Sunday 15th June 2025

It’s about 6pm as I get up from my seat to say my farewell to Lord’s. The World Champions are still in their changeroom. The celebrations will go on well into the night. It’s a day that one hopes will never end. 

The cladding on the grandstands is being removed. The forklifts are busy shuttling away pallets of refuse and equipment as I exit the Media Centre lift and make my way towards the North Gate. Lord’s has already moved on, another historic chapter having been written inside its time-honoured walls. 

The South African flag flies even more proudly amongst those of the other test-playing nations at the back of the Compton Stand. I take a picture. Earlier that day, underneath it, hundreds engaged in an impromptu singing of our National Anthem. The flag of the champions, the flag of 60-odd million people, the flag of the thousands who made their way across continents and countries to be at Lord’s. Our flag, my flag. On this historic Saturday in June, it is a reminder once again that our triumph is in our togetherness. 

I come across the groundstaff playing an impromptu game of cricket next to their offices. As the assigned wicketkeeper chases his toddler across the tarmac, I take up station behind the stumps. Emma, the heavy roller driver, is bowling. The first ball beats the outside edge and I manage to field it. The third delivery is similar to Starc’s bail-trimmer, which dismissed Test cricket’s only Tristan only hours before. It pings the bollard pillar stump. The fingers go up from about six umpires. They hand the middlesex county cricket logo bat to me. It’s a kind gesture. I see that many of them are wearing Australian practice cricket kit, and I am heartened by this unnecessary but important kindness. 

I walk past a straight one and am stumped. It’s time to go. I gather my backpack and walk out for the last time, thanking the stewards as I depart. There is one last glance back across the nursery ground to the spaceship that has been my temporary home for the last few days. 

Inside are most of the South African journalists who have made the trip to London. They are finishing their description of the Ultimate Test. Their chance on a sunny London afternoon not only to put painful history to rest, but to celebrate what seems like the start of a new beginning for South African cricket. 

At least 3 of these scribes were in Barbados in 1992 for the first post-isolation test match. A matter of 33 years later, we are many worlds away from where South Africa was then as a nation. Only 3 of the squad at Lord’s were alive when Kepler Wessels took his team to the Caribbean. The group of players and their support staff at Lord’s represent so much that we didn’t have then. Unity, Inclusivity, Togetherness, Hope, Belief. 

The words above permeate the deluge of social media posts I have scrolled through since Scholesy and Bedders saw us home. They may not be overtly written or said, but they are somehow omnipresent. 

I can perhaps allow myself one last indulgence as I reflect on what I have witnessed over the past week. I realise that I can’t really describe it in words. 

What I want to do is put it in a bottle, slap a lid on it, take it home to South Africa and release it over the whole nation. 

I agree, Temba, it really is that special.