By Royal appointment

I have received many tributes to the late Malcolm Williamson, the composer, and in his honour would like to print a few of them today.

From Sir George "Gubby" Trotter

Sir, In all the obituaries and tributes to the late Malcolm Williamson, the Master of the Queen's Music, I have seen no mention of his deep and abiding love of cricket.

I first met his medium-fast bowling back in the early 1960s when he was playing for an Aldeburgh cricket XI called Britten's Blue-Eyed Boys (I was captain of a wine-sponsored team called the Beaujolais Nouveau Barbarians at the time), and he ran right through our batting order and then our wine list without batting an eyelid. Most impressive.

Malcolm was the first Australian ever to be appointed to the headship of the royal music department, and the appointment was as surprising to him as to anyone, as he was under the impression (until it was too late to turn it down) that he was being made Master of the Queen's Cricket. By that time he had accepted the post.

"Strewth, Gubbo!" he said to me once. "I never thought in a thousand years that the Queen had ever heard of any composer born under the Southern Cross! I naturally assumed that she had hired me for my legendary ability to get 11 drunk Aussie cricketers together to beat any 11 sober Poms!"

It is true that in later years Malcolm did partake fondly of the bottle, but that is not the reason – as so many have thought – why he never seemed to write any music for the Queen. He was just too busy playing cricket.

Yours etc

From Mr Freddy Handley

Sir, I can bear out the previous writer. I arrived in Britain from my native Adelaide in the 1960s, carrying only my oboe (I am a musician by trade) and a letter of introduction to Malcolm Williamson.

I wrote to him, desperate for work, and got a note back by return: "Meet me 11.30 Lords, Long Bar, Saturday. Bring gear." It seemed a strange place to play music, but I turned up anyway with my dinner jacket and oboe, only to find him in whites, tossing a ball from hand to hand.

"I can't believe it!" he said. "It's the annual London Orchestras vs the Ben Britten Babes XI cricket fixture, and you've come in your flaming tails! Jeez, whatever happened to Australian youth?"

Yours etc

From Lady Artemisia Pangloss

Sir, I can vouch for the spirit of the foregoing. In later years I was the Mistress of the Queen's Wardrobe, and it was my job to provide costume for state occasions. It occurred to me that I had never heard from Mr Williamson, the Master of the Queen's Music, so I wrote to him, saying that if ever he needed dress for a musical occasion, he should get in touch.

Not three days later, the door of the wardrobe burst open, and there stood a dishevelled figure, proclaiming that he needed 11 white costumes for something called Covent Garden vs Benjamin Britten & His Little Peers.

"Is that an opera?" I said.

"Opera?" he said. "It'll be a flaming tragedy in two acts if I don't get my men kitted out properly! Now, step on it, lady!"

Yours etc

From Sir Ronald Martingrass

Sir, In all the tributes paid to the late Sir Hardy Amies, I have seen no mention of his lifelong love of cricket. He was an extremely dapper batsman; seldom, in fact, have I seen anyone more dapper. He often turned out for Benjamin Britten's Cricket XI, the Likely Lads of Suffolk, and never was anyone better turned out.

If there was one thing that saddened him, it was the lack of sartorial flair shown by the average cricketer. I remember him once getting very excited when Lady Artemisia Pangloss – Mistress of the Queen's Wardrobe – asked for his help in getting together a set of cricket flannels for a match in which Malcolm Williamson was involved. "At last, a chance to bring style to cricket!" he cried, and he came up with a most remarkable all-white variation on the traditional three-piece suit. Never before had cricket flannels included a waistcoat. And never would they again, said Malcolm Williamson when he saw them, though those were not his exact words.

Yours etc

From Dr Rodney Seeblatt

Sir, In all the recent tributes to the late Dolly the Sheep...

Miles Kington writes: Not now! Some other time, perhaps.