We were a relentlessly competitive bunch at school. We competed against other schools, one another and ourselves in a kind of blind testosterone fever. In our quieter moments we did Charles Fortune impersonations and when we were down we tried to bowl as Robbie Armitage did.
An off-spinner, Armitage's left arm went all spidery as he approached the crease; it fluttered about as though he had an invisible baton and was conducting an eccentric little orchestra out in the middle.
He provided us with endless entertainment, did Armitage, but he also provided us with more important lessons. I remember spending a day or two in Port Elizabeth en route back to Johannesburg after a December holiday at a campsite in Plettenberg Bay in the late seventies. With time to kill we moseyed across to St George's Park where Eastern Province were playing Transvaal.
That day Armitage was in superb form. He scuffed and nudged his way to his hundred but after that he started to groove. He was severe on Alan Kourie as he brought up his 150 and marched on before going out for about 170. It was a wonderful knock and taught the virtues of concentration, application and the joys of letting your hair down.
Armitage, the former Rhodes University, Eastern Province and South African allrounder died last weekend after a long battle against cancer. He is survived by his wife, Carolynne, and teenage sons, Greg and Craig.