ABC Grandstand's Unsung Sporting Heroes

by ABC Grandstand

  Unfortunately that was to be the end of football for some time for Hubie. He joined the army in 1940, and travelled to the Middle East as a truck driver, where he had several narrow escapes in the North African campaign. In one incident, the truck he was riding in was strafed by a German fighter plane, with a bullet hitting the seat between Hubie’s legs.

  On his return to Australia in 1942, Hubie put in a request to join his brother Terry in the 2/16th Battalion, which was currently engaged in the fighting in New Guinea. While Hubie was in Perth awaiting his call-up, the family received the devastating news that Terry had been killed in action at Brigade Hill on the Kokoda Track. Despite this blow, Hubie was resolved to take Terry’s place in the battalion, and subsequently went to New Guinea in 1943. His division was involved in counter-attacks that drove the Japanese from their base at Lae and back up along the north coast.

  Among the ranks of the 2/16th was a Catholic priest from Busselton, Father Charles Cunningham, who had assumed the role of battalion padre. A big man in more ways than one, Father Cunningham was popular with the men for his down-to-earth demeanour and willingness to support the troops every step of the way. He always insisted on carrying the heaviest equipment, usually the Bren gun, but would not fire any weapons in battle, feeling that his role there was to offer pastoral and medical care.

  The infamous battle for Shaggy Ridge was where Hubie almost met his Waterloo. On 28 December 1943, while leading a flanking movement that was attempting to surround a position being held by Japanese infantry, Hubie was blown over the side of the ridge by grenades thrown by the defending forces. He came to rest on a ledge eighty feet down the cliff, conscious, but severely wounded. Under fire from the enemy, the first man lowered to Hubie was none other than the battalion padre, Charles Cunningham, who scrambled onto the ledge with dressings and a stretcher. Hubie told the padre to leave him and save himself, to which the padre replied: ‘Your family has already lost one son; I’m going to see to it that they don’t lose another.’ Unable to lift Hubie over his shoulder as this would attract enemy fire, the padre placed the wounded man in the stretcher, where he was hauled up the hillside and moved to safer territory.

  The shrapnel wound from the grenade would cause Hubie discomfort for the rest of his life. The impact had caused the arteries and veins in his groin to fuse together, which gave him constant pain and eventually led to circulation problems. His injuries spelled the end of Hubie’s active service. His road to recovery was long and arduous, and further compounded by another unwanted legacy in the form of malaria. After initial treatment at Port Moresby, he was shipped back home to Melbourne, and spent time in hospital there, as well as in Sydney. On returning to Western Australia, Hubie was hospitalised at Margaret River for two weeks under the care of Dr Barrett, where he was successfully treated with a new anti-malarial drug, which thankfully effected a lifelong cure. He then stayed several months in Hollywood Hospital before being allowed to return to the family farm at Karridale. Once home, he still had to make regular trips back to Perth for follow-up treatment.

  The slow trips to Perth on the train did have one unexpected benefit: it was on one of these trips that he met his future wife, Joy, who had been visiting her aunt and uncle at McLeod Creek. Romance blossomed on the lumbering locomotive, and Hubie and Joy eventually married in 1949.

  In 1952, the complications from Hubie’s injuries had still not abated, and necessitated a further operation, during which it was discovered that his heart had enlarged. At that stage, medicine had not advanced to the point where the problem could be corrected. But towards the end of the 1970s, Hubie’s surgeon, Dr Payton, who had maintained contact with his patient over the years, was convinced that he could finally remedy Hubie’s condition — as soon as Hubie had given up smoking. Twelve months later, on Hubie’s sixtieth birthday, Dr Payton performed the ground-breaking operation, the first of its kind in Western Australia: it was filmed and documented for medical students. The procedure was a great success — so much so that Hubie was able to take up golf afterwards.

  Despite his numerous health complications, Hubie was determined to remain as active as possible on the sporting front. By 1946, he was mobile enough to become involved in local football again, so he rejoined the Augusta-Margaret River Football Association, though he initially limited his involvement to umpiring, where he was always regarded as fair-minded and with a good feel for the game — verbal clashes with brother-in-law Bill Hurst notwithstanding. By 1950, he was feeling sufficiently fit to play again and showed he had lost none of his skills in his long absence from the game. The biggest of the McDonald boys, at six foot one, he was a strong mark and a focal point in attack. In one memorable Association match against Busselton in 1951, he dominated up forward in tandem with the brilliant Harold McKenzie at full forward, the pair scoring twelve goals between them in a big win over the old enemy.

  Hubie continued to move between playing and umpiring over the years, and made another memorable comeback in 1956, kicking six goals against Cowaramup to put Karridale in the grand final yet again. Dr Barrett was on hand to inject Hubie’s shoulder with painkillers at half-time, to keep Hubie on the park. Hubie was thirty-six at the time.

  When he played, Hubie took his role as one of the senior members in the team seriously. Ron Ellis was a young player for the Karridale side in the 1950s, and recalled being the beneficiary of Hubie’s protection during a match against fierce local rivals Alexandra Bridge. The Bridge played their home matches on one of local dairy farmer Charlie Marsh’s paddocks, and it was not uncommon to see Charlie driving the cows off the ground as the opposition rolled up to play. The reason usually given was that they were required to keep the grass down, but the net result was a playing surface littered with freshly laid cowpats. No place for the faint-hearted! In this particular match, Ron was slung to the ground in a vigorous tackle, landing right in the middle of one of the aforementioned cowpats and sliding for another ten yards. Hubie immediately rounded on the offending tackler. ‘That wasn’t very nice,’ he said calmly. ‘Now you’re going to have to deal with me.’ Despite his soiled appearance, Ron Ellis suddenly felt ten feet tall.

  Hubie also took on the role of Association coach at the end-of-season carnivals, and was at the helm for the breakthrough 1957 win, when Augusta-Margaret River took out the South West carnival for the one and only time. He was a quietly spoken coach, and shrewd in his placement and management of the players.

  Hubie was Association president from 1959 till the end of the competition in 1965, and was instrumental in ensuring that the Augusta-Margaret River team was ready for the challenge of joining the South West Football League in 1966.

  In his private life, Hubie ran a trucking business, which had initially got off to a rocky start. His attempt to gain a loan from the bank to establish the business was rebuffed, those being the days when it seemed the only way to qualify for a bank loan was to prove you didn’t need one. Help was forthcoming in the shape of Father Farrelly, the Catholic priest at Margaret River, who knew the character of the man and lent Hubie five hundred pounds to get his transport business off the ground. Hubie repaid the loan within two years.

  The mainstay of the business was livestock carting, but Hubie played an important role in improving the lot of dairy farmers in the district when he was asked to cart cream for the Capel Dairy. Up to that point, the Sunny West Co-Operative in Margaret River was the only option for farmers to supply to, but the introduction of the factory at Capel gave farmers a choice. The competition helped to improve returns to farmers over the years. The McDonalds were one of the first in the area to supply the Capel factory, and the family continued to do so until 2010.

  At its height, the business ran five trucks and drivers, and was an important part of the fabric of the lower Capes region. Directly after the war, many of the farms were being run by returned servicemen; these War Service Land Settlement farmers were in many cases new to farming. Making a living from the land was difficult eno
ugh for those born to it, and it proved nigh on impossible for newcomers. As a result, many of these farmers would leave the area owing the McDonald trucking business money, though it was rare that they would not attempt to send money back to square off their accounts once they were able. Hubie knew what the ex-soldiers had been through, and would always help out those doing it tough. This willingness to help out the battlers had its reward. When competitors in later years tried to undercut Hubie’s business, customers showed a strong loyalty to the man who had helped them in difficult times.

  It didn’t matter how difficult things got; Hubie was always there to do his part. He and Joy played a key role in the aftermath of the devastating Karridale bushfire of 1961, volunteering their trucking yard to be an evacuation centre and the focal point of relief operations. Hubie even insisted on all firefighters filling up their fuel tanks at his truck-yard bowser. When police officer Ron Sparks noticed what was happening, he commented: ‘I hope you’re keeping a tab on all of that fuel,’ knowing full well that Hubie had no intention of doing any such thing.

  Between moving stock out of the area, coordinating the arrival and distribution of fodder, then bringing stock back when the pastures had regrown later in the season, the relief effort took up the best part of six months. For their efforts, Hubie and Joy received nothing but a thank-you letter from the State Government; however, the communities of Karridale and Alexandra Bridge were in no doubt about the value of the couple’s efforts, putting on a special night in their honour and presenting them with a magnificent wall clock.

  Hubie was one of those characters around which great communities are built. The final siren sounded on his rich and colourful life in 1999, and Karridale lost one of its finest on his passing.

  Blowfly Cricket

  by Helen Bersten

  RONNIE LOVED HIS home near the old golf course that was now a bush reserve. He didn’t mind the blue-tongue lizards that often paid a visit, and once saw a tortoise in the garden. He was very fond of Lucky, the Alexandrine parrot which flew in one day and stayed for some months. Ronnie was devastated when she flew away again. Like many twelve-year-old boys, he delighted in playing with the family dogs. He loved the smell of steaks on the barbie and always ate every last bit, even if it was a bit burnt. But the one thing he hated was blowflies, so he always volunteered to be the family’s gatekeeper and keep the pesky creatures at bay throughout the hot summer days.

  Young Ronnie knew he was different from his brother and sister, but tried hard to keep up with them. He struggled in social situations, and found it hard to control his behaviour. He also found it difficult to concentrate at school, make conversation and keep friends. But every cricket match on the television really held his attention.

  Mum was a sports fanatic and a keen cricket fan herself. She had been a cricket player in her younger days, and had a photo of the 1948 Invincibles on the wall as well as a 1963 panorama of the Sydney Cricket Ground (SCG). She could have even gone on the quiz show Mastermind with the game as her special subject.

  One day Mum asked Ronnie, ‘Would you like to play cricket with a club called Blowfly Cricket?’

  Imagine his surprise. He couldn’t believe his mum would actually expect him to join a club with that name.

  ‘What does their uniform look like?’ he asked. ‘Are they sponsored by fly spray manufacturers?’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Mum. ‘I read all about it in the local paper and it sounds great. It’s not far away and the whole family can get involved. It’s especially for kids between five and eighteen and you’re right in between that. It’s easy to learn and you use tennis balls, not hard cricket balls. You can even become a coach or an umpire if you play long enough.’

  ‘In your dreams, Mum.’

  But Mum kept pressing and, eventually, Ronnie cautiously agreed to give it a try.

  On the eve of his first Blowfly Cricket game, Ronnie had a terrible nightmare. It was about a giant blowfly in shin pads and protective headgear with a huge spray can as a bat, facing off against him. Ronnie was the bowler, but his cricket ball was the size and weight of a ping-pong ball. How could he beat the blowie? To add to his misery, the blowie was making the most terrible buzzing sound which filled Ronnie’s ears to bursting point. He opened his mouth to scream, just as a very large mosquito bit him on the nose and he woke up in a sweat. Then he remembered that it was Saturday and his mum and dad were actually taking him to the dreaded Blowfly Cricket.

  Mark had been a cricket fan since he was a young boy, when he would go to the SCG with his uncle and cousin to see all the big matches. His uncle loved the classic game — the whites, the tea breaks, the gentlemanly behaviour of the players. His cousin accepted one-day cricket and other modifications with equanimity, unlike Mark’s uncle, who would have regular arguments with his cousin about the game ‘going to the dogs’ and the players ‘wearing pyjamas’.

  Mark became addicted to finding out all sorts of information about cricket. Take French cricket, a children’s game he’d played with his school friends — he knew there was a distinct difference between the stumps in French cricket and in regular cricket. Your legs were the stumps in French cricket — and, boy, did it hurt when the ball hit them!

  He went on to play many sports, refereeing soccer and coaching cricket, and even umpiring cricket matches for a whole season in his wheelchair after a serious accident in 2007 left him disabled.

  In September 2009, Mark was chatting to a friend over a beer. It was a lovely spring day with the sun high in the sky and a gentle breeze blowing. The two mates were sitting on a rock in Mark’s exotic back garden in Hornsby watching a lazy dragonfly settling on the water in the billabong. Birds were wheeling overhead chattering to each other and butterflies were darting in and out of the foliage. Gazing at the sparkling water where his son was trying to catch the dragonfly, Mark’s friend lamented that this beautiful autistic boy might never know the sporting success of other children. It was then that Mark mentioned an idea he had for a sport designed specifically for children with special needs.

  He’d hit upon the idea of combining the two games: regular cricket and French cricket. He had a vision of children with special needs not only playing among themselves but even finding a path to national and international representation in sport for players with disabilities. Mark said to his friend, ‘Mate, I can see them now, at the SCG in front of forty thousand people, playing their own brand of cricket.’

  Dreaming was one thing; making it a reality was another. After his waterside conversation, he got to work putting his plan into action and a few months later was ready to unleash Blowfly Cricket onto the world.

  That first Saturday when Ronnie and his family arrived at the oval, there were half a dozen kids on the field with parents, and balls were flying everywhere as the bowlers aimed at anyone with a bat and the fielders desperately tried to catch any ball heading their way. The sun was bright and warm, the grass soft after welcome rain and there were amazingly bright green stumps in the ground. On top of each set of stumps was a large image of a blowfly, which at first horrified Ronnie, until he learned that bashing them with the bat was an important finale to the game. And it became something Ronnie particularly enjoyed doing.

  ‘So that’s why it’s called Blowfly Cricket!’ Mum thought.

  Each child had the game tailored to their particular needs and a whistle was blown before the ball was in play to attract and keep their attention. When it came time for a break, there were welcome drinks in the shade of the huge gum trees around the oval. Parents and families were encouraged to stay and watch, while Mark and his fellow coaches put everyone at ease. Ronnie had great fun and began to think that he might actually like this strange game after all. It became a regular weekend activity in the summer for Ronnie’s family, and one they loved.

  Mark could see his vision growing year by year as the word of his sport spread to families near and far. The original local newspaper article read by Ronnie’s mum was e
ven reproduced in a mainstream Brisbane paper. There were parents ready to help, coaches keen to impart their knowledge and young enthusiastic cricketers trying to bat, bowl and catch. Former Aussie fast bowler Craig McDermott became the game’s Ambassador.

  Over the years, Ronnie grew taller and stronger and was a regular fixture at the game, encouraging the newer, younger kids who came along. At fifteen, he had become one of the more experienced players and it was clear that he had a passion for the game. Not to mention the prodigious knowledge of cricket trivia he was developing. But in a few years he would reach the age limit for players, so it was time to make a decision. At the end of his third year in the game Ronnie was awarded the first-ever Blowfly Cricket Coaching Scholarship and was made Club Captain. He would do his Level 1 certificate with Mark and Cricket NSW. Now he could continue to enjoy the game and impart his knowledge to future generations.

  In January 2012, Mark was ecstatic to see his vision become a reality. Ronnie and the team of fifteen Blowflies ran onto the SCG field during the lunch break at the Australia versus India test in front of Mark’s predicted crowd of forty thousand, including a large contingent of family, friends and supporters. For Ronnie, Blowfly Cricket was no longer a nightmare; for Mark, it was a wonderful dream come true.

  One summer weekend shortly after their SCG debut, at their home ground, the team’s excitement was reaching fever pitch as the players stood out on the oval about to start an important game, in front of their proud coaches and parents. The sun was high; the day was hot; the players were thirsty for victory.

  Ronnie was fielding near the boundary and watching the batter intently, as no one had ever caught a ball in the outfield and, today, he was determined to make it happen. He saw the bowler toss the ball, heard the ‘thwack’ as the bat connected and watched as the ball lifted in the air and rose to the top of its arc. Then slowly it began to fall. Ronnie raised his arm from his side and ran towards the ball. As he reached his hand out, the ball landed right in his palm. He held on and didn’t drop it.