Six weeks, five test matches, and twenty-five days of merciless cricket. England and India gifted us the greatest series since the 2005 Ashes.

Test cricket has always been the pinnacle of the sport in my mind, and my infatuation with the format stems from one person: my Grandad.

My first vivid memories of Test cricket are Graeme Smith’s tenacious 277 at Edgbaston and Graeme Thorpe’s heroic 124 at the Oval during the England — South Africa series in 2003.

From that moment on, many of my childhood summers were spent at my grandparents’ house, completely enthralled by Test match cricket. I was nine when England defeated Australia in the 2005 Ashes series, Freddie Flintoff, Steve Harmison, Ashley Giles, Brett Lee, Ricky Ponting all absolutely captured my imagination.

My Grandad was a cricket fanatic. He adored the longer format of the game and was obsessed with the stories and stats behind the action. His bookshelves and cupboards were flooded with cricket history.

Grandad could often be found at Northamptonshire County Cricket Ground, basking in the sun with his cool bag, sandwich in hand, enjoying the proper game. Although on a couple of occasions, I managed to drag him to some T20 matches under the floodlights.

Looking back, it makes me smile because he simply couldn’t comprehend the risk of Kevin Pietersen’s sweep shot. Thank goodness he didn’t witness the rise of the reverse ramp in the five-day format.

His passion for cricket inspired me. Despite having creaky knees and hips, he always made time for a quick game in the garden.

My grandparents’ house was always filled with warmth, kindness, and entertainment. Surrounded by tall holly bushes, conifer trees, and rose plants, a long green garden stretched, buzzing with the chirping of birds from dawn until dusk. The garden was divided by hedges into two narrow strips, one of which we used as a natural cricket wicket.

During the Ashes in 2005, I was utterly captivated by Shane Warne’s wizardry leg spin. I distinctly remember the ball that completely bamboozled Andrew Strauss — the turn, the bounce, the sheer deception. I was hooked.

From then on, Grandad patiently taught me the art of spin bowling during every break of play. He showed me how to grip and rip the ball, even placing a piece of paper on the ground to indicate when I should pitch it. As I mimicked the great Australian’s run-up, I hit the paper perfectly, and the ball spun, crashing into the stumps. Grandad and I celebrated like we had won the Ashes.

Over time, my fascination with spin evolved as we witnessed Monty Panesar and Graeme Swann elevate the standards in England. However, Shane Warne will always hold a special place in my heart.

Aside from cricket, my school holidays were continually joyful at my grandparents’ house. We used to watch Mr. Bean together, fly paper airplanes, and roll dinky cars down homemade ramps. One year, Grandad and I tricked Grandma on April Fools’ Day with a fake piece of dog poo. I was so scared of Grandma’s reaction that I hid under the dining room table, but Grandad just giggled.

My Grandma cherished animals, particularly dogs. The dining room was adorned with her rosettes from dog shows she competed in and judged at. Rough collies and spaniels made their house a home.

Although cricket dominated the TV, tennis was Grandma’s true passion. When Wimbledon was on, nothing else mattered.

This year, I made sure to call before Sinner and Alcaraz collided in the final so that I wasn’t a distraction from the action. She had a real soft spot for Carlos Alcaraz — who doesn’t? The cheerful Spaniard plays tennis with the innocence of youth, a refreshing personality in such a fierce and mentally draining sport.

In recent years, my Grandma and I would have frequent, lengthy phone conversations. We would speak about all sorts, from Jeremy Clarkson’s Farm to family holidays in Cornwall. However, without fail, she would always ask how my Cocker Spaniel, Pebble, is doing. As long as we were doing well, she was content.

Nowadays, I reflect on my childhood years with great fondness. As a single child, I never grew tired of their company. Their devotion and selflessness have shaped who I am today, and I am forever grateful.

I still flashback to the delight on their faces when I scored my only goal for my youth football club, and when I took my first wickets bowling the very leg spin technique that my Grandad taught me in the garden.

In May 2024, I sadly lost my Grandad to dementia, and tragically, during the fifth and final Test match between England and India, I also lost my Grandma.

As I process the loss of both my grandparents, I feel it signifies the end of my childhood at the age of 29. Their absence leaves my heart less whole, yet I find comfort in knowing that they are now reunited, wherever that may be.

My passion for sport lives on in their honour. The enthusiasm they instilled in me and the memories we shared will be cherished forever.

Gone but not forgotten.

Grandma & Grandad