It's been a bizarre 12 hours. It was half past midnight and the crowd on Sheriff Street were gravitating from the restaurants to the bars. A man on a crutch and a battered T-shirt hobbled towards a fast-food counter. It didn't look as if he'd bathed in weeks now. His hair was worn in short braids, supported by a fading bandana. The eyes were bright, but he wasn't a man you'd let into your house. He looked at me and smiled: "You was at the cricket, right, I saw you."

"I tell you man, it clear up tomorrow. The wind been dropping since evening."

I'm intrigued. How would he know, I asked.

"Well, I been around."

"My father played cricket. Frankie Worrell time.

"John Trim. The Trims come from the Berbice area, know. He was very good, you ask any of the old players, maan, they tell you."

I'm taken aback. Things happen, but you don't expect the son of a Test cricketer to be, well, a beggar.

"I could use some food, maan. You could give me a few dollars. Maybe I buy some potato curry and bread."

I offer him a piece of chicken instead. I don't know what he'd do with the money. In a flash, he takes out a quarter of vodka from his back pocket. "No, no, man, you think I spend it on booze. No, I drink little, eat plenty. See this, I got this for two days' play."

He hangs around for a little longer and talks of his two brothers, Franky and Garfy, who have died. One in a car crash, one because of blood pressure. "Franky could have played for West Indies, but he didn't have the push, maan." The sisters are alive.

It's raining and taxis are hard to find, so I take his leave. I'm left wondering. Is this James fellow, one who could be a touch harshly be termed riff-raff, really a Trim? If he were to lie, why would he choose Trim? He could have opted for a bigger name.

I chew upon all this. By the next morning, I still can't be sure. I talk to a local radio commentator who tells me that John Trim was the first West Indian Test player from Guyana. For more, he takes me to see Basil Butcher at the Georgetown Cricket Club bar at the far end of the ground.

Butcher was the hardest of them all to dismiss, according to Garry Sobers. He is a lovely, genial man in a maroon T-shirt. Like Trim, he played his cricket at Berbice. "John Trim. Yeah, he was before my time. I remember he once came up to me and said that he knows my mum – they were in school together. I know one of his sons played decent cricket. There's something about him in the newspapers today."

I get hold of the Starboek News and find a wonderfully personal profile by Pryor Jonas, written for no real occasion. "John Trim lived and died in a world brimful of prejudice ... I am moved to compare him with Michael Holding because their eyes smouldered at anything they perceived to be injustice. To give vent to their anger, they would bowl at least a yard faster, displaying amazing stamina in the process ...

"Big John died at 45. Sad, isn't it? At the New Amsterdam hospital. Who were there with him then, I wonder? I wasn't there – to my eternal regret."

Big John's Test bowling average was 16.16. The article is to be concluded next week. I will not be in the country, but I must, somehow, get hold of it.

Rahul Bhattacharya is a staff writer with Wisden.com India. His reports will appear here throughout the Test series.

More Roving Reporter
Getting high on Dub Reggae
City on a chill pill
Rolled like a chapatti

© Wisden CricInfo Ltd