Port-of-Spain had always been a venue where England’s fortunes wavered between hope and heartbreak. Memories of their last Test here in 1990 were still vivid—when a mix of unpredictable rain, Desmond Haynes’ masterful time-wasting, and an Ezra Moseley bouncer that shattered Graham Gooch’s hand had all conspired to snatch victory away. What seemed a certain 2-0 series lead had instead turned into a drawn match, paving the way for the West Indies to storm back and claim the series 2-1. That bitter history still lingered in the English dressing room, a silent spectre of unfinished business.
Now, as they stepped onto the familiar turf of Queen’s Park Oval in 1994, the stakes could not have been higher. The West Indies were already 2-0 up in the series, and this Test was England’s last chance to turn the tide. The ghosts of Blackwash in the 1980s had faded somewhat, but the wounds still ran deep among the senior players. England had long suffered at the hands of the great West Indian teams, the relentless hostility of their fast bowlers leaving a trail of battered morale and broken batting line-ups. This time, however, there were cracks in the once-invincible Caribbean fortress.
The West Indies were still armed with their fearsome battery of quicks—Curtly Ambrose, Courtney Walsh, Winston Benjamin, and Kenneth Benjamin—but their batting lacked the impregnable aura of past years. Beyond Haynes and captain Richie Richardson at the top, the middle order consisted of promising but inexperienced left-handers. It was this perceived vulnerability that England sought to exploit.
A Glimmer of Hope
From the outset, England sensed an opportunity. The first day’s wicket was mottled, offering help to the seamers, and their bowlers delivered. Angus Fraser and Chris Lewis bowled with discipline, exploiting the conditions to restrict the West Indies to 252. The English dressing room exhaled in cautious optimism. Keith Fletcher, England’s manager, allowed himself a rare smile.
The second and third days saw a hard-fought battle for control. Atherton and Graeme Hick got starts but failed to capitalize, their dismissals frustratingly familiar. Graham Thorpe, however, stood resolute. His innings was one of quiet defiance, holding the tail together against relentless pressure. Ambrose, ever the executioner, kept striking at intervals, preventing England from running away with the game. But through sheer perseverance, the visitors nudged past 300, finishing on 328—a lead of 76. It was not as commanding as they had hoped, but still, a lead substantial enough to feel comfortable.
And then, as England pressed forward in the West Indies’ second innings, the match tilted decisively in their favour. Andy Caddick and Chris Lewis made early inroads. Richardson miscued a drive back to Caddick, Brian Lara fell to a brilliant diving catch at mid-off by Ian Salisbury, and Haynes missed a delivery from Lewis. At 131 for 4, the hosts were reeling.
The match was England’s to seize.
But Test cricket, like fate, has a way of twisting the narrative at the most unexpected moments.
The Turning Point: Chanderpaul’s Resilience
It was here that a 19-year-old batsman in only his second Test stepped forward to shift the course of the game. Shivnarine Chanderpaul was not yet the rock of West Indian batting he would later become, but his innate ability to survive and frustrate opponents was already evident. He arrived at the crease with uncertainty in the air. England had their tails up, sensing a collapse.
And then, a moment that would come back to haunt them. Chanderpaul edged early in his innings, a straightforward chance to the slips. Graeme Hick, usually a safe pair of hands, dropped it. Hick had already let one chance slip earlier—now, he had reprieved Chanderpaul twice.
Given a second life, the young left-hander dug in. His crab-like stance, his awkward-yet-effective technique, and his ability to soak up pressure began to frustrate the English bowlers. Slowly, he shepherded the tail, eeking out valuable runs. Keith Arthurton departed, but Chanderpaul stood firm.
On the third evening, Adams flicked a high full toss from Salisbury. The ball ricocheted off Robin Smith at short leg and was caught by Jack Russell behind the stumps. The English celebrations were subdued—they knew they should have been chasing a much smaller target.
The next morning, Caddick removed Junior Murray early, but again, Chanderpaul persisted. His fifty, coming at a crucial juncture, pushed the target beyond England’s comfort zone. Winston Benjamin played a cameo, striking crucial runs.
England had started the day expecting to chase around 120. By the time the last wicket fell, the target had swelled to 194. It was still attainable, but the psychological shift was palpable. England had been in command. Now, doubts began creeping in.
And then, Ambrose took the ball.
The Storm at Queen’s Park
Michael Atherton walked out to bat, composed as always. In the press box, Peter Roebuck turned to BC Pires of the Trinidad Guardian and declared, “This ought to be England’s game.”
It was an opinion shared by many. The total, though tricky, was not daunting. The wicket was not as venomous as the great fast-bowling wickets of the 1980s. But some instinct within Pires urged him to leave the press box. He wanted to be among the crowd, to feel the electricity in the air. He sensed something special was about to unfold.
Ambrose marked his run-up.
The first ball was full—too full to drive, yet not quite a yorker. Atherton, caught in two minds, hesitated. The ball skidded through at a searing pace, striking the front pad with a deafening thud. The appeal was unanimous, and even before the umpire’s finger went up, the crowd roared its verdict. Atherton was gone.
Five balls later, calamity struck again. Mark Ramprakash turned the ball to fine-leg and sprinted for two. Courtney Walsh, one of the finest fielders among fast bowlers, swooped in. There was confusion, and hesitation—both batsmen ended up at the same end. Ramprakash devastated, trudged off for 1.
And then the full-scale annihilation began.
Robin Smith was caught on the crease, his stumps shattered. Hick, already shaken from his fielding lapses, nicked one behind. Alec Stewart, the only man to show any fight, lost his off-stump to a vicious inswinger.
Ambrose was relentless. With each ball, England crumbled further. Walsh, maintaining his own relentless line, dismissed Ian Salisbury. By the end of Ambrose’s eighth over, England were reduced to 40 for 8.
The final morning was a mere formality—17 minutes, 32 balls, and an England score of 46 all out. They had avoided their worst-ever total by just one run, but history had already been written.
The Aftermath: A Legacy of Destruction
Ambrose finished with 6 for 22, his spell an exhibition of raw hostility and pinpoint precision. As he was carried from the ground on jubilant Caribbean shoulders, the echoes of Lord Kitchener’s calypso could be heard outside the dressing room. The great calypsonian, who had immortalized West Indies’ 1950 triumph at Lord’s, now composed a new ode to the destruction wrought at Queen’s Park Oval.
For England, this was more than just a loss—it was an evisceration. The ghosts of the 1980s had returned with a vengeance. This was not a mere collapse; this was a demolition at the hands of one of the greatest fast bowlers the game had ever seen.
Ambrose had blown them away like a raging hurricane, and all England could do was stagger off the field, dazed, battered, and wondering how they would ever recover.
Thank You
Faisal Caesar
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