It’s late on day three at Lord’s.

Aiden Markram and Temba Bavuma have been at the wicket for a session and a half and runs are coming at a steady pace. The once unlikely target of 282 now seems within reach.

The South Africans in the crowd sense that, come the morning, the World Test Championship might be theirs.

I’m sitting in the Compton Stand, baking in the English sun. I know the feeling in my stomach. That feeling that the inexorable momentum of this match is heading towards defeat. I’ve felt it before. Yet, in my pathological optimism, there is still hope. If we can just take a wicket…

But now the singing starts. It begins as a murmur and builds towards a crescendo. Glorious, joyous African voices singing in unison.

Shosholoza, kulezo ntaba, stimbela siphubme South Africa
Go forward, you are meandering on those mountains, the train is from South Africa.

The Rainbow Nation is surging forward. There is dancing in the stands. Every run is met with raucous cheers and more voices raised in song.

I know, in my heart, that the Championship is lost. By stumps, South Africa only require 69 more runs with eight wickets in hand. Markram has his century and both he and his captain are still standing.

With the clickerty-clack rhythm of that mythical train, the South Africans tick off the remaining runs on the fourth morning. I’m back in the Compton Stand. But now my heart is content. Somewhat disappointed but content.

They say Test cricket is dying in South Africa. Not so long ago they reportedly sent their red ball Third XI to New Zealand because their best players prioritised their local T20 tournament.

Temba Bavuma. (Photo by Bradley Kanaris/Getty Images)

But I saw plenty of hope for South African Test cricket in London this week. There was a throng of Protea jerseys on the Jubilee Line to St John’s Wood every morning.

South African accents dominated the chatter on the way to the ground. And those magnificent African voices, raised in passionate song, still ring in my ears.

By contrast, the Aussies in the crowd were largely anonymous.

I am saddened when the winning runs were scored and captain Pat Cummins hung his head in defeat. Our journey from Sydney to Lord’s was too long to feel this way.

But if there is a silver lining to the sparse clouds above the Lord’s Pavilion, it’s that this South African victory might re-awaken a passion for Test cricket from Cape Town to the high veld and, most importantly, in the South African townships.

If that is the long term outcome of South Africa’s WTC triumph, then I add my (truly horrible singing) voice to the chorus of Shosholoza.

And I sing with joy.