If anything, the weather was too good. Even in a full Trent Bridge, if you closed your eyes you could almost have been on your own, such was the hush that settled over the crowd in the opening stages of the second day. Some 17,000 supporters simmered silently in the sunshine, perhaps wondering whether, if they could eliminate all distractions and just focus hard enough, they might somehow stop themselves sweating, pores puckered through sheer force of will.

For a while England got little encouragement from the stands, and none at all from the pitch. CricViz analysis showed the new ball swung less than in any Test in this country for a decade. In related news, this is the first Test in this country since 2012 to be played without both Jimmy Anderson and Stuart Broad. In their absence Chris Woakes opened the bowling; the 35-year-old is often underestimated, including by the current England set-up – who left him out of the first two Ashes Tests last summer only for him to come back and win player of the series – but his first spell here was punishing toil, on a flat pitch with an unhelpful ball clad in full, crisp lacquer, and not only was he hooked after five unpromising overs, he was not seen again all morning.

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Before this Test, his 50th, Woakes had received the backing of, and been challenged by, Ben Stokes, to make up for the leadership and nous that have been stripped from the side since the retirements of Anderson – who as a coach has been watching this game from the newly christened Stuart Broad End – and Broad himself, who as a commentator has not gone anywhere near it since he pulled the cover off the memorial plaque on Thursday morning. Woakes was not immediately successful, but then that is a phrase that could be applied to many stages of his career, starting with his introduction to the Test team in 2013 (one wicket in his first match, none in his second, one in his third), yet here he is.

On this morning, England’s threat came from other sources. There are moments when a piece of news spreads around a crowd and you can literally hear it travel, like at a relegation-threatened team on the final day of a football season when a significant goal goes in elsewhere. After nine overs the recalled Mark Wood got hold of the ball and, as the increasingly improbable results recorded by the speed gun flashed up on the big screens, people nudged their neighbours, heads spinning, grins wide and eyebrows arched – 93.9mph, 96.1mph, 97.1mph, upwards and upwards. Wood turned up and roused everyone from their torpor (though if one of the highlights of a full day spent watching elite sport is “the moment a big screen showed a big number” questions should probably be asked).

Since 1965, the Royal Air Force Aerobatic Team has forged a reputation on its ability to pull off one superficially simple feat: combining precision and coordination with great speed. On days like this Wood is a human, cricketing Red Arrows, with a similar ability to make witnesses gasp and gape, missing only the multicoloured vapour trails.

He replaced Gus Atkinson for the 10th over of the day. His first ball squared Mikyle Louis up and was edged for a couple – 93.9mph. His second swung away and was left alone – 96.1mph. His third was left on length and cleared the stumps – 95.2mph. Louis shouldered arms to the fourth as well, clocked at a comparatively pedestrian 92.2mph; England moved a third gully into position, to match their three slips. The fifth arrowed towards the stumps, Louis somehow jabbing a bat down into its path at the last possible moment – 96.5mph and a single. Kraigg Brathwaite got some bat on the last for another single – 95.2mph. It was the fastest over bowled by an English bowler in this country since records began in 2006, a title it held for something in the region of 10 minutes, the time it took for him to bowl a second. That record survived until he bowled his third.

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It was pure electricity, brilliantly compelling, crowd jolted into life as batters swayed and squirmed. The only thing Wood was missing was the wicket: later in the afternoon, still unrewarded after a catch went down in the slips, another flew just beyond Jamie Smith’s grasp and a third fell short of Harry Brook, he would end up on his haunches, head in hands.

It is hard to know to what extent Louis’s eventual dismissal was down to his brain having been whipped and scrambled by the challenge of facing Wood, his synapses having given up and gone for a lie-down. He swung wildly at Shoaib Bashir’s comparatively straightforward spin, completely miscued, got away with it – indeed was rewarded with a four – and instead of learning his lesson he immediately did it again. This time Brook ran back from mid-on to take an excellent catch as the ball dropped over his shoulder, the first wicket of the day, for Bashir a first in England whites at home, and for Wood some kind of wildly insufficient, disappointingly indirect reward.