Ilton U10s at North Perrott: Cricket, Car Parks and Controlled Collapse

Disclaimer

This blog entry contains cricket, parental over-analysis, mild tactical delusion, and no formal ECB coaching qualification whatsoever. Any resemblance to actual cricket expertise is purely coincidental. As always, no children were harmed in the making of this post, although several adults experienced a transient rise in blood pressure, not unlike a tricky Upper GI ward round when three referrals arrive at once and the printer has decided to enter palliative care.

Last Sunday saw the final league match in the U10 Mid Wessex League for Ilton, away against North Perrott.

Before the match it was already clear that some players would not be available due to various other commitments. I had not previously realised this was an option. Apparently children are now allowed to have “other things on”, which feels administratively dangerous and spiritually against the concept of a weekend sporting calendar.

To add to the organisational joy, coach James was in Eastbourne with work-related commitments. Quite inconsiderate really. There we were, facing the final league game of the season, and he had chosen gainful employment over standing in a Somerset field watching ten-year-olds attempt a forward defensive. Standards are slipping.

This meant that, in the days before the match, I received instructions. Batting order. Batting pairs. Fielding suggestions. General tactical guidance. In NHS terminology, I had been given a handover. In cricket terminology, I had been handed a clipboard and quietly encouraged not to ruin everything.

Thankfully, I was not asked to umpire.

This was wise.

Had I been asked to umpire, the game would probably still be going on now, pending clarification from MCC, VAR, and possibly the European Court of Human Rights. Instead, Rupert’s dad Andrew was drafted in. He has proper umpiring experience, albeit not necessarily at U10 level, but that hardly matters. U10 cricket is still cricket; it simply has more snack breaks, more confusion about where mid-wicket is, and considerably more parents muttering, “Good idea, unlucky,” through gritted teeth.

We had not been to North Perrott before, and I was surprised by how long the journey was. Forty-five minutes from our house. That may not sound much, but in the world of junior cricket that is practically an expedition requiring provisions, a map, and at least one parent asking whether we definitely need to be there for the warm-up.

North Perrott itself is a small village in the middle of nowhere where cricket is clearly taken very seriously. This should not surprise anyone. We live in Somerset, where cricket is not so much a sport as a rural operating system. Since driving our son to various cricket grounds this season, I have come to the conclusion that every village, hamlet, settlement, parish, lay-by and suspiciously large field in Somerset has a cricket pitch. Some also have houses. But the cricket pitch clearly came first.

Arriving slightly ahead of time, we were greeted by an impressive clubhouse, plenty of parking and a huge cricket field. It had the sort of set-up that immediately makes you think, “Ah. They probably know what they are doing here.”

One by one the players and parents arrived, and it became clear that every Ilton adult had some sort of role. I had the tactics. Andrew had the umpiring. Natalie, Eddie Snelson’s mum, was making sure the player names were correct. This is an underrated but vital job, because cricket scoring apps appear designed by people who believe that the real sport is not cricket, but data entry under pressure.

After the warm-up, the teams met for the toss. North Perrott won it and elected to bowl first.

From the very first ball, it became clear they meant business.

First ball. First wicket.

Eddie S was at the receiving end of it, which was not ideal. There are many ways to start a cricket match. Losing a wicket before anyone has properly settled into their parental camping chair is not usually top of the list.

To their credit, the Ilton boys did settle into the game after that, but the innings never quite got going. North Perrott were ruthless. Their bowling was accurate, their fielding was sharp, and they had that organised look which suggests that “training” may involve more than simply reminding everyone which end of the bat to hold.

Some Ilton parents wondered whether quite a few of the North Perrott players might be connected to the neighbouring Perrott Hill School. This is not an accusation, merely parental speculation, which is legally distinct and usually happens whenever the opposition look suspiciously well-drilled.

Perrott Hill is an independent day and boarding prep school in North Perrott, educating children from nursery/prep age up to around 13. In other words, exactly the sort of environment where sport tends to be taken seriously, fixtures are taken seriously, and the phrase “good areas” may be used in relation to bowling before a child has reached double digits. Whether or not that explained North Perrott’s slick performance is impossible to say, but they certainly played like a side that had not learned cricket purely through YouTube, garden tennis balls and parental optimism.

In the end, North Perrott took seven wickets and kept Ilton well contained. The public scorecard has Ilton at 65 for 7, with the mysterious net-score mathematics of pairs cricket producing 230. This is because U10 cricket scoring works on a system that appears simple until you actually try to explain it, at which point it becomes indistinguishable from an NHS pension forecast.

Our son did well, though. He was not bowled out, which was the first time he has managed that in a match. He was, quite rightly, chuffed. In adult cricket this might be described as “occupying the crease.” In U10 cricket it is more accurately described as “survival without major incident,” which is also how I approach most Monday mornings at work.

Then came Ilton’s turn in the field.

To be fair, the boys did not do badly at all. They were slightly deflated after what they felt had been a poor batting performance, although I did not think it was poor. They had come up against a very strong side who bowled well, fielded properly, and generally behaved like they had read the cricketing manual rather than just looked at the pictures.

Ilton also took seven wickets, which says a lot about their character. George took three catches, which at U10 level is basically a fielding masterclass. Our son also managed a stumping, which made him very happy. This also meant he took at least one wicket in every game he played this season, which is a lovely little achievement and one that he should be very proud of.

North Perrott, however, were simply too strong with the bat as well. They finished on 129 for 7, with a net score of 294, and won by 64 runs.

Not 64 wickets, although emotionally it felt like that at times.

It was a deserved win and confirmed North Perrott as league winners. They were the best side on the day and, looking at the table, the best side across the league campaign as well.

Ilton finished second overall, which is a genuinely excellent achievement. This is especially true when you consider that for parts of the season the team included All Stars players coming through, learning the game, gaining confidence and realising that cricket involves a surprising amount of standing around followed by sudden panic.

The core of the team was broadly the same five players for most of the season: Eddie S, Eddie R, George, Beauden, Joseph and Ethan. Yes, that is six. Maths, much like cricket scoring, is flexible at U10 level. Ted, Henry, Rupert, Toto and Josh also played matches when available, around the ever-expanding calendar of other commitments, family logistics and mysterious childhood engagements that apparently outrank cricket.

It is a good bunch of players, and the encouraging thing is that the majority of them are still eligible to play next year. That gives Ilton a strong foundation. It also gives parents another year of Sunday morning travel, folding chairs, weather-based uncertainty and pretending not to care too much while absolutely caring far too much.

Next Sunday, 5 July 2026, the cup matches start. According to the sacred household logistics department, Beauden and Eddie R will not be available because they are playing in the Taunton U10 cricket festival at the Somerset ground for Taunton Vale Cricket Club. As ever, this is where the sporting calendar stops being a calendar and becomes a hostage negotiation.

The cup appears to start in groups of three or four teams, with the top teams going through to the knockouts. I say “appears” because junior cricket competitions are sometimes communicated in a way that makes NHS rota planning look like Scandinavian furniture instructions: technically all the information is there, but you may still end up building the wrong thing.

Either way, more cricket is coming.

And not just cricket. Some sports-mad weekends are lying ahead for the Richardt household, because we have also entered our son into some Grade 5 U10 tennis tournaments. Tennis has been slightly neglected this summer due to cricket, but he likes both, so it is not really a problem. It is only a problem if you are the parent responsible for transport, snacks, scheduling, laundry, emotional support, scoring, hydration, and remembering which sport requires white clothing and which one merely encourages quiet suffering.

Onwards and upwards with the sporting calendar.

It also feels like I have not written about work-related topics recently. The aim over the next week or so is to get a work article out, ideally on a relatively hot-ish Upper GI topic involving medication management. Those articles take longer, because they are a different calibre. They require research, checking, nuance and an attempt not to post something willi-nilly that can be refuted within six minutes by someone with a PubMed account and a strong coffee.

So, watch this space.

There will be cricket. There will be tennis. There may even be medication management.

Balance, after all, is important.

Although in this household, balance usually means a cricket bag in one hand, a tennis racket in the other, and the faint suspicion that somewhere, somehow, we have forgotten a water bottle.