by James Philip
David Larter’s bowling at Melbourne had opened eyes within the party and across Australia, likewise the imminent arrival of an attacking left-arm spinner who coincidentally was probably the best short-leg (very close in) fielder in the game suddenly provided MCC with real bowling teeth, and options it had lacked when it first set foot in Australia. If Trueman could prove his fitness then there was an obvious opportunity to play the ‘aggressive cricket’ that Dexter had talked about in another age back on the Canberra and at that first press conference in Western Australia.
But first Fiery Fred needed a ‘run out’; a couple of short ‘bursts’ in the forthcoming country match should suffice, after which he could be wrapped in cotton wool during the South Australia game at the Adelaide Oval and David Larter, a bowler who when fit was best kept fit by bowling, would be paired with Brian Statham against the host state.
MCC disembarked from the six hundred mile flight from Melbourne to Port Lincoln, South Australia at around noon on Wednesday 19th December to be transported directly to a mayoral reception. In those days Port Lincoln, some one hundred and seventy miles as the crow flies west of Adelaide – but about three times that distance by road – was very nearly falling off the edge of civilization in the eastern half of the continent. This was a thing illustrated to John Clarke of the Evening Standard when he had occasion to complement a local bookshop proprietor about how well stocked his shelves were: ‘The next bookshop,’ he explained, ‘is at Kalgoorlie, 1,400 miles away to the west...’
The MCC’s visit to the town was very much Christmas coming a week early and the locals went out of their way to entertain their guests.
Boat trips, water-skiing to which Dexter soon took to like a duck to water, and fishing trips were on offer. In the evening a dance was laid on; or for those looking for a little more excitement a night time Kangaroo hunt.
Fred Trueman, along with Len Coldwell and David Larter all opted for this latter ‘sport’, which involved blasting away at the unsuspecting marsupials by the light of powerful lamps from the back of trucks. Up country Kangaroos were regarded as pests, vermin and treated accordingly in those days. By the time the ‘hunters’ returned to town people had come in from miles around and the party was in full swing.
The following day’s cricket at the Centenary Oval was like the hangover after the Lord Mayor’s Parade.
MCC 244 for 2 declared; Dexter 88, Graveney 87 not out, Knight 52. South Australia Country XI 89 all out, and batting a second time cursorily dismissed for just 44.
Fred Trueman bowled ten overs, five in the local side’s first inning and five in the second taking 8 for 19 in a match played in a spirited, but distinctly un-Australian spirit of fun and ‘live and let live’ jollity.
Ted Dexter had been dropped in the deep twice before reaching fifty; on both occasions easy catches were deliberately fumbled so as to ensure the entertainment continued for as long as possible. Supposedly a one innings per side contest, Dexter had invited the home team to bat again so that ‘the crowd gets its money’s worth’.
The tourists had flown back to Adelaide that evening arriving at their hotel near to the sea at a little after midnight; meaning that for once they could look forward to an actual ‘rest day’ before the South Australia match.
A rest day in which no part of which was spent ‘in transit’ was a blissful thing...
Ted Dexter played golf, or rather, he went for a long walk with his golf clubs in company with Ken Barrington and Jim Swanton, a member of the Royal St George’s Club at Sandwich – ‘still a member whatever the damned Russians have done to it in my absence’ – before the heat of the day became too oppressive.
Swanton later recollected that he felt the England captain was sounding him out about how ‘the rest of the tour might go’, and what awaited his players when it was over. There was talk of several men going on to South Africa, a couple ‘quite fancied’ settling in New Zealand but the majority wanted to return home to ‘do their bit’.
Swanton reports telling Dexter that: ‘the chaps can probably do a lot more good staying down under than going home at present.’ Personally, he was extremely dubious of the merits of English cricketers going to South Africa to support that ‘foul regime’s Apartheid’ regardless of any other considerations.
Tony Lock flew into Adelaide on the morning of the state match, walking into the MCC dressing room as Geoff Pullar and David Sheppard resumed their early tour opening partnership after Cowdrey had won the toss on another burning hot day.
Thirty-three year old Graham Anthony ‘Tony’ Richard Lock had first played for Surrey in 1946 a few days after his seventeenth birthday. In England every year since 1951 he had taken at least a hundred wickets, and in 1955 and 1957 taken two hundred. No man had made more runs in first-class cricket without scoring a century; and most of his seven hundred plus catches had been taken close to the wicket. Forever remembered as the man who took ‘the one wicket’ in the match in 1956 at Old Trafford, Manchester when his Surrey spin partner Jim Laker took 19 for 90 against the Australians, his omission from the original touring party had caused no little debate and hastened his decision to sign a contract to play for Western Australia that winter.
Another consideration in his omission might have been that in the late fifties questions had been asked about his action, and given the furore over ‘chucker’ Meckiff on the last tour MCC may have wanted to avoid re-opening old wounds notwithstanding the fact that Lock had long since taken matters into his own hands. Having watched films of himself bowling in New Zealand in 1959 he had completely remodelled his action. That said, over his career his international form abroad had been patchy, and perhaps, the selectors had decided that with Dexter, Trueman and several other ‘strong personalities’ in the England dressing room, the services of another – namely, Lock – might be safely dispensed with that winter. It now happened that men strong in sinew and mind were at a premium.
To paraphrase Tom Paine, a man unlikely to have been invited, let alone allowed to escape unscathed from the portals of the MCC castle in the heart of St John’s Wood: ‘These are the times that try men's souls... What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly...’
The Adelaide wicket was a batting paradise; with just enough pace and bounce for a batsman, once set, to play through the line without fear of the ball ‘stopping’ on him mid-stroke or deviating more than a hair’s breadth off its line.
South Australia had included David Sincock, a nineteen year old purveyor of left-arm leg-breaks for whom great things were expected. But for having to take exams he would have been included in the Australian XI at the MCG earlier in the tour. By repute the young tyro spun the ball as hard as any man and his googly was supposedly ‘unreadable’.
That day the English batsmen foresook ‘going after’ the young bowler; instead they set out to ‘destroy him’. In this, Sincock contributed to his downfall in that after a couple of tidy overs his length and line became erratic with the occasional juicy full toss thrown in. Ted Dexter, playing in the match while Cowdrey captained the side, was merciless.
David Sheppard was unlucky to nick a ball bowled across his bows by West Indian nonpareil Garfield Sobers early on, and Geoff Pullar, clearly out of form occupied the crease gamely for an hour until bunting a return catch to the same bowler, thereafter batting was plain sailing.
Ken Barrington in a rare moment of carelessness clipped Sincock into mid-off’s hands; otherwise Dexter and Cowdrey tucked in to the friendly bowling on a blameless track.
MCC advanced to 359 for 3 at the close; with Dexter (183) and Cowdrey (112) unbeaten and the South Australian attack wilting badly in the heat. Fortunately for them the morrow, a Sunday was a rest day, albeit one spoiled by the knowledge that their travails were far from over.
Sunday was Christmas Day; in the circumstances a muted affair for men far from home and separated, and in many cases, robbed of their loved ones. Nobody batted an eyelid when a man took solace in drink for that at lea
st, kept the demons away a little longer. Every man in the party had played alongside veterans of the 1945 war, and noted no matter how ferociously they competed on the field the game was still just a game to them. Some men found comfort in prayers; others had lost their faith. That first Christmas after the October War many people asked themselves where their God had been on that night two short months before...
On Monday Dexter set off as if he meant to score a hundred before lunch while Cowdrey dug himself in again for a long stay. Dexter perished, going to a catch in the deep for 254, allowing Tom Graveney to play himself in in the thirty minutes before the luncheon interval.
Lunch on day 2: MCC 487 for 4, Cowdrey (166), Graveney (14). Nobody was more surprised than South Australian skipper Les Favell[82] when Colin Cowdrey informed him near the end of the interval that ‘we have declared’.
MCC wanted to win matches and on a wicket like that at Adelaide that meant allowing as much time as possible to knock over the opposition twice.
The afternoon had turned humid as clouds scudded across the ground so David Larter was held back while Brian Statham and Len Coldwell explored the possibilities of movement in the air and off the seam. For a few overs until the ball got scuffed up there seemed to be enough encouragement for both men to keep Larter waiting; but shortly after Les Favell rattled his fifth boundary into the fence to post the South Australian 50, Cowdrey and Dexter looked to each other and with a shrug it was determined to find out if Melbourne had been the Northamptonshire speedster’s ‘flash in the pan’ spell of the tour.
Favell cut Larter’s third ball to the cover boundary, hooked his fifth to long leg for another, drove another for two on the offside; and then he tried to hook – what was for the bowler not a bouncer but a delivery on a normal, good length – and went down in a heap knocking over his stumps in the process having diverted the ball via his gloves onto his forehead.
Fred Trueman and Tony Lock had been renewing old acquaintance on the Pavilion balcony.
‘There’s many in England,’ the Yorkshireman observed with a sniff, ‘who could have told him that’s always a bad idea with our David.’ Another sniff: ‘Especially, when he’s in this mood.’
Everybody on the circuit knew of a batsman who had mistakenly decided that David Larter was all bluster and not a lot of fire. Tom Graveney – who never got hit – had collected one of the Northant’s man’s ‘back of a length’ balls once, mistaking it for a tempting ‘short one’.
‘It’s okay, he’s sitting up,’ Lock nodded as staff ran onto the ground ready to carry off the South Australian captain and to sawdust any spilt blood.
Trueman sucked his lips.
‘Aye, but I don’t think anybody’s going to be getting very far forward to our David for a little while yet!’
When David Larter surrendered the ball to Ray Illingworth twenty minutes before the scheduled tea interval the hosts were 101 for 4 and he had taken three wickets in his six over spell for the cost of 23 runs. The sun had come out again after Favell, a bloody towel held to his head had been helped off the field and the big fast bowler’s feet kicked up clouds of dust as he roared into his delivery stride.
Illingworth and Dexter continued the attack after the tea break, unable to stem the steady flow of runs. Later Brian Statham and Len Coldwell took turns at the southern, City End while Illingworth attempted to dry up the runs at the other.
Statham and Coldwell each took a wicket, Illingworth another some forty minutes before the close of play.
‘How do we think the tail will fare against the tall man?’ Colin Cowdrey inquired rhetorically of Dexter, standing beside him in the packed slip cordon.
Predictably, tail end batsmen did what they always did when faced by a big, very bouncy fast bowler. There was no shame in it; raw courage was no substitute for the technique and lightning hand and eye co-ordination possessed by only the top batsmen. Each man willed himself to take a step forward, bat lunging, often eyes firmly shut. And then, having taken their lives in their hands, thereafter they began to edge away, flailing at anything close to the stumps until they heard the death rattle of their wicket, the ball hit them, or flew away off the edge of their bats.
The South Australian first innings subsided in a rush: 187 all out; Larter 6 for 38. Had there been time for another over to be bowled that day Cowdrey would have asked Les Favell, or whoever was now his opposite number in the home camp to bat again, instead, the South Australian openers were left to contemplate overnight what awaited them on the morrow.
Les Favell, his left eye black and puffy and his brow stitched marched out and fearlessly hooked David Larter’s first ball to the mid-wicket boundary pickets. He played and missed, took a ball on his right shoulder, another on his hand and once very nearly cut a rising ball off his stumps past the gully fielder’s right ear; but he saw off Larter’s first spell to such good effect that South Australia had reached 90 for 2 at lunch on the third day of the match. Both he and his batting partner Gary Sobers must have breathed a discreet sigh of relief when it was Brian Statham who renewed the attack after the interval. The next over Favell tickled a straight ball from Len Coldwell to Cowdrey at first slip.
Fast bowlers do not always bowl the opposition out.
That is not how it works.
What a big, mean and threatening fast bowler does is make it imperative that batsmen score runs off all the other bowlers before he gets his second wind. In other words, when somebody like David Larter gets ‘in amongst’ a side everybody else bats in a fashion they might not have done otherwise. Batsmen put aside many of the things – good habits and well-grooved technique – which have worked so well for them in the past and earned them their places in the side, and step outside their individual comfort zones in order to store up runs on the board, or merely survive, before the storm returns.
Something similar scrambles the brains of all but the best batsmen when a real mystery spin bowler starts to weave his spell. However, no mystery spin bowler actually gets a batsman’s pulse racing like a really fast bowler. If and when a batsman finds himself up against a bowler who is bowling so swiftly that everything is happening ‘too fast’ the wheels start to come off.
The mind might be saying: ‘get in line, play straight with hands high, watch the bowler’s hand, and try to watch the ball onto the bat. Watch the ball, whatever happens do not take your eyes off the ball...’
Problematically, a man’s survival instincts – the ones we carry with us in our genes which selected our forebears in Africa to best be able to survive the rigours of the wild – are telling him to duck, weave and to get the Hell out of the way!
The thing which distinguishes a good player from a Test Match player is psychological resilience, simple mental toughness for want of a better description.
The thing which separates an all time great of the game from a very good international player is something innate, the capacity if not to actually enjoy facing high class fast bowling – because, whatever men say, nobody actually enjoys it once the initial adrenaline rush passes – but to in some way ‘relish’ the challenge and to work out a method for surviving and defeating it.
Every batsman knows that the bowler always wins in the end; that he only has to make a single mistake and that is that. But the thing is to play the game, to play up and to keep playing for as long as possible.
Les Favell was a very good batsman, pugnacious and fearless; Gary Sobers was – perhaps, alongside Ted Dexter – the best batsman in the World. When David Larter returned Favell fought, rode his luck, and Sobers played him as if he was just another, albeit lively county fast-medium trundler. The two batsmen were undoubtedly helped by an ever-slowing, deadening wicket but they stopped the rot and soon the runs began to flow. Not in an avalanche, steadily, remorselessly up to and after the tea break.
Close of play: South Australia 277 for 2; Favell (113) and Sobers (115) not out. England led by 23 runs with one day to play.
‘England look toothles
s on a good wicket?’ Dexter was asked that evening.
‘Trueman will be back for the Second Test,’ he retorted cheerfully. Brian Statham had been lightly used after luncheon, in a Test he would have been bowled into the ground. Likewise, Illingworth’s inability to seriously trouble either of the South Australian centurions had cemented the Captain in his hunch that Tony Lock might be more effective at Melbourne. Sobers had played Larter well but the Australians did not have eleven Gary Sobers in their side. Favell had fought it out like a terrier but he had never looked comfortable against Larter and how long might he have lasted against Trueman and Statham both pulling out all the stops?
The fourth morning of the match dawned brightly cool.
A rising ball outside Gary Sober’s off stump took the edge, John Murray took the catch diving in front of Colin Cowdrey at first slip and, and thus fortified by his early success, Brian Statham bowled unchanged for the next eighty minutes from the Cathedral End to reduce the hosts to 327 for 7. Len Coldwell pitched in with another wicket and Larter came back to scythe through what was left of the tail.
South Australia lurched to 349 all out seven minutes before the scheduled luncheon interval.
MCC won by ten wickets; Geoff Pullar hitting the winning runs swatting a Sincock half-tracker for four at a little after two o’clock that afternoon.
Chapter 15 | Second Test
A long cable from Nottingham, England awaited the ‘Acting Manager of the MCC Party’ when the tourists – after its specially chartered flight back to Melbourne from Adelaide carrying with it the entire travelling circus of pressmen – booked into the Windsor Hotel.
The telegram from England was signed by none other than ‘Gubby Allen’, the sixty year old Australian-born former England captain, Test Match selector and great man of MCC and Lord’s notifying all concerned that he planned to ‘take air passage to Australia’ and ‘to assist the smooth running of the tour in the absences of his Grace the Duke of Norfolk’.[83]