid walking back to his mark.
‘Good,’ Jimbo said. ‘Let’s try and keep the tempo up.’
He hit two fours and a single from the next over and then had to retire. I found the fast bowlers harder to put away than the medium pacers and spinners. Martian belted a quick 11, but then Ally, Jay and Georgie went in fairly quick succession.
I was still in when Gavin marched out.
‘Get out or retire,’ he said to me. ‘There are some big hitters waiting to come back and we haven’t got much time.’
I was caught at deep mid-wicket that over, but Gavin only poked at the ball with Jason. I think Benchley Park preferred to keep them in; their fielders dropped two catches and their bowlers often bowled wide of the stumps. Finally, Gavin was caught off the last ball of the second last over.
‘Your call, Jono,’ I said. Rahul, Cameron and Jimbo were all padded up, ready to go.
‘Jimbo, get out there and smash them,’ Jono said.
And he did. After Jason scrambled a single to put Jimbo on strike, Jimbo blasted a two, three fours and a six off the last five deliveries.
Mr Pasquali was pleased, but reminded us that only half a game had been played. We’d scored 7/231. Batting was our strength, definitely. But tomorrow was going to be a lot harder, as we were without our strike bowler.
‘Toby will be carrying a big load,’ said Mr Pasquali, ‘as will our other bowlers. We’ll need outstanding support for them in the field. That’s our focus for Saturday. Now off you go and have a relaxing evening—you’ve all earned it. Well done!’
Georgie elbowed me. ‘Oh, my God,’ she said. ‘Look!’
Walking straight towards us across the oval were Scott and his uncle, Phillip Smale. No one said anything as they approached, until Mr Pasquali noticed them.
‘Scott! How was your game?’ he asked. Scott was playing in the other semi-final at the Scorpions’ home ground, against Motherwell State School.
He shrugged. ‘Got a few,’ he said, looking down.
‘A few! He took 7 for 17 off eight overs, with three maidens. It’s got to be a record; I’ll be checking the files this evening. In my office,’ Smale boasted, looking at Georgie and me.
I won’t ever forget the ordeal Georgie and I had been through in Smale’s office at the Scorpions’ clubrooms the previous weekend.
‘Well done, Scott. Terrific,’ said Mr Pasquali. He sounded genuinely pleased.
‘We’ll be pressing for the outright win, of course,’ Phillip Smale persisted. ‘We’ve already won the game. Got them all out for—’
‘Uncle Phillip, leave it, okay?’ Scott muttered.
The re
st of the team went about packing up. No one was taking much interest in Scott, though there were a few curious glances at his uncle.
Smale turned towards Dad. ‘Peter, how are you?’
‘Oh, hello, Phillip.’
‘I just wanted to mention that we’re looking at making some changes over at the library at the MCG. Actually, I thought I’d be pulling out of there, you know. That was my intention, but they really do need me.’
I caught Scott’s eye before he looked down again.
‘Yes, we’re doing some upgrades, so unfortunately there’ll be no visitors for some time.’ Mr Smale looked at me. ‘But I’m sure Toby here will find other things to do.’
‘Well, I’m sure he will, Phillip. We’ve got the Wisden Studio to work on, haven’t we, son?’
‘The Wisden Studio?’
‘It’ll be a step back in time, won’t it, Toby? We’re looking to get as many copies of Wisdens as we can. And Jim Oldfield is going to open it.’
Smale’s jaw dropped. ‘B…but, well, th…that’s—’
‘C’mon, Dad,’ I grumbled, dragging him away. ‘You don’t want to listen to him.’
‘Bye, Phillip!’ Dad called over his shoulder. There was no reply.
‘Nice one, Dad,’ I murmured under my breath in the car on the way home.
‘What’s that?’
‘Want some help in the studio after tea?’
‘Sure,’ Dad replied, looking pleased.
But I didn’t end up helping out because Georgie phoned me after dinner.
‘Toby, there’s supposed to be a poster up on Smale’s office window about a virtual cricket machine. Ally and I are going to check it out. Are you coming?’
‘What, to the Scorpions’ clubrooms?’ I said doubtfully, thinking of the swarms of Scorpion kids and parents who would be celebrating their semi-final thrashing of Motherwell that afternoon. ‘Georgie, I don’t know—Scott and Smale and everyone else’ll be there.’
