Warwick Milne, the president of Heaton Cricket Club, pays a personal tribute to much-travelled and well-respected Roy Marland, who died last week at the age of 67.

The best eulogy I can give to Roy is to write about a match from the mid seventies.

The Kearsley side of 1975 was simply the best I ever played against and Roy was a kingpin of it. If you were to beat them you had to overcome Roy Marland and that was easier said than done.

So let me paint the picture from the long hot summer of 1975.

We were to play them at Lower Pools. In those days squares were not as good as now and the league rule was that watering was allowed until the Thursday evening pre match. The best way to prepare a good track then was to wet it and roll it into submission.

Our captain Phil Roberts used to take time off work to work on things towards the back end of the week. Sure enough he put the hose on the Moss Bank Way end of the track and adjourned to take sustenance in the Finishers Arms opposite the club. The landlord’s hospitality overwhelmed him and when he returned to the ground, heavily refreshed, one end of the pitch was underwater and the other untouched. Things were duly put away and left to Mother Nature.

Saturday arrived as did the Kearsley team. Amid looks of disbelief and voices of consternation the game started on time.

The track was emerald green at one end and biscuit brown at the other.

Heaton won the toss and invited Kearsley to bat. They scratched their way to 72 all out as Sonny Ramadhin worked his magic with the ball.

Roy top scored with a knock in the mid twenties.

In anybody’s book it was an ugly innings, full of sweeps, thrusting pads, bottom edges and any amount of unrepeatable mutterings.

It was an innings not of how, but of how many – and worth three times its apparent numerical value.

Half time opinion as to the expected result depended on which dressing room you were in. "Enough" thought Kearsley. "We’ll get these" thought Heaton.

After tea Kearsley’s captain Brian Smithies realised this was not a day to hold back Roy and gave him the new cherry.

Roy’s run up contained none of the grace of a Holding, Hall or Lillee. He charged in from the clubhouse end like a runaway sideboard and demolished the top of the order.

With the damage done captain Smithies and professional Marner removed the rest of the batsmen. Game over – the writer left high and dry with 19 not out and Heaton on 39.

The 13 of us walked off sharing congratulations and commiserations in equal measure.

Suddenly I felt my hand in an ursine grip, followed by a slap on the back akin to a Joe Frazier punch.

Then a broad Lancashire voice from the darkest of satanic mills and the wettest of cobbled back streets boomed out: "Well played cock".

It was commendation from a man who neither wanted nor expected any quarter.

Roy never gave his respect easily, you earned it and it was hard earned, but a sincere and long-standing commodity.

It was worth having. This was a man who never let himself or his colleagues down. It would have gone against his very heartbeat.

His performance that day epitomised him. When things were tough RM was there. Steadfast, unyielding and loyal. A ‘good ‘un’ top to bottom.