David Maugham is said to be the leader of a new generation of players turning the genteel world of croquet on its head. Mark Tallentire went to meet him.

THUNDER cracked and boomed overhead, increasing in ferocity by the minute. We were getting closer.

Pulling up in the car park, the rage burst forth, in rain more suited to a tropical forest.

We were trespassing on the territory of The Beast.

Abandoning their mallets to the elements, four croquet players ran for the inadequate cover of a white gazebo. With the rain lashing sideways, it did little to protect them.

Two donned white all-inone waterpoof suits, but it was too late.

“He plays a totally different game,” a middle-aged man who had travelled from Woking said. “He’s out of our league,” another added.

The man they were talking about is David Maugham, aka The Beast, the third best croquet player in Britain, fourth best in the world.

Maugham had travelled to Exhibition Park, in Newcastle, to compete for the Advanced Association Croquet Trophy.

The publicity surrounding him says he represents a new breed of players taking over from the old “tea-and-cucumber- sandwich set”.

“In fact, David Maugham once had a Union Jack shaved into his head in a protest about being left out of the British team, and apparently has much the same temperament as football manager Alex Ferguson – pretty cheerful most of the time, but someone to be approached with extreme caution when things aren’t going so well,” the note sent to journalists gushes.

Given the hype, one might have expected a 7ft monster, running riot through the croquet clubhouse.

In reality, Maugham is a 39- year-old financial systems administrator for the NHS.

He lives in Sale, near Manchester.

I found him sitting quietly in the clubhouse, tapping away at a laptop.

Asked about his reputation, he said: “I’m not sure I play any differently. I’m more consistent and I’m used to playing more, so I hit the shots a little bit better.”

Maugham had just defeated 16-year-old Jacob Carr, a rising star of the Tyneside Croquet Club, 26 to six.

But he was magnanimous in victory.

“He’s the new generation,”

he said, “not me.”

During our interview, lunch arrived. There were no cucumber sandwiches, but there was salad and quiche.

Perhaps the croquet world is not in the throes of revolution after all.