No Boundaries by Ronnie Irani Page B

the ball well, scoring runs and taking wickets. I thanked the Lucas family for their hospitality and headed back to England, eager to start my new life.

CHAPTER 8
LOSTOCK TO CHELMSFORD – THE LONGEST JOURNEY
    D ad smiled to break the tension. ‘Don’t worry. I can always get you a job as a butcher if it doesn’t work out.’ I’d only been home a few days after three months in New Zealand but now I was off again. Dad said goodbye before he went to bed. He left for work every day at six o’clock so wouldn’t see me in the morning. ‘Ronnie, I just want to wish you luck. My only advice is to play so well that they find it impossible to leave you out of the team. I know you can do it. And remember, we are always here for you.’
    As I gave him a hug, it dawned on me that I was leaving home for good. This would be the last time I would sleep in that room overlooking Heaton cricket ground as a resident of that house. More than ever before I was hit by the enormity of what I was doing. I was leaving a whole part of my life behind me for good and stepping off the high board without even knowing how deep the water was below me.
    At least, I thought, Lorraine will be near. Over the last few years she’d been studying to become a nursery nurse and had written to me in New Zealand to tell me she too had got ajob down south so we could still see each other regularly. The only snag was that her geography was no better than mine. She’d taken a job in Aylesbury and we soon discovered we were still a good couple of hours apart.
    The next morning, Mum cooked my breakfast and prepared to drive me to the station. We were both close to tears, so the conversation was a bit stilted, saying irrelevant things but not daring to say what we felt. I wore my blazer to travel in and had four bags – two with my bats, pads, gloves, size-12 boots and the rest of my cricket gear, the other two with the rest of my life in. Mum dropped me off at Lostock railway station at the start of one of the saddest yet most exciting journeys of my life. I kissed her goodbye, determined that I would make her and Dad proud of me and reward them for all the effort and love they had put into getting me to this important point of my life.
    As a kid I’d twice been to India with the Bolton touring teams Dad had organised. More recently I’d been to South Africa with Nick Derbyshire, to Australia with England U19s and that winter to New Zealand. But this journey to Essex was by far the most daunting I’d undertaken.
    I heaved one bag over each shoulder, picked up another in each hand and lugged them on to the train from Lostock to Bolton, from there to Manchester Victoria and then finally to Manchester Piccadilly, where I bought a one-way ticket to London. Normally, it’s a straightforward run into Euston, taking a couple of hours or so, but there had been a derailment and they announced we were being diverted via Sheffield and Nottingham. What they didn’t tell us was that we were no longer heading for Euston and the trip would now take more than four hours.
    It was probably the longest four hours of my life, a realstomach-churning journey during which I experienced every emotion imaginable. I felt very alone. I was the only son and I knew my parents would have preferred me to be closer to home. It may seem an odd thing to say these days, but back then Essex was a long way from Bolton and most people didn’t just jump in the car and drive a couple of hundred miles or so as they do today.
    But I also felt angry and defiant. The system at Lancashire had never given me the chance to fulfil my potential and that had forced me to take this giant step. I knew I had given my all while I was there but they had never rewarded my effort.
    I was also a little nervous about the kind of reception I was likely to get when pre-season training started the following day. I’d met some of the Essex guys from playing