Marcel Murrell

Murrell Skippered –

the Central Cricket Team which my father played for when I was very young. My Sunday cricket trips with Daddy were never about watching him make those Mammoth Scores, comprising Many Sixes My Siblings and I would hear about. We had come to realize as kids, these scores only happened when we were not there to blight Daddy. Often when he was on his way to yet another century, “Not out” from the previous week, we were certain to stay at home and hear about it later. I have seen how easily Daddy hits a ball for six but I never witnessed any of his centuries. They were so prolific, one would think once I watch him bat, I would eventually be eyewitness to this great feat.

What we really enjoyed most at cricket were the snacks at Tea Time. They served diced cheese on toothpicks with red, baker’s cherries. Sometimes we had just cheese and biscuits and they never tasted better, all in all for us youngsters, they were delightful treats.

We were not the only kids there, some other fathers brought their sons, but it Mostly Seemed like a time for significant others to accompany the players. Although some of us played cricket, table tennis was the biggest draw for me. I was not as good as the other kids but I loved trying to defeat them and suffered Many Sows in my effort to the unfulfilled goal. I can only remember most of the kids by the Mispronounced Surnames I learned from my dad. He called Ford, Fordie and so his son was Fordie too. Hynam was Highland and Murrell was pronounced like Merle.

When I was in 5th Form at Combermere, a Most Stunningly beautiful girl entered Lower Sixth. She was prettier than my gorgeous girlfriend and was quietly reserved. Her activities involved devotion in the ISCF and playing netball. At House Sports she ran faster that all the other girls. Her smile was radiant and offered a sincere greeting when we crossed paths. We never spoke, in fact, I can’t recall hearing her in conversation with anyone. On occasions I heard her laugh with friends but I have no recollection of her speaking voice at school.

Many years after we last saw each other, she visited me with another two schoolmates. They were concerned about my failing health and came, not like Job’s friends, they came with words of encouragement and prayers for healing. When they visited, my vision was still too impaired to reveal her awesome beauty and I was therefore not tantalized by her outward appearance. Instead, I got to hear her voice for the truest first and concentrated on it. It lulled me into an inner peace and by the time they said a parting prayer, it felt like my healing had started.

It was on other visits and subsequent talks, I learned the unusual name Murrell. I seldom heard her last name and learned it was actually the fruit of the tree I first met years ago; Bill Murrell, my father’s cricket captain, was her dad. We didn’t meet as children because I never saw Bill Murrell bring guests. It was easy to place them into the same gene pool; Bill was a handsome, tall, athletic man whose authority was delivered with a quiet and reserved demeanor. He solicited respect, never once demanded it. Bill Murrell was the one adult at Central to capture my interest during those visits in St. Thomas. My dad was happy to meet my friend and explained how much he had liked playing cricket with her dad. When my dad commented about Chelly’s looks, it didn’t surprise me, Daddy was very into gorgeous looking women. What did surprise me though was, he didn’t attribute her beauty to his tall, handsome, debonair, cricket captain. My dad revealed Chelly’s mother was one of the most beautiful women he had ever known. For him, that kind of description was only associated with Hollywood old actresses, especially Joan Fontaine and Liz Taylor. We never agreed on who were the most beautiful of women, but this time our views were harmonious. I just wish My Sight didn’t prevent Me Seeing my friend properly, after so many years since our School days.

Chelly has another birthday today, but like she explained, it is more bitter than sweet. She will be laying to rest her charismatic dad on Thursday. Up until 2015, Bill, who was in his 80s, was still actively involved in the administration of his business, Murrell M E & CO Accountants-Chartered. There he served with his son, the only other partner, Marcel Murrell II. When I initially wrote this, I heard a whisper which compelled me to contact my friend before publication. The actual date of birth way strangely hazy and I doubted myself. I sent off the early birthday greetings and confessed I knew it was early since I was unsure if it were 30th or 31st . She thank me in a message and confirmed the date. But I also learned the sad news, Bill passed on Saturday October 23, the same day I was commemorating the passing of a close friend, David. It is incredible that his name was on my lips and in my mind. The connection of human bonding continues to demonstrate there is Much Science could not explain.

I wish this incredible MS in my life, Michelle Smith nee Murrell, a Blessed Birthday and I pray for her solace at this trying time. My Sympathies to Bill’s family and friends.

Today, my MS is Murrell Skippered