TWENTY-FOUR hours after producing a belligerent defence of his position in the bowels of his beloved Headingley, Michael Vaughan delivered his latest missive on the captaincy debate in the middle yesterday. Fortunately, for the under-pressure England skipper, his actions were every bit as compelling as his words.

Initially fitful but eventually flamboyant, Vaughan successfully silenced the doubters who had branded him "the special one" because of his ability to command a place in England's Test line-up through weight of reputation rather than runs.

Jose Mourinho's Portuguese persona might enable him to revel in his special status, but accusations of favouritism do not go down nearly so well with Vaughan, a proud Yorkshire patriot who embodies many of his home county's more unreconstructed characteristics.

"I am England captain, I have made myself available for selection and I've been selected. Surely that's a positive thing," claimed Vaughan on Thursday. "Aye lad, but only if you can remember how to play," might well have been the withering response from the members' enclosure.

After all, this was a batsman who had not worn England whites for almost 18 months and whose form, like that of the majority of his team-mates, had all but deserted him during March's ill-fated World Cup.

This was a batsman who was waltzing straight back into a batting line-up that had included five different centurions in the first Test at Lord's. And to compound matters even further, this was a batsman who was completely brazen about all of it.

Back in the side at his favoured position of number three, could a fit-again Vaughan justify the unflinching faith that was being placed in him? Well, by the time he brought up his 16th Test century shortly after the tea interval, the questions over his status had been answered.

This was not the most fluent innings Vaughan will ever play, although it became increasingly composed as the afternoon wore on. Given the circumstances it was played in, though, it was arguably the most important.

By the time he was dismissed for 103, swatting a loose delivery off his hips to Runako Morton on the backward square boundary, Vaughan had reminded a capacity Headingley crowd of his enduring class.

If nothing else, the questions about whether he is worth a place in a side that has won one of its last five Test series have surely been silenced for the summer.

Called into action when Andrew Strauss' recent shaky spell continued with an incongruous waft outside off-stump, Vaughan was scratchier than an over-used LP in the early throes of his innings.

His first ten balls brought one run, his first 33 contributed three. If the start of his final World Cup innings against South Africa had been pedestrian, this was so slow that the scoreboard was almost going backwards.

Patience, however, was clearly a virtue and from the moment he plundered his first boundary - a contemptuous pull to square leg off Daren Powell - Vaughan gradually clicked into the kind of gear that had seen him score almost 1,500 Test runs in the 12 golden months of 2002.

The length of his absence has tended to dilute the quality of his earlier efforts, but here, on home soil, was a vivid evocation of an almost-forgotten era.

At his best, Vaughan is unquestionably the most aesthetic of England's batsman and a picture-perfect cover drive off Jerome Taylor was as good as anything contained in a coaching manual.

A flick off the hips to bring up a boundary off Corey Collymore was almost Caribbean in terms of its effortlessness and, while the shot to bring up his 50 was assisted by a misfield from Ramnaresh Sarwan, the England skipper was in his element by mid-afternoon.

Some wayward West Indian bowling combined with a flat and featureless pitch undoubtedly helped, but the ease with which Vaughan accelerated towards his century remained remarkable given the length of his absence.

The not-so-nervous nineties were punctuated by the tea interval, and the by-now inevitable century was celebrated with a punch of the fist and a bear hug from Kevin Pietersen.

Given his recent injury record, Vaughan could have been forgiven a sharp intake of breath when Pietersen swept him high into the air. But yesterday, nothing, not even the sloppiness of his eventual dismissal, was going to detract from his enjoyment.

Cheered to the rafters as he left the field, Vaughan even afforded himself a wry smile as he re-entered the pavilion. Perhaps, on this evidence, he is the special one after all.