Derek was a deadly accurate bowler and a fierce competitor who sadly died recently from dementia complications. Despite being a feared competitor, he was a respected opponent.

Always – and I mean every night – Underwood was available for an after-play drink in the dressing room. When it came to cricket, two of his main loves were bowling and beer.

He employed an extraordinarily long run-up for a spinner and operated nearer medium pace than the typical speed of a slow bowler, but boy, he was accurate. Too speedy to use your feet to, and difficult to drive, he was the hardest spinner to score off who I played against.

Right-hand batters had to scrounge for every run. The highly skilled West Indian Viv Richards was one of the few right-handers who had the courage and the skill to loft him over cover.

Nevertheless batters had one thing in their favour. Underwood wore his heart on his sleeve: you knew when he was pissed off. And he was most aggrieved by the sweep shot.

Having retired from first-class cricket, I shared a London cab with him in 1977, when only the players knew about the existence of the highly secretive World Series Cricket (WSC). Without divulging much, I said to him, “It’s on again, mate.”

Underwood knew exactly what I meant and replied, “That bloody broom – I thought I’d seen the last of it.”

The broom was a reference to my penchant for sweeping Underwood. I discovered that was one of the few ways to score off him and, as I said, it annoyed Deadly.

Batters had one thing in their favour. Underwood wore his heart on his sleeve: you knew when he was pissed off. And he was most aggrieved by the sweep shot

In his self-deprecating manner, Underwood described spin bowling as “a low-mentality profession: plug away, line and length, until there’s a mistake”.

Walters dismissed Underwood with his first ball, and when we gleefully congratulated the bowler, Underwood produced a typically smart-aleck retort: “A lesser batsman wouldn’t have got a bat on it.”

However it was Underwood’s bowling that deservedly gained him a glowing reputation. On dampish pitches he was nigh unplayable, and his ally Alan Knott was a master wicketkeeper, especially on treacherous pitches. Underwood specialised in the superman ball – up, up and away – but Knott, in typically expert fashion, handled the difficult task of gathering those deliveries easily.

In 1975-76 a mixed team of Australians and cricketers from other countries played in an International Wanderers tour to South Africa captained by my brother Greg Chappell and managed by the revered Richie Benaud. A dignitary at a cocktail function in Soweto welcomed the “Australian” team to the city, so I went to Underwood and said, “Congratulations on finally representing a good team.” His answer was unprintable but it definitely included “piss off”.

Underwood later signed for WSC and also represented England on the 1981-82 rebel tour of South Africa. His defiant decisions were a mark of his single-mindedness but also of his belief that a professional cricketer should be paid his worth.

In a distinctive life after retiring from cricket, the universally popular Underwood was appointed president of the MCC in 2008.

It was a privilege to compete against such a tough but exemplary opponent.