This is Christopher Martin Jenkins….

Raju Korti

Coincidences can be dicey. They have this uncanny reputation of throwing perplexing situations at you. Hardly had I got over the mortification of writing a tribute-cum-nostalgia piece on the South African born, England captain Tony Greig, I was looking at the depressing prospect of writing another one – and this time, his co-commentator, the much revered Christopher Martin Jenkins – who I had mentioned in glowing words in that tribute.
CMJ, as the former Marylebone Cricket Club (MCC) president was affectionately called, grew on me for more reasons than one. As an integral part of the BBC Test Match Special, considered aptly as among Britain’s national treasures, CMJ was an instant hit. Like his equally illustrious peers, CMJ carried an endearing voice that he blended with his gift of the gab.
The BBC Test Match Special, a sporting phenomenon of the British Broadcasting Corporation, was born in 1957, the same year as I was and CMJ was inducted into this brilliant team of broadcasters in 1973, the year I matriculated and when my worship of cricket was – to use a cricketing phrase – peaking at the right time.
Before CMJ’s propensity hitched on to the commentary bandwagon -- a virtue monopolized by academically-minded giants like Brian Johnston, John Arlott, Alan Gibson and Robert Hudson – he was a cricketer-turned writer whose exploits with the bat were eclipsed by the fluency of his pen. As one aspiring to play big time, I had made it my cricketing philosophy to read Neville Cardus, CMJ, Jack Fingleton, E W Swanton and tune in to Test Match Special to hear Johnston, Arlott, Alan Mcgilvray, Dean Moseley and later, Henry Blofeld, wax eloquent on the mike. Not only the BBC was the first broadcaster to cover every ball of a Test match, it had in its line of duty the finest commentating brains who could keep listeners glued to their seats for hours even when rains robbed the day’s play.
The style and tone was set by the copious and racy Johnston who transferred his skills from the television to radio in 1970 and proved to be a catalyst for an upsurge in the popularity of the Test Match Special with his jocular narration. He complemented the brilliantly descriptive Arlott, who had an eye for every microscopic detail. Their greatness lay in the fact that they could be articulate without being verbose.
In those days, the Test Match Special was so immensely popular that smitten fans would send in cakes to the broadcasting team even as the broadcasting wavelength would often be the centre of a hot debate by politicians in the House of Commons. Even those who swore their loyalties to the more popular Rugby and Soccer, switched on to the Test Match Special just to hear them talk. The gritty Trevor Bailey and the fiery Fred Trueman tempered the team with a 26-year-long, enduring partnership whose expert comments could well be Voice of Prophecies.
CMJ was not an unknown entity when he enriched the BBC Test Match Special since he was already an established writer, but he was certainly a revelation as a commentator. A free-flowing narration without being garrulous, a remarkably sweet voice and a virtual encyclopedia of the game, CMJ carved a niche for himself. He didn’t have the ribald flair of Johnston ["There's Neil Harvey standing at leg slip with his legs wide apart, waiting for a tickle" or "The bowler's Holding, the batsman's Willey"], the acidic barb of Arlott or the precision of Moseley, but he had this unique flourish that would make the listener feel as if he was watching the match live. Ask any commentator and he will tell you this is no mean task. As the BBC's cricket correspondent twice -- first between 1973 and 1980 and then from 1985 and 1991 -- while also commentating on the network's television coverage between 1981 and 1985, CMJ had already perfected the art of holding large audiences captive with his articulation that was tantalizingly simple but effective.
I distinctly recall many Test matches in the 70s and the 80s when the broadcasters on Test Match Special would keep going without break even after rains washed out the day’s play. Such was their tuning and camaraderie that there would be an engrossing exchange of jokes, anecdotes, statistics and personal experiences that admirers hoped the play would not resume as the flourish of the commentators assumed a cutting edge in this interregnum. CMJ would often test his partners by asking strange questions or coming out with bits and pieces of some interesting observations/facts. It was a measure of the breadth his knowledge that he regaled his constituency for over 40 years with unfailing distinction.
CMJ was quite simply a cricketing institution. He had been an integral part of BBC Radio's 'Test Match Special' commentary team for more than 40 years as well as being an influential and highly respected cricket correspondent for two national newspapers, The Times and The Daily Telegraph, and the author of many books on the game which became his life's love.
As a person, CMJ was a man of great personal integrity and a thoroughbred gentleman. I caught a glimpse of those traits when I had a brief chat with him during the England series in 1982. As I walked up to him – then a journalist myself – and started to rustle up suitable adjectives for him and his co-commentators, CMJ just smiled. He was both pleased and amused at my school-boyish enthusiasm and praise. He was particularly elated that elsewhere in the world too there were fans that doted on the Test Match Special.
Summoning up the courage, I asked him if he could hand over a letter to Brian Johnston, my first-among-the-equals idol. “Yes, of course, CMJ replied with a smile that bowled me over. I could scarcely believe my luck that I was face-to-face with a gentleman whose skills at broadcasting will remain unsurpassed and whose voice was as mesmerizing as I heard it on the radio. The impeccably mannered that he was, CMJ waved me good bye with that bishop-like smile. It was an association that lasted barely two hours but as I like to put it now, I will carry it to my grave.
There were some regrets too. I was keen to see the Cambridge-educated man’s great talent for mimicry which made him an entertaining after-dinner speaker. More than anything else, I would have given my right ear to his radio commentary – it was detailed and meticulous, belying the affectionate reputation he built up on Test Match Special for absent-mindedness and lateness, trademark characteristics that he seemed sometimes to celebrate.
There is no doubt that CMJ, mentored by Johnston, excelled as a commentator though he had short but eventful stints as the President of MCC and Editor of the Cricketer magazine. But in his wisdom as a writer par excellence, he should largely be credited with bringing in a new trend that bordered on rambling and unscripted “eyewitness accounts”.
If you thought this genius was difficult to describe in words, his autobiography “CMJ – A Cricketing Life” should be apt enough. His line “This is Christopher Martin Jenkins taking you back to the studios” should be the last famous words in broadcasting.