Thwack.
Knock. knock… knock.
The sound of a leather ball hitting the middle of a willow bat is, for me, the auditory equivalent of the smell of a bare hospital corridor carrying the aroma of antiseptic. Both have the power to take me back in time, though to very different episodes in the Life of Ryrie. Cricket, and hospital corridors, was as much part of my childhood summers as the paddling pool and my birthday were.
Life of Ryrie 