For many years I was the opening batsman of Brockley Cricket Club. I never enjoyed batting at home because the ball never bounced on our wicket. It kept low or shot along the ground. This suited our bowlers who knew how to exploit the conditions to win us many matches. I gradually evolved a method of batting that suited our idiosyncratic pitch. I blocked nearly everything just driving rank half volleys and full tosses. This was very boring and frayed the nerves of the rest of the team. In the end LP, the blacksmith and opening bowler, snorted, "Next week you'll have a wicket with some bounce in it JR; I'll see to that."

The following Friday evening, pitch preparation night, LP turned up with a large oil drum in the back of his pickup. He unloaded it with difficulty. Of course the Brockley cricketers all went over to investigate. They stared into the rusty drum in disbelief - it was one quarter full of cow muck - although that is not quite the word they used for it. It lay there green and sullen. "What our wicket needs is cow muck and marl," said LP. Now we had the marl, sacks of it, and LP had got the muck from a dairy farmer in Hartest - a neighbouring village. "Yes, cow muck and marl", continued LP, "Herbert Hargreaves swears by it." Now Herbert was a stout Yorkshireman who once represented his county at cricket but in later life prepared some of the best wickets in Suffolk for Westgate Brewery.

LP mixed up a huge drum full of muck, marl and water. He sloshed it all over the wicket - which dramatically changed its colour if nothing else. Then we rolled it in. Up and down, up and down, we pushed the heavy old roll whilst the sun set and dusk fell.

Next day there was no sign of the muck and marl. Its disappearance was almost miraculous. There were a few more blue bottles buzzing around than normal but otherwise there was nothing to see for the previous evenings anointing. The muck and marl had stuck to the roller. We had succeeded in rolling it all up. Layer upon layer was tightly wrapped around the roller like some strange sedimentary rock. The first ball I faced shot all along the ground and uprooted my middle stump. That was the end of our experiment with much and marl.

Now the point of this sorry saga is this: we didn't lack faith. LP had tremendous faith in Herbert Hargreaves. Unfortunately Herbert had a mischievous sense of humour. He didn't mind leading us old Suffolk country boys astray - especially if it gave him an amusing tale to tell in the pub afterwards. Our faith did not help us one little bit because the object of it was unsound. Nor does a Christian's faith save him or help him. Jesus saves.