![]() ![]() But really the truest description of his voice is “familiar” (although “avuncular” probably comes a close second). ![]() On television, there was Tony Grieg’s South African drawl and Richie Benaud’s quirky Aussie twang (“the score is chew-hundred and twenty-chew for chew”).Īgnew’s background as the son of a farmer and a product of Uppingham School means he has the kind of English accent that is easier to place in the social strata – slap bang in the middle class – than geographically (he was born in Cheshire and played most of his first class career for Leicestershire). Or Brian Johnston and Henry Blofeld, with their cut-glass received pronunciation (often trying to identify the genus of butterfly that was floating past their commentary box or describe the audacity of a pigeon alighting on the wicket at Lord’s). A published poet, he once described a shot by Clive Lloyd as “the stroke of a man knocking a thistle top off with a walking stick”. There was, for example, John Arlott’s claret-soused Hampshire burr. It is easier to get a handle on previous voices of cricket. But I’m also thinking about describing how he says it. ![]() I am, of course, listening to what the doyen of Test Match Special has to say. I am up in the stands of the Oval cricket ground with the commentator Jonathan Agnew as the crowds file in to watch India and Australia do battle on the third day of the World Test Championship final. Usually, you spend a lot of time during interviews focusing on verbal cues and body language. ![]()
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