Neville Cardus

Neville Cardus was born on 2 April 1888 in Rusholme, Manchester.[1] Throughout his childhood and young adulthood he was known as "Fred".[2] There has been confusion over his birth date. The birthdate of 2 April 1888 is as given on his baptism record; and it is 2 April when he celebrated his birthday, albeit believing that he was born in 1889: Cardus himself hosted a dinner party on 2 April 1959 believing this to be his 70th birthday.[3] His birth certificate shows a birthdate of 3 April 1888, but this has been argued to be incorrect, since the date of registration of 15 May 1888 was such that using the birth date of 2 April would have breached the requirement to register a birth in no more than 42 days.[4] Some sources give the birthdate as 2 April 1889,[n 1] Neville's mother was Ada Cardus, one of six daughters of Robert and Ann Cardus of 4 Summer Place, Rusholme. On 14 July 1888, when the baby was three months old, Ada married Neville's father, John Frederick Newsham, a blacksmith.[9] Cardus's autobiographical works refer to his father as a violinist in an orchestra, but there is no other evidence for this.[10] Four days after the wedding, Cardus's father left by boat for America, with the intention that Ada followed.[11] However, Ada changed her mind and went to live with Eliahoo Joseph, a Turkish merchant and possibly a pimp, with Ada a prostitute.[12] John Frederick Newsham returned to England and divorced Ada in 1899.[13] It was said that within a few years Ada and Neville had returned to her parents' home in Summer Place.[7]

Robert Cardus was a retired policeman; Neville referred to him as receiving a small pension,[14] although a search of police archives found no trace of this.[15] The family took in neighbours' washing, and the household income was further supplemented by his daughters' earnings from part-time prostitution.[7] In his autobiographical writings, Cardus refers to his home environment at Summer Place as "sordid ... unlettered and unbeautiful", yet enlivened by laughter: "Humour kept breezing in".[16] Commentators have suggested that Cardus tended to overstate the deprived aspects of his childhood; his biographer Christopher Brookes asserts that "Cardus was the product neither of a slum, nor a cultural desert".[17] Robert Cardus, though uneducated, was not illiterate, and was instrumental in awakening his grandson's literary interests. Theatres, libraries and other cultural facilities were easily accessible from the Cardus home.[7][18]

Neville described his formal schooling as limited to five years at the local board school, where the curriculum was basic and the methods of tuition harsh: "[T]he boy who showed the faintest sign of freedom of the will was caned".[19] There is, however, doubt as to whether his schooling lasted only five years and whether he attended a board school or a Church of England school.[20] The experience did not curb Neville's intellectual curiosity; at a very young age he was expanding his cultural horizons, through the worlds of reading and of music hall and pantomime. When he was 10 years old he discovered the novels of Dickens;[21] years later he wrote that there were two classes of person, "those who have it in them from birth onwards to appreciate Dickens and those who haven't. The second group should be avoided as soon as detected".[22] His earliest creative writing took the form of a handwritten magazine, The Boy's World, full of articles and stories he had written. He circulated it among his schoolmates, until it was discovered and torn up by an irate teacher.[23]

Albert Square, Manchester (depicted in 1910 by Adolphe Valette), where Cardus and his self-educated friends met regularly for discussion and debate

After Robert Cardus's death in 1900 the family moved several times, eventually breaking up altogether.[24] Cardus left school in 1901 and took a variety of short-term, unskilled jobs before finding more secure employment as a clerk with Flemings' marine insurance agency.[7][25] He lived for a time with his Aunt Beatrice[25] with whom, according to Brookes, he had at an early age "embarked on a lifelong love affair ... In his eyes she could do no wrong".[26] A flamboyant character, Beatrice brought colour into Cardus's life; she encouraged him to read worthwhile books and her memory, Brookes asserts, "remained a potent inspirational force" throughout his later life as a writer.[27] She also bought him his first cricket bat.[28]

These years were a period of intense self-education. Cardus became an habitué of the local libraries, and extended his reading from Dickens to include many of the masters of literature: Fielding, Thackeray, Conrad and—with more reservation—Hardy and Henry James.[29] In due course he added philosophy and metaphysics to his curriculum; this began with his discovery of George Henry Lewes, which led him on to the works of Kant, Hume, Berkeley and, eventually, Schopenhauer.[30] He supplemented these studies by attending free lectures at Manchester University,[31] and met regularly with a group of like-minded autodidacts at Alexandra Park or, in the winter, at the Lyons café in Albert Square, to discuss and debate for whole afternoons. At first Cardus's schedule of self-improvement was random; eventually he compiled what he called a "cultural scheme" whereby he devoted a set weekly number of hours to different subjects.[32]

Victor Trumper, whose batting was placed among "all the delights I have known" (Autobiography)[33]

Cardus's interest in music began with the popular tunes sung by his mother and her sisters in the family home. He remembered hearing for the first time the melody of the "Vilja" song from Franz Lehár's operetta The Merry Widow, which "curled its way into my heart to stay there for a lifetime".[34] In April 1907 he was "swept ... into the seven seas of music" by a performance of Edward German's operetta Tom Jones.[35] "I am unable to explain", Cardus wrote many years later, "why it should have been left to Edward German—of all composers—to release the flood".[36] He began going to the Hallé Orchestra's concerts at the Free Trade Hall where, on 3 December 1908, he was present at the premiere of Elgar's first symphony, under Hans Richter.[32] He regularly attended the fortnightly concerts at the Royal Manchester College of Music, where students' performances were assessed by the principal, Adolph Brodsky.[37] As part of his scheme of study, Cardus briefly took singing lessons, his only formal instruction in music.[38] In 1916 Cardus published his first musical article, "Bantock and Style in Music", in Musical Opinion.[39][n 2]

Alongside his intellectual pursuits Cardus played and followed cricket. As a small boy he had begun to visit Old Trafford Cricket Ground to watch Lancashire matches: "The first cricketer I saw was A.C. MacLaren ... I can still see the swing of MacLaren's bat, the great follow-through finishing high and held there with the body poised".[40] In 1902 he saw the Test match against Australia in which Victor Trumper scored a century before lunch and thereby won a permanent place among Cardus's heroes.[41] Cardus first played cricket on rough waste land close to his home in Rusholme;[42] as he matured he developed as an effective medium-paced off break bowler, and for several seasons from 1908 onwards he played as a weekend professional in Manchester league cricket. "I am not ashamed to confess that I seldom hesitated, as soon as a batsman came to the crease, to let him have a quick one bang in the penis; after which a quick, simple straight one would invariably remove him from the scene".[23]

C. P. Scott, editor of The Manchester Guardian from 1872 to 1929

In the winter of 1916–17 Cardus continued his private studies while working intermittently; among various jobs, he collected insurance premiums for a burial society.[61] Early in January 1917 he wrote to C. P. Scott, The Manchester Guardian's editor, asking for any available post at the paper, as "the means whereby to continue my education".[62] To bolster his chances he enclosed specimens of his writing.[63] The result was, first, a temporary unpaid position as Scott's secretary, but in mid-March Scott offered a job on the paper's reporting staff.[64] The writer J. B. Priestley later asserted that Cardus, who did not know shorthand, was engaged not as a reporter, but as a "writer".[65] In Cardus's own account of these years he appears to have been fully engaged in reporters' duties, his lack of shorthand being dismissed by the chief reporter, Haslam Mills, who paraphrased Shakespeare: "Some men are born to shorthand, others achieve shorthand, while others have shorthand thrust upon them".[66][n 5] Mills advised Cardus to concentrate on style: "We can be decorative at times; we can even be amusing. Here, possibly, you will find scope".[67]

Within a year Cardus had been moved from the reporters' room to take charge of the paper's "Miscellany" column. He also resumed the duties of part-time secretary to Scott,[68] who was at this time over 70, and had edited The Manchester Guardian since 1872.[69] Despite his years, he struck Cardus as "of inexhaustible energy and aliveness".[70] Scott was a demanding employer, who gave his young writers free rein, but expected in return long hours and total dedication. Driven hard, sometimes to the point of exhaustion, Cardus nevertheless relished these years, and never complained to Scott of weariness.[71] Early in 1919 his role changed again, when he was made junior drama critic under the direction of C.E. Montague, the paper's principal theatre critic who had returned from war service with no great desire to continue in the role.[68] Cardus's principal ambitions still lay in the direction of music criticism, though he recognised that this door was closed while Samuel Langford, music critic since 1906, remained in post. In preparation for any opportunity that might arise in that direction, Cardus maintained a daily two-hour study of music or music literature.[72]

In the spring of 1919, while recovering from a serious pulmonary condition, Cardus took up a suggestion from his news editor, William Percival Crozier, that he should watch some cricket at Old Trafford and, if he felt able, write reports on a few matches.[74] He had earlier written four articles on cricket for the newspaper.[75] On 19 May 1919 Cardus went to the first day of Lancashire's match with Derbyshire.[76] His first published cricket report, on the following day, showed little sign of his later characteristic style: "I simply had no intention of writing on cricket for any length of time; this was a spare-time affair ... and I fitted myself into the idioms and procedures of the sporting writers of 1919".[77] Scott nonetheless saw a potential, and from the beginning of 1920 Cardus became the paper's regular cricket correspondent, under the by-line "Cricketer", a position he held for 20 years.[74]

Cardus's emergence as cricket correspondent was concurrent with another appointment, that of deputy and successor designate to Langford as music critic. In January 1920 Cardus reported on two recitals by the Russian tenor Vladimir Rosing, and apparently impressed Scott with the quality of his notice, although the accuracy of Cardus's summary of events has been questioned.[78] With the succession to Langford assured, and a significant increase in salary, Cardus was happy to devote his summers exclusively to cricket. He remained circumspect about his commitment to the sport: "Never have I regarded my cricket as more than a means to an end; that end being always music".[74][79] Nevertheless, he developed a style of cricket reporting that quickly lifted him to the forefront of contemporary sports writers.[74] He did this, according to his fellow cricket writer Gerald Howat, by using imagery and metaphor to create "a mythology of characters and scenes".[7] John Arlott described Cardus as "the creat[or] of modern cricket writing".[80]

The Saffrons, Eastbourne (2007 photograph), scene of Cardus's "scoop", August 1921

The new sense of financial and professional security was probably instrumental in the decision of Cardus and Edith King to marry, on 17 June 1921.[81] The marriage, which lasted until Edith's death 47 years later, was unconventional; the couple led individual lives and rarely lived together, while remaining devoted friends.[82] Cardus described his wife as "a great spirit and character, born for sisterhood not marriage."[83] From this time onward, Cardus used the forename "Neville" in place of "Fred", and adopted the initials "N.C." for his music reviews, to distinguish this persona from "Cricketer".[7][n 6] In August 1921 Cardus gained what he termed "the only scoop of my career", when he reported the unexpected victory by 28 runs of MacLaren's scratch side over the previously unbeaten Australian touring team. The match, at The Saffrons ground at Eastbourne, had attracted little interest from other cricket correspondents, being treated as a foregone conclusion.[85]

The focus of much of Cardus's cricket writing was the Lancashire side of the inter-war years, and in particular their twice-yearly battles with rivals Yorkshire. His eye was as much on the players and their personalities as on the game, on "the match within the match",[86] with the actual scores treated as secondary. Cardus justified this: "Do I add up the notes of a Mozart "Vivace" to evaluate the music?"[87] To meet Cardus's requirements, the players were sometimes "enlarged", notably Emmott Robinson, the veteran Yorkshire all-rounder of the 1920s who through Cardus's pen became "the apotheosis of Yorkshire cricket and Yorkshire character".[88] In the 1930s, Cardus's style became less effusive, as his older heroes were replaced by players with, in his view, less romantic appeal. Bradman was an exception; after his exploits in the England versus Australia Test series of 1930 Cardus described the Australian as "an incredible exponent who in himself sums up all the skill and experience that have gone before him ... he has kindled grand bonfires of batsmanship for us".[89]

Selections from Cardus's Manchester Guardian cricket writings were published in a series of books between 1922 and 1937.[90] Because of financial constraints the paper did not send "Cricketer" to Australia to cover the "Bodyline" tour of 1932–33. Cardus was generally approving of Jardine's controversial bodyline tactics, writing on 5 March 1933: "[H]ad [Jardine] been a weak man, all the energy of Larwood [England's premier bowler] might have proved as vain a thing as it did in 1930".[91] In 1936–37, Cardus accompanied the MCC team to Australia;[92] otherwise he continued to write on English domestic cricket until the 1939 season was summarily truncated. On 1 September, the day that Germany invaded Poland, Cardus observed the removal of the bust of W. G. Grace from the Lord's pavilion; he was informed by a bystander: "That means war".[93] It has been argued that this should be regarded as a good story rather than literal truth: there was no match at Lord's that day, and Cardus was on holiday in Derbyshire.[94]

Sketch by an orchestra member of Hamilton Harty, chief conductor of the Hallé Orchestra, of whose performances Cardus was often critical

Following Langford's death in May 1927, Cardus became The Manchester Guardian's chief music critic.[7] For several years he had worked closely with Langford, whose influence on the younger man was equalled only by that of Ernest Newman, Langford's predecessor as the paper's music critic: "Langford taught me to feel and translate, while Newman taught me to observe and analyse".[95] Cardus's fellow-critic Hugo Cole has described his approach as personal rather than academic, based on his own reactions to the music he was hearing, and with a complete independence of judgement. Cardus was, Cole says, "the last distinguished music critic never to have received formal musical training ... he was a writer first, and a music critic second".[96]

Cardus's lack of deference sometimes led to friction, as with Hamilton Harty, chief conductor of the Hallé Orchestra from 1920. In his reviews of the Hallé concerts until Harty's departure in 1933, Cardus frequently criticised the conductor's choices and interpretations. On one occasion he observed that Harty's rendering of the adagio in Beethoven's Ninth had broken the world record for slowness, and quoted minutes and seconds.[97] Responding to Harty's outraged protests, Cardus threatened to bring an alarm clock to the next performance, "less for critical purposes than for those of personal convenience".[98] When Harty left, he was not replaced as chief conductor; the Hallé employed distinguished visiting conductors such as Beecham, Malcolm Sargent, Pierre Monteux, Adrian Boult and Ernest Ansermet. Cardus considered that a lack of central direction was adversely affecting the orchestra, and his biting criticisms of some performances led to temporarily strained relations.[99]

Cardus often expressed views contrary to popular and critical opinion. He dismissed Stravinsky's The Rite of Spring as "a sophisticated exploitation of primitive rum-ti-tum".[96] When Harty introduced Gershwin's symphonic poem An American in Paris into a Hallé concert, Cardus proposed "a 150 per cent [import] tariff against this sort of American dry-goods".[97] He professed to think that Sullivan's "preoccupation with comic opera, to the neglect of oratorio and symphony" was a "deplorable" loss to English music,[101] although he also wrote that without Gilbert, nothing of Sullivan's music would have survived.[102] Cardus championed Delius against the consensus of his fellow-critics: "His music looks back on days intensely lived through; it knows the pathos of mortal things doomed to fade and vanish".[103] At the 1929 Delius Festival in London, Cardus briefly met the composer, who thought he looked too young to be The Manchester Guardian's music critic, and counselled him: "Don't read yourself daft. Trust to y'r emotions".[100] Also against the grain of critical opinion, Cardus commended the then unfashionable music of Richard Strauss and Anton Bruckner.[104]

In 1931 Cardus visited the Salzburg Festival, where he met Beecham and began a friendship which lasted until Sir Thomas's death in 1961—despite numerous disagreements. One of Cardus's notices in 1937 so incensed Beecham that he announced he would not conduct any concert at which Cardus was present.[105] Cardus later numbered Beecham, with Elgar and Delius, as "one of the three most original spirits known in English music since Purcell".[101] The annual Salzburg Festival became a highlight of Cardus's musical calendar; in 1936 he saw Toscanini conduct a performance there of Wagner's Die Meistersinger that, he said, "will remain in the mind for a lifetime ... Toscanini held us like children listening to a tale told in the chimney corner, lighted by the glow of olden times". Cardus's final prewar Salzburg visit was in 1938, just after the German-Austrian Anschluss which led to the withdrawal in protest of many of the Festival's leading figures.[106]

Despite financial incentives from London newspapers, Cardus remained loyal to The Manchester Guardian.[107] On the outbreak of war in September 1939 the Free Trade Hall closed, requisitioned for military purposes. The Hallé Society left Manchester to tour with Sargent around the north-west of England.[108] With no music in Manchester and all first-class cricket suspended, Cardus was unemployed, "imprisoned in Manchester, useless to anybody". Thus, when he received an offer from Sir Keith Murdoch to join The Herald of Melbourne in Australia, he accepted immediately.[109]

In April 1947 Cardus returned to England. He had not as yet decided to leave Australia permanently, but "felt in need of spiritual refreshment".[135] He found a war-weary England in which much had changed; familiar landmarks had disappeared, and old friends and acquaintances had died. The Free Trade Hall was a burnt-out shell, and the Queen's Hall in London completely destroyed; however, Cardus was struck by the apparent good health of the English music scene. He also found an undamaged Lord's, and enjoyed a season of magnificent cricket, marked by the batting exploits of the Middlesex pair, Denis Compton and Bill Edrich.[136] Cardus was back in Sydney by the end of the year, but early in 1948, having accepted an offer from The Sunday Times to cover that year's Test series against Australia, he left for England again.[137]

Another factor that brought Cardus to England in 1948 was the prospect of succeeding Newman, whose retirement as chief music critic of The Sunday Times was assumed to be imminent. However, Newman had no intention of retiring, and made it clear that he would resent any successor-designate looking over his shoulder.[138] Feeling slighted, Cardus resigned from the paper and accepted an offer from the London Evening Standard to be its music critic. This new appointment was short-lived; Cardus's lengthy and discursive concert reviews were incompatible with this paper's style, and were ruthlessly cut by subeditors.[137] At the end of 1948 he was back in Australia, proclaiming his intention to settle there permanently. This determination, too, was brief; the lure of London life proved irresistible. Because of the commercial success of his Autobiography, published in 1947, and the immediate commissioning of a second autobiographical work, Cardus was not under immediate financial pressure.[139] He left Australia again in the spring of 1949, and although he spent the English winter of 1950–51 in Australia, writing about the 1950–51 England v. Australia Test series for the Sydney Morning Herald,[140] London was thereafter his permanent home.[141] Here he worked as a freelance writer, in which role he resumed his association with The Manchester Guardian. In December 1951 he was appointed the paper's London music critic, on a permanent salaried basis.[142]

Cardus vigorously promoted the music of Gustav Mahler (pictured) through the 1950s and 1960s

In 1949 Cardus set up his London home at the National Liberal Club, while Edith took a flat in Bickenhall Mansions, just off Baker Street. The pair lived harmoniously apart, though in frequent contact, until Edith's death.[143] Cardus found London's musical life invigorating, with five major orchestras and a host of distinguished conductors and solo artists performing regularly.[144] Toscanini paid his final visit to England in 1952, with two concerts at the Royal Festival Hall.[145] Outside London, Cardus was a regular visitor to the Edinburgh Festival and to Glyndebourne,[140] and was in Manchester for the reopening of the Free Trade Hall and the "homecoming" of the Hallé Orchestra in November 1951.[146] The inaugural concert concluded with Kathleen Ferrier singing "Land of Hope and Glory".[147] Cardus had first heard Ferrier at the Edinburgh Festival in 1947;[148] he became a devoted admirer to the extent that, eventually, questions were raised about his critical blindness to her technical weaknesses.[149] He wrote of her singing that it was, "like the woman herself ... imbued with a quiet but reliant sense and a feeling for the fun and goodness of life".[150] He was devastated by her death from cancer in October 1953; the following year he edited and contributed to a memorial volume of tributes.[149]

For The Manchester Guardian, Cardus wrote around 30 music articles a year. These included "survey" pieces, which often reflected his personal enthusiasms; a regular subject was the music of Gustav Mahler, who in the early 1950s was by no means a popular composer with British audiences. Cardus sought to change that, with a series of articles between 1952 and 1957 under titles such as "Mahler's Growing Influence", "Misunderstanding Mahler", and "The Mahler Problem". He wrote the first volume of a detailed analysis entitled Gustav Mahler: His Mind and his Music; the book, dealing with Mahler's first five symphonies, was published in 1965, but was poorly received by critics. Volume II was never written.[151]

Throughout the 1950s and 1960s Cardus wrote cricket articles; these included an annual reflection for Wisden Cricketers' Almanack and occasional columns for The Manchester Guardian, for whom he covered the 1953 Test Matches against Australia.[7] In the English winter of 1954–55 Cardus made his final visit to Australia, to report on the Test series for The Sydney Morning Herald; he undertook to write "impressions" rather than day-to-day reports on play. He found time to enjoy Sydney's theatrical and music scene, but was disappointed in what he perceived as a decline in the city's musical standards.[152]

In the decades after the war many of Cardus's earlier heroes and acquaintances died. On Fry's death in 1956 Cardus wrote of him as "A great Englishman, measured by any standards of occupation, art and civilisation".[154] In 1959, still in harness, Newman died at the age of 90; Cardus considered him the most outstanding of all music critics, and thought he should have been appointed a Companion of Honour (CH), or even to the Order of Merit.[155] Beecham died on 8 March 1961. Cardus had for some years noted a decline in his old friend's powers,[156] though he had written in 1954, on the occasion of Beecham's 75th birthday, of the debt the music world owed to the conductor: "He led us out of the Teutonic captivity. He showed us other and more sensitive worlds".[157] After Beecham's death, Cardus organised the publication of a celebratory memoir, as he had done with Kathleen Ferrier.[n 10] To an extent the departed idols were replaced with new heroes: in music, Herbert von Karajan, Otto Klemperer, Clifford Curzon and Claudio Arrau;[159] in cricket, Keith Miller and Garfield Sobers.[160] Cardus maintained a keen antagonism towards much of contemporary music; discussing Pierre Boulez's Pli selon pli after a performance in 1965, he said he "could not relate the varied succession of aural phenomena to music as my musical intelligence and senses recognise music".[161]

In 1964 Cardus was appointed a Commander of the Order of the British Empire (CBE). In a letter to his friend Marjorie Robinson he described the investiture at Buckingham Palace, remarking that the Queen "might have been any nice shy young lady in D.H. Evans or Kendal Milnes".[155] Just over two years later Cardus was awarded a knighthood, the first music critic to receive such an honour, although in all likelihood it was awarded as much for his cricket writing.[162][n 11] Years previously Beecham had advised: "In the unlikely event of you being offered a knighthood, Neville, take it. It makes tables at the Savoy so much easier to come by".[155][n 12]

Edith Cardus died on 26 March 1968. Despite their separate day-to-day lives, she had been an influential presence for nearly all Cardus's adult life; they had communicated by telephone almost daily, and he felt her loss keenly. After her death he left the National Liberal Club and moved into her flat, which remained his base for the rest of his life.[165] In the ensuing months he worried about his deteriorating relationship with The Guardian; the paper had been renamed in 1959 following reorganisation, and its editorial offices had moved to London in 1964.[166] Cardus felt that much of the old ethos had departed, and that his once-sacrosanct copy was now at the mercy of subeditors.[167] He was particularly incensed by the treatment meted out to his 1969 Edinburgh Festival reports, and referred to the subeditors' room as "the Abattoir" in one of many letters complaining of editorial butchery.[168]

As well as his work for The Guardian Cardus wrote occasionally for The Sunday Times, a particular pleasure to him in view of his failure to achieve Newman's post.[142] In 1970 he published Full Score, the last of his autobiographical works and, in Daniels's view, the least substantial of all the Cardus books.[169] In his eighties, Cardus assumed the role of guru to young aspiring writers, before whom he would hold court in favourite locations: the Garrick Club, the National Liberal Club, or Lord's. According to Daniels, Cardus "thrived in the role of patron, encourager, [and] accoucheur".[142] Howat describes his appearance in these years as not having changed much from his younger days: "... the lean, ascetic figure of moderate height, with sharp features, sleek hair, and strong glasses".[7]

Cardus died on 28 February 1975 at the Nuffield Clinic, London,[7] a few days after collapsing at home. His cremation service was private. On 4 April more than 200 people attended a memorial service at St Paul's, Covent Garden. These included representatives from Cardus's worlds of cricket, journalism and music. Flora Robson and Wendy Hiller gave readings, and Clifford Curzon, with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, played the second movement of Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 23.[170] The eulogy was given by the cricket writer and historian Alan Gibson, who took as his text verses from Blake's Auguries of Innocence:[171]

Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine;
Under every grief and pine
Runs a thread of silken twine.

• Autobiography. London: Collins. 1947. OCLC 1106112.
• Second Innings—Autobiographical Reminiscences. London: Collins. 1950. OCLC 558923046.
• My Life (edited by H.G. Earnshaw). London: Collins. 1965. OCLC 5215263. A condensed edition of Autobiography and Second Innings
• Full Score. London: Cassell. 1970. ISBN 030493643X.
• Conversations with Cardus (edited by Robin Daniels). London: Gollancz. 1976. ISBN 0575021268.

• Samuel Langford—Musical Criticisms (edited by Neville Cardus). London and Oxford: Oxford University Press. 1929. OCLC 1072313.
• Ten Composers. London: Jonathan Cape. 1944. OCLC 34134895. (Chapters on Schubert, Wagner, Brahms, Mahler, Richard Strauss, César Franck, Debussy, Elgar, Delius and Sibelius)
• Music for Pleasure. Sydney and London: Angus & Robertson. 1942. OCLC 558923034.
• Kathleen Ferrier—A Memoir. London: Hamish Hamilton. 1954. OCLC 468939873. (A memorial volume, edited by Cardus, with additional contributions by Winifred Ferrier, Sir John Barbirolli, Benjamin Britten, Roy Henderson, Gerald Moore and Bruno Walter)
• Talking of Music. London: Collins. 1957. OCLC 252854923.
• A Composers Eleven. London: Jonathan Cape. 1958. OCLC 2986595. (A revised version of Ten Composers, with an additional chapter on Bruckner)
• Sir Thomas Beecham—A Memoir. London: Collins. 1961. OCLC 1290533.
• Gustav Mahler—His Mind and His Music. London: Gollancz. 1965. OCLC 185561901.
• The Delights of Music—A Critic's Choice. London: Gollancz. 1966. OCLC 912315.
• What is Music? (edited by Margaret Hughes). London: White Lion. 1977. ISBN 0728500175.
• Cardus on Music—A Centenary Collection (edited by Donald Wright). London: Hamish Hamilton. 1988. ISBN 0241122856.

• A Cricketer's Book. London: Grant Richards. 1922. OCLC 20476437.
• Days In the Sun—A Cricketer's Journal. London: Grant Richards. 1924. OCLC 36463332.
• The Summer Game—A Cricketer's Journal. London: Grant Richards. 1929. OCLC 54322964.
• Cricket. London and New York: Longmans Green. 1930. OCLC 986998.
• Good Days—A Book of Cricket. London: Jonathan Cape. 1934. OCLC 8279027.
• Australian Summer. London: Jonathan Cape. 1937. OCLC 36463306.
• English Cricket. London: Collins. 1945. OCLC 2580219.
• Cardus On Cricket—A Selection from the Cricket Writings of Neville Cardus. London: The Sportsman's Book Club. 1949.
• Cricket all the Year. London: Collins. 1952. OCLC 753105120.
• Close of Play. London: Collins. 1956. OCLC 30163488.
• The Playfair Cardus—Essays by Neville Cardus first published in "Playfair Cricket Monthly". London: Dickens Press. 1966. OCLC 59024265.
• The Noblest Game—A Book of Fine Cricket Prints (jointly edited with John Arlott). London: Harrap. 1969. ISBN 024559888X.
• Cardus in the Covers. London: Souvenir. 1978. ISBN 0285623729.
• Play Resumed with Cardus. London: Souvenir. 1979. ISBN 0285624261.
• A Fourth Innings with Cardus. London: Souvenir. 1981. ISBN 0285624830.
• The Roses Matches, 1919–1939. London: Souvenir. 1982. ISBN 0285625209.
• A Cardus for All Seasons (edited by Margaret Hughes). London: Souvenir. 1985. ISBN 0285626868.
• Cardus on the Ashes (edited by Margaret Hughes). London: Souvenir. 1989. ISBN 0285629239.
• The Wisden Papers of Neville Cardus (edited by Benny Green). London: Stanley Paul. 1989. ISBN 0091740010.

• The Essential Neville Cardus (edited by Rupert Hart-Davis). London: Jonathan Cape. 1949. OCLC 12986547.