It says much for the universal respect for the late Sir Donald Bradman
that
only 15 minutes after the Auckland and Canterbury players heard of the
great
batsman's death yesterday they arranged their own tribute before
starting the last
day of their Shell Trophy match at Eden Park Outer Oval this morning.
Players and umpires took their positions on the field, doffed caps and
hats,
and stood head bowed for several seconds.
And there may be a dozen or so Aucklanders in their 40's and 50's who
might stop and remember the day they met Sir Donald, on their own patch.
Sir Donald and Lady Bradman were relaxing at their Auckland hotel after
a
speaking engagement in the early 70's. I had taped an interview with
Sir Donald
when he said: "I have helped you, now how about you take me out to watch
some
cricket?"
The Bradmans were at the White Heron hotel in Parnell. Cornwall Park
seemed the obvious and picturesque cricket-watching venue, and the route
took my
car past the youngsters' cricket ground at Bloodworth Park, tucked on
the border of
Parnell, Remuera and the Hobson Bay mangroves.
As we passed the ground Sir Donald asked me to stop - "this looks
marvellous, I would like to sit here a while."
We had been sitting for perhaps a minute, Sir Donald's passenger door
fixed
open, when an amazing thing happened. As if to a signal, three
youngsters' games
stopped. Fifty or 60 fresh young faces were focussed on the great man.
Then they flooded across the ground and gathered around the car, no
shoving and pushing for the front row, simply their eyes wide in wonder.
A vast smile came over the knightly face. And was there a slight lump
in the
Bradman throat, a glisten in the corner of the eye, when he said:
"Thanks, lads, for
coming to say 'hello.' Good luck with your cricket, but we have to go
now."
At Cornwall Park the older players paid due respect, and Duncan
Johnstone
had his bat autographed and probably still has it mounted over his
Sunday Star-Times
sports editor's desk.
But those of us lucky enough to be there will never forget a cricketer
so
relishing his mixing with other cricketers.
Sir Donald was a private person, not given to newspaper or radio
interviews
when he sat in the seats of Australian cricket power.
The first time I met him was with the 1967 New Zealand touring team in
Adelaide and, on my first overseas tour, regarded Sir Donald as the
logical
interview target.
So I went through the appropriate channels, the word came back Sir
Donald
was available for 20 minutes two days' hence, and I duly set off for the
interview -
much to the amazement of a dozen or so local cricket writers, very few
had ever
considered that the walls built round Sir Donald were scaleable.
Sir Donald was then chairman of the Australian Cricket Board and the
Australian selection panel. He listed the topics open for discussion. It
was a tidy
interview, nothing really earth-shattering, but Sir Donald did hit one
or two replies
about Australia-New Zealand playing relations off the middle of his bat.
A few days later came another face of Bradman as the New Zealanders
were
moving from a one-dayer in the Barossa to the Adelaide railway station
long before
it became a casino and onward to Melbourne and Victoria Country matches.
Not surprisingly the New Zealanders came away from Angaston clutching
bottles and cases of Yalumba's finest. Moving the players, luggage and
cases of the
good stuff from car to train under heavy time pressure required an
intensive
manpower effort.
And who should lead the way across the station concourse, his short
legs
whisking along under the big crate, his chirpy face peering over the
box-top but Sir
Donald himself?
More recently at Adelaide I again sought an interview with Sir Donald.
The
time was fixed, the venue of the Members' Room arranged, and when I
arrived the
important people were having a pre-lunch gin.
No Bradman there. Instead he was sitting out in the viewing room,
watching
the game, awaiting my visit. By himself. We had a pleasant chat for
perhaps 25
minutes. He seemed more relaxed. The smiles were more frequent, warmer.
The armour-plated wall around him was being dismantled. He still
received
hundreds upon hundreds of letters and invitations and requests for
autographs, and
people helped him handle the flood.
He consented to some very fine television interviews, some quite candid
newspaper and radio comments, and lamented only that he could not pursue
his
great love of playing golf.
The final flourish came, I am told, when his son John - who had
dropped the
family name as a young man embarrassed by the paternal fame - decided
to claim
back the Bradman surname.