He was one of the greatest sporting heroes of his time and an inspiration to sportsmen today. John May looks back at the life of Lionel Tennyson

WHEN a man has fought almost through the full four-year term of The Great War and been wounded three times, nothing would really faze him after that.

Certainly not the small matter of winning what has been dubbed the most remarkable cricket match ever to have taken place on these shores.

But then that was the lot of Lionel Tennyson, former England and Hampshire captain.

Tennyson was one of that great breed of sporting heroes who bestraddled and bestrode the late Victorian and early Edwardian periods.

Their like will never exist in a world where there is little time for the off-beam character.

In fact, it's debatable whether the likes of Tennyson would have any place in today's egalitarian sporting world; a monied, dilletante playboy, although it should never be assumed that Tennyson was anything but serious about his cricket.

Much of Tennyson's eccentricity was in the family genes.

Grandson of the poet Lord Alfred Tennyson his forbears were a pretty rakish and flaky bunch.

The family were reputed to have 'Black Blood' and the family scrapbook is littered with melancholia and mental insecurity.

Lionel's father, Hallam, was the most stable member of his family, a highly conventional man who went to Marlborough College and then Cambridge.

Lionel was born in Queen Vic's reign, on November 7, 1889 and although he was born into an aristocratic family, showed when he went up to Cambridge that he had a propensity to spend cash and throughout his life always sailed pretty close to the wind financially at times.

He made his reputation at Eton as a fast bowler, and despite never winning a cricket Blue at Cambridge, still got into the Hampshire team in 1913.

Perhaps an indication of how social status counted in cricket back then, he was appointed Hampshire vice-captain in 1914 and was offered a place on the proposed MCC tour to South Africa.

Unfortunately, Kaiser Bill intervened and although he served with immense bravery as an officer in the Rifle Brigade throughout, he was never decorated.

Speculation gives one reason as his gambling debts, while another cites his circumstances of his first marriage towards the end of the war.

Like all great Victorian and Edwardian heroes, there was invariably a skeleton or two rattling around in the wardrobe.

He was cited for adultery in the divorce of his first wife Clarissa Tennant, and he in turn was cuckolded by her later.

Not that it seemed to particularly bother him as there was life to be lived to the full.

A bit of a social climber, he ran with the huntin', shootin' and fishin' set of the day, spending beyond his means in taking hunting boxes where the Prince of Wales could stay, and dropping up to £7,000 on the tables.

Above and beyond all this, though, was his ability on the cricket field.

He was appointed Hampshire captain in 1919 and skippered them for the next 19 years.

Again, perhaps, his critics might say that his social background allowed him to play with an air of insouciance and savior faire that was not the luxury of the hoary old pros who had to make their living from the game.

But the overriding element in Tennyson's game was his relish for attacking, either as a batsman or in his captaincy.

His most famous game, of course, was Hampshire's match against Warwickshire at Edgbaston in 1922, the most incredible game in English championship history.

Hampshire's team contained four of the

country's finest professionals at the time, in prolific batsman Phil Mead, George Brown, Alec Kennedy and Jack Newman.

Warwickshire batted first and made 223, only for Hampshire to be bowled out for a pitiful 15 runs in 53 balls.

Tennyson scoffed at jibes from Warwickshire skipper, the Hon Freddie Calthorpe, and breezily announced that Hampshire would score 500 next innings, following on.

Today's cricket authorities would have had apoplexy at the bets that were laid, but Hampshire were as good as Tennyson's word, making 521 to set Warwickshire a victory target of 314, one they never got within sniffing distance of as they were skittled for 158 by a rampant Hampshire.

One of the stars of that side was Walter Livesey, who doubled as Tennyson's butler.

Livesey once umpired in a charity match Tennyson was playing in and when asked to adjudge on his master's obvious dismissal, could not bring himself to utter the death word, instead summoning up a phrase he had often used when answering the door to unwanted guests: "I regret, his Lordship is not in."

Tennyson was thought highly enough as a captain to lead England, although he was never given the honour of leading a team to tour Australia, where he spent most of his formative years, a matter he openly stated as a social snub.

Despite inheriting the family title of the third Baron Tennyson on his father's death, he rarely occupied Farringford, the Isle of Wight house built by his poet grandfather.

He fell in love with America after a visit, and married an American woman as his second wife.

He mingled with fellow Brits David Niven and Carol Pickford while living near San Francisco, but once his second marriage ended in divorce he drifted away from America.

Tennyson returned to England for the Second World War, where he served in the RAF.

Although long retired from the first-class game, there was still time for cricket.

He once turned up for a game in Southampton's Hoglands Park, a bit the worse for wear, wearing his protective box outside his trousers.

His drinking worsened as he got older, and so did his financial state. White's Club demanded repayment of gambling debts and he was forced to hand over the deeds to Farringford.

His autobiography Sticky Wickets was written as an attempt to make some money, but the only tangible items in his will were some silver cigaretted boxes and a gold Hunter watch and chain.

He died in Bexhill on June 6, 1961, and typically, according to reports, went: "like a typical English gentleman, sitting up in bed reading The Times and smoking a cigar"

His ashes were interred in the family tomb of All Saints Parish Church, Freshwater.

Tributes to him were numerous, even Barbara Cartland said of him that: "he only had to walk through the door and it was like the sun coming out at Lord's."

But perhaps the best tributes came from his old team mates.

Jack Newman said: "What a wonderful man. We loved him, every bone in his body. He was such a character, he should have lived in the days of Pickwick Papers and the stage coach.

While the best epitaph probably comes from Mead.

"He was a lovely man, just a big boy, really, and we would have followed him everywhere.

n This article was inspired by a new book on Tennyson's life, Regency Buck by Alan Edwards, published by Robson Books £16.95.