There are a lot of cricketers out there mourning the death of Brian Close. You never forget your first county captain and, given that Close led Yorkshire for eight years and Somerset for five, many young men of the 60s and 70s made their debuts under his leadership. All of them looked on with awe at this battered, bald-headed old blighter in the corner of the dressing room, supping endless cups of tea, the Sporting Life on his knee (as it often was when he was driving), giggling away, yet every now and then delivering magnificent dressing-downs to errant young players – and older ones if necessary.

Yes, Closey was my first county captain. He made an immediate impact upon me at Somerset; it may have taken a little longer for me to impact upon him. Unwittingly Close had an enormous impact on all of the youngsters at Taunton but most significantly on the young Ian Botham and Viv Richards. Talk to this be-knighted pair now and they will happily sing his praises into the early hours.

Close, they recognise, taught them so much by his fearless example and a few uncompromising observations to boot. Botham attracted the most colourful bollockings from his captain in those days but once delivered the matter was over in seconds.

Close, we discovered, was selfless, generous, hilariously funny (although he did not always appreciate why), a wee bit mad and awesomely brave.

Richards recently reminded me of when he fielded at forward short-leg for West Indies against England when Close, at the age of 45, had been recalled to Tony Greig’s side in 1976.

Close was getting battered by a barrage of fierce, short deliveries from Michael Holding on an uneven Old Trafford pitch and Richards was concerned about his county captain’s well-being. Out of the corner of his mouth – since Richards could not betray to his West Indian colleagues that he had any sympathy for the opposition – he whispered, “Are you all right, cappy? Are you all right?” Close told him where to go in no uncertain terms and battled on.

That Test recall epitomised the bravery of Close. In 1963 he had stunned everyone at Lord’s by advancing down the pitch to a bewildered Wes Hall in a riveting England run-chase. In 1976 his resistance was a little more passive. There he was midway through his fifth decade with nothing but a pair of pads and a flimsy thigh pad to protect himself against the most devastating pace attack of the modern era.

Yet how he relished the challenge of playing for England again. The oddity was that 1976 was the first year since Close’s debut in 1949 that he had not put the Test matches in his diary. He always assumed that he should be picked, though the selectors often took a different view as he played only 22 Tests with 27 years separating his first against New Zealand in 1949 and the final one against West Indies.

When he came back from those Tests he confided how all the England players looked at him when he was fielding, at forward short-leg (of course), “so I put ’em all in right place”. Close also reckoned that he must have been dropped after that Old Trafford Test because Greig was feeling insecure as captain and he was the obvious man to take over again. Previously he had captained England seven times, winning six matches and drawing one.

Close was never arrogant but there has seldom been a cricketer with such a deep reservoir of self-belief. He was never out through his own fault; it might be because the wrong-flavoured chewing gum had been delivered by the 12th man or thanks to poor advice from the preceding batsman. “You told me it was swinging. But you didn’t tell me it was seaming as well,” he once chastised a bewildered team-mate when he had became the third victim of a Barry Stead hat-trick at Nottingham.

Nor did he have any time for the psychobabble that sometimes pervades the modern game. One of the Somerset youngsters (not Viv or Both) was once struggling in a partnership with Close against a skilful, old county bowler. Who better than Closey to turn to for some reassuring advice at a mid-wicket conference? “I can play him all right, lad,” he replied before reaching the inevitable conclusion, “but you might struggle.”

Nonetheless it was an education and a wonderful privilege to play alongside one of the true characters of the post-war era.

Close, once so indestructible, may be gone now. But we’ll never forget him.