TO CHOOSE only two middle-order batsmen for England is a task made all the tougher by rules of engagement that forbid the specialist batsman at No 6 that most sides now employ. The one-day era has persuaded teams to look for as many three- dimensional cricketers as possible, but for most of the years from which these sides are being chosen, the convention was to have the all-rounder at six and the wicketkeeper at seven. The fact that few runs can be expected from eight to eleven against the quality of bowling that will be guaranteed in these matches makes the need for runs from the top five that much greater.

Reliability is, therefore, one of the requirements, but so, too, is flair, the ability to dominate in all the different conditions to be found in matches played in England, Australia, India, South Africa and the West Indies. Frankly, it hardly matters in this company who bats at four and who at five: the objective is to find the two finest players available.

Having just missed selection at three, Ken Barrington, Colin Cowdrey, Tom Graveney and David Gower must come back into contention, but they are in competition with Denis Compton, Peter May, Basil D'Oliveira, Derek Randall, Mike Gatting, Allan Lamb, Robin Smith and the best of the present players if, for various reasons, unfulfilled as yet, Graham Thorpe.

Of all these, the greatest genius, by common consent, was Compton. The one who cannot be left out of any England team chosen from the period -1953 onwards is P. B. H. May. As captain for 41 Tests, he, like Len Hutton, often carried almost the full weight of the batting, repeatedly dominating with balanced, classical stroke play when others around him struggled and failed. His 104 in the second innings of the second Test at Sydney just before Christmas in 1954 and the famous 285 not out against the hitherto unfathomable spin of Sonny Ramadhin at Edgbaston in 1957, are indelible memories of my boyhood.

It is tempting to name these two and be done with it, but unfortunately, having started his career in 1938 and lost his best years to the war, Compton's brilliant star was starting to fade by 1953. There were glimpses still, but other candidates have to be evaluated in the light of his relative decline.

D'Oliveira was a superb all-round cricketer whose achievements -five hundreds and an average of 40 in 44 Tests, plus 47 wickets often taken at important moments - would have been even higher had he not begun playing at an age when most have passed their prime. For different reasons, Gatting also took a long time to blossom in Test cricket, but he was a most accomplished and attractive batsman in his best years, the middle 1980s.

So, in their turn, were Lamb and Smith, two who, like the admirable Dolly, learnt their trade in South Africa. For that reason it is an oddity in Lamb's career that only three of his 14 Test hundreds were scored outside England, where, perhaps, his lifestyle was more disciplined. Three hundreds against a West Indies attack led by Marshall, Garner and Holding in 1984 attest to his courage and class. Other than Graham Gooch he was also, incidentally, by far England's best one-day batsman of the period.

Randall's sheer spirit was an asset to any side. He was fun to watch and to be with and his 174 at Melbourne in the Centenary Test of 1977 was simply inspired. It both saved and made a great occasion, enabling the teams to be presented to the Queen on the last afternoon, as planned, and giving England real hope of scoring 463 to win after being bowled out by Dennis Lillee and Max Walker in the first innings for 95. Randall's cover-driving and hooking in that innings, both played with what seemed a lazy swing of the bat, were as good as any seen at the MCG. As a batsman, for all his amazing dash in the covers, he never reached the same heights again, or not for long, but if we could attach him to this side as twelfth man and auxiliary fielder, the chances of winning this series would be greater.

Smith was a team man, too, a wonderfully reassuring sight when his side was in trouble against fast bowling in particular. A psychologist should explain why he, too, played most of his big innings in England. A persistent shoulder injury held him back in mid-career, but that square figure was built for the square cut and few men have hit the short ball harder. Gully fielders on cold days must have prayed that he would not slice it.

Had Cowdrey or Graveney or Gower been batting instead, their feelings might rather have been of gratitude for being so close to so wonderful a timer of the ball. I discussed my reluctance to leave Graveney out in debating the No 3, but it is no easier to omit Cowdrey or Gower. In both cases their good days tended to be the ones when the chips were down; on their golden ones, their batting was exquisite. If Cowdrey, in John Woodcock's phrase, was a galleon in full sail, Gower was a clipper on the wind.

I saw more of Gower's innings at close hand. Watching him was sheer pleasure, unless you cared too much that England should win, because he was always flirting with danger, a little like Brian Lara today. Yet for someone to make an indelible mark simply by scoring 30-odd, as Gower often did, suggests rare genius. He could toy with bowling like a kitten with a mouse.

It is precisely this quality of which Compton's contemporaries talk, with some awe. Overall, of course, he is superior. Gower's failure to buckle down in county cricket compares with Compton's 18 hundreds in one season and 123 in all, admittedly with no limited-overs cricket to distract him.

I wish I had seen him before his knee injuries had slowed down the dancing footwork. Despite that, he did absolutely as he pleased against a weary Pakistan attack in 1954 at Trent Bridge, taking less than five hours for his highest score of 278 and making 165 out of 192 in partnership with Trevor Bailey. A year later he played superb innings of 158 and 71 against South Africa at Old Trafford and I was a spectator at the Oval when he returned, having had his right kneecap removed, to make 94 against Australia.

Putting all the ingredients into the pot, however, I plump for Cowdrey -plump is the word -to follow his friend May at five. He became more defensive with age, but he was a technical model par excellence. The feathery touch of his blade, the sheer range of strokes, from the latest of cuts, through quick-footed driving and meaty pulls to a paddle sweep that could only have been fielded by a long stop; he was a master. He made 22 hundreds for England but, kind man that he was, no double hundreds. He would certainly have scored even more runs if he had not been obliged to open so often against his will. Not least, he was as good a first slip as there has been.

The ground rules Christopher Martin-Jenkins is selecting the greatest England and Rest of the World XIs from the players he has watched over the past half-century. In the ultimate cricketing fantasy, the teams will square up in a five-match series, simulated by Wisden's computer, on a variety of grounds chosen by CMJ to test their talents to the full. Reports of the matches will start in The Times on Monday, July 29.