From his autobiography BLASTING FOR RUNS, here is Rohan Kanhai, the most gifted West Indian batsman, in his own words on the journey:
“I made my grand entrance on Boxing Day, 1935—perhaps that is why I've been a fighter all my life. My earliest recollections are of playing cricket with my friends Basil (Butcher), Joe (Solomon) and Ivan (Madray) in the backstreets of Port Mourant where my father worked in the sugar factory. Often `Uncle' John (Trim) would join in the game and give us a bit of advice. Years later those same pals Basil, Joe, and Ivan were to play Test cricket for the West Indies with me. Uncle John Trim was to find his slice of glory too—he opened the bowling in Test matches against England, Australia and India in the late 1940's. Port Mourant is a closely knit community and I'm proud to think that we reared five Test cricketers in such a short space of time. John Trim lived next door to us; Basil 200 yards down the road; Ivan a 100 yards further on; and Joe half a mile away. Our careers have followed the same path through school, club, and colony cricket into the Test side. Ivan and I were team-mates in the Port Mourant Roman Catholic School team, Joe, a little older, had been in the team before us. Basil was our arch enemy with the Anglican school. As an eight-year-old I was in the Primary school team under the guidance of Joe Solomon's brother Lionel, fighting to win our local shield competition. Mind you, I never managed to put together a century in those days – 50's were good enough for me. My father used to shake his head and say sadly: 'You're wasting your time batting, son. You score 40 in ten minutes then you're out. That's no good.' Sorry Dad, but I've never really got round to your way of thinking.
After school, Ivan and I decided to join Port Mourant Cricket Club, where Joe was already playing, and Basil came along too. The ground was right next door to our house so I could always wake up dad with one hefty clout into the front parlour. Yes, even in those far-off days my hook and sweep spelt big trouble. Looking back at my entry into Test cricket I'm darned lucky that I didn't quit the stumps before my career really got under way. It was late in 1954 when the break came that eventually led to me getting an England ticket two and a half years later. A feature match was due to be held in the capital Georgetown with stars like Clyde Walcott and Bruce Pairaudeau. There were three spots available and the British Guiana Cricket Board asked Berbice, our county, to fill 'em. Cobra Ramdatt, a left arm spinner who struck with the swiftness of his namesake, was an obvious choice. The other two spots were allocated to Port Mourant—and that started a right old commotion. The club reckoned that three players—Butcher, Madray, and myself—all had equal claims. Someone came up with a bright idea of drawing names out of a hat. You can guess who lost. That Thursday night I was nearly in tears. To a boy of 18 it was like the end of the world to me. But they say fortune favors the brave and the young. Next morning Mr. Duncan Stewart, the Berbice President knocked on our door to tell me that Cobra had twisted an ankle. "Would I go to Georgetown?"
By the time I caught the bus with Basil and Ivan at four o'clock on the Saturday morning my heart was pounding. What a journey that was: 15 miles by bus to New Amsterdam, across the ferry, then a long, hot train ride into Georgetown all the time clutching my old tattered cricket bag to me and trying to look outwardly calm. I had never even seen a first-class match before, let alone played in one. Names like Walcott and Pairaudeau belonged to the newspapers and radio, not real everyday life on the sugar plantation. I made a blob in the first game but there was a reprieve around the corner. The next morning I picked up five catches behind the stumps and surprisingly found myself in the British Guiana party to fly to Barbados for a couple of games in February, 1955 as a wicket-keeper batsman. I never dreamed of going on to Test glory. Club, and possible Colony cricket was all I wanted out of life. I had never been out of British Guiana in my life and here I was about to fly 500 miles with some of the world's greatest cricketers. I still remember the names of my 13 companions to this day—Bruce Pairaudeau (the skipper) Clyde Walcott, Glendon Gibbs, Lance Gibbs, Clifford McWatt, Sonny Eden, Richard Hector, Bruiser Thomas, Neville Thomas, Pat Legall, Norman White, Basil Butcher and the manager Len Thomas.
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