For instance, whatever happened to cricketers who bowl line and length? Whatever became of those yeomen who, day in day out, season after season, ran up and bowled for club, county and country pitching it on a length round about off stump?

Can you blame me for recalling the days of Pope, Gladwin, Les Jackson, Tom Cartwright, Tony Nicholson, Chris Old, Mike Hendricks, Derek Shackleton, Trevor Bailey, Ken Higgs, Len Coldwell and Jack Flavell, not to mention, and going up a gear or two, Fred Trueman, Brian Statham, John Snow and Bob Willis?

Those are just random selections. I have left out many good men who would have regarded the wicket at Trinidad as an obligatory ``five for'' and having failed would have hung up their boots. Even the most purblind optimist among supporters of our England cricket team must now have serious doubts about the future.

Short of finding bowlers with the pace to make Test batsmen blink we can at least expect their stand-ins to adhere to basic principles. If not, then we are truly in the mire and that is precisely where we are. Neck deep and sinking fast.

Anyone who watched Gus Fraser running in over after over could not help but be moved by his skill and his courage. But he is the only one we've got.

There was a time when England could afford to ignore a bowler of the quality of Les Jackson, who took a hundred wickets in a season 10 times and who, in a long career with Derbyshire, finished with 1,733 wickets at 17.36.

Bomber Wells, genial philosopher and spin bowler for Somerset and Notts, thinks Jackson was the greatest fast medium bowler of the lot. ``Better than Trueman or Statham,'' says Bomber, although I doubt if he's ever debated the issue with Fred. Bomber's recollection and those of many others contribute to a charming book by Stephen Chalke about county cricket in the 1950s.

Chalke has taken 12 county games and relived them through the eyes of players of both sides. He starts in 1952 with Glamorgan playing Middlesex at Lord's, a game recalled by Don Shepherd (now there was someone who could bowl line and length) and finishes with Yorkshire's victory over Sussex at Hove in 1959, which gave them the championship and ended Surrey's reign at the top.

Chalke chose the Fifties because they were, he says ``the last golden age of the English county game.'' I agree, but then I am biased. The names in his book were my cigarette card heroes made flesh whenever they came to Yorkshire. Edrich and Compton, Dickie Dodds and Gordon Barker, Gilbert Parkhouse and Jim McConnon, Lock and Laker, Bill Alley, George Tribe, Vic Jackson, Frank Tyson, Roy Tattersall and Malcolm Hilton, Sam Cook and Bomber Wells.

Wells had the shortest run-up in cricket. One pace and he delivered. It is said he once bowled an over in the time it took for a clock to strike 12. His running between the wickets with his spin bowling partner Sam Cook was so eccentric they were fined half-a-crown each for every run-out. ``For God's sake call,'' Sam cried out during one mix-up. ``Heads,'' said Bomber.

He recalled the time Gloucestershire played Sussex at Hove when, because of a waterlogged pitch, the players agreed to play on the edge of the square just 40 yards from the pavilion. Don Smith and 'Tiger' Pataudi started a serious assault on the Gloucestershire bowlers.

After 33 had been scored from two overs Wells was recalled to the attack. As Bomber took the ball members started to leave their seats. ``You've never seen such an exodus,'' he said. One member ran on to the field brandishing an umbrella. He went to the umpire and pointing at Wells said: ``That man there will get a spectator killed. You must take him off.''

There's more, much more in the same gentle style recalling another time, not necessarily better (although Mike Atherton would love Les Jackson in his side) but very different. I somehow doubt if a book 40 years from the Nineties will have such rich, fond and amusing reminiscences. The illustrations by Ken Taylor, late of Yorkshire and England, demonstrate his talent as an artist and his love of the characters he portrays.

My only quibble is the budget didn't run to colour reproduction to show his action portraits in all their vigour. Taylor also contributes a lovely anecdote telling of his first Roses game at Old Trafford and going out to bat, with 25,000 people wishing him ill, to face the likes of Statham and Tattersall.

As he walked down the pavilion steps the gate was opened by a white-coated attendant, as was the custom in those days. As Taylor walked by, the man said: ``Good luck lad, and think on: don't be long.'' Taylor was still mulling over this remark when Tattersall bowled him first ball. As he went through the gate on his return journey the gateman doffed his cap and said: ``Thank you lad.''

There is pertinent advice in the book for today's cricketers, particularly our Test teams. Mr Wells, who is as keen a student of nature as he was of spin bowling, has these words of wisdom for them to chew on: ``Coaching manuals issue all sorts of advice to batsmen and bowlers but not many of them inform the young cricketer not to annoy the umpire.''

Runs in the Memory, County Cricket in the 1950s by Stephen Chalke (Fairfield Books, £15.95; for copies telephone 01225-335813).