Sonny Ramadhin and Alf Valentine. The calypso begins thus: Cricket lovely Cricket, At Lord's where I saw it; Cricket lovely Cricket, At Lord's where I saw it; Yardley tried his best But Goddard won the Test. They gave the crowd plenty fun; Second Test and West Indies won. Chorus: With those two little pals of mine Ramadhin and Valentine. The Ashes (Australia vs MCC 1954–55) Tyson taught them a lesson that can't be forgotten, Tyson taught them a lesson that can't be forgotten, We began quietly, but we came back with victory, Good captaincy from Len Hutton, but the honours must go to Typhoon Tyson. Australia's tragedy, it began at Sydney, Magnificent Tyson, had their batsmen beaten, He went on to give us, a victory for Christmas, Good captaincy from Len Hutton, but the honours must go to Typhoon Tyson. More shocks for Australia, the Melbourne disaster, As Favell got going, his wicket went tumbling, We got them out cheaply, and score second victory, Good captaincy from Len Hutton, but the honours must go to Typhoon Tyson. The bowling was so good, it remind them of Larwood, Magnificent Tyson finished with seven for twenty-seven, They had no excuses, we regained the Ashes, Good captaincy from Len Hutton, but the honours must go to Typhoon Tyson. Gavaskar Calypso Lord Relator (born Willard Harris) wrote the "Gavaskar Calypso" to celebrate Gavaskar's first Test series, in West Indies in 1970–71. This was voted at No. 68 at a "Calypso of the Century" poll (although "Victory Calypso" did not feature in the list). The most famous part of the "Gavaskar Calypso" is the one that describes how he batted "like a wall": It was Gavaskar The real master Just like a wall We couldn't out Gavaskar at all Not at all You know the West Indies couldn't out Gavaskar at all. A. E. Housman Cricket features, albeit briefly, in late-Victorian poet A. E. Housman's most famous collection of somewhat gloomy poems A Shropshire Lad, published in 1896 and never out-of-print since then. Poem XVII reads: Twice a week the winter thorough Here stood I to keep the goal: Football then was fighting sorrow For the young man’s soul. Now in Maytime to the wicket Out I march with bat and pad: See the son of grief at cricket Trying to be glad. Try I will; no harm in trying: Wonder 'tis how little mirth