Enoch Powell – a Second World War brigadier who never saw combat – once said that his biggest regret was not to have been killed by the enemy. There was also a large cohort of those too young for the war who had a similar death wish. Many tried to make it come true and often succeeded.
Post-war Britain was full of crazed young men determined to do themselves in one way or another: RAF pilots keen to prove they were as brave as their predecessors, steeplechase jockeys wearing nothing to break their falls, and Grand Prix drivers, whose deaths were regular staples of weekend news bulletins. But perhaps the greatest headcase of that era was, of all things, a cricketer. Brian Close died in 2015, aged 84, which was miraculous.
He was a maniac on the roads – sometimes brewing tea or studying racing form or napping at the wheel. Most famously he put himself in harm’s way any time he could on the cricket field. He would take the fiercest blows from the world’s fastest bowlers and then went out to lurk bare-headed at very short leg or extremely silly point to eyeball the batsman.
He disdained pain and thought youngsters should practise without pads. Had his national service not been interrupted by an Ashes tour instead, he would have been a prime candidate for a posthumous VC in Korea. He was also an excellent, ambidextrous golfer, nearly played for Arsenal and swam like an Olympian.
He could also lie face down and pick up a matchbox in his mouth without spilling a glass of w.
