Daniel Flynn was in a poor way yesterday, having had one tooth removed on the field by James Anderson’s bouncer and apparently a couple more at the hands of a Manchester dentist on Friday. His standard helmet and grille combination was not quite good enough to prevent a nasty accident.

Apart from the obvious pain, the injury nipped in the bud another chance for the 23-year-old left-hander, who had looked fairly well-organised at Lord’s, to get his feet under the Test match table and make a useful contribution to New Zealand’s first innings. Without that grille it could, of course, have been even more painful and damaging.

The helmet has made an enormous difference to the game since its adoption in the days of Kerry Packer and World Series Cricket in the Seventies. World Series was tough and uncompromising. Most of the world’s fastest and nastiest bowlers of the age were involved, with some interesting pitches for them to bowl on. The late David Hookes had his jaw broken by Andy Roberts, but returned to face the music as soon as he could – with a helmet.

Dennis Amiss, one of England’s finest, an opening batsman of vast experience, was among the first to don what was basically a motorcycle helmet. It was substantially more cumbersome than the modern cricketer’s equipment, but it did the job, even if hearing the calls of one’s partner became nigh on impossible, making for interesting running between the wickets.

Modern helmets are much improved; they are lighter and more easily wearable than the ones that we started with when C & D began making a dedicated cricket helmet in Australia at the end of the Seventies. I first wore one, as I remember it, on my first tour of Australia in 1978-79, the standard C&D helmet with plastic earpieces.

In the nets I tried out the visor that came with it, but found it too cumbersome; it was a large plastic contraption that covered the jawline and it got in the way. Having tried it the once at practice, I threw it away and never again wore the visor or the grille.

In those early days it seemed sensible to protect the skull and especially the temples, but most of us still trusted our reflexes. Nonetheless, I recall my helmet being tested on that tour when I ducked into one and was grateful for the protection.

There was still a tendency back then to get rid of the helmet as soon as one deemed the bowling to be less dangerous, and out would come the white floppy hat.

Obviously one ran the risk that for all one’s self-confidence, it could still go wrong. From empirical observation I can confirm the obvious: it hurts more to be smacked on the head without the helmet!

Richard Hadlee was one bowler who did me a couple of times. The first was at Trent Bridge in my early days when I ducked into one that did not get as high as it should have - two leg byes over the keeper off the crown. The second was eight years later when I was on the way to a hundred at The Oval. I came out after tea bareheaded. He bowled me two bouncers in succession, good straight ones, the second of which glanced off the side of my head and went rapidly down to fine leg for four runs. I can only assume that I still had enough hair in those days to cushion the blow and make it sound like the glove.

I even once thought briefly about a show of bravado in the West Indies in 1981, toying with the floppy hat ploy just before going in after tea in Antigua to face Colin Croft. The wisdom of sticking with the helmet was borne out within minutes as another one clanged off the side of my head and rocketed down to long leg. Bloody good bits of kit, these helmets!

The reason for contemplating such foolhardiness was a little bit of false bravado, but also for better vision. To bat bareheaded or with less encompassing headgear was more comfortable, and I always felt that I could see the ball better that way.

As time goes on and reflexes inevitably become duller and experience tells you that bowlers are not getting any slower, the urge to keep the helmet on more often grows stronger. The thought starts to creep in: “What if I take this thing off and then get one in the wrong place, or a freak delivery?” Eventually, as happens with virtually every player, it becomes habit: the helmet goes on in the same way as pads, gloves and, of course, protector.

Because I never wore a grille or visor in front of my face, I don’t think that wearing the helmet changed my game too much. Nowadays, though, with most batsmen wearing the full Monty, I am sure it has affected the way they assess the risk factor in playing the hook shot and coping with the short ball in general.

Although a batsman can never forget the potential threat of the short ball, the better, more confident players will use the knowledge that they are well protected to allow them to play a more aggressive game. A great example is Ricky Ponting, one of the outstanding batsmen of this era. His prime movement is forward, but he can be brutal with the hook. It is a shot he plays differently from another great hooker of an earlier age, Ian Chappell, whose initial movement was markedly more back and across, getting him in a good position to play the hook as defined in the old coaching manuals.

Fewer batsmen nowadays play that way. I am sure the helmet and its physical and psychological attributes are the root cause of this change of style.