By John Benson
Jim Quincey, who died on 7th July, had been a member at the Lindum for 64 years and during that time had been involved in almost every activity—player, committee member, groundsman, scorer and, in his latter years, President of the club.
Jim was introduced to the Lindum by Cyril Dollery, the chemistry master at his school. (Dollery’s brother Tom played in four Tests for England and was the first professional to be appointed as the captain of a first-class county). Jim spearheaded the Lindum attack for many years and although he was never selected to appear for the county he took part in Festival matches when he played alongside several Test players.
Jim introduced greyhound racing at the Lindum for a few years and later became the groundsman. He became President of the club a few years ago. He was also the unofficial President of critics’ corner, where he distributed wine gums, told unlikely stories and, not unlike Freddie Trueman, criticised field placings (I don’t know what’s goin’ on out there). He was last at the Lindum when he drove his car to the match against Bourne on 20th June.
A great character, Jim had been an all-round sportsman, played table-tennis and football (he was a keen follower of Lincoln United) and took a great, and occasionally profitable, interest in the Turf.
For some years after National Service in the Middle East, Jim was a policeman and he once nabbed one of two men who broke into the clubhouse one night. This was years before policemen were issued with radios, and he had to ask the man he arrested for twopence so that he could ring the police station for help. The other man was arrested shortly afterwards. What was not publicised was the fact that Jim just happened to be at the clubhouse because the steward used to leave him a bottle of beer outside when he was on night shift.
After a life time at the Lindum, Jim—who started the Quincey dynasty at the Lindum—will be greatly missed.
Jim, last but one player on the back row, in the Lincoln School cricket team, 1944. Also in the picture are Ruston legends Lol Thompson (first player on the left in the rear row) and his brother Del (right on front row). Frank Richardson, now a well-known umpire, is seated second from the left.
By Vic Mills
In the run up to the Lindum's 150th anniversary celebrations in 2006, there was talk of a club publication. As an idea for an articel, I spent time with Jim detailing his first season for the club in 1946. Over a chaotic yarn-filled evening, laptop vying for space with beer, ice cream and cake, we managed to turn the clock back sixty years. I took the finished piece to him a few days later. He seemed happy enough, not least by the fact that inside a few short paragraphs we'd managed to mention Churchill, Hitler and... Quincey!
Vic Mills. July 2009.
Pork Pies, Pubs and Pianos – Lindum Cricket 1946 by Jim Quincey
Contrary to public opinion, there were no Quinceys wheeling away at the Wragby Road End in 1856. Move the clock forward ninety years, however, and things were about to change. For as post-war Britain was struggling to come to terms with a victory hard won, so a post-war Jim Quincey - 17 years old, 6’ 1”, and 12 stone wet through - was struggling to come terms with the harsh reality of rationing.
One egg a week, 4 ounces of bacon, 2 ounces of sweets, 4 ounces of sugar, 3 ounces of meat - was this any way to breed a budding fast bowler? Churchill was no help, either, failing totally to mention the beneficial effects of powered egg to line and length while warning of the dangers of Soviet expansionism in his “Iron Curtain” speech.
Around the time that the League of Nations was dissolved - I don’t think the two were connected - the cricket committee sent out letters to all youth clubs in the area inviting two youngsters to attend a week’s coaching on the Lindum in early July 1946. At the time I was playing youth league cricket on the west common for St Nicholas Boys Club on Burton Road.
The Lindum club and ground that summer was a far cry from today. The old pavilion had survived - dry rot being far more of a threat than Hitler - and continued to house the changing-rooms, tearoom and bar, while the adjacent Nissan hut acted as shower block. Albert “Baggy” Kent was the groundsman, alternating evening work on the Lindum with his day job on the broad acres of the nearby Lincoln School. An old fast bowler’s lament maybe, but his liberal use of marl on the square made the Lindum, even back then, a batsman’s paradise.
Supervised by Lindum players, the coaching sessions were held over three weekday evenings. Despite the combined effects of rationing and Churchill, I was the solitary boy selected and duly made my Lindum debut on 13th July 1946 for the seconds at Newark, with a first home game on the Lindum the following weekend.
The passage from youth cricket to the adult game was helped in no small measure by the various characters in the second eleven at the time, and none more so than Percy Freeman. Keen to see a chap get on in the game, Percy was always on hand to back up appeals for leg before with those of his own. That these would hail from third man mattered little. A negative response from the umpire would thus be followed by an indignant “bugger me!” from the boundary.
Loathed as I am to return to the subject of food, but I should mention, given the family connections, that the supplies for the teas were provided by Stan Rollett from his corner shop in the Bail. The order would normally consist of 4 loaves, eight eggs, salad, spam, fruit cake (slab for the use of) and tea with ever diminishing amounts of milk and sugar. A purely personal choice, but your bread and marg could either be used for the salad or, for the more travelled and cosmopolitan, there was a saucer of jam. Which, for the record, was more saucer than jam.
At this time, although in its infancy, I was walking out with young Betty Sawyers of Queen’s Crescent. Innocent enough beginnings maybe, but as with many a girlfriend and later wife, this would lead in 1950 to 40 years of tea making for various Lindum sides. And that, every which way, is an awful lot of spam and scones.
If food appears something of a recurring theme in the summer of 1946 then blame it on the trauma of rationing. A trauma, I’m happy to report, I have yet to come to terms with. In George Leachman’s case, although a butcher by trade, he was a victim of the little known condition of piano deficiency. A condition that was treatable, however, as he appeared to know every pub in three counties with a piano.
An odd combination, but it was difficult to talk of pubs and pianos that summer without mentioning pork pies. For with “Wobby” Wilkinson in the side, a visit to a pub - George already installed behind the piano and belting out the tunes - would invariably and miraculously herald the appearance of 2lb pork pie courtesy of his family pork butchers. And if still hungry, and you could run to threepence (in old money, that is) there was always the possibility of fish and chips on the way home.
During the 1946 season, although National Service was a dark cloud fast approaching, I was gainfully employed as a wages clerk at Morrell’s pea factory in Bardney. A 9 to 5 existence that, thanks to the railway, meant I didn’t miss a single evening net session. Just as well, too, as this first year of involvement with the Lindum came to an abrupt end on 3rd December with my call up papers.
Two inches taller, half a stone heavier and now 20, I was back at the Lindum for pre-season nets and straight into the first team in April 1949. There to stay for twenty-two years before dropping down to captain the seconds for another thirteen, before finally hanging up the boots aged 55 in 1984.
Grandad Quincey
My memories.......
Fish and Chips every Saturday at your chip shop, I never did pay you back the thousands you said I owed you.
Going to watch Lincoln United games with you as it was cheaper than city.
Always sitting next to you for Sunday lunches and Christmas dinners and marvelling at how much you could eat.
Taking me to university.
Teaching me how to score and all those colours you used to use.
Spending summer holidays with you at the Lindum doing the ground.
The smell of your tractor shed.
Riding on the back of the tractor around the ground.
Always having tennis balls and footballs in the back of the car that I could play with.
Endless supply of wine gums! You always saved me the black ones.
Critics corner, always guaranteed a warm welcome.
Your little farm with the pigs and chickens.
Your hatred of cats, so much so that my cat is called Jim!!
You watching me in schools football and for St Helens.
Your stories that I always believed such as being a spitfire pilot, fighting in the trenches, flying a Lancaster bomber, getting shot by a German in WW2 etc..
Your cricket stories and exploits such as, bowling 60 overs every weekend, taking 100’s wickets every year, bowling very fast, never dropping a catch etc..
Padykin your horse and your greyhounds and pigeons.
Being politically incorrect at times!!
Being Lindum under 13 manager when I was captain.
Letting me drink your beer.
Always moaning at me for wasting money.
Insisting that I should always have 50p on me as someone might stop me in the street wanting to sell me a bike and in later years sticking a 50p inside my birthday card every year.
Offering me your old cricket trousers at the start of every season.
Loving cowboy books and films.
Constantly sending off for free things out of the newspapers.
The amount of people who I have met that once they found out my name was Quincey asked “Do you know Big Jim?
Always joking with Samantha that she wasn’t a real Quincey as she didn’t have our blood ditto Vic Mills.
Trying to explain predictive text to you when you got your mobile.
Always having so many stories (true ones) about school, being a policeman, Eygpt, cricket and football.
Taking the mic when West Ham beat Liverpool.
Being so happy when Jack was born.
Being my favourite Grandad.
Thank you for everything I will never forget you and will make sure Jack always remembers you.
Lots of Love David x
From Harry Pougher
Big Jim and Bett - Head of the family
From Harry Pougher
From Harry Pougher