Mike Brearley’s tribute to Derek Underwood originally appeared in the 2025 edition of the Wisden Almanack.
Deadly by nickname, if not by nature, Derek Underwood based his success on two elements. First, on the wet pitches not uncommon in his time, he was close to unplayable, especially when supported – as he usually was, both for Kent and England – by Alan Knott, the best wicketkeeper I have seen. Derek bowled his left-armers at virtually medium-pace from round the wicket, aiming to land the ball on the line of the right-hander’s off stump. If it turned and lifted, you had to be a fine player to get a touch; if it went straight on, it would most likely be hitting middle and leg. His skill in these conditions was legendary.
Second, whatever the pitch, he was consummately accurate. John Woodcock’s description of Hampshire seamer Derek Shackleton applied equally to Underwood: “Long hops and full tosses were not so much few and far between as almost unknown.” He gave the batter no room outside off, and rarely drifted down leg. In 86 Tests, he took 297 wickets at 25.83, and conceded only 2.10 an over.
Read: Derek Underwood – Wisden Cricketer of the Year, 1969
Vic Marks, in one of his early matches for Somerset, was met in the middle by Brian Rose, who gave him a piece of advice: “Whatever else you do, get forward to Underwood.” “Fine,” said the young Marks, airily. For a couple of deliveries, forward he came. He then blithely cut Underwood for four. It was a rule of thumb that if a ball looked cuttable when it left his hand, it would be his quicker one, perhaps 65mph, spearing in towards the stumps. Vic thought he was getting the hang of this. When he went back to repeat the shot, he lost his middle stump.
Derek took to heart some early wisdom from county captain Colin Cowdrey, who told him that the next-best thing to a wicket-maiden was a maiden. Derek rarely had deep fielders. He kept a ring of one-savers, plus two or more close catchers, though there was little need for mid-off, mid-on or mid-wicket. Unlike Bishan Bedi, he did not aim to get wickets by subtle flight, by inviting the reckless batsman to hit over the top. His changes of pace tended to be minimal, apart from his almost-fast faster ball.
Read: Derek Underwood, master craftsman – Almanack
In 1966/67, captaining Derek in Pakistan for MCC Under-25, I nearly ruined him. He had been capped by England the previous summer, and was already one of our stars. But in the early matches of that short tour, the ball skimmed through on the shiny, flat, grassless pitches, and the talented Pakistani batsmen – Majid Khan and Mushtaq Mohammad in particular – played him with relative ease, hitting through the line of the ball, clipping straight deliveries to the leg side and, given any width, smashing him through the off. This is where my tactical brilliance came in: I suggested Deadly bowl more slowly, to allow the ball to grip, spin more and deceive the batsmen in the air. It might have been invented by someone who wanted to render him innocuous. He found it hard to bowl really slowly, pushing the ball up rather than keeping the shape of his action. Luckily, he had the sense to abandon this experiment in about a week, and never – as far as I know – tried it again in any systematic way.
He and I did have more productive collaborations. In late 1976, at the beginning of England’s tour of India, we had lunch together in Bombay. I was vice-captain, and we chatted for two hours, especially about his craft. I talked about how I tried to play him, he about what he liked to see – least and most – in a batsman. I recalled that unhelpful suggestion of mine a decade earlier in Pakistan. We discussed the strengths and weaknesses of different approaches, and the speed at which he bowled best.
Derek was conservative: he didn’t like to give away runs, or to have his field changed more than necessary. I wondered aloud about circumstances in which bowling over the wicket to right-handers might be worth a try, as a variation, especially when the pitch was worn around leg stump by the follow-throughs of right-arm seamers. We went into detail about fields, and some of his reluctance was overcome. The conversation paid dividends a few months later, against Australia at Old Trafford, after I talked him into bowling this way in their second innings, when the soil was powdery around and just outside leg stump. Now captain, I reminded him with diagrams on the back of an envelope of the field placings we had discussed. He took three crucial wickets, and ended with a match-winning 6-66.
We remember his long fluent run-up, his brisk rhythm, his high action, and his total commitment. My own approach against him was to play forward defensively without adjusting to the possible spin – which could mean playing and missing – and to cut or slash if there was the slightest room. There might be a few thick edges to leg and, on rare occasions, a half-volley. At Canterbury in 1980, I was able, by luck and judgment, to put the plan into action, making 104 out of Middlesex’s 215-9, while Derek took seven. It felt like one of my best innings.
Derek was a modest batsman, but brave, which you had to be against the great fast bowlers of the time. Many readers will remember the picture of him swaying out of the way against Michael Holding, both feet 18 inches off the ground, hands and bat handle in front of his helmetless face. His courage meant captains liked to use him as a nightwatchman.
He had a strong mind and was vigorously competitive, but always expressed himself courteously; he had a dry humour and an infectious laugh. Watching replays of Jim Laker’s 19 wickets at Manchester in 1956, he noted what seemed to us extremely subdued celebrations – in Jim’s case, a slight hitch of the trousers and a quiet smile. “They don’t seem very pleased,” said Derek. I only once remember him losing his cool, in the garden of the Grand Hotel in Calcutta, several weeks after our conversation in Bombay. It was the rest day of the second Test, and he was relaxing on a sunbed near the swimming-pool.
A crowd of thousands hung around the hotel entrance waiting for a glimpse of the players. Security was less stringent back then, and streams of people got into the pool area in search of autographs and photos. A family of about ten pleaded with Derek for a photo, forming themselves into a V alongside and behind him. Exasperated, he marched towards the photographer, hand in front of face, trying to blot out the picture.
My respect for Derek was total. He was a master of his art, and of the game of cricket. Always modest, he dressed conventionally, but he had a rebellious streak, signing up for Kerry Packer, then joining the first English tour of apartheid South Africa in 1981/82. After retiring, Derek joined his brother Keith’s company, which made artificial pitches. When I was president of MCC in 2008, I nominated him my successor. He did the job with grace and integrity, having already been president of Kent. His final years were tragically blighted by the ravages of dementia.
Now it’s possible to remember him at his best, standing with Chaplinesque feet at the end of his run-up – covered with dust, his trousers stained red – and setting off on the long, purposeful run that led to that powerful action. And bowling all day.
Mike Brearley captained England for nine of Underwood’s 86 Tests.
