Jeremy Coney is barking with laughter recalling the story of winding up England’s Phil Edmonds at Trent Bridge 40 years ago.

“We needed about 70-odd runs to win the match and go 1-0 up in the series. Edmonds was bowling to myself and Martin Crowe with this rather garish sponsored wristwatch on.”

Having drawn the first match of the series at Lord’s in 1986, Coney’s semi-professional and delightfully ramshackle New Zealand side were about to go 1-0 up with one match to play. They had won their first ever Test match in England three years previously but now had the prospect of a first full series win in their sights.

“Martin asked the umpire if he could ask Edmonds to take his watch off as it was distracting him, which he duly did and Edmonds begrudgingly complied. Martin clipped a single and then I was on strike.

“We only needed a few more and I decided to have a bit of fun. There was a white streak on Edmonds’ wrist where the watch had been and the sun hadn’t. I think I pulled away in his run up and politely asked the umpire if he wouldn’t mind asking Philip to put the watch back on as the translucent patch on his wrist was dazzling me …”

The incident is testament to a rankling between the two sides created in the aftermath of the first Test at Lord’s that ended in a draw after Graham Gooch hit 183 in England’s second innings. What happened next was often cited to have come from Gooch’s mouth. Coney, however, confirms it was the England captain, Mike Gatting, who made the remark that belittled the bulk of the New Zealand bowling attack and alluded to the gulf in standard between the core and their spearhead, Richard Hadlee.

“Everyone has heard it by now but Gatting said that batting against us was like playing against the World XI at one end, meaning Richard, and Ilford Second XI at the other, meaning the rest. Coney and his side took umbrage – “nobody likes to be belittled” – and decided to embrace the slur wholeheartedly, ordering T-shirts with “Ilford Seconds” emblazoned on the front and referring to themselves as Ilford in the field for the rest of the tour.

In his early 70s now, Coney is a much-loved and respected broadcaster and will be commentating on the BBC’s Test Match Special this summer. It isn’t lost on him how Tom Latham’s New Zealand side of today exist in “almost a totally different universe” to the one at his disposal in 1986. With only three professional players in the squad, the 1986 Kiwis were a mix of labourers, teachers and, in the case of John Bracewell, a gravedigger from Dunedin. “Players weren’t scared of Brace because of what he did back home, but they were scared of him when he opened his mouth!” he says of the off-spinning all-rounder.

Coney’s tourists flew economy class and played in sponsor-less kit but they had shown they were not to be underestimated, with historic home and away victories against Australia leading into the England tour. Nevertheless, they were weakened by the redoubtable seamer Ewen Chatfield pulling up injured upon arriving and the tour manager, Bob Vance, returning home with illness not long after. Chatfield dutifully stepped into the role of managing the tour before regaining fitness for the final Test at the Oval. It was symbolic of the team spirit in the side. “There was never a question of Chats moping about, he appeared with a whistle and just got on with it,” says Coney.

“We were an odd bunch on paper,and certainly to look at, but we knew that we had been given the opportunity to play cricket and to a man everyone wanted to seize it. What we lacked in professionalism we more than made up for in heart and skill.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” he adds. “We had some big personalities and a wild mix of backgrounds. Everything was debated in team meetings. There were lots of arguments, lots of heated discussion. We’d be talking about how we were going to play Edmonds if he comes over the wicket into footmarks for example and someone would chime up, ‘Well, I’m going to sweep him!’

‘Are you? Interesting idea …’

‘I’m going to block him out, play French cricket!’ someone else would chirrup.

‘And I’m going to smack him!’ came another.”

A former teacher himself, Coney found the transferable skills came in handy as he kept his men focused on the task in hand. The whole tour fizzed with a chaotic, homespun energy, with its early morning team runs along the Thames, orienteering sessions in hotel lobbies and many social functions as a result of it being Hadlee’s benefit year.

“Wrighty [the left-handed opening batter John Wright] was always good value in those situations,” says Coney with a laugh. “I have a vivid recollection of a black-tie dinner and him rather exuberantly telling a group of people dressed in their finery, many of them laden with jewellery, that he was in fact a moa catcher. You’ve never seen a more confused assortment of expressions.” [Moa being massive, long-necked and flightless birds, native to New Zealand that have been extinct since 1445].

The final Test at The Oval ended in a rain-affected draw, meaning Coney and his men had become the first New Zealand side to win a Test series in England. Forty years on, the final result and the enduring character of his side give Coney immense pride. A flinty emphasis momentarily undercuts his usual mellifluous tone.

“You know, we had fun but we played bloody hard … and bloody well.”

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