First published in 2007

In my mind’s eye, I can still see him set off on his extra-long run with a slight nod of the head before breaking into a graceful, gliding, loping stride.

With the packed Oval ground so quiet that you could hear a sweet paper rustle, he accelerated effortlessly as he neared the wicket. But no sound emanated from the pitch where he sped over the grass as if he was running on water above the waves.

The eerie silence was then shattered by the thud of the ball as it hit the deck – followed a nanosecond later by the noise of a stump hurtling out of the ground and a roar from the crowd.

Michael “Whispering Death” Holding – the only cricketer who could ever be compared with a gazelle – had struck again and another English batsman trudged forlornly back to the pavilion.

It was way back in the baking hot summer of 1976 and the sun-drenched wicket was so benign that all the experts predicted a big-scoring draw. But as I sat through every one of the five days of that Test in the pavilion as a Surrey member, Holding rewrote the cricket history books. His astonishing match figures of 14 for 149 cannot in any way convey the sheer magic of that Test where we all came to realise that we were watching a sporting miracle unfold.

When I went this summer to see England against India, I watched some of it from the wonderful new Vauxhall stand and some from the pavilion. But as ever, during dull moments of play, my mind strayed back to those five wondrous days in August, 1976 when Whispering Death, who was just 22, first burst on to the scene.

There may have been greater fast bowlers in cricket history – not many I’d fancy – but I submit that none have ever produced a match-winning performance of such fiery yet elegant grace.

I cannot now recall who first coined the phrase Whispering Death but it is probably the most appropriate nickname ever given to an international sportsman.