It was then luncheon interval at Lord's.
The press enclosure was full to its capacity with the most famous and important cricket writers of the time. I was just thrilled to be amongst the august company.
On that summer Sunday, the 23rd of June, I was introduced to the voice of summer John Arlott by my genial guide Robin Marlar. Himself a cricketer of no mean reputation and calibre, he had a suave access to places and persons around that Ivory Tower at the Mecca of cricket. In addition to that he was also an important appendage to the elite community of English cricket writers.
I was handed my credentials as the lone representative from Bangladesh by Mr Fairley, if I could correctly remember. He was very enthusiastic and filled me in with the information that I would be lucky enough to have Ted Dexter, the former England captain who took out an England team in 1961 to Dhaka and then turned a writer, as my close neighbour on the right. But the most exciting news was to have John Arlott as my immediate bench-mate on the left. This was an unexpected opportunity for me to rub shoulders with one of the pioneers of cricket broadcasting.
Back in a small town of northern Bangladesh my friends and I had followed John Arlott since the summer of 1954 as he brought the majestic gait and fascinating subtleties of the game to our young, fresh and uninhabited minds from a far away island. He had a profound influence on all of us, and hardly had I thought that I would be carrying that influence within myself for such a long time.
It was the final of second Prudential World Cup. The tournament started on June 9 at four venues simultaneously. Champions West Indies and the hosts England reached the final.
Further surprises were in store for me. It was beyond my comprehension that personalities like Sir Len Hutton, Keith Miller, Freddie Trueman, Dennis Compton would grace the press box with their presence and some of them actually took up a pen in hand instead of bat or ball. Another surprise was Jim Laker on the microphone at the TV room along with Richie Benaud.
West Indies had a disastrous start with Gordon Greenidge running himself out and Haynes, Kallicharn and Llyod all going cheaply.
Suddenly it came to my mind that I had bought two £6 tickets at £10 each from one Mr Jock at the entrance to the St James Wood station for my nephew and his friend and phoned them to meet me at the W G Grace gate. I excused myself from John and sprinted towards the gate. My nephew Asif was waiting patiently with his friend Mokarram (Micky) there. Asif turned out to be a fine cricketer at one time but did not play for long. His son Ashnad is already a cricket addict at the age of 3. I hope he takes up from where his father has left off.
Back in the enclosure I found Viv and King murdering the likes of Boycott, Gooch and Larkins - the part-timers. This was a penalty that England paid for not including an extra bowler in the side - a heavy price indeed.
West Indies finished their quota of 60 overs in splendid fashion at 286 for 9, leaving England with a challenge of scoring 4.78 runs per over.
It was not a tall order but a difficult one indeed.
Outside the enclosure the personalities engaged themselves in small talk, not at all discussing cricket. Each one of them had his own little problems starting with Sir Len's back pain to Miller losing bets on Melbourne racing. Compton was rather quiet, nodding occasionally with a pleasant smile.
Of course, John had other priorities. He was to appear briefly on TV but in the meantime wanted to get himself updated on the cricket scene of Bangladesh.
He asked a lot of questions and showed immense interest. He retired from his broadcasting career the next year. Inside, we were presented with a big lunch box, designed very beautifully and packed professionally with delicious items by the Prudential people.
But Prudential was not so prudent in their choice of menu, at least for the people of the sub-continent. Two mouth-watering, delightfully pinkish pieces of meat, neatly placed on green lettuce beckoned me. I looked at Robin for his approval. He watched very carefully and said, ``I think you better not.''
My luncheon was spoiled, but Lloyd lifted the trophy.