The Author's Travels
Was It All Cricket?
The Author—1945
Was It All
Cricket?
Cricket?
Daniel Reese
Introduction by
Sir Pelham Warner
George Allen & Unwin Ltd
Museum Street
First Published in1948
All rights reserved
To
My Wife and Family
Preface
As a general rule, a book that takes the form of a personal narrative is accompanied by a prefatory note of explanation; this one appears to come within that category.
Many times over the years, friends have urged me to record the story of a fairly varied career, particularly that period when I visited many outlying parts of the world. When an occupation takes one over diverse routes and to unusual places, experiences of travel are often different from those gained by the ordinary tourist. Although my early reputation in New Zealand was that of a cricketer, this book is brought into being to relate travels as a marine engineer, and subsequent adventures in the business world, as well as experiences in first-class cricket in England, Australia, and New Zealand. What claims I may have to write with authority on these subjects must be decided by the reader. A brief summary of events may be of some assistance.
It was in 1898 that I first represented New Zealand; two years later I was a member of the Melbourne Cricket Club XI, under
Returning to New Zealand, I captained all New Zealand's XI's from 1907 to 1914. On the administrative side of the game I was for more than twenty years a member of the Management Committee of the New Zealand Cricket Council—three years as Chairman—and after these activities was elected President.
Relating to travels, I was at sea for three years as a marine engineer—part of the time on tramp steamers—trading to many distant lands. This book tells of journeys round Cape Horn and the Cape of Good Hope, of visits to the Far East, the West Indies, North, South and Central America, also to many ports in Europe, the United Kingdom and Australia. Travelling with touring cricket teams also enabled me to see many places of interest. Experiences in the shipping, commercial and industrial life of New Zealand will complete the story.
When turning from delightful experiences on the cricket
Was It All Cricket?!” The title impressed me, and I have taken his advice, for it suits the story I have written. Every time Mr. Kirk met me, he would laughingly say, “Have you begun it yet?” I regret to say that he died some years ago, and did not live to know that my half-promise would be fulfilled.
On another occasion, when discussing biographies,
I believe that in parts this narrative may interest cricketers and engineers, as well as those who feel attracted by stories of travel or of business venture. It is my hope that the reader will enjoy more than one section.
Cashmere Hills,
Christchurch,
New Zealand.
Contents
Errata
Page 9: for M. L. Donnelly please read M. P. Donnelly. Page 73, line 17: for Lockwood and Hearne please read Richardson and Lohmann.
Page 440, line 38: for 1935 please read 19937.
Illustrations
Chapter1
Youth
I Have chosen November, 1895, as a suitable date on which to begin my story. It was then, at the age of sixteen, that I was first selected to play in the Canterbury XI against Wellington.
My father's death in 1891, at the age of fifty, changed our family fortunes, and my wonderful mother was left with a family of nine, I being the middle one, aged twelve. Anyone able to go back to the early 'nineties in New Zealand will know they were hard times. All who could were needed to contribute to the family earnings. My education naturally had to be curtailed, and, when barely fifteen years of age, I found myself apprenticed to engineering with the firm of John Anderson—now Andersons Limited—one of the best-known engineering firms in New Zealand.
Limited chances of advanced education were now replaced by technical training. Five years in evening classes at the Canterbury College School of Engineering, under Professor Scott, in many ways repaired the damage that would have been done to me had I made no effort to study after leaving school. There is, in engineering, a practical training that I was later to find invaluable when applied to everyday life.
To return to my selection in the Canterbury XI—the thought of the inclusion of so young a boy in a representative side came as a surprise to many, and the critics were not too sanguine about the wisdom of it. However, Mr.
The previous year, when a member of my club's Second XI, and not yet sixteen years of age, I had gone to Wellington to
On resuming there was to be a sensational happening in my first over. Naughton, a promising young player, was stumped.
My selection in the Canterbury XI, to play Wellington on the Basin Reserve in the capital city, was my first appearance in representative cricket. I took three for 33 in the first innings, and three for 18 in the second, thus making a reasonably good début. As was the case on this ground the previous Christmas, I remember being very nervous when going in to bat, although not affected in this way when taking the field, or at the bowling crease.
A month later, playing against a strong New South Wales team at Lancaster Park, in Christchurch, I took five wickets for 95 in the first innings, and shortly afterwards, against Otago at Dunedin, took four for 29.
The following season my bowling seemed to lack the nip of the previous year, but my batting came on apace; a change of form that often takes place with young players beginning to develop all-round ability. My captain,
As I was also a left-hand batsman, Donahoo took a keen and kindly interest in my play, but it was Sammy Jones's advice that I remembered most. In the second innings I attempted to back-cut a ball, and was caught in the slips. That evening Jones said to me, “Look here, sonny, with such a range of strokes in front of the wicket, why in the devil do you want to tip them through the slips?” I did not forget his advice, although I suppose I nibbled at them occasionally.
He also advised me about my bowling. At that time I used now and then to bowl an off break, and, sending down one of these unexpectedly, clean bowled him. Later, in the pavilion, he said to me, “Now, my boy, forget all about bowling me with
The bowling of this ball raises the question of the origin of the word “googly.” It was about the year 1900 that Bosanquet discovered how to bowl an off break with a leg-break action, yet, in 1895,
During their stay in Christchurch, the Queenslanders were thrilled with the hospitality and attention shown them. “Thorrington,” the home of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Clark, was a charming place, and in the days when garden parties played an important part in the social life of the community, was the scene of much entertainment. When their elder son, Charles, was elected captain of the Canterbury XI, visiting teams were to enjoy many an outing of a kind that for a number of years was to displace the old-fashioned coach drive on Sundays to places of interest. The Queensland team was one of the first to be entertained at the Clarks' home, or, to be more correct, in the lovely grounds, and the best private garden in Christchurch. The site of this old home was on the banks of the river Heath-cote, close to Cashmere Hills. The lawn, alongside a picturesque artificial lake, was, on this day, to be the scene of a thrilling spectacle. On our side we had
All the Australian teams of the 'nineties, and the early years of this century, were entertained in this way, either at “Thorrington” or “Fownhope,” the home of Mr. and Mrs. Wilding; and it was a charming thought which, thirty years later, prompted Trumble and Armstrong to cable Mrs. Clark their congratulations on her ninetieth birthday.
The first Melbourne Cricket Club team to tour New Zealand was also entertained at “Thorrington.”
A fortnight after the Queensland match, when playing against Wellington, in Christchurch, I made 96, caught against the fence at deep square-leg. In this innings,
I wonder if any two boys were keener on cricket than we were? After net-practice, and when everyone else had gone, we would take turn about throwing or bowling to the one with pads on, and in this way practised particular strokes. As we had no fieldsmen the ball had to be hit into the side net. Sims had more strokes behind point than I had, for, remembering Sammy Jones's advice, my only back-cut was just behind point. On the leg-side we both became adept at playing off our pads. We would have fielding practice as well. On Sundays, right through the summer months, we would walk the hills all day, usually doing about eighteen to twenty miles.
Perhaps the strangest outlet for our keenness was the theory we each had that prior to a big match we should rest our eyes in pleasant green surroundings. In Christchurch, the river Avon flows through the centre of the city. The representative games start at 11 a.m., so each morning of a match Sims and I would hire canoes, paddle a little way up the river, and after about an hour return to the boatsheds and then slowly wend our way down to Lancaster Park. This may make some people smile, even be thought ridiculous, but I tell it as a story of youth's enthusiasm. I was always taught that keenness was more than half the game.
In 1896 Trott's great Australian XI visited New Zealand. They came early in the season, and had time for only a few matches. Canterbury agreed to forgo a game against them so that a New Zealand match could be played at Christchurch. It was the first time I saw in action Giffen, Trumble, Jones, and McKibbin, the great quartette of bowlers, and Trott, Darling, Giffen, Gregory, Graham, Iredale, and others at the batting crease. Clem Hill did not play at Ghristchurch on account of a family bereavement. This was a particularly keen disappointment to me, for I had been likened to Hill in my batting, and especially wanted to watch him. It is somewhat of a coincidence that at this time, Clem, too, was an engineering apprentice.
Two or three incidents in this match will suffice.
Still another happening out of the ordinary occurred when the Australians were properly under way, and Iredale, batting beautifully, had reached 75. Mr. Wilding, then a veteran well over forty—father of
Wilding had been one of our best players, scoring in New Zealand big cricket over 1,000 runs and taking a hundred wickets. Against an English XI at Lancaster Park in 1886, he took eight for 21, so there was no fluke about his bowling of Iredale. His finger display was as tantalizing as
Wilding could also be tantalizing when batting. After playing a ball, say, to cover-point, he would dance out of his crease a few yards, and call to his partner, “Can we?” Often, a fieldsman, taunted by such enquiry for an obviously impossible run, would shy at the- wickets, sometimes giving an over-throw. Wilding once did this to
It was this same umpire who, in answering a unanimous appeal for a catch behind the wickets when his own son was batting, said, “Not out! Over!” As the old man walked away towards the square-leg position, he called to his son, “Did you hit that ball, Leonard?”
“Yes, father,” came the reply, but the elderly parent continued his walk as though he had not heard the embarrassing answer.
Reverting to Trott's 1896 Australian XI, I finish with one more story. These Australians were a band of merry men, led by a genial captain. On their visit to Canterbury they were taken for the usual Sunday picnic. Calling at Sumner, a seaside resort near Christchurch, they were entertained on the lawn of one of the local residential hotels. Before leaving, the Mayor proposed the health of the visitors. After responding, Trott stepped forward, and in the manner of a Maori chief leading his tribe in a haka, called aloud, “What's the matter with the Mayor of Sumner?”—to which his team chorused, “He's all right!” “Who's all right?” cried Trott. Chorus: “The Mayor of Sumner!” All together: “That's all right then!” Using the name of anyone who entertained them, they carried out this
One more memory of boyhood days: It was in the second year of my apprenticeship when, beating the five o'clock whistle at Andersons, I raced to Lancaster Park on my brother's “penny-farthing” bicycle to see Cuff and Lawrence score the last hundred of their record first-wicket partnership against Auckland. By the time I reached the ground, the batsmen were on top and scoring at a great rate; batting as though with one eye on the clock they raced to make it an afternoon of centuries. In the last over of the day Canterbury's captain was stumped and the score read “one for 306, Cuff 176, Lawrence 123 not out.” The runs were made in three hours, with the last fifty coming at the rate of two a minute. It was a grand exhibition of forceful batting and. remains a record, unbeaten in New Zealand cricket.
Chapter2
First Cricket Tour
In 1897 the Canterbury team toured the North Island, playing Hawkes Bay, Auckland, Taranaki, and Wellington. I was so seasick on the trip to Wellington that it was decided to send me overland by train to Napier, while the rest of the team went on by steamer.
Against Hawkes Bay we had a real fright,
A singular incident in this match was to cause much amusement throughout the tour. Pearce, our medium-fast bowler, opened, and the first ball of the match went for four byes. Fowke, our wicket-keeper, muttered something about a butterfly, and at the end of the over, Johnnie—as he was always called—walked down the wicket repeating, “That damned butterfly!” By evening it had become a story. When asked, and he was repeatedly, to explain those four byes, this is how he told of the happening: “Well, it was like this:
In Auckland I was to see R. B. Neill, one of the very best slow bowlers we ever had in this country. He took nine wickets in our first innings, so we had reason to remember him. I was taught to chase the slow bowlers, and was going well in each innings when the wily Bob trapped me with his subtle change of pace and flight. A lesson for youth. We had a hard fight in
This was my first game against Auckland, the side that over the years has been Canterbury's most formidable rival, and the taking of nine wickets in the match ranks as one of my best bowling performances.
It was but a short train journey to Onehunga, on the other side of the narrow neck of the Auckland Peninsula. We left by steamer for New Plymouth. Oh, what a trip! Peter B. Kyne's graphic description in Cappy Ricks of the Quickstep forcing her way over the bar at the mouth of the Humboldt River, exactly describes this voyage of the Mahinapua. Some of the passengers were terrified as she ploughed through and over mountainous seas on the Manukau bar, in her struggle out of harbour against a southerly gale.
Only two members of our side were able to make the deck throughout the journey. On arrival at New Plymouth we at once took the train to Hawera, some fifty miles away. Shortly after arriving at our hotel, Fowke was found in a chair in the smoking-room, absolutely exhausted from seasickness, but still holding in his hand an orange that had been given him on the ship. It was not until next day that he was fit to start off again with his, “Well, it was like this:
We were too strong for Taranaki—our bowlers had a real harvest.
To reach Wellington was a twelve hours' journey in the train, but it was decided to stop at Wanganui. In the railway carriage, Raphael, our manager, gave us much entertainment with his portable phonograph—now gramophone—one of the first to be heard in New Zealand. Besides regaling us with popular music and songs, he always set it going and opened a window just as the train was running into a station; soon there would be a crowd around. The Maoris caused us much amusement when they kept saying, “Pi kori, him the feller!” We visited a Maori pa just outside Wanganui, and their excitement over the phonograph was unbounded.
Against Wellington we were to suffer our first defeat of the tour. They started off with the score of 400, and we never looked like catching up. It was in this match that
I was to learn a valuable lesson in this match. Wellington did not begin as though they were going to amass such a big total, and lost three wickets for less than 50 runs; two of these had fallen to my bowling. There was a strong, northerly wind blowing straight down the wicket, and my captain, believing that it was too much to expect so young a player to keep on bowling against the stiff breeze, changed me to the other end. This reduced the effectiveness of flight, and my next two wickets cost over 100 runs.
In these four matches I took thirty-one wickets, and in batting, although my highest score was 44, rarely made under 20. People said I should have made more runs, but for a youth of eighteen, I suppose I did fairly well. It was now said that I had developed into an all-rounder.
This touring side was a very good Canterbury XI, being strong in all departments of the game. Charles Clark made an admirable captain, and was a fine influence with his team. He was an Oxonian, having been up at Exeter College in the years when C. B. Fry was so famous at Oxford. It is worth telling that when elected captain, Clark told us that he would accept the appointment only on condition that Mr. Wilding made all the speeches on the tour. As Wilding was probably the most polished speaker we have had among cricketers in New Zealand, it will be seen we were well served both on and off the field.
While I was having some success against our North Island opponents, I was, during these years, to share the fate of so many in my appearances against Otago, more especially at Dunedin. They had a magnificent combination of bowlers in Fisher and Downes; the former a medium-paced left-hander, and the latter a medium-paced right-hander—a slightly slower edition of Haigh, the Yorkshireman, but with a more pronounced off break. These two were supported by Lawton, a professional from Lancashire, and Hope, another left-hander, but faster than Fisher. The Carisbrook ground in those days was a real bog after heavy rain, and on this type of muddy wicket Otago
On our return to Christchurch, we were met at the railway station by a number of cricket friends and humorists who, forming themselves into a band, marched up and down the platform playing tin whistles to the tune of “See, the Conquering Heroes Come!” As each of us stepped off the train, he was presented with a tin sword. We all joined in the humour of this satirical greeting. That 27 still remains Canterbury's smallest score.
Canterbury v. Otago has been an annual match since 1864, thus nearly equalling the period of the New South Wales—Victorian matches, and far exceeding in time the games between Victoria and South Australia. The latter, in fact, did not become a first-class cricketing State until 1880. Considering that in the years before the through railway was completed it took two days by steamer to go from Lyttelton to Dunedin, the feat of maintaining this as an annual fixture is, indeed, a noteworthy one.
A dinner and smoking-concert on the Saturday night were a feature of these visits. Otago had some splendid talent among their performers at the concert; the handsome
He may not have been a tuneful singer, for his songs provided more mirth than melody, but he was certainly a jovial entertainer.
There was always a Sunday picnic. A four-in-hand coach would pull up at our hotel at about ten o'clock, and both teams would go out for the day. Is it any wonder that a delightful spirit prevailed, or that lifelong friendships were made in these matches? It should be said that despite all this happy fraternizing between the players of both teams, the games were always sternly contested, for there was great rivalry between the two provinces.
Two stories of
In another match at Dunedin, the visiting team, with runs to make on the last day, appeared to have a chance of winning. The captain, wanting his team to go to bed early, tried to induce Fowke to turn in about 9.30 p.m. However, Johnnie scorned what he called a “sissy” idea. In the end, only four of the team retired early. Next day, Downes bowled these four “early-to-bedders” with four successive balls! Two Midland Clubs XIs, 1894
C. Cross. E. Fitzsimmons. S. Forsyth. W. G. Garrard. A. Blacklock. H. Ogier. W. J. Salmon. R. W. Barry. F. Taylor. A. T. Washer. E. P. Barnes. C. W. Garrard. R. V. Blacklock. T. W. Reese. W. McGirr. S. G. Tucker.A. E. White. W. Roberts. M. Naughton. D. Reese. W. Robertson. F. Lash. W.C. Pearce. K. H. Tucker.Fifty Years Ago—The Author with A. Sims
Canterbury's most tragic performance against Otago was on our own ground at Lancaster Park. Left with 193 to get on a wicket which, though slightly worn, was still a good and hard one, we cut a sorry figure. With the score at 19, Fisher bowled our captain. I followed, only to have my middle stump knocked back first ball. Sims came next, and the first ball survived an l.b.w. appeal, then down went his leg stump with the next: three wickets in four balls! Fisher bowled as if inspired, and we were all out for 46—Fisher seven for n. Such figures could be understood when Downes secured them on a treacherous wicket at Dunedin the previous season, but, on a hard wicket, well, who would have thought it possible? Fisher was a fine bowler, and this was one of his greatest performances.
Lockwood and Hearne once dismissed the Australians at Lord's on a perfect wicket for 53; the West Indians, in 1906, did the same to the Yorkshire XI for a similar score, so these things do happen, even in the sphere of big cricket. As a matter of fact, we had been telling ourselves that we should play back more to Fisher and Downes, for they were terrors to us in Dunedin. This time, with the wicket fast, and Fisher quickening his pace a little, we paid the penalty for playing back too much.
As I also got 0 in the first innings, it was my first experience of getting a pair of specs. My being in the Provincial XI caused the employees of Andersons to follow closely the doings of our team. Dick Thorpe, the elderly foreman of the millwright shop, was noted for his chaffing or barracking of all the youths in the works. While no doubt-he would be pleased at any success I might have, he could not resist a tilt at me over these two ducks. He got a nimble lad to climb high on to one of the roof principals and paint “Reese bowled Fisher o. o.” -Every time I happened to go into his shop, he would fold his arms, and stand staring at the two noughts. No chance of getting a swelled head when surrounded by such men! Ten years later I dismissed Fisher in both innings for o: we both enjoyed the joke, but of course I relished it most.
I remember one of old man Thorpe's sayings when he was on his favourite topic of chaffing youths about young women—“Have a good look at the mother first!” There was also an old
This good-humoured banter, typical of the times, was as unceasing and subtle as could be heard on the Clyde; the reason no doubt being that with this firm, founded by a Scot, all the foremen and many of the workmen came from Scotland.
On my first day at work I began hammering and sawing with my left hand, but old Jimmy Paterson, my foreman, came along and said, “No, no, you must use the other hand I” I could be a left-handed cricketer, but I must be a right-handed mechanic.
One form of initiation to which new apprentices were subjected was to be sent to another department to borrow a tool — some ridiculous thing. I was told to go and ask Dick Thorpe for the loan of his “bowser”—a fictitious name for the occasion. The red whiskered Wheelwright pointed to a casting that was both heavy and awkward to handle. It-was as much as a lad could carry, and as I struggled through the blacksmith's shop I noticed everyone laughing; it was the same in the machine-shop, and when I dumped my load on the floor of the pattern-shop, in which department I began my training, all crowded round to laugh at and chaff the credulous youth. Yes, they waste no time in putting a lad in his place when he joins the staff of a big engineering works!
Chapter3
First Overseas Tour
The season 1898–99 was to be an important one for New Zealand cricketers, the Cricket Council having decided to send a team to Australia.
Sims and 1 at once decided on an even more intensive training. For the time being we gave up Rugby football, and throughout the winter months went every Saturday afternoon to a cricket practice pavilion owned by old Mr. Dickenson, a member of the Canterbury team in its first match against Otago in 1864. This barn-like building was the only one of its kind I have ever seen. It was specially built for the purpose, being about thirty yards long, and five yards wide. There were plenty of skylights, so the light was good. The clay for the floor had been run in in liquid form, providing a level surface on which was stretched a six-foot width of coco-nut matting; it made a beautiful batting wicket. Netting was hung across the ceiling and down the sides, about a yard from the walls, so that we could walk from one end to the other without coming into the line of play. We were joined by Prankish, Cobcroft, Boxshall, and the two Ridleys, so it will be seen that we had splendid practice. In the early spring we transferred to a turf wicket at the home of Mr. H. Murray, at Avonside, and when the fateful season opened were all in our best form.
Great interest was taken in the selection of the team, for this was New Zealand's first overseas tour, although a Canterbury XI had visited Victoria as far back as 1878. Mr. Ashbolt of Wellington was appointed sole selector. This was a mistake, for New Zealand's principal cities are widely separated, and a single selector cannot always have the requisite knowledge of the form and ability of the players in every centre. This was to be illustrated in the selection of the team; the greatest mistake being the omission of Archie Ridley of Canterbury.
The standard of play in New Zealand was rated fairly high at this time, for we had splendid bowlers in Fisher, Downes, Frankish, and Upham, while the batting also was considered good. In 1894 Canterbury had beaten a New South Wales XI
These matches against the various visiting sides could be used as a guide in assessing our chances of making a good showing against the Australian State teams.
Returning to the selection of the team, we were to be disappointed when it was learnt that Holdship, Williams, and Pearce were unable to make the trip; Holdship would certainly have been captain of the side; Williams was the best batsman in New Zealand at this time; and Pearce was an excellent all-rounder. Added to this was the loss of L. A. Cuff, one of our finest players and best captains, who, two years earlier, had gone to settle in Tasmania. Williams and Pearce were unable to obtain leave—a common difficulty in those days—but Holdship, holding a responsible position, decided not to go. He thus joined Harry Moses and
We finally reached the point of leaving for Australia. All our bowlers could go, and we still had a sound batting side, although we tapered off too quickly about half-way down the list. The North Island members joined the Canterbury contingent at Lyttelton, and we went on to Dunedin by sea. I wonder what modern players would say of their executives sending them by steamer because it was cheaper than by rail?
The team, thus fully assembled, was now ready to play a two days' match against Otago. It was thought it would be an advantage to have us all play together, so as to become used to one another's ways in the field, and between the wickets. In the absence of Fisher and Downes from the Otago team, Hope-became their principal bowler. This player always had the misfortune of having to play second fiddle to the above pair. As a matter of fact, he was good enough to be on our side for Australia, but there just wasn't room for him. This first match of the tour was played on the proverbial Dunedin soft wicket, with runs hard to get. I will relate but the final innings.
The Otago opening batsmen made a better job of playing their own representative bowlers than Canterbury batsmen usually did; before a wicket had fallen, I was called upon to replace Fisher. I think it must have been the change to slower pace, and a more flighty delivery, but, whatever it was, there was trouble for Otago at once. First one wicket, then two, then three, in quick succession, but it did not end there, for at the finish Otago were all out for 37; Reese nine for 14, a performance that came in for flattering comment, for I was not yet twenty. As a youngster of fourteen, I had once taken eight wickets for 7 runs when playing for the Midland Club's boys' team against Christ's College Third XI, but in first-class cricket had not previously approached such figures as those obtained in this final innings of Otago's.
We went on to Invercargill by train to catch the intercolonial steamer at The Bluff. Out into the rough sea in Foveaux Strait over went my stumps again, for I was at this
The approach to the southern coast of Tasmania saw the gradual calming down of the sea, and the arrival on deck of passengers who had not previously appeared. We were close to the shore, passing the cliffs at Point Pillar, which resemble the pipes of an organ, before I made an appearance. It was late afternoon on a lovely summer's day when we steamed up the wonderful harbour at Hobart. Some of those to meet us on the wharf had been members of the Tasmanian team that visited New Zealand in 1884.
Fortunately, we had a day and a half ashore before our match against Southern Tasmania, and I was surprised to find how quickly one recovered from seasickness.
We practised the following day, and were a fit side to begin our first match. It was a typically hard Australian wicket, in fact, so hard that our spikes clinked when we walked on it, and the pitch had a sheen like bitumen. In all my later experiences in Australia I did not see a harder wicket. We won the toss, and made over 300 runs. Two or three of our batsmen shaped very well, but most of them found the pace of the wicket puzzling.
When it came to Tasmania's, innings, we knew that the strength of their batting was largely wrapped up in Kenny Burn and C. J, Eady. Burn had been a member of the 1890 Australian team to England, while Eady, who had gone as the second fast bowler to Jones in the 1896 tour, was also a first-class batsman. Burn, now a veteran, was still a very good player; Eady was in his prime, and trying hard to win a place in the 1899 team to England. They both got a good start. Burn just missed the half-century, and Eady had reached 64, when a remarkable incident occurred. Groping forward to my slower ball, Eady spooned one back about three-quarters of the way down the pitch; I threw myself forward to catch the ball just off the
I have mentioned before that our main strength lay in the possession of four bowlers who had so proved themselves under New Zealand conditions. I was the fifth bowler of the side. It was thus obvious that my inclusion as an all-rounder made it necessary to drop one of the “Big Four.” This was to cause some heart-burning. Upham was an excellent medium-fast right-hander, very similar in pace and delivery to J. W. H. T. Douglas with the same perpendicular arm action that gave him an occasional in-swing from the off, if the wind was against him. When Jim Phillips was in New Zealand in 1898, fulfilling a coaching engagement with Canterbury, he was so impressed with Upham's bowling that he wanted to take him back to England with a view to his qualifying for county cricket. F. S. Frankish was a tall left-hander of the same style, and about the same pace, as George Hirst, but two years ahead of the Yorkshireman in developing his disconcerting off-swerve. Like Upham, he was a fast-wicket bowler. Downes and Fisher, I have already referred to in earlier pages; they were both spin bowlers. To cricket experts, it will be seen that had either Upham or Downes been dropped, we would have been left with three left-hand bowlers on the side. In the end Frankish was preferred to Fisher, who stood down for the first match. When
As this match against Southern Tasmania was confined to three days, these substantial totals left no time for either side to force a conclusion, so the game ended in an even draw.
We were all thrilled with Hobart. The harbour was magnificent, and the town nicely placed on its shores, with Mount Wellington overlooking the scene. We were taken up the mountain on the Sunday, and after lunch were treated to a feast-of strawberries and cream. Tasmania, with its wonderful climate, is, as everyone knows, noted for its fruit. The apples are amongst the world's best, and a great export trade with England is a feature of the island's industry. Peaches, grapes, cherries and other luscious fruits are available in plenty.
In Hobart I was to meet Mr. Robert Dawson, an old rowing friend of my father's. Three Dawson brothers came to New Zealand about the year 1860, the year before my father arrived from Scotland. The Dawsons were all expert oarsmen, reared and trained on this beautiful harbour on the Derwent Estuary. The races at regattas in those days were between boats owned by different groups of young men, who usually had a pair-oared, and a four-oared racing boat. The Reeses and the Dawsons joined forces, and built the Black Eagle, a boat that was to become famous. Although I had heard from my mother and my uncle many rowing stories of early years, I was to hear from Mr. Dawson more delightful tales of their picnics, training, and contests. One story is well worth re-telling.
The big event in the rowing season was the annual regatta at Lyttelton on New Year's Day. There was then no tunnel between Christchurch and Lyttelton, and it was usual to have the racing skiffs taken over the hill from Heathcote on some wheeled vehicle. For the 1863 regatta, the Black Eagle crew in a moment of daring, decided to row their boat down the Avon to Sumner, a distance of nine miles, carry it two miles along the beach to Scarborough, launch it there, and then row leisurely round to Lyttelton. There are few days in the year when such a venture would be possible, for from Scarborough to the Lyttelton Heads meant about two miles in the open sea. This
Brothers' Pride—They were all sailing ships in those days—had arrived from Scotland, and dropped anchor about half-way up the harbour. The romantic part of this story is the fact that my mother, then in her teens, was, with her parents, a passenger aboard the Brothers' Pride, and witnessed the happening. Although my mother and my father came from the same part of Scotland, they did not meet until some time later, in Christchurch.
The Black Eagle won the four-oared championship at that regatta, and its crew carried the boat back over the hill, 1,500 feet high, by way of the Bridle Path. Launching their pet craft on to the Heathcote, they then rowed down to the Estuary, where this river joins the Avon on its way to the sea. The return journey up the Avon was but a pleasant run. It requires some local knowledge to be able to appreciate the magnitude of this adventure and performance. I left Mr. Dawson feeling very indebted to him for giving me some glimpses of the past about which I was too young to be told by my father.
The mention of names and places often reminds one of other incidents, and Kenny Burn being in the Tasmanian team makes me feel that I cannot leave Hobart—or Hobart Town, as it was once called—without telling one of
Burn, who had a slight impediment in his speech, answered in his own inimitable way, “We've got a b-b-bloke in Hobart T-town who could b-b-blow his b-b-blooming head off!”
We were sorry to leave Hobart, for we had enjoyed every minute of the five or six days we had been there. The weather was beautiful, and we were royally entertained.
A six hours' train journey took us to Launceston. It was a day trip, and we all keenly noted every town and village as we travelled north. Many books have been written of Tasmania, and we passed places referred to in stories of the old convict days, for Tasmania had more than her fair share of the people who were sent out from England, often for some trivial offence. Australians are able to joke about those old days, and quote cases of Jim Smith and Jack Robinson being sent out for stealing a canary, or poaching on some estate, a shooting pastime, which, even to-day, is enjoyed by many of our young men. I cannot imagine young Australians always asking the farmer, or the squatter, for special permission to shoot on his wide acres. There were, of course, criminals sent out for serious crimes, but they were like a drop in the ocean when these convict settlements were done away with.
We loved Launceston just as we had loved Hobart, but it lacked the glorious setting of the southern capital. However, situated as it is, on the banks of the Tamar, about thirty miles from the coast, the river running through the city adds to its picturesqueness. It is “The Gorge” which is the main attraction. This is a very charming spot, where paths cut out of the solid rock overlook the foaming waters swirling down to join the Tamar. This place is lit up at night, and on warm evenings it is pleasant to go for a stroll, and hear the band music—a feature in the summer months. It is a great meeting-place for young people. One concert night Sims and I were sitting on the slopes of “The Gorge” when we thought we heard a snake in the grass, and the four of us bolted for our lives!
Our match against Northern Tasmania was, up to a point, an even struggle, but they were left with fourth use of the wicket, which was, by then, showing signs of wear, and Upham
The outstanding player in this match was E. A. Windsor on the local side, for he played a beautiful innings of 181, then bowled like a champion—his off breaks being typical of McKibbin, who got more spin on his off breaks than any other Australian, except C. T. B. Turner. Windsor injured his shoulder in our second innings, or we would have had a harder struggle. Given more opportunities, Windsor would have become a Test Match player.
The inclusion of George Palmer in the Tasmanian side revived memories of a great name. Palmer was now a veteran, and I was disappointed to find him so far past his best that no basis of comparison could be made with the top-notchers of this time.
Having played three matches, we were now able to take stock of ourselves. It was clear that several of our bowlers would not succeed on these hard wickets. Except for a few overs, the swervers could not swerve much in the lighter atmosphere of Australia, and the spin bowlers could break very little. Downes was the first to show resource, and he began to vary his pace more than I saw him do in New Zealand. This bowler, by the way, played a remarkable innings in the second effort at Launceston. A hard hitter, never better than possibly an eighth wicket batsman, he this time took the long handle with a vengeance, and batted brilliantly for 74; the highest score he made in first-class cricket. I particularly remembered a slashing drive he made through the covers, which fairly brought down
Leaving Launceston in the early afternoon by the Oonah, we found the trip down the river most interesting. The Tamar runs into a long, narrow inlet, rather like a fiord, which is twenty miles in length. We then had to cross Bass Strait—one of the roughest seas on the Australian coast, for it catches the full force of the southerly gales, as does Cook Strait in New Zealand.
We had an uneventful trip over, and passing through the Rip, entered Port Phillip at daylight. Like Johnnie Briggs, who got up at this hour to see what the weather was like on the morning of his first Test Match, so I had a peep out of the porthole to catch the first glimpse of the Australian mainland. It was exciting for us to be met at the wharf by noted people about whom we had read. They certainly made us feel at home from the moment of our arrival. We were driven in a coach up Collins Street to our hotel. Melbourne did not disappoint us, even when measured against our extravagant conceptions.
An elderly New Zealand friend of mine was to say to me, years later, after a trip abroad, “The three things that impressed me most were the City of London, Great Britain's government of India, and the City of Melbourne.” Truly, it was then, and is more so now, a wonderful city, planned by Englishmen determined not to reproduce the narrow streets of London, and other English cities.
The River Yarra runs through the city a short distance from Flinders Street, and in this narrow strip is situated the great railway station that handles such an immense suburban traffic. It is the continuous beautifying efforts that have made Melbourne reputed for its picturesque surroundings. The Botanical Gardens on the banks of the Yarra, Alexandra Avenue nearby, and St. Kilda Road, with its layout of a double tram track in the centre, and one-way traffic parades on either side, separated by rows of trees, are all the result of splendid planning. Such places as the Fitzroy Gardens, and the parks and reserves in
But let us return to cricket, for the cricketer may be impatient to learn how this New Zealand team shaped when it met one of Australia's best State XI's.
Before the match started it was interesting to meet in the pavilion such famous old players as
We won the toss, and the Victorians had taken the field when Blackham turned to our manager, and said, “Well, how many do you think you will make?”
“It all depends on those two” Raphael replied, pointing to Baker and me as we walked to the wicket, for in three of the four innings in Tasmania our opening partnership had yielded more than half a century.
Laver opened from the Richmond end. His slight off break was not as troublesome as his sudden little swerve, which he always obtained with a new ball. It was soon 10 up, then 20, then 40 up, and at lunch-time, 80 for no wickets, of which I had scored 60. I remember there was quite a ripple of excitement in our camp, and this excitement was to be raised still higher when we went on to score 135 for the first wicket; Reese (out) 88. Worrall became fidgety as we passed the century and began to drive his team, which, as cricketers will know, is often the
In his younger days, Worrall had been a fair bowler; now he relied on subtle ways. In his second over along came that slower ball—higher and slower—and I was down the pitch after it like a trout after a fly. I must have been a good yard out of my crease when the wicket-keeper removed the bails. It was the old head out-witting the young; the impetuosity of youth. I disappointed my comrades, who were hoping I would score the first century of the tour. Baker went on to make 56, and other useful scores brought our total to 317, just before six o'clock. We were all very satisfied with that first day's play.
Next morning was to bring us more thrills. Worrall and McMichael opened against Downes and Upham. In the second over, Worrall hit the former for 21. It was magnificent hitting; two 6's? two 4's, and a single. We rubbed our eyes to see anyone dash in like this so early in his innings. Frankish replaced Downes, his third ball clean bowling Worrall with a beautiful off swerver. In the next over McMichael was out to a similar ball, and Frankish had taken two for 8. Could an innings have started more sensationally and fortunes change so quickly! From a bewildered side, following the initial onslaught by Worrall, we at once turned into a fighting unit, with our bowlers bowling better than ever, and every man on his toes, fielding brilliantly.
Victoria's troubles were not yet over. Downes replaced Frankish, and, undismayed by his previous rough handling by Worrall, had soon taken a wicket. When Armstrong was caught at point off my bowling, I had taken two for 24. The incoming batsman, Stuckey, was missed in the slips off my next ball. Victoria had then lost five wickets for 129; no wonder Worrall was pacing the floor in the pavilion. He was to tell me later that we gave them a scare. The wickets of Laver, Graham and Armstrong falling in quick succession was something for us to be jubilant about. But could we last the distance? From then on the tide turned with a vengeance. McAllister, who was batting beautifully, went on to make 224. Stuckey, G. L. Wilson, Murray, and Tarrant, all made runs, and Victoria reached the huge total of 602.
But how we let the horses out of the stable.! We dropped
Sydney Bulletin's old satirical story does not provide us with an excuse, namely, that 99 per cent of catches dropped are because the sun was in the fieldsman's eyes! What would have been more applicable to our performance is the old story told of Tom Emmett, famous Yorkshire bowler and humorist, who, when several catches had been dropped off his bowling, exclaimed, “There's an epidemic on this ground, but it ain't catchin'!” Downes finished with four for 125, Frankish two for 120, Reese two for 118, and Upham two for 114, so we all got a good trouncing at the finish.
Our second innings was on a slightly worn but still good wicket. We were all out for 153, Cobcroft, our captain, making 56. After hitting two 4's and a 2, I was clean bowled by a beautiful ball from Laver, who was bowling very well. Thus we suffered an innings defeat. Had we held even some of those catches, it might have been Victoria who would have had last use of the wicket. Who can tell?
At luncheon on the second day, when felicitations were exchanged, Worrall and Bruce, in their speeches, made kindly reference to my batting, and both advocated my inclusion in the team representing the Rest of Australia, which was about to be selected to play against the Australian XI.
On the Saturday evening of this Victorian match, both teams were the guests of the local association at a theatre party. This was in the days of sensational melodrama, so wonderfully portrayed by the Bland Holt Theatrical Company, then well known throughout Australia and New Zealand. Devotees of modern pictures will have no conception of the thrills of this class of drama; a hero and a heroine, an outstandingly bad man as a villain, with always a black-haired, dark-eyed associate, spurred on by jealousy, hatred and revenge. I have heard the gallery, or pit, as it was called then, hoot and hiss the villain, and sometimes, when he was about to commit some foul deed, yell, “Look out!” as a warning to the unwary hero who was
On the Sunday, the Melbourne Cricket Club entertained us at an all-day picnic at Beaumaris, on the foreshore of Port Phillip. We played on the beach like a lot of school kids, and the party was like one of those afternoons at
One more Melbourne story.
The send-off at the railway station was as enthusiastic as had been our welcome at the wharf on arrival. There was a good number of players and officials down to bid us good-bye, and so we left, with the happiest memories of this great city, and a genuine fondness for the people.
We were soon speeding along at a pace greater than we had been used to in railway travel in our own country. The Victorian Limited Express to the border was a smooth-running train. A dining car was a novelty to us. Dinner, and our interest in new scenes when passing through some of the best pastoral country in Victoria, made the journey seem all too short. Four hours brought us to Albury. Then came the change of trains. The arrangements were very good, and one simply had to cross from one side of the platform to the other. Sleepers, and a cool night, made it a comfortable journey. Breakfasting at Moss Vale, it was not long before we reached the suburban areas of Sydney, which seem to stretch so far out beyond the city. Next, we were rolling into the great Central Station. Horse cabs took us to Petty's Hotel a fine, old-fashioned place we were to like very much. Before the erection of some of the great modern hotels in Sydney, Petty's was the popular hotel of the pastoralists, or squatters, as they are often called in Australia.
Our match against New South Wales was so one-sided that it dampened the enthusiasm we had developed over our southern matches, despite the second half of the Victorian match
I was to learn later that the New South Wales Selection Committee met on the previous Saturday afternoon, when, following our first innings' score of 317, word had come through that Victoria had lost five wickets for 129, and they promptly decided to play their full strength. This was certainly a compliment to us, but with dire consequences.
I should say that outside the English and Australian Test Teams this was probably the strongest side in the world at that time. It included eight players of Test Match calibre, although Trumper and Duff had not yet won their International colours. Noble, Howell, and McKibbin, then all at their best, made a magnificent trio of bowlers.
New Zealand all out for 140. We were troubled by the fast pace of the wicket, but much more severely tried by their wonderful bowling; Howell taking five for 22. He fairly fizzed off the pitch. Four months later, making his first appearance in England, Howell was to take all ten wickets in Surrey's first innings. Then New South Wales batted, and their innings opened almost as sensationally as had Victoria's in Melbourne. Duff was at once caught at third-man off Prankish for o, and two overs later Upham secured Pye's wicket; two for 13. A promising player named Farquhar then joined young
The New South Wales score eventually reached a total of 588; it was the Trumper-Farquhar partnership that demoralized our attack. Our second innings was a worse disaster: we were all out for 64. McKibbin bowled so well that he was irresistible, and took seven wickets for 30. I have not seen anyone get so much off break on those hard Australian wickets. As McKibbin also bowled a very good leg break, it will be appreciated that our batsmen were up against a great Test Match bowler in his very best form.
As in Melbourne, we were to have the pleasure of meeting old Australian players of International fame:
On the Sunday we were taken for an all-day picnic up the Hawkesbury River, that great and picturesque waterway that flows out to the sea twenty-five miles north of the entrance to Sydney Harbour. It will, no doubt, be known to readers that the Parramatta, the other great river of the State of New South
Our match in Sydney finished on the Monday afternoon, and as we were not to sail for Wellington until the following Saturday night, we enjoyed three days' sightseeing and further entertainment before being the guests of the New South Wales Association at the cricket ground on the Friday and Saturday, to witness the match Australia v. the Rest of Australia.
When I stated earlier that we stayed at Petty's Hotel, I did not mention that we arrived there to find the two Perry sisters—leading ladies in the Geisha—also guests of the hotel. They were most attractive young women who had been brought out from England by Williamson and Musgrove, and their dainty appearance, acting, and singing, made them universal favourites with the Australian theatre patrons. Well, this was a nice environment for a band of young cricketers. I had not previously seen actresses at close range, as one would expect from my Presbyterian upbringing. I was disillusioned to find polished, refined, and highly educated Englishwomen. We had some gallant young men on our side, and the reader will need very little telling of how they were bowled over. As usual, our handsome Prankish was first favourite. His Launceston affair was now forgotten. This time he was in love; it was the real thing! We had great fun in passing back to him, in devious and subtle ways, alleged admiring remarks by the lady in question. One day our best humorist came to lunch and said that Miss Perry would love to live in New Zealand. He then started to calculate how far a bank clerk's salary would go, and how long it would be before Prankish became a bank manager. This all seems very boyish to-day, but those who remember Frankish's personal qualities, and his rippling and infectious laughter, will understand why our tall left-hander was such a favourite.
Mrs. Gannon was the proprietress of Petty's and by this time we had become her boys. She was a very gracious lady, and insisted on giving us a picnic. Other guests at Petty's were invited, but, of course, it was the Perry sisters who dominated the scene. Whatever may have been the effect of their Japanese costumes on the stage, their evening clothes, or their street
After lunch we all went to the water's edge and hired some rowing boats. There was no thought of bathing, for sharks find their way into the uppermost reaches of this harbour. We all felt grateful to our hostess who had given us what was probably the brightest day of our tour. We still had two more days, and it is not telling secrets when I say that some of the members of our team went again to see the Geisha!
The match between the two Australian teams composed of the best players in the Commonwealth proved of intense interest to us. As we had not played at Adelaide, it gave us an opportunity of seeing and meeting the great South Australians who had come over for the match. Giffen, Lyons, Jones, Darling, and Clem Hill—these are names to conjure with in the cricket world of those or any other days. If he looks back at the New South Wales team of that period, and adds the great Victorians and South Australians, the reader will be able to appreciate the strength of Australian cricket at this time. If the student of cricket will go farther and look up the imposing names of English Test players of the time, he will be able to see that this was of the period C. B. Fry, in his recent book, termed “The Golden Era” of cricket.
The evening we were to sail for New Zealand, the New South Wales Association gave a dinner to both Australian teams, as well as to the New Zealanders. It was a happy gathering, and our presence there no doubt contributed to the good-fellowship of the party. I remember sitting next to Jones, the famous fast bowler, and when he found that I did not like oysters, he gleefully exchanged his empty plate for
We were due to sail at 10 p.m., so this would account for any lack of restraint by some of the players. It was a merry band of men who came down to the wharf to see us off. Major Wardill, always a genial man, was in his happiest mood, and kissing me on the cheek, said, “I've made a bet that you'll beat Laver for a place in the Australian team.” This was something of a shock to me, for my failure with the bat in Sydney, and getting only two wickets, had dismissed any illusion about getting into the Rest of Australia team, let alone the Australian team for England. I do not know whether I was really considered; anyway Laver was selected.
At last we sailed for New Zealand. It was a calm trip, and there was not as much seasickness as on the way over. We now had plenty of time to hold post-mortems and review the tour in all its aspects. The point most manifest was the fact that we had been away for more than six weeks, and had played only four matches. We should certainly have gone to Adelaide and played South Australia, and also to Brisbane to play Queensland. The two New Zealand teams that have since toured Australia have done this, but excluded the Tasmanian matches, which I think was a mistake. In that island State one experiences the same hard, fast wickets as on the mainland, and meets players below Test Match standard, who provide a good try-out before meeting the great Australian players. I know we should never have shown the form of the early part of the Victorian match but for our experience in Tasmania.
When we turned to individual play, the greatest surprise and disappointment was in our bowlers. Had anyone said that Fisher and Prankish would not succeed, the reply would have been, “Well, the New Zealand side had better not go.” Measured by any standard, these two were fine bowlers, but they just could not adapt themselves to the Australian conditions, and discovered that it needs more than beautiful, swinging deliveries to get wickets over there. We had no rain throughout the tour, so every wicket was the typically fast one.
George Hirst was a failure on his first tour to Australia. I remember
The bowling honours went to Downes, Upham, and Reese. The wickets taken are a fair indication of the order of merit, but even totals are misleading, for Fisher stood down in two matches, and Frankish in one, and Downes and Upham bowled unchanged when Northern Tasmania was dismissed so cheaply on a worn wicket.
In batting, Baker was top of the averages, and deserved his position, for he always played soundly. I came second, and Lusk third. The latter played a fine innings of 91 against South Tasmania, followed by 83 at Launceston. All of our batsmen found these very fast wickets different from our own, and few became used to them, for in a tour of four matches only, there were not many chances to make up for failure.
And so ended New Zealand's first overseas cricket tour. We had been an extraordinarily happy family.
I have often wondered what would have happened had this New Zealand team gone to England instead of to Australia. In Fisher, Downes, Frankish and Upham we would have had, for English wickets, a bowling side that not many counties could have bettered. As this was two years before George Hirst had developed his devastating swerve, Frankish, with Young of Essex, would have been the first bowler of this type to startle English batsmen. At Leyton, in 1903, I saw C. B. Fry lift his bat over his shoulder and step across to protect his
Chapter4
Apprenticeship Completed
The next twenty months were to be the most strenuous of my young days. There was at this time a great boom in gold dredging in New Zealand. The most famous dredge, the Hartley and Riley, operating in the Otago district, was winning gold every week in such quantities that it was an easy matter for promoters to launch dredging companies onto the market, and find ready and eager investors.
There was far more money being put into the ground than was ever taken out of it, but it took some years for investors to learn, to their sorrow, that while the Hartley and Riley continued to be a successful venture, there were many wildcat schemes launched. It will be readily appreciated that the building of many dredges meant a boom in engineering, and Andersons were being pressed for delivery of several new dredges. The firm had no chance of coping with all the work offering. As it was obviously a flash in the pan, there appeared to be little justification in enlarging their plant. The Andersons therefore chose, instead, to work overtime. We started at 7 a.m., and worked until 6 p.m., with a break of only three-quarters of an hour for lunch. In the winter-time it meant starting work at day-break, and finishing in the dark of the evening. As I was now in the advanced classes at Canterbury. College, struggling with Applied Mechanics, Hydraulics, Electricity, etc., it meant hurrying home four nights in the week to bath, have dinner, and then attend lectures from 7 p.m. to 9 p.m. The year's term ended early in December, and started early in March. From this it will be seen how these long hours encroached upon the cricket season. The match Canterbury v. Otago, this season, was in Christchurch, and the wicket on the soft side throughout the game. As usual, Sims and I opened the innings to Fisher and Downes. I dashed into Fisher at once, hit him for two or three 4's, and when I was caught in the outfield off him, after a short, merry innings, had scored all the runs, the board reading: 17–1–17. In the second innings I repeated the performance, scoring 26 out of a total of 28. Some of our players considered
In this same season the Melbourne Cricket Club team toured New Zealand. Trumble, just back from the English tour, was, of course, their outstanding player. When they arrived in Auckland, an advertisement for the local match read—“Come and see Trumble., the world's greatest bowler.” No wonder New Zealand batsmen thought he was about eight feet high, and a demon beyond their ability to play. Assisted by a left-hander named Cave, a member of the professional staff of the Melbourne ground, Trumble was to go through New Zealand sides in a way that made us despair of ever approaching the Australian standard of play. Trumble was laughingly to tell me later that the advertisement got him a lot of wickets.
I failed in the Canterbury match, but struggled hard to get 26 in the Test Match at Christchurch. In this game,
Altogether this was one of the most unsatisfactory seasons I ever had, for it was a severe handicap to be unable to get much practice, I began to pick up my real form towards the end of the season, but too late for big matches.
The winter of 1900 was to see the end of my football career. I had started to play again in earnest after the Australian cricket tour, and at the age of twenty was elected captain of the Sydenham First XV. My entry into senior football had been somewhat similar to my first appearance in cricket. When
The following year I played full-back at the beginning of the season, the first match being against Ngai tu Ahuriri (The Big Tribe). This was a Maori team, with its ground at Wood-end, about fourteen miles from Christchurch. The Maori pa at Tuahiwi was but a mile or two away, and this always ensured a good attendance of Maoris at all their home matches. In this Maori team were three brothers Uru. They were young men of magnificent physique, all over six feet, and all over fifteen stone. Billy played centre three-quarter, Harry half-back, and Hape (Happy) in the centre of the scrum. To those who know the characteristics of the Maori, it will not surprise them to learn of the tricks of these native players. They used a sticky substance like bird lime on their fingers; the two front row forwards used not to shave for a couple of days before the match, and in a dozen other ways they brought in the light-hearted cunning of the Maori. However, with all this, they were not as clever as their city opponents, who generally outwitted them in team tactics more than in individual cleverness.
These Maoris played football with the joy and abandon of schoolboys, and were a popular and picturesque side. Billy Uru, their captain, was a real Maori chief in sport, if not in blood. He was also a representative cricketer, a champion wrestler, and in field games at athletic meetings outshone all others in his time. He was leader, with the rank of Captain, of the Maori contingent to Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee in 1897, and again of the contingent to the celebrations in
In this particular match, when playing against a fresh breeze, I was standing well back. Presently Uru broke through and came straight at me. Imagine fifteen stone against about ten stone! Just as he reached me he passed to the wing three-quarter who scored behind the posts. As they were getting the ball from the scrum at this stage, it was not long before Uru was through again, with thirty or forty yards to go to the youngster at full-back. This time he did not pass! The Monday morning's newspaper report of the match said of this incident—“… young Reese bounced off like an indiarubber ball!”
When the Urus' football days were over it was the end of this Maori team. Many an exciting incident took place on the Woodend ground. The Maori women used to get wildly excited, and in close contests have been known to attack, with umbrellas and sticks, supporters or barrackers of visiting teams. In one particularly hectic game when play was becoming rough, an excited old Maori woman on the side-line, urging on the men of Tuahiwi, shrieked: “We ate 'em before—eat 'em again!”
This famous
The season following my cricket tour to Australia was to be an auspicious one for my old football club that had for years been near the bottom of the ladder. In 1900 we gradually climbed to the top, and had only to defeat the lowest placed team in the competition to win the championship. Kaiapoi, our opponents, had themselves been the champions a few seasons previously, but most of their best players had now retired. Smarting under their low position on the list, they decided, unknown to us, to bring back some of their old players just to show that they could still play football.
Kaiapoi, the country town they represented, is twelve miles from Christchurch, so it meant going out by coach, leaving about mid-day. Another coach-load of supporters went, no doubt expecting to wave the flag and be in at the kill. But what an awakening we were to get! These husky country lads just tore through our ranks as if we were junior players, and although we rallied in the second half, we were well beaten by 17 points to 3. This now made us level with Christchurch. In the play-off at Lancaster Park, before a record crowd, the match ended in a draw; 6 all. It was a hectic game. Playing again on the following Saturday, before a still bigger crowd, the score, with ten minutes to go, was again 6 all. Christchurch then scored at the corner flag, and
I was then picked as centre three-quarter for Canterbury, to play against Wellington at Wellington. To my surprise I was refused leave that would enable me to go with the team on the Thursday night and return Sunday morning. I suppose my employers considered that they had been liberal enough in letting me off so much for cricket, and of course they had been generous. On the other hand, I felt that my previous refusal to ask for leave to tour the North Island with the Canterbury Rugby team because of the approaching cricket tour to Australia
There was a howling southerly blowing and pools of water on the ground, so it was not a very pleasant game in which to play my only football match for Canterbury.
Thus ended my strenuous but happy six years with the firm to which I have always felt indebted for a sound training. The four Anderson brothers had all been representative footballers, and must, I am sure, have felt as vexed as I did at the manner of my going. At any rate they showed no animosity when I announced that I was going to Australia, and gave me a good reference covering my services with them.
My earlier reference to Stoddart's English football team reminds me that
Stoddart's tour was the first visit of an English football team to this country. Although I was but nine years old, I remember my father taking one of my brothers and me to see the match against Canterbury. I have no recollection of any other players but Stoddart, and Paul, the full-back, who later played cricket
Pat Keogh was also a fair cricketer, and was to figure in a humorous incident. Playing in a club match, he was called upon to umpire, as players are often required to in junior grade cricket. With Keogh at the bowler's end, the batsman taking strike was the son of the local policeman. Presently there was an appeal for l.b.w. “Out!” said Keogh, loudly and emphatically.
As the batsman walked past the umpire, he said, “I wasn't out.”
“No,” said Keogh. “And I wasn't drunk when your father put me in the lock-up last Saturday night!”
I had always intended to proceed to England on completion of my apprenticeship. This had been the practice of many young New Zealand engineers, for the overseas shipping companies had, in those days, a system of allowing them to work their passage Home. They were signed on as assistant engineers at one shilling per month. It required some courage to go abroad and face the world in this way, and yet it was only what our fathers and grandfathers had done forty and fifty years earlier, when they faced the uncertainty of life in the Colonies. It was probably the cricket of Australia that was part of the
The celebration of my twenty-first birthday saw more than half our family grown up, and as we were all working, our total income was such that the earlier anxieties of our slender family purse had been overcome. It was particularly hard to face leaving the happy surroundings of my home life. My brave mother, undaunted by the years of anxiety following my father's death, showed little outward sign of the strain she had been through since she was left with the responsibility of rearing such a large family. She was the first to see that going abroad would open up opportunities greater than any likely to occur at home; my brothers and sisters all looked upon my going more as an adventure, and applauded the idea. And so it came to saying good-bye, which was more heart-rending than I had anticipated. I remember my mother's final words, “Now, be a good boy, Dan,” quietly spoken, and with a trust that was most touching. I was to hear those simple words in every part of the world. Those who know the atmosphere of a Scottish home will be aware of the standards of their family life, and appreciate the influence of a mother of the Victorian era.
One often reads of the achievements of Scotsmen in all parts of the Empire. Seldom is reference made to the women of Scotland who migrated to Canada, South Africa, Australia, and New Zealand, to play a noble part in transplanting the home life of the Old Country, and maintaining the character of the peoples of our race. If anyone should wish for a better picture of our family circle, I would refer them to J. M. Barrie's beautiful story in Margaret Ogilvy. There you will see my mother as the same mother that Barrie depicts, with her gentle, kindly, and self-sacrificing way of caring for her children.
I was later to see the leadership of men in its truest sense, as exemplified on the cricket field by great captains, but I have seen none finer than was shown by my mother in her handling of five sons and four daughters.
Chapter5
Off to Australia
I Left Christchurch on September 22nd, 1900; I remember this day as though it were but yesterday. Joining the ship at Lyttelton, I was to go by the same route as that taken by the New Zealand cricket team two years earlier—calling first at Dunedin, then at The Bluff, and across the South Tasman to Hobart. On the one day at the latter port I was to experience the same glorious sunshine as had our cricket team. I have been to Hobart several times since then, and on no occasion have I seen rain in that city.
Back in the great city of Melbourne, I was now far from home and dependent on my own efforts. After booking in at an hotel, I called on Major Wardill, who gave me a delightfully warm reception. He said that of course I would have to play for Melbourne, and without delay put me up for membership. The Melbourne Cricket Club, like the great Marylebone Club, has always a waiting list, but there is provision in the Club's rules for the immediate entrance of players from other States. As a New Zealander, I was made very welcome, especially as I had so recently met all the officials of this club, as well as many of the members of the First XI. In those days the Melbourne Cricket Club had a programme of mid-week matches, and many of the players seemed able to get an afternoon off as they do for golf to-day. These were delightful games in which to play. I had not foreseen that there was a residential qualification of three months required for players in senior cricket. This meant that for this period I had to play in the Second XI, which team included two of the ground staff professionals, and was quite a good side. Striking form quickly, I reaped a good harvest of runs. I remember in my final match for them getting 89 not out against East Melbourne. In the last five minutes of the game I hit a slow bowler straight over his head for six, and the ball was lost among some shrubs at the Old Warehousemen's ground on St. Kilda Road. Time was up with the ball still not found.
The evening practices on the Melbourne ground were something
Canterbury XI—North Island Tour, 1897—98
J. N. Fowler. New Zealand Team—Australian Tour, 1898—99
F. C. Raphael. H. B. Lusk. F. S. Frankish. J. Baker. G. Mills. A. Sims. F. Ashbolt. I. Mills. E. F. Upham.A. Downes. L. T. Cobcroft. C. Boxshall.
Absent
I envied
With the completion of my residential qualification, I was in due course selected for the First XI. My first match was against Fitzroy on their ground. It had rained hard on the Friday night, and Saturday turned out a hot, sunny day, so the condition of the wicket will be understood. With Frank Tarrant, the left-hand bowler on their side, the Fitzroy captain, on winning the toss, sent us in to bat. When the score was one for 6, Tarrant did the hat trick, dismissing Graham, Armstrong, and Trumble. It was thus four for 6 runs when I joined
It was certainly an encouraging start in such company, and Trumble put me in first with
This was the most advertised 0 I ever made, unless one counts those two o's up on the principals of the roof at Andersons' foundry. We went on to make a big score, Trumble getting 210. The following Saturday it rained, so my 0 was up on the score board for another week. In those days, open-air concerts were held on the Melbourne ground every Monday evening during the summer months. All the best musical talent of Melbourne performed there. A platform was erected in one of the grandstands, and the audience, according to their choice, sat in the stand or strolled round the cricket ground, on which they were allowed. Due precaution was, of course, taken to protect the wickets by having them roped off. For a number of years these concerts were immensely popular. They gave great opportunity for the youth of the city to entertain their lasses as they do at the pictures to-day. Of course my friends would walk round past the score board on these three successive Monday nights when the first name on the board was—Reese, o. I was kept being asked, “What! Made another ‘blob’?” Once, in the paper on Monday morning, was surely enough.
The summer of 1901 was an extremely hot one in Australia—one day in Melbourne it was 109° in the shade. This meant hard and fast wickets. The Merry Creek soil used in Melbourne gave them the fastest wickets in Australia. I found it difficult to become accustomed to them, and failed several times.
One day, when walking to open the innings with McLeod, he said, “Have a ‘crack.’ I think you're playing too carefully.” Taking his advice, I ran to 30 in a few overs, then threw my wicket away with a rash stroke. As I walked out past him, he said with a laugh, and in his soft voice, “You blithering idiot, why didn't you slow up when you had got a start?”
At any rate I had now got off the mark, and continued to make useful scores, although in those years in Melbourne I was never to run into centuries. As a matter of fact, from a cricketing point of view, I should have been better advised to play for some other club team, for Melbourne was such a powerful side that an individual success or failure hardly mattered. I doubt if there has ever been a stronger side in Australian club cricket.
It was very interesting to be playing against men like Worrall of Carlton, Tarrant of Fitzroy, Trott of South Melbourne, and so on, but the keenest struggle was always against East Melbourne. All clubs liked to beat the M.C.C. side, but there had developed over the years a strong rivalry between these two clubs whose grounds so closely adjoined one another. East Melbourne also had a fine club record, dating back to the days of Harry Boyle and
In my time it was
Those few years in Melbourne were a great joy to me, and my close association with such famous players provided a sound cricketing education. Batting at the nets to Trumble, McLeod, Armstrong, and the professionals, was, perhaps, the greatest advantage I enjoyed. To see them all in action, and to talk of old Test Matches, and cricket of earlier years, was a thrill to me, for I had always been a student of the history of the game. These sidelights on the great players of those times, and of the past, were a feast to my cricketing mind.
Bruce—
There is no need here to record details of his magnificent bowling. His last Test Match will suffice. When the English team of 1904–5 arrived in Australia, Trumble had already retired, but events went so badly for Australia in the first Test that Trumble was induced to don the flannels again, and he played in the remaining Tests. In the last innings of the final Test he took seven for 28, and this performance included the hat trick, so the manner of his exit may be imagined. There is a wealth of meaning in the title once used by C. B. Fry for a photograph of Trumble: “Knowledge is power.” More than twenty years later,
It will surprise cricketers to learn that Trumble practised slip fielding by throwing a tennis ball against a brick wall, catching it on the rebound, his theory being that it is impossible to retain hold of an air ball if one snatches at it. This practice accounts for the easy manner in which he always allowed the ball to fall into his hand, for it is also fatal to snatch at a cricket ball. The old maxim, “Practice makes perfect,” is also to be found in Trumble's early training as a bowler, for his father used to get him up early in the mornings to bowl at a white feather stuck into the pitch at the spot of a perfect-length ball. In telling me of this, old Hughie said, “Of course I couldn't repeatedly hit the feather, but I soon reached the stage when I was always pretty close to it.”
Another interesting character was Charles McLeod, the contemporary of Trumble in club, inter-State, and Test cricket. It does not, somehow, seem quite right to call him Charles. You may say Charles Fry, as MacLaren called him, but for McLeod it was always Charlie, and this was a term of endearment, for he was indeed a dear companion. He was, unfortunately, a little hard of hearing. Deaf people usually speak too loudly or too softly; McLeod was of the latter kind, and this characteristic seemed to make him more attractive. He made you feel you were his confidant. Trumble made us laugh when he told of an incident in the Essex match in the 1899 tour, which was McLeod's first trip to England. A. P. Lucas of the county XI was also a little deaf, and when McLeod spoke to him on the field, Lucas did not answer. At the luncheon adjournment McLeod said to Trumble, “What sort of a chap is Lucas?”—and explained what had taken place.
Trumble, with his quick wit, at once saw the humour of the situation and replied, “Oh, he's one of those stuck-up fellows who thinks no end of himself.”
Later in the day, Lucas was to address a remark to McLeod, but this time it was McLeod, feeling somewhat hurt, who did not answer. The Australians had a good laugh in the dressing-room that evening. Lucas and McLeod were eventually to become warm friends.
McLeod was to be the butt of another of Trumble's little jokes. It was in the county match at Manchester. MacLaren and Spooner opened the innings for Lancashire, and McLeod bowled to Spooner, who took first strike. Just before the start of play, McLeod turned to Trumble and said, “What sort of a batsman is Spooner?”
The artful Hugh replied, “Oh, he's just a stonewaller. Pitch him up a slow one to begin with.”
McLeod could bowl the slower ball very well, but the first one he bowled to Spooner, this brilliant batsman hit straight over the bowler's head for six. The look of disdain that the incredible McLeod gave to Trumble was the high-light of this humorous incident.
McLeod was a very good bowler of the type of Trumble, but a little faster. On a worn, dusty wicket his extra pace sometimes made him almost as dangerous as his tall club-mate, but on a good or rain-affected wicket there was no comparison.
At the end of his practice at the nets, Armstrong always finished by opening out and having a few hits, when it was positively dangerous to bowl to him, for the power of his straight drive was tremendous. A half-volley would come back like a cannon-ball, and I have seen bowlers deliver the ball from a few yards behind the crease in order to have time to get out of the way! He forced his way into the Australian XI in 1901, was selected for the 1902 Australian team for England, and from this time never looked back. It is remarkable that in the
Some of our opponents met on the field should be mentioned. Worrall, who had gone to England with an Australian team as early as 1886, was still a very good player. Hitting 6's over the long-on or long-off boundary are natural hitting strokes, but to hit a 6 over cover-point's head is another matter. I had read of either Bean or Brann, the Sussex batsmen, playing this remarkable shot, but I had not seen it done. In our match against Carlton, I saw Worrall, in one over, hit Trumble twice on the half-volley clean over cover-point's head for 6. On the second occasion, Trumble, knowing the dangerous nature of the stroke, enticed him to repeat it, but Worrall hit the second one even better than the first. I may say I have not seen that shot made since. Jessop once hit a 6 off a long hop clean over point fielding square, but a 6 over cover-point demands accurate hitting.
We always looked upon
It was a great loss to Australia when Frank Tarrant, to whom I have referred earlier, accepted an engagement with the Middlesex County Club, just when he was due to step into the Australian XI. In him a great player was lost to Test Match cricket, for he had an outstanding record in county cricket in England.
These sketches will enable readers to appreciate the happy atmosphere which prevailed, and the standard of club cricket in Melbourne at that time.
I cannot end this story of my cricketing days in Melbourne without referring to the Melbourne Cricket Club, second only
Most cricket clubs run their First, Second, Third and Fourth XI's, but Melbourne has just its First and Second XI's, and then about six other teams are entrusted to individual captains, who pick their own sides, and make all arrangements through the Club Secretary for the season's matches. It is an excellent arrangement. The games are played in the spirit of house or village cricket in England. Any promising young player is helped up quickly towards the Second XI, and consequently there is no retarding a young player's development on account of the holiday nature of the games of these teams, led by men who possessed personal qualities above the average. Dr. Daish, Dr. Strong, and Charles Robertson are some of the names of the captains of those years, who played no small part in maintaining the very special position the Melbourne Cricket Club holds in the hearts of cricketers.
When district cricket was introduced, the Melbourne Cricket Club was faced with a threat to its very existence as a participant in club matches, and this caused much heart-burning. The proposal to make a residential qualification apply to all the different suburban teams came at about the same time as the controversy between the players and the Board of Control, which, to some extent, involved the Melbourne Club. Fortunately, common sense prevailed, and a reasonable compromise made provision for the special circumstances and position of this great central club, which had no particular residential district to support it.
The magnitude of the Melbourne Cricket Club and its operations may be gathered from the fact that it has a membership of several thousand, and a waiting list nearly as big. Its figures for income and expenditure read more like those of a
When it came to English teams visiting Australia, it was the Melbourne Cricket Club that invited men like Lord Harris, Lord Sheffield, A. E. Stoddart and A. C. MacLaren to bring teams to Australia.
All the teams to New Zealand prior to 1894, in which year the N. Z. Cricket Council was formed, were, in the same way, brought by individuals or associations, who, while acting independently, rendered a great service to the game.
With the Marylebone Club now managing for England, the Boards of Control arranging all matters for Australia and for South Africa, and the Council for New Zealand, it is well to remember that while official control does the job well to-day, the players of those early years, and the Melbourne Club, did yeoman service for the game long before the present organizations came into existence.
Leading citizens play a big part in the management of the Melbourne C.C. Sir Edwin Grey, Chairman of the National Bank of Australasia, was President of the club in my time. Trumble, who was on the staff of this bank, was thus fortunately placed for getting leave of absence for overseas tours.
Two great Secretaries enhanced the reputation of the club. Major Wardill was an outstanding personality and a most efficient officer, while
During these three seasons I saw all the players of the other States in their matches against Victoria.
Present-day cricketers find it hard to believe the tales of Giffen's greatness. Some remember him as the batsman who
I believe there was a stage in
When batting, Giffen had a tantalizing habit of bending his left knee in front of the wicket as the bowler ran to deliver the ball. Harry Trott told the story of how, on arriving home one evening, he found young
“That's
When Harry Graham first met the famous George, he had plenty of advisers telling him to look out for old Giff's wiles. Nothing daunted, the youthful Graham dashed in straight away and hit with great vigour. He raced along to 84, but then old George prevailed; caught at long-on. Higher and
Giffen was a man of fine physique. In his youth he was a noted gymnast, and one of South Australia's best footballers. In the dressing-room he stripped like a modern Hercules. He could hit a 6 as easily as any player of his time, but his batting was noted for its soundness and he rarely indulged in big hitting.
But South Australia had a quintette of great players at the end of last century. Jack Lyons! How everyone sat up when he went in to bat. Here was a hitting batsman if ever there was one. Not a hitter in the sense of a Jessop, for he just stood up and played in-front-of-the-wicket strokes like any first-class batsman, but the power of his shots was amazing. In the days when the Adelaide Oval had a curbing round the ground, a ball would not last the 200 runs if Lyons got set. He and Darling would open the innings for South Australia, the latter, playing the rock until Lyons was out, would then open out into his natural Joe Darling game, for he, too, hit fiercely at times. Darling's mightiest efforts were against Stoddart's second team to Australia, when he hit Tom Richardson as he had never before been hit. With Giffen and Hill to follow, the great batting strength of South Australia will be appreciated. Joe Darling was a man of fine character and a splendid influence in the game. It can be said that the reputation of Australian touring teams was never higher than during the period of his captaincy.
Clem Hill was now in his middle twenties, and at the height of his career, even though his 188 against Stoddart's team in 1897 is always considered his greatest innings. Like Grace, he had been famous as a cricketer before he was twenty. The popular Clem was a colourful personality: in the dressing-room he was always the play-boy of the team; on the field of play he was of the type that could carry a side on his back, and this fighting spirit often enhanced the value of the performance. It was this characteristic which made him the greatest of all left-handers, with Woolley and Bardsley following close behind. For fifteen years Hill was a mighty force in Australian cricket. Holding his bat with a rather short grip of the handle, he put great power into his strokes. No other player so naturally placed the ball on the on side, and his range of strokes between
Hill ranks high on the list of the world's greatest players. Although in later years he was to lead Australian teams in Australia, it was unfortunate that the Board of Control's differences with the leading players, which resulted in their withdrawal from the 1912 tour, should have deprived him of the honour of captaining an Australian team to England where he was a great favourite with the public, and held in high esteem by the authorities.
Fast bowler Jones completes the list of champions that made South Australia such an outstanding side in those days.
I end these sketches with a glimpse of the superb Trumper. Ranjitsinhji alone equalled him in his variety of strokes, which covered all points of the compass from slip to fine-leg. Of all the great batsmen, Trumper had the most devastating effect upon the bowlers. When at the zenith of his powers, it mattered little how the field was placed. His unlimited choice of direction, backed by the timing and power of his strokes, often bewildered even experienced bowlers. As I fielded to his batting when he made scores of 253 and 293, I can speak feelingly. In 1902 he wrested from Clem Hill the laurels of Australia's cricketing idol, but it was a generous tribute when, after an amazing innings by Trumper on a difficult wicket, Clem said, “I take off my hat to Victor.”
There was a charm about Trumper that won a warm spot in the hearts of all who knew him. He was one of the most modest and unselfish of players. He accepted umpires' decisions as a matter of course, and no one ever heard him say there was a doubt about any ruling that sent him back to the pavilion. Australians and Englishmen alike honour the memory of
The New South Wales XI I had already seen and played against, but the matches against Victoria enabled me to obtain a more lasting impression of their best players. Trumper's brilliant play, Gregory's cleverness, and Iredale's graceful batting were a revelation to me.
Great though were the Victorian and South Australian
Chapter6
MacLaren's English Team
The great event of season 1901–2 was the visit of MacLaren's team. One has to live in Australia to appreciate the atmosphere that pervades all sections of the community, both before and after the arrival of an English cricket team. Australians are essentially cricket-minded, and when it comes to Test Matches, cricket talk is as common in drawing-rooms as it is in the workshops, offices, hotels, and clubs. It is always a surprise to visitors that so many women attend Test Matches in Australia.
On paper, MacLaren's team did not look as strong as Stoddart's two great teams of 1894 and 1897. Hirst and Rhodes were prevented by the Yorkshire County Committee from accepting MacLaren's invitation. This was thought to be a selfish attitude, prompted solely by consideration of their own county in preference to the interests of England; Lord Hawke got most of the blame for this. Ranjitsinhji, Jackson, and Fry also were unable to accept, so it will be seen at once how far this team was from being England's best.
England has always had far more players to draw on than Australia, but it is a fact that no English team that represented England's full strength has ever come out to Australia.
This was, nevertheless, a good side. The new men, as usual, attracted particular attention. Jessop's reputation had, of course, preceded him, and everyone was agog to see him in action.
Colin Blythe, the Kent left-hander, made a great impression. He had a fine action, with the peculiar habit of putting his bowling arm right behind his back just before making delivery. He had an ideal pace for a left-hander on Australian wickets, and in this respect resembled Peel, who, the Australians considered, was the best left-hand bowler England ever sent to Australia. He must have been pretty good to have been better than
Braund was at once more successful than he was expected to prove on the hard Australian wicket. His persistent length and direction, and appreciable leg-spin, made the batsman play him carefully. His plugging away at the legs and leg stump, with a cleverly placed, strong on-side field, seemed to cramp the play of the Victorians. Not since A. G. Steel had a right-hand leg-break bowler been included in an English side, but as Steel mixed an off-break with his leg-breaks, his attack was not as concentrated as Braund's.
Even with all this talent for batting and bowling, it was the
In Sydney, MacLaren's team had much the same experience as most previous English teams, for New South Wales at that time included about half the Australian XI, but it was the Test Matches we were now waiting for. Until Queensland became a competitor for the Sheffield Shield, Test Matches were allotted two to Sydney, two to Melbourne, and one to Adelaide.
The first Test was always played in Sydney, and, like Stoddart's team, MacLaren's started off with a handsome win. The Sydney wicket at that time was the slowest of Australia's fast wickets, and suited the English batsmen better than either Melbourne or Adelaide. MacLaren began with a glorious century. His batting on the Sydney cricket ground on his three tours of Australia was always brilliant. Old cricketers will remember what a majestic figure he was at the wickets. Ever a commanding personality, he seemed to take charge of the game when he was batting. Splendid batting, followed by the bowling of Barnes, Blythe and Braund, made this team look a formidable side in this match.
The second Test, at Melbourne, was one of the most extraordinary in the whole series of International games. There was the excitement over the selection of the team—always a matter of great interest to the Australians. Poidevin, who played finely in the New South Wales match, was selected, but an injured hand prevented him from playing. Everyone expected that McAllister of Victoria would be chosen in his
It is doubtful if Australia ever had a better Selection Committee than Darling, Trumble and Noble, who acted that season, and there is something fine in Trumble's faith in Noble's judgment.
The clouds banked up late in the afternoon of the day before the match, and about five o'clock there was a terrific thunderstorm. I have never seen hail like it in my life. Hailstones the size of bantams' eggs broke almost all the skylights in Melbourne, as well as the glass-roofed verandahs. Torrential rain followed. The morning broke fine and sunny, so here was all the making of a sensational start, with enormous interest in the result of the toss. The system of covering the wickets overnight and when it rains, as is now done in Australia, robs the game of one of its best features. It may ensure substantial gate takings for the match, but I will never believe that a Test Match of to-day can ever be charged with the electric atmosphere that prevailed on that Friday morning in Melbourne.
MacLaren won the toss, and promptly told Darling, the Australian captain, to bat. Trumper cut beautifully Barnes's first ball of the match, but third man fielded it brilliantly. In a moment, Trumper was out to Barnes before he had scored, and Australia began to struggle for runs. They were eventually all out for 112. Duff was top scorer with 32, and he played wonderfully well under difficult batting conditions against the really great bowling of Barnes and Blythe, who bowled unchanged throughout the innings.
The Englishmen fared worse than the Australians, and were all out for 61. Noble took seven wickets for 17 runs, but although he bowled finely, there is little doubt that MacLaren was bustling his men to get in quickly and get out quickly, for, like the Napoleon he was, he saw that he was racing against time. He knew that if he could get the back of the
With about an hour and a half to go, we all got a surprise when Darling came out with
The following day was to prove the wisdom of Darling's sacrifice of his tail-enders the previous evening. Hill was to play a fine innings for 99. Just as we were waiting for the other single, along came a short ball on the off from Barnes, which he hit with great force straight to Jones at point, who held a good catch. Clem looked disconsolate as he walked away from the wickets, but his cup of disappointment was to overflow in the next Test, at Adelaide, when he made 98 and 97. The Sydney Bulletin, noted for its facetiousness, as well as satire, said that these scores showed that Mr. Hill was obviously going off in his batting. But Hill's score in this Melbourne match was eclipsed by Duff's 104—a grand effort, and one
début in Test cricket, played very well for 45 not out, and stayed to allow Duff to reach his century. It is difficult to imagine the great Armstrong going in last in a Test Match, but that is what he did on this occasion.
England was left with over 400 runs to make, but it always looked too much for them. Tyldesley played finely, but rain falling again on the last night left the Englishmen no chance of making even half the number required.
It was an extraordinary match, and although MacLaren's men were soundly beaten, there were moments on that first day when it looked as if Australia was getting into a corner from which escape seemed improbable. Barnes, in taking thirteen wickets in the match, created a tremendous impression. Noble also took thirteen, an equally great performance. It is unique that Noble and Trumble between them took all the Englishmen's wickets in each innings.
In Australia's second innings the batsmen gave a remarkable demonstration of their cleverness and adaptability. Braund had bowled so persistently and successfully to a strong on-field that the Australians changed their tactics and just played him for singles, which was not difficult between his widespread field. Two, three, even four singles an over kept coming, and with Clem Hill at the wickets for so long, it will be seen how hard it was for Braund, and what an arduous task for the fieldsmen, when they had to change over for the lefthander. Braund finished with one wicket for 114 runs.
It was by the same tactics that the versatile Australians of the 1894 side ridiculed Humphreys, the underhand lob bowler, out of the later first-class matches in the tour of Stoddart's first team. After losing one or two wickets in attempting to hit his high-tossed, shoulder-high lobs, the batsmen settled down to singles, singles, and still more singles. Left-handers Darling and Bruce were in the game at that time, so it will be seen that Humphreys had the same tantalizing experience as Braund.
The fifth Test Match of the series against MacLaren's team was also played in Melbourne, and proved a keen fight from start to finish. Although Australia had already won the rubber, there was still great public interest in this second game in Melbourne. Rain had fallen prior to the match, and although
I remember in the 'nineties, when quite a lad, reading one of the English weekly magazines in which a questionnaire was put to all the English county captains of that time. Grace, Lord Harris, Lord Hawke, Stoddart, Hornby and others were asked independently, “What would you do on winning the toss on a soft wicket?” Practically without exception the answer was, “Bat first.” That is a rule that most captains follow, and, I think, wisely. MacLaren broke it in the previous match in Melbourne. He, no doubt, seemed justified in doing so, and it nearly came off, but in the end he was left with last use of the wicket, and more rain on the last night of the match spoilt any real chance of winning.
In this fifth Test, the Australians began at once to force the pace, and were all out for 144. Barnes' continued absence from the English team completely changed the strength of their attack. He had broken down in the third Test at Adelaide, but before this had proved himself an exceptional bowler; he was a temperamental man, and a little difficult to manage.
The opening of the Englishmen's innings was to bring a surprise and thrill to us all; MacLaren took Jessop in with him. Jessop had failed to get going properly on these fast Australian wickets, his best effort up to this time being 87 against New South Wales. He took first strike to Noble, and hit the first four balls of the innings for successive 4's. The Melbourne crowd cheered as each hit the fence. We knew this could not last, but on it went until he reached 35, when he was caught at long-on. How many batsmen have jumped
Jessop was the most remarkable hitter I have ever seen. We all expect a slogger to get down the pitch and hit the ball on the half-volley, but the man of Gloucester could hit the fast ball on the rise, just as
The Englishmen were all out for 189, giving them a useful lead in a low-scoring game. Trumble took five for 62. He was a tower of strength to Australia in this series.
An intense fight developed as Australia set about to wipe off the deficiency, and leave England sufficient runs to make to give Australia a chance. Clem Hill, as usual, was the stalwart of the side, but again he was to be denied his century. This time he made 87. When one reads the record of centuries in Test Cricket, it is well to remember this great sequence of scores by Hill that fell just short of the coveted three figures. Australia was all out for 255, which did not seem enough to give them victory. Braund bowled splendidly and took five for 95.
It was a new experience for the Australians to see a purely leg-break, right-hand bowler of the
To return to this stern contest in Melbourne; the Englishmen, with 211 to get to win, looked like fulfilling MacLaren's ardent wish to win this Test. MacLaren took little Willie Quaife in with him, and the English captain started, in his commanding manner, to take charge of the game. After Quaife went out, Jessop followed, and soon they were off as in the first innings. It was then that a really tragic happening occurred, which was instantly to change the fortunes of the visitors. Jessop drove Trumble straight past the bowler to Clem Hill fielding on the boundary. They ran one, and MacLaren turned and was off for a second run, but Jessop had run past the wicket, thinking there was a single only. By this time it was clear that he must send MacLaren back. At the critical moment Trumble called to Hill, “Right through,” and Clem, with a beautiful return, threw straight over the bowler's head to Kelly who whipped off the bails before MacLaren got home. The English captain slipped and fell as he turned, but even then, with a supreme effort, nearly managed to reach the crease in time. I can still see MacLaren walking back to the pavilion with head erect, but, as everyone knew, with anguish in his heart. He had batted beautifully for 49, and with three wickets down for 87 runs at stumps, the Englishmen still looked like winning.
Rain during the night ruined their chances, and Australia got home with 32 runs to spare. Tyldesley played finely on the bad wicket, and
And so came to an end my first experience of Test Matches. Although I was later to see more Australian—English matches, and Australian—South African Tests, not at any time did I get such thrills as from those two remarkable Melbourne matches in 1901. It was MacLaren's third and last visit to Australia with an all-England XI, and he enhanced his already big reputation. His captaincy was an outstanding feature of the tour. Barnes qualified to be rated among the world's great
As illustrating the keenness of MacLaren as a captain, the story of the sequel to his great first-wicket partnership with Hayward against New South Wales is worth telling. They had scored over 300 runs when Hayward was out to a bad stroke. He had just had his shower-bath when MacLaren, the next man out, bounced into the dressing-room. One would have expected a, “Well played, Tom!” Instead, he said, “Why in the devil did you want to make a stroke like that?” MacLaren's team came much nearer to disputing Australia's claim to supremacy than the scores and results would indicate.
This proved to be the last of the privately managed teams to tour Australia. Illustrious names appear in the list of those who have played a great part in the management of English teams. Lord Harris, Lord Sheffield, with Grace as captain, and A. E. Stoddart are the names best remembered of those who came after the pioneering efforts of the professionals. It is not generally known that the Melbourne Cricket Club had intended to invite Ranjitsinhji to bring out his team in 1901, but changed its mind and issued the invitation to MacLaren. Looking back over the years, one feels that great as MacLaren was as a player and a leader, a rare opportunity was lost in not asking the Indian prince. It would have proved an event of enormous Empire interest, and may have had far-reaching influences. A great deal of cricket is played in India by the Indians, and one can visualize the interest of both Hindu and Moslem in the doings of an English cricket team captained by one of their own princes.
Ranjitsinhji, later to become the Maharajah of Nawanagar, was not only one of the world's greatest cricketers, but also a great imperial figure. It will be of interest to record that “Ranji” had the same faculty for remembering cricket scores
Sims was more successful with H. H. Massie. On being introduced to this great Australian hitter of the 'eighties, he laughingly said: “You made 206 in your first match in England in 1882.” “No, 205,” said the elderly Mr. Massie, but Sims was right!
Chapter7
An Historic Event
Australia a Commonwealth
An event of historic importance to the British Empire, and one which created world-wide interest, took place in the first year of my stay in Melbourne. This was the inauguration of the Commonwealth of Australia. Long years of discussion and negotiations had finally solved this complex problem of bringing all the States into a federation, with a Federal Parliament paramount in national affairs. With this feat accomplished, Australians were desirous of showing the world that the “birth of a nation” such as theirs was worthy of ceremonial celebrations of the highest order.
The announcement that H.R.H. the Duke of Cornwall and York—later King George V—was coming to open the first Commonwealth Parliament, stirred the imagination, and gave an immense fillip to the enthusiasm and already high anticipation of Australians.
Melbourne was made the temporary political centre of the Commonwealth, pending the selection of a Federal capital, which, according to the Constitution, must be in New South Wales, but not within one hundred miles of Sydney. This was a compromise and solved a difficult problem.
Australia happily selected the appropriate date of the first day of this century for the adoption of the Federal Constitution. The inauguration ceremony took place in Sydney on January I, r 901, when Lord Hopetoun, the beloved first Governor-General of Australia, on behalf of the Queen, declared Australia a Commonwealth.
The election of members of the first Federal Parliament was held at the end of March, but as far as Melbourne was concerned, public festivities were reserved for the opening of Parliament two months later. Great preparations were then made. Flags and bunting were on every building, and at night the city was ablaze with lights. The railway stations at Flinders Street and Spencer Street, studded with a myriad of
Over every verandah on the route of the procession temporary grandstands were erected, and seats were soon at a premium. I sometimes feel ashamed of the price I paid for two seats in Swanston Street, midway between the stately Anglican Cathedral and the Town Hall.
The day of arrival was now at hand. To enter Melbourne via the Yarra or Port Melbourne is like entering a house through the back entrance, but St. Kilda, a beautiful seaside suburb, six miles from the centre of the city, with St. Kilda Road as the connecting avenue, provided the ideal setting for the initial reception.
The Melbourne people were thrilled with this arrangement, for anything of a national character was always measured by comparison with what Sydney could do, and they knew that once anyone passed through the Heads, Sydney could provide a view of one of the finest harbours in the world. To give Melbourne its due, the Queen city, on this auspicious day, gave the Royal visitors an entry comparable with the best that Sydney could furnish.
The R.M.S. Ophir, an Orient liner, had been converted into the Royal Yacht and made a fine picture as she steamed up Port Phillip accompanied by the flagship of the Australian Navy. As she drew near her anchorage, those along the beaches and foreshore were able to see the whole panorama, and later watch the Duke and Duchess of York being welcomed as they reached the pier and set foot on Australian soil.
St. Kilda was to play an important part throughout this week of celebrations, for warships of every naval power had come to represent their countries and were anchored in the bay off-shore.
The stage was now set for the principal event of the tour—
Australians do not wear their hearts on their sleeves about Royalty and loyalty, but get under their skins and you will find that besides possessing a national spirit of their own, there is the same pride of Empire as is general throughout the Dominions. Australians certainly did themselves justice this day; their warmth of welcome must have thrilled their future King and Queen, and enabled them to envisage the Empire being strengthened by Australia's becoming a nation instead of remaining a group of individual colonies.
The procession was most impressive, and a fitting introduction of the Duke and Duchess to the people of the Commonwealth, for there were many visitors from the other States. From my seat I had a view of the Royal carriage as it approached the entrance to the city. Halting for a moment on Princes Bridge to be welcomed by Sir Samuel Gillot, the Mayor of Melbourne, the Royal couple were soon in the heart of the city and in the hearts of the people. From the moment of their entry vociferous cheering greeted them as they drove at a slow pace along the route to the Exhibition Building, where the ceremony was to take place. An enormous crowd lined the streets, and mounted police, on white horses specially trained, had difficulty in keeping the enthusiastic people back.
But interest in the procession did not end with the passing of the Royal carriage, for there followed the Governor-General and Governors of other States, the Prime Minister and his colleagues of the first Federal Cabinet, and representatives of other countries, including Sir Joseph Ward of New Zealand, as well as soldiers and sailors of the Empire. It was a magnificent spectacle. The vividness of the Duke's uniform, followed by the Earl of Hopetoun in his uniform of State, lent a note of distinction to the appearance of the occupants of the leading carriages. By comparison, the bell-toppers and black coats of the statesmen and politicians looked sombre, but then followed a blaze of colour that was to astonish Australians, for every British regiment was represented. In
On reaching the Exhibition Building, the Duke and Duchess ascended the dais, in front of which were seated the Members of the first Federal Parliament, while accommodation was provided for a vast assemblage. Special prayers were read by the Governor-General, and the Old Hundredth Psalm was sung. The King's message declaring Parliament open was read by the Duke of York, followed by the firing of a Royal Salute by artillery stationed outside the building. The Governor-General then administered the oath to the Members of the new Parliament, and the greatest event in the history of Australia was over.
For a whole week the people of Melbourne gave themselves up to celebrations; banquets, dances and parties took place everywhere. The Duke and Duchess had a strenuous time, for there were many official functions. First, there was a levee at Government House, and on the following day a reception at Parliament House; there was a great Military Review at the Flemington Racecourse, when the Duke and the
One of the last acts of our future King and his Consort was attendance at the demonstration of the Victorian public schools at the Exhibition Building, when the Duchess, pressing a button, hoisted the flag that flies in so many parts of the world. At the same moment, Union Jacks were hoisted in every school in the Commonwealth.
It was a great privilege to be a witness of so much, and I am thankful that I was able to be interested in more than the ceremonial part of these great celebrations.
Among my intimate friends in Melbourne was one of
Before referring to them, one should ask, “What was behind all this ceremony, and why did it mean so much?” For many years it had been clear that individual effort by the separate Colonies was not the way to build a united and great Australia. Important national questions were looming up, and hastened the consideration of ways and means of unifying conflicting interests.
Queensland, for instance, used native labour from the
Lord Hawke's Team—New Zealand Tour, 1902–3
C. Bannerman. B. J. T. Bosanquet. C. J. Burnup. A. D. Whatman. J. Stanning. P. R. Johnson. R. Spencer. G. J. Thompson. S. Hargreaves. P. F. Warner (Captain). A. E. Leatham. E. M. Dowson.
T. L. Taylor. F. L. Fane. London Countyv.Gloucestershire, June 1903J. West. A. Kermode. W. G. Grace. C. J. Posthuma. W. Attewell. J. Gilman.
J. W. H. T. Douglas. D. Reese. L. O. S. Poidevin. R. B. Brooks. H. V. Hesketh Prichard. W. L. Murdoch A. E. Lawton.
Next came New South Wales with her Free Trade policy, for the people of this State were disciples of Cobden and Bright, and not content with its adoption in their own Colony endeavoured to get others to follow. New South Wales had always been the “Mother State,” and more or less dominated the affairs of Australia in her earliest years. She had once controlled New Zealand from Sydney, on behalf of the British Government, until Governor Hobson was appointed to represent the Crown in this Dominion. Added to this was the old sore of the boundary between New South Wales and Victoria. A glance at the map will show that the Murrumbidgee would, have been a more natural and equitable division of territory. This may not have been fair to New South Wales on the eastern side of the State, but the fact remains that on the western side the railway lines of Victoria cross the boundary and run as far as Balranald, to serve the Riverina district of New South Wales. This means that the wool and grain from that territory come to the market in Melbourne. Accepted as the natural order of things, this did not figure largely in the minds of the people, as did the Protection Tariff policy of Victoria, which was used not only against goods from overseas countries, but also against New South Wales as well. There was a Customs Clearing Station at Albury, and the luggage of passengers travelling south was closely examined by Victorian customs officials.
It will not be hard for readers to visualize the dangers to inter-State friendships. Intense industrial activity developed in Victoria, especially as the industries in the southern State were not, at first, hindered as much as were those in New South Wales by the harsh spirit of the Trade Union movement that was then so rapidly gaining strength throughout Australia. When one turned to South Australia, it was found that the
Western Australia was, however, a different proposition and had a difficult decision to make. Perth was 2,000 miles west of Adelaide, and little more than a decade had passed since this State had been raised from the status of a Crown Colony to that of a self-governing one. The discovery of the great Coolgardie gold-field was followed by the equally great rush to the rich Kalgoorlie field. For ten years this Western Colony had forged ahead, and continued to attract adventurous young men from the Eastern States—“t'other-siders” they called them. This increase in the population, together with an ambitious Public Works policy, added to the prosperity of the State. While gold was the magnetic attraction for those who went west, other developments were taking place. Great tracts of the country were suited to wheat growing; the Jarrah forests were producing timber that found a substantial market in London; the apple crop was nearer the London market than those of South Australia, Victoria and Tasmania. What, however, exercised the minds of West Australians when federation was first mooted, was the fact that all manufactured goods were cheaper when purchased from England. No wonder they hesitated to become a State within the Commonwealth.
The discovery of the Coolgardie gold-fields, told to me by a man who took part in the rush, is an interesting one. Prospecting had been carried on for years up in the Kew district, where fair returns could be obtained by those who followed the bed of the river that was nearly always dry. There lived in the west a young man named Bailey, an adventurous spirit, who preferred the outdoor and lonely life of a prospector to that of a city occupation. He would return from the wilds with his gotten gains, lead a bright life for a week or two, and when broke, go back to his claim. He was a splendid athlete, and could run a hundred yards in very nearly even time. It is told how he would stroll into a country town in his mining clothes. In the pub at night, he would lead the subject round to running. It was not long before he had been challenged to race the local champion who was readily backed. It looked easy money for these habitués of a country hotel, and there was a good deal of side betting. The locals got their first shock when they saw the beautifully built Bailey strip for action.
Bailey was a studious sort of chap. He figured that if the storm-waters off the hillsides and gullies carried the gold into the Kew river-bed, it must come from the country inland. He placed his theory before a friend named Ford, and persuaded him to accompany him far into the interior. It was a trip full of hardship. They engaged black boys for the camp, and searched day after day, and week after week, for the gold Bailey had said was certain to exist. One day they sat down on a ledge for a rest and chatted. Bailey, with his little prospecting hammer, began idly tapping away at an outcrop without looking at what he was doing. As if by chance he looked down at the place where he had been aimlessly hitting. His eyes nearly jumped out of his head. It appeared to be almost pure gold. Soon they were ripping into it with their tools, only to prove that the find exceeded their wildest dreams.
When they got their first thousand or more pounds worth, it was arranged that Ford, a big strong man, with a shock of red hair and a beard to match, should take their winnings to the nearest town where there was a bank. Ford was not only strong, he was also shrewd. After depositing his gold and registering his pegged-out claim, he took every precaution against being followed on his return journey. He was too crafty for those who would shadow him, and by a devious route got back to the camp. Soon they had won another lot, and this time it was Bailey's turn for a trip to town. But Bailey was not as shrewd as Ford; he spent his nights in the tavern and must have become communicative. At any rate the sleuth-hounds were on his track. No sooner had he arrived back at camp than swarms of prospectors appeared on the scene.
Thus it was that Bailey, although he had collected fivers and tenners from the rustics of the district by his artful wagering and his pace on the running track, was now to repay them a thousandfold when he unwittingly led them back to Coolgardie and to fortune. The newcomers had to suffer the same hardships and privations as Ford and Bailey, who found the absence of water a great drawback. Water had to be carried
The Western Australian Government then decided to play its rightful part, and not only push on the railway into the area, but also provide the settlement with water, A clever New Zealand engineer named O'Connor put forward a grandiose scheme of pumping water through pipes across the three hundred miles of country between Perth and the new gold-fields. Many fierce arguments took place, for opinions were divided as to whether such an engineering feat was possible. The government of the day decided on its adoption, and O'Connor was entrusted with this scheme. It proved a tremendous undertaking; four or five great pumping stations, placed about fifty miles apart, were to pump the water from one to another. Hostility to the project continued throughout its progress, and it so worried O'Connor that he took his life at the moment when his goal was in sight. It was a tragic end to the career of a brilliant engineer. The scheme was a huge success from the outset, and from 2s. 6d. a gallon, and even more in drought years, the water rate dropped to make the cost of a thousand gallons no more than a single gallon had formerly cost.
We all know of the oil pipe-lines across Iraq, Syria and Palestine. Some people know of America's great water scheme, by syphon, to supply the Panama Canal area; but few people outside of Australia know of this wonderful system of water-supply for Coolgardie, and the area that is known as “The Golden Mile.”
In its early days as a Crown Colony, this Western State, like New South Wales and Tasmania, was used by the British Government as a convict settlement. Whatever the misdeed, the punishment carried the stipulation that never again could foot be set on the land of their birth. This restriction bore harshly on many who were guilty of some slight offence, yet afterwards became reputable citizens. The knowledge of this
Tasmania, the junior Colony, measured by population and industry, doubted its ability to pay the additional taxation required to cover the cost of administering the affairs of a great Commonwealth. While Tasmania had a great fruit export trade with England, she was in difficulties with Victoria over her potatoes and timber. The mainland Colony had her own hardwoods of a similar kind, and also wanted to grow her own potatoes. Most of Tasmania's trade in potatoes was with New South Wales through Sydney.
Besides these important points of view in each State, there were other difficult and overlapping problems. Defence was, of course, a matter for the continent, customs tariffs should also be on a national basis. Post and Telegraph offices operating separately meant the collection of some portion of the charges from the Colony to which telegrams were sent, and the unification of the railway system also figured largely in the discussions of the time.
I have written enough to show the complex nature of the interests of the different States. Here was a conglomerate mass of ideals. Could it be converted into an element that would serve the interests of all individual States, as well as the continent as a whole, thus forming one great Commonwealth worthy of being called a nation?
That it was accomplished is a credit to the wisdom of the Australian people, who confirmed by referendum the agreements arrived at by their respective leaders. Most of the credit, however, must go to a small band of capable and persevering men who, for years, had carried on negotiations to find a solution of the problems that would lead to the framing of a Constitution acceptable to all. It required all the patience, tolerance and genius of man to find a basis for settling some
The Queensland difficulty was overcome by giving that State a monopoly of the sugar supplies of Australia, and a bounty payment on their production, to cover the increased cost due to the substitution of white labour for the coloured workmen previously employed. It must cause some vexation to find colonies of swarthy Italians from Southern Italy now established in parts of Queensland, speaking their own language, and publishing their own newspapers. Ten years ago a cheeky Italian, when asked to give his evidence in English, told the magistrate that he should learn the Italian language!
It is not too late for Australia to make English the only language that may be set up in type and printed. Australia's maxim should be that every foreigner must learn English if he wishes to read an Australian paper. What a heap of trouble the United States of America would have saved herself had she adopted this policy a century and a half ago. The pre-war activities of the Italian nation provide an opportunity for the Commonwealth Government to take action.
The demand of the people of New South Wales that the capital should be in their State, was met when Melbourne opposition was toned down to a limitation of a minimum distance from Sydney. There was no doubt that at this time Melbourne was the most suitable site, but the future prospect of a railway line from Adelaide to Sydney overcame the objections of West and South Australia to the capital being in New South Wales. This cross-country railway has not yet been built, but some day it will be, and Canberra will then be more justified than it is at present. The transcontinental railway to the west, and now aeroplanes, have added to the comfort and speed of travel, but it will be easily understood what it meant in those early years for West Australian members to attend the sitting of the Commonwealth Parliament, and why the people of this Colony hesitated to join in the scheme. Their main objection, however, was with regard to questions affecting their own State, and the others had to go some way to meet them. In the end, all difficulties were overcome.
Tasmania was also to be met in some of her problems, and this brought to fruition the efforts of those able men who had laboured so long to bring into being their bold conception of a great Australia.
Who were these outstanding men who moulded into shape the Articles of Association for this company of States now banded together? Let us return to that great procession in Melbourne, and take note of them as they pass. Each in turn was singled out for the plaudits of the crowd. There was little or nothing of party politics in these early days of Federal Government, and on this day, in particular, these Cabinet Ministers were the champions of all the people.
First came
I am prefacing the names of Federal Ministers with their titles, even though the honour may not have been conferred upon them until a date subsequent to the events which I relate, for they are remembered best in the light of their highest attainments.
It is not generally known that Lord Hopetoun first summoned Sir William Lyne, as the Premier of the senior State, to form a Ministry. Sir William was a man of fine character but of taciturn nature, and was somewhat difficult-to work with. It must have been a great personal disappointment when he found that the leading men of the other States would not accept his leadership. In face of this opposition, he did not persist.
I do not know whether the original agreement provided for
Sir Alfred Deakin, Attorney-General in the Barton Ministry, was an outstanding man. He was a polished speaker, and was styled “the silver-tongued orator.” A fine, upstanding figure, tall and athletic in appearance, with a short, pointed beard, he always commanded attention. An ardent advocate for the development of the irrigation scheme covering the northwestern areas of Victoria, bordering South Australia, he was honoured in having the principal avenue in Mildura named after him. He subsequently became Prime Minister of the Commonwealth.
Sir John Forest was one of Australia's greatest men of all time. His faith in Australia, and Western Australia in particular, was unbounded. In his younger days he had been an explorer of note, and had visited most of the boundless spaces of this State. He became Premier of Western Australia and entered Federal politics with a great reputation. There seemed to be an extra cheer for Sir John as he passed along the streets of Melbourne on the day of the Royal procession. It was mainly on his shoulders that fell the responsibility of Western Australia's decision regarding federation. He was given the important portfolio of Minister of Defence, a post well suited to his wide powers of vision and great wisdom. He was a lovely character, and adored by all his colleagues. He will be remembered in history as the first, and so far the only, Australian Member of the House of Lords. At the end of his career he was created Baron Forest of Bunbury, his native town in Western Australia. It was on the voyage to England to take his seat in the House of Lords that he was taken ill and died at sea.
Sir George Turner's name is still revered for the part he played in the earliest days of Federal politics. As a wise and
Mr. C. C. Kingston, Minister for Trade and Customs, brings us to the end of the list of what might be called “the Big Men of the Cabinet.” He was a brilliant man, but always appeared to be of a somewhat dour disposition. His difficult task of combining and unifying the varying tariffs of the different States was in itself sufficient to try the patience and disturb the peace of mind of any Minister; in spite of this he did his job excellently. He was the bane of his secretary, and his department, for few could read his handwriting. It is said that one clerk, transferred from another department, received promotion due entirely to his ability to decipher Mr. Kingston's writing.
It is worthy of note in passing that forty years ago eight Federal Ministers were considered sufficient to manage the affairs of State for the Commonwealth. At the time of writing, Australia has a Cabinet of seventeen Ministers! This first Commonwealth Cabinet, composed of the strongest men in politics in each State, was regarded as a Cabinet of Captains, and it spoke well for the tact of
One regrets that Sir George Reid's hesitancy over the Federal issue, and his extreme advocacy of Free Trade, disqualified him for a position within the Cabinet. Australia had clearly decided to follow a Protectionist policy. At that time the division in Australian politics was Protection versus Free Trade. It was thus that Sir George Reid became the Leader of the Opposition. As Premier of New South Wales, he had led that State along the ways of his Free Trade fiscal policy. When it came to advising the people of New South Wales on the attitude they should adopt towards federation, he did not give them a definite lead. He would not say, “No,” but hesitated to say, “Yes.” The Sydney Bulletin dubbed him
In the first month of this century I went to hear Sir George Reid give an address on his favourite topic—Free Trade. The Athenaeum Hall in Melbourne was packed to the doors. During the day, word had been received that Queen Victoria was dead. When the great orator walked on to the platform, he at once said that the news of the death of our beloved Sovereign made him feel that it would not be appropriate to address them on the subject of Free Trade. Instead, he proposed to speak on the reign of Queen Victoria. For nearly two hours he told a thrilling story of the years between 1837 and 1901. Everyone sat in rapt attention as they listened to the almost fairy-like tale of the girl-Queen of England, later Empress of India, and ruler over an Empire greater than any the world has ever known. The climax came when Mr. Reid (as he was then), after referring to Germany's growing rivalry and apparent intention of disputing Britain's naval supremacy, paused for a moment, then with emphasis said, “Britain doesn't want to fight, but by jingo! …” Although but twenty-two years of age, I felt a thrill run down my spine, and cheered with Australians when tumultuous applause acclaimed this great man, who was ever a champion of the cause of the Motherland.
Stories are legion concerning his wit and clever repartee. Unlike the great Mr. Joseph Chamberlain's quick retorts, which often stung, the geniality of Reid always turned the terseness of the moment into laughter. Once, at a stormy political meeting in Sydney, a man in the gallery hit him on the shoulder with a small paper bag of flour which burst all over him. Looking down at his suit, then up at the gallery, he said in his usual high-pitched voice, “They always said I was a white man.” This led to an outburst of laughter and cheering, and won over the audience for the rest of the evening.
As showing how his opponents were afraid of his quick retort and wit in debate, this example of how they tried to counter it is revealed in a happening in the Federal House. One night, in Melbourne, I read big headlines on the parliamentary page of the evening paper: “A Conspiracy of Silence.” In an important debate, Members of the Government Benches decided to make no interjections, nor to
With his tubby figure, he was the joy of the caricaturists who revelled in the opportunities he gave them. The extremists drew him as a circle or oval, with an eye-glass in position, and a dangling piece of cord, and this gave a good representation of the genial Reid.
It is doubtful if there will ever again appear on the stage of Australian politics such another as Sir George Reid. He was later to become an outstanding Australian High Commissioner in London. His oratory and wit made him much sought after at big functions in England. Newspaper editors instructed their reporters to take down all he said.
The famous Dress Suit story is always attributed to him. Invited to be the principal speaker at the annual Press Dinner being held in one of the provincial towns, he lost his portmanteau on the train journey north. To the surprise of everyone, he arrived at the dinner in his ordinary clothes. When it came to his turn to speak, he explained in a jovial way the loss of his travelling bag and how, on arrival in the town, he had endeavoured to repair his misfortune. Sir George, although not tall, was a man of enormous girth. He said that all the fat men of the district had been sought out, but without avail, so he decided to try the shops that hire out suits for special occasions. Then, fixing his eye-glass, he said dramatically, “They all told me that I had no chance of hiring an evening suit for tonight, it being the occasion of the Press Dinner!”
Two other members of the first Federal Parliament, both still alive, are worthy of mention before passing from the scene of those early days of the Commonwealth. The Right Hon. W. M. Hughes needs no introduction. His services are still being utilized by the people of Australia, so it is unnecessary here to deal minutely with a career which, while reaching so far back into the past, continues to play an important part in the Federal Parliament. He became Prime Minister of Australia, and his magnificent lead during the last war marks the highest pinnacle of his fame. His fervent speeches were a clarion call, not only to Australians but also to the people of
The name of King O'Malley is remembered to-day only by the older people of the Commonwealth. Forty years ago he was held in high esteem in the field of State and Federal politics. The name in itself attracted attention. It may have been just the passing on of his mother's surname, but to the rank and file of Australians his unusual Christian name was looked upon as a freakish whim on the part of a doting father. At election time, when spirits ran high, the noisy interjectors called him everything from a crowned King to a tribal chieftain of the O'Malleys of County Galway, Ireland. But O'Malley would pay back in kind. At one meeting he told his audience that he was born on the border between Canada and the United States, but just a few yards on the Canadian side. He said he rather blamed his much-respected mother, for had he been born those few yards on the other side of the border he would, by then, have been President of the United States of America!
This lightness of touch and sense of humour, together with his general desire to appear picturesque, rather obscured for a time his outstanding ability. He came to Australia in the 'nineties, as the representative of a big American Insurance Company, on a salary which at that time was considered princely. The call of politics was too strong for him, and in a few years he found a place in the South Australian Parliament. He next appeared as a member of the Tasmanian Parliament before entering Federal politics. This proved to be the turning-point in his political career. He was later to become a Federal Minister with the portfolio of Home Affairs. It was then that he showed his capacity. He was responsible for the establishment of the Commonwealth Bank of Australia, the selection and establishment of the Federal Capital, and for the naming
One is reminded of the inexorable march of time when it is recorded that all the members of the first Federal Cabinet have passed away, and few of the members of the first Parliament remain. Their work has now passed to the pages of Australian history, and they are remembered by a grateful people.
Chapter8
Life and Work in Melbourne
It is necessary to go back to my arrival in Melbourne to begin this description of the most important phase of my career in the Queen city of Australia. The busy whirl into which I landed, with the opening of the cricket season, and the overwhelming kindness of Major Wardill, who immediately put me down for mid-week matches, as well as for Saturday games, made the first few weeks fly past. It soon, however, dawned on me that to get work was my first consideration.
I was far from home, dependent upon my own resources, and had but a slender purse, despite the fact that those long months of overtime at Andersons, with the accompanying “fat envelope” on pay day, had enabled me to save more than I had anticipated. Major Wardill thought he could get me into the Drawing Office of the Victorian Railways, and introduced me to the Chief Mechanical Engineer. Unfortunately, these were years following a drought in Australia. Mr. Norman told the Major that while he would have liked to have given me a position, in the existing circumstances he would not be justified. The Major had many friends in Melbourne, and was using his influence in several directions, while I was making personal application to a number of big engineering firms. For a few days I was to learn in no uncertain way how the value of the wool clip and the grain crop affected the prosperity of the country and the labour market in the city. It was not long before I became concerned, for I had not before this had any experience of seeking work. This feeling lasted long enough to leave its impression upon me, and in later years I was always able to understand and appreciate the feelings of an applicant for work.
Among the men I met at this time was Mr. Sam. Johnson, a Government Engineer-Surveyor, and he said to me, “I believe I can get you the very job you want. Howard Smiths want an engineer in their works, but he must also be a draughtsman.” My years at the University engineering classes gave me a certain limited qualification for a draughtsman's position.
I was soon to learn the greatness of the firm of W. H. Howard Smith & Company, changed to Howard Smith Proprietary Limited during the term of my employment with them. Captain Howard Smith was the founder of the firm which, like the Union Steamship Company of New Zealand, started in a small way. First one ship, then two, and so on, until the fleet of steamers with the white funnel and black top was one of the largest and best known on the Australian coast, with Melbourne its home port. The firm's workshop, while capable of carrying out ordinary repairs, did not attempt to handle big work, and only a small staff was employed, for there were big engineering works over the river, which catered for the repair work of all the shipping companies, and were capable of coping with any rush of work, such as frequently occurs with steamers' annual overhauls.
Captain William Howard Smith had four sons: William the eldest, who succeeded his father, had just retired before I arrived in Melbourne—I was to meet him later at a garden party at his home; Bruce was a well-known barrister in Sydney; Walter, who succeeded his elder brother, now retired in favour of his young brother Harry, or “H.B.,” as he was usually called.
Barely forty years of age, he was probably the best-dressed man in Melbourne, and, I should say, the most eligible bachelor in the City. Although he seemed aloof from the staff, he was always kind and considerate, had the manners of the Victorian era, and was very wealthy. Added to this, he had outstanding ability, and it is to him, and his First Lieutenant, Mr. C. M. Newman, to whom must be given the credit for the success and development that took place in the affairs of the company during the early years of this century.
I soon learned why the Engineer-Superintendent, when engaging me, had asked of my drawing ability. At first, most of my time was spent in the workshops, with occasional periods in the Superintendent's office, making drawings of small parts of machinery, and sometimes being sent down on to the ships to take measurements, etc. One day the new Managing Director came down to the works, and I met him for the first time. He explained to the Superintendent that he wished to start on the design of a new passenger liner, and would come down from time to time and confer with him. It was not long before this arrangement proved inconvenient to a man as busy as a Managing Director, and he suggested that I should be transferred to Head Office.
It will be easily realized what a change this meant to me. For some months my hours of work had been from 7.45 a.m. until 5 p.m. I rode a bicycle to work, and had to go to my lodgings and have a bath before going over to evening practice. Fortunately, I lived alongside the Melbourne Cricket Ground, but on arrival I often found Trumble and others getting dressed after practice. My new position now meant that I could go straight from the office to the ground, and join in the full practice with all the members of the First XI. This made all the difference to my form, but it came too late for my first season's cricket.
My work at once became most absorbing, and being the medium through whom my chief and his managers of departments put on to paper their combined ideas of a modern passenger liner, I was in a position of close association with the “Heads.” Each day after lunch the Managing Director would come up to my room for half an hour—after lunch was always said to be a good hour to meet a business man! Having got the opinions of his superintendents on the general design of the ship, he did not often call them up for further conference. He bought books on ship-building and construction for my use, as well as his own, and studied all the latest developments and improvements as embodied in the design of the most recent passenger ships to trade on the coast.
The Union Company's new Moeraki had just begun running on the Melbourne-New Zealand route, and she was the size and type of vessel they proposed to build, although trading to the tropical regions of Queensland meant a change from
Moeraki which was suitable enough for trade to the colder climate of New Zealand. The fruit cargoes from Queensland also meant more 'tween-deck space, for bananas are not like ordinary cargo.
Each time the Moeraki came into port, I used to go down and have a look at her, as well as other modern ships, such as the Yawata Maru trading to Japan. I became “a” friend of the Chief Engineer of this vessel, and several times had dinner on board with him. At this time the Captain, the First Mate, and the Chief and Second Engineers of all Japanese liners were either Englishmen or Scotsmen, usually the latter. All the rest of the crew were Japanese. Five years later, when I visited Australia again, only the Captains and Chief Engineers remained, while in another few years Japanese only were employed. It will thus be seen how the shipowners of Japan used the British to teach and train their juniors in navigation and engineering for their mercantile marine.
They had acted in a similar way with regard to their shipbuilding industry. Like Germany before her, she had imported the best brains of Scotland and the North of England at handsome salaries for the designing and planning of ships, as well as the training of her youth for the day when Japan could stand on her own feet.
The plans on which I was engaged were not working drawings, but showed in every detail the design of the ship, including the passenger accommodation and crew's quarters, sufficient to enable the ship-building firms in the Old Country to make their own drawings and specifications, and tender for the building of the steamer. This planning and designing was intensely interesting, and the weeks and months raced by.
In the midst of all this work I was called upon to make other plans. Mr. H. B. Howard Smith was, at this time, a member of the Board of the Melbourne Harbour Trust. He took a keen interest in the work of the shipping facilities, and in the development of the Port. Like all the other big men of commerce and industry in Melbourne at that time, he had overwhelming confidence in the future of his beloved city. It was to this future that he was always looking. He believed that as the place grew, and the size of ships trading to the port became bigger and bigger—as each new steamer launched showed this trend—some day Melbourne would need to adopt the use
Apparently his colleagues on the Harbour Trust did not support his grandiose scheme. It is doubtful whether this plan of extension will ever be revived, but at that time I was a convert to my chief's conception of the needs of the future.
I was to be given the opportunity of a pleasant interlude when I was asked to go to Adelaide with the Melbourne Shipping Offices' cricket team. I had arrived in Melbourne at a time when great events were taking place in the affairs of the shipping companies, and, for that matter, in all industrial undertakings. From the earliest years in the life of Australia, private and company businesses had developed along individual lines. They possibly had some understanding regarding the selling price of standard lines, but in the main, self-interest alone directed their energies, and each business, in its own way, sought turnover, profit, and power. So long as industry expanded there was room for development that satisfied the ambitions of the different interests. This did not prevent intense rivalry, but rivalry, unless judiciously controlled, may often lead to a trial of strength. The outstanding example of this is the fight of fifty years ago, for dominance in the New Zealand-Australia trade, between the Union and Huddart Parker Companies. Readers will find it hard to believe that in this stern contest the passenger fare from Auckland to Sydney was gradually reduced, until it reached the ridiculously low figure of twenty shillings return. It was a fight to the finish, and in the end the Union Company won, but as in war, both combatants were exhausted. The men of Dunedin had proved too determined and too strong, for the Directors of the Union Company were all sturdy Scots. It was common knowledge in shipping circles at this time that the rapid recovery, then advancement, of the Union Company, and their ability to buy new ship after new ship, as they did in the
The Australian Shipping Companies, while glad to come to working arrangements with regard to trade, were also forced to combine on account of the growth of Unionism. The Trade Union movement, a natural and legitimate development, had, from the early 'nineties, gained much strength, and proved formidable and threatening to the freedom of control by the owners. Had the movement developed along the lines of unionism in Great Britain, no great harm would have come, and peace would still have reigned on the ships and on the waterfront. Unfortunately, these Australian Unions, conscious of their t growing strength, often misused the power they possessed. Harsh and vindictive action, usually directed against an individual ship or owner, found the latter left to fight his own battle, and often he had to compromise or give way on matters that vitally affected the whole industry. There is nothing like danger or adversity to bring people together, and a few victories to the men soon convinced the owners that combined action alone could give them protection. And so, when it came to a case of one ship being singled out by the strikers, in order to enforce their demands, the owners held up work on all other ships in port until the first ship was manned. This put an end to the sectional strike.
Trade Union Secretaries and Executives, now faced with the combined strength of the shipowners, were not so ready to sanction a strike. The new arrangement of settling disputes by negotiation was to prove as beneficial to the men as to the owners, and resulted in both sides giving more sober consideration to points in dispute. It certainly steadied the hot-heads who had, in the past, created so many irritating and vexatious hold-ups on the waterfront.
Equally beneficial arrangements were made with regard to the companies' various and often conflicting interests. The Australian Maritime Act prevented overseas ships on foreign articles from carrying Australian cargoes between the ports of the Commonwealth. This protected Australian coastal
The above sketch illustrates the picture of events as they were unwinding themselves during my years of association with Howard Smiths in Melbourne.
Mr. Howard Smith and Mr. Newman represented our firm in all these negotiations, and I remember how we all had the feeling that Howard Smiths, at any rate, would hold their own in these important councils. From this it will be seen that office staffs, as well as cricket teams, can have their captains.
The part that employees can play, even in the affairs of big businesses, had not been overlooked by these industrial leaders. They chose inter-State cricket matches between the combined office staffs of the Adelaide, Melbourne and Sydney offices as a means of creating between their employees the same goodwill and friendship as was now being shown by the directors and managers of the companies. The first match I took part in was at Adelaide, on the famous Oval ground. I had not previously visited this beautiful capital of South Australia and, of course, the Adelaide Oval was to me a delight. We arrived a day early, and had practice the afternoon before the match. Who should turn out in his flannels, and practice with us, but must hit his wicket if he misses the ball.” He then added, “Mind you, that is only for a bad wicket; you must bowl for the field when you can't bowl them out.” And again, “It is
Our shipping office match at Adelaide ended in a thrilling manner. As two days only were allotted for the game it became a one innings contest. We were left a substantial number of runs to make, and steady scoring by our batsmen put us in a strong position. I was top scorer with 60 run out. Throughout my career it was not often I was out in this way. When our seventh wicket fell, we had but 15 runs to make. Harry Hill, a younger brother of Clem's, was then again put on to bowl, and he promptly did the hat trick in disposing of the last three batsmen. It was a thoroughly enjoyable match, and the trip had certainly illustrated the merit of building a spirit of comradeship between the staffs of the different companies. It was a pleasure to meet again Clem Hill, Jones, and Lyons, who, with Giffen, watched our match. I was also interested in meeting A. H. Jarvis, the famous wicket-keeper.
The following season we went to Sydney to play the officers of the shipping companies there. This time I was made captain. Being a member of the Melbourne Cricket Club First XI no doubt gave me a standing with my colleagues, and my special work on Howard Smiths' staff seemed to win me a status greater than I really deserved. At this time I grew a small moustache to make myself look older, and I can still get a laugh out of some old photographs, and especially from the reason for my adopting the appearance of a young officer from Sandhurst.
This match in Sydney was played on the Manly Oval, and it was quite a social affair, the local directors and managers, with their wives and daughters, attended in the afternoon. Charles Hughes was captain of the Sydney side. He was later to become Secretary of the Union Company at Head Office in Dunedin, and afterwards returned to manage the Sydney office for many years. He remained one of my lifelong friends. The match itself was evenly contested, with no outstanding performances, so need not be described. We were given a dinner at night, and among those present were Sir James Burns, head of the great Burns, Philp Company, and Sir John See, Premier of New South Wales at that time, and head of the North Coast Shipping Company. Unfortunately, none of
Howard Smiths always held an annual picnic. The Company had a very large staff, especially when the men of the various workshops were included. Hiring a suburban ground, they would play cricket matches in the morning, and have sports and games of all sorts in the afternoon.
It is the picnic at the old Scots College ground that I remember best. I entered for the bicycle race, and thought I was winning, when a practised young rider passed me nearing the tape. I had more knowledge of timing the hitting of a cricket ball than timing a sprint in a bike race; I remember lying on the ground after the event, suffering acute pain with the stitch.
The social side of this gathering was interesting and instructive. Our “big” men conversed freely with the rank and file. One word from the Managing Director was enough to stir the pulse of any young lad on the staff, while workmen whom our chief could make feel at home, responded in the same way.
These picnics continued for a few more years, but, like the inter-State staff cricket matches, they had already served their purpose, in days when there were fewer outdoor sports than there are to-day. I cannot imagine modern cricketers, tennis players, golfers or surfers wishing to give up their day's sport to go to a picnic—much less a firm's picnic!
Chapter9
A Visit to Northern Queensland
Shortly after our cricket team's visit to Sydney, Mr. Howard Smith said to me, “Mr. Reese, I am going to send you to Queensland, and want you to go as far as Cairns.” Elaborating further, he said, “A new steamer has begun trading between Townsville and Cairns. She's much more modern than our own Lass O'Gowrie on that run, and to hold our share of the passenger traffic we'll need to build a new ship. Use your discretion in making enquiries about the opposition's ship, but you can speak quite frankly to our managers at Townsville and Cairns.”
I could hardly believe my ears when I heard him say this. Queensland in June! The mid-winter month when those who can leave Melbourne to go north to bask in the sun of this sub-tropical State, and see the beautiful scenery for which Queensland is noted.
In due course I sailed by the Peregrine, remembered as the Flyer of the 'nineties. It was not until we had crossed Port Phillip, and passed through the Rip at the Heads, that the passengers became aware—as the crew, no doubt, knew from the start—that the smoke from one of the steamers astern was from the Iniminca, a well-known steamer of a rival company. We had no sooner turned along the coast when out through the Heads crept our challenger—for a challenge it was. She was only a mile or two behind. I daresay the contest had really started in Port Phillip, but coming through the Rip is no place to race; however, once outside, it was a case of the “lid off.” The unlimited burning of coal in an ocean race is frowned upon by owners of to-day—except in the case of the Blue Riband of the Atlantic, when fuel-oil is scoffed without regard to cost. This day all hands and the cook were in the front line. Passengers, too, were partisans, and were to witness a stern struggle.
At first, the Iniminca appeared to be gaining. A fireman of the Peregrine would climb to the deck, and then dash back to report to his mates in the stoke-hold. The Chief Engineer paced the deck, keenly watching the Adelaide Steamship Company's
Modern practice is to have the boilers a little more powerful than the engines, thus making a continuous head of steam always available, without great physical effort on the part of the firemen. In the days of which I speak, the engines and boilers were balanced units, and only the most expert fireman could force the safety valves to lift when the engines were in full stride. “Blowing off” was considered a challenge to the engineers, so down went the Chief to his beloved engines and opened them out. The practised ear could soon hear the thud, thud, thud, with a rhythm that was like music to the engineers. The Captain, officers and firemen, too, knew that steady and powerful beat of the engines, for the old Peregrine had been in many a race. Modern ships, with their turbine and Diesel engines, and smaller diameter high-speed propellers, cannot provide that sense of power produced by the triple expansion engines of steamers in those early days. Passengers, aware of the special effort being made below, sent bottles of beer to the firemen.
This was indeed a great race. The engineers of the rival ship, while knowing the ordinary speed of the Peregrine, may not have known to what extent McPherson, the old Chief, could open her out, or what those great firemen could do. At any rate, it was that little extra that turned the scale, and we gradually drew away, until at nightfall the Iniminca was nearly out of sight.
The good old Peregrine! There will be many people in Australia who remember her well. She made Howard Smiths name in the passenger trade, and held the Blue Riband in the Melbourne-Sydney-Brisbane-Townsville run for many years.
It was my first experience of a race at sea, and at dinner that night passengers were able to celebrate what was then a certain win.
I had often heard of the Cutty Sark—Thermopylœ races, first
versus ship, over the same course at the same time, to get the thrill of racing at sea, and an insight into the personal qualities of those who wage the fight.
Next morning there was no sign of our rival, and it was not long before we arrived in Sydney. A day here enabled me to see one or two of my cricket friends, then we were off again to Brisbane, another five hundred miles farther north. As was the case coming up from Melbourne, a calm sea enabled us to make good time to the Queensland capital.
I had a letter of introduction to Mr. Bernays, the Clerk of the Queensland Parliament. His son, Harry, was very attentive, and showed me the sights of the city. In the evening, I had dinner with the family, and experienced the pleasure of seeing home life in surroundings similar to those of my own home. Old Mr. Bernays was typical of the best from the Homeland, and he and his wife made charming hosts. After dinner we went to the House of Representatives to hear the debate in the evening session. I still have a vivid memory of the fine type of men that controlled the destinies of Queensland. They were clearly representative of the best and most successful men of the State. As the majority wore beards, they appeared much older than would men of their age to-day.
During my stay in Brisbane I was to learn of the horrors of the shark menace in Australian waters. Although the port is some twenty miles from the open sea, sharks penetrate up the river, even as far as the city. One day a young lad was fishing from a boat, with his legs dangling over the side, when suddenly a shark snapped off his feet. Fortunately, the boy fell back into the boat, thus saving himself from being pulled into the water. It was a gruesome story to read. The warmer seas on this coast make the shark even more feared than in the southern States, though it is bad enough on the New South Wales coast, and in Sydney Harbour.
On the seven hundred miles run to Townsville we called first at Rockhampton, and then Mackay, staying only a few hours
On arrival at Townsville, I was at once interested in this far northern port, for under Mr. Howard Smith's directions I had once made drawings of the harbour from data he had in Melbourne. My chief was ever interested in improving port facilities, as well as wharfage accommodation for his own steamers.
As stated earlier, the object of my trip was to gather information and report on the rival steamer that had already begun running on the coast. My passage had been booked on our own old Lass O'Gowrie, now about to be replaced, but my own intuition told me I should travel one way on the new ship, even if she was a rival. I remember our Townsville manager hesitating a little, for friendly relations between the companies were now established, but my practical point of view prevailed, and I booked on the Kuranda, due to sail in a few days.
Suggesting I should fill in the time by making a short trip inland, he gave me a letter of introduction to the manager of the Day Dawn quartz mine, at Charters Towers, a famous gold-mining town about one hundred miles from the coast.
On the trip up from Melbourne, I had been impressed by the great distances between the main ports. When looking up the route to be taken by train from Townsville to Charters Towers, I was further impressed by the distance the railways penetrated into the hinterland. To enable the reader's mind to grasp the meaning of distances in Australia, the length of the railways across this State provides a good illustration. There are three different lines running due west into the back country; one from Townsville, one from Rockhampton, and the other from Brisbane, each extending about five hundred miles, equal to the distance from London to Aberdeen, yet reaching little more than half-way across Queensland.
Being shown over the Day Dawn workings was an interesting and instructive experience. Clad in overalls, we descended by lift to a depth of 3,000 feet. I had not previously seen a
On this trip I was to get a close-up view of the problem one so frequently saw referred to in the newspapers as the “Yellow Peril.” As a result of the inauguration of the Commonwealth, and the forming of a National instead of a State policy, all the Kanakas—the natives of the Solomon Islands—were replaced by white labour on the sugar-cane fields, yet here were the Chinese, the Japanese, and Japanese women, too, in this mining town. I confess it gave me a bit of a shock. I was to see this emphasized farther north, round the sugar mills, and the impression left was one of sympathy for the politician who preached “white Australia,” even though he was sometimes a loud-voiced advocate for big wages for white men working in these regions. High wages have long since been conceded, and the uneconomical effect on the industry has been met by a subsidy from the National purse.
The Kanaka was a peaceful, pleasant worker, who came to Queensland for the cane-cutting season only, returning to the Solomons and other groups, to bask in the sun for the rest of the year. The Japanese, however, made one feel that here was a menace—a real menace—with little restriction upon their entry into Australia. The Chinese, on the other hand, were much more under control, with a poll tax regulating their immigration. The Chinaman migrates to a country intending to stay but a few years, save enough money to return home, and live among his people as a relatively rich man.
We were, however, not so complacent in our views concerning the Japanese arriving in our midst. Too many cameras! “Too muchee the look around,” for he gave the impression of being on the quiz all the time. Australia was to become aware of the danger and better informed than she was in the days about which I write. It took many years of vociferous clamouring for protective legislation before Congressmen and Senators, representing California at Washington, forced the Government of the United States to wake up to the fact that the crafty little man from the Land of the Rising Sun was boring his way into every walk of life in that part of America.
The day following my return to Townsville, I sailed by the Kuranda for Cairns, two hundred miles farther north. Although
Cairns is more than two thousand miles from Melbourne, and the distance seems incredible to anyone used to thinking in terms of space in, say, New Zealand or England. Australia is truly a continent, destined to be a United States in the Southern Hemisphere. Although I was then but twenty-three years of age, I found myself assimilating some of the atmosphere and national spirit of Australia—a trait that gathered momentum with the Australians themselves following the amalgamation of all the States into one great Commonwealth.
I had, up to then, more or less measured Australia by her cricketers, who frequently toured New Zealand, and many of whom I had met and played with and against. Australians have a high reputation in the sporting world, but here, even in my youth, I was able to discern qualities of nation-building that were apparent right up into this northern State stretching into the tropics.
I spent several days in Cairns with our energetic representative of that port. He was an enthusiastic advocate for a new ship to compete with the attractive Kuranda whose presence was already being felt in the passenger trade. It is, however, a strange thing about travellers that they often persist in sticking to their “old love,” and the Lass O'Gowrie was not without friends, while, so far as cargo was concerned, it mattered little to shippers whether a ship was old or new.
I was advised to visit the Barron Falls at Kuranda; they were certainly well worth seeing, and rank as one of the beauty-spots of Australia.
The abundance of tropical fruit is a feature of the Cairns
Northern Queensland, with Cairns as the terminus of the voyage, has become more and more the great attraction for winter holidays in Australia. Just as English people go to the South of France, and Americans go to Florida and California, so do the people of Victoria and New South Wales create a busy tourist season in Queensland in the months of June, July and August.
After several days in Cairns I left by the Lass O'Gowrie for Townsville, to connect with the Peregrine for the long run down to Melbourne. Some fifty miles south of Cairns we called at Geraldton. The name of this Queensland port was later changed to Innisfail, a place that plays an important part in the sugar industry of the State. Our arrival in the early morning provided a highly amusing diversion. Manned by Chinese, large punts, loaded to the gunwales with bananas, awaited our dropping anchor in the stream, and there was then a mad rush to be first alongside. The Chinamen, in their native tongue, were loudly urging their mates on the punts to pull harder, and with a combination of poling and paddling, they fought for position. Two punts collided, and overboard went a man off the bow of his craft. The Geraldton River is a sluggish stream, with discoloured water, and as the man took some time to come up, we gazed expectantly at the spot. Presently he bobbed up, and immediately began laughing and yelling to his mates, who were all excitement in this contest for first place. I could not understand why they were so anxious to be unloaded first, but the Captain explained that the Chinaman, being a wily bird, knew that if his bananas were at the bottom of this small ship on the short run to Townsville. he would have his part of the cargo at the top of the hold
At Geraldton there was also a large sugar mill, and it was interesting to watch the different processes in the manufacture of this great staple product of Queensland. Here again I came in contact with the Japanese, for many of the men working in the mill were the sturdy little chaps from the Far East. Is it any wonder that the Queenslanders, in particular, had become alive to the danger? At a later date the immigration of Italians was fraught with the same sort of national danger, for they got together in settlements, spoke their own language and generally did not become typical Australians.
I had a unique experience on the night of our stay at Geraldton when the Company's agent asked me if I would like to see over Chinatown. A police detective, I was told, would accompany us—a precaution usually taken when visits were made to the underworld, for it was an opium den the agent wished to show me. I remember feeling scared as we wended our way through the dimly-lit, narrow right-of-way to the haunt of the opium smokers. The sight that met our eyes when we followed the police officer into the lantern-lit apartment is not a pleasant one to remember. Not a word was spoken, though some of the Chinese nodded to our guide. We were in a large, square room with bunks all round, like the old-fashioned saloon sleeping accommodation on coastal steamers of fifty years ago. There was a low table in the centre, with a naked light burning—this being where the smokers “lighted up.” The opium resembled a sort of treacle, and it often took some time to get a pipe lit. The Chinaman would then go to his bunk and puff away. Some of the men sat staring into spaces; others, with half-closed eyes, appeared to be dozing; while several, with eyes closed, completed the group. Whatever the attitude, they all seemed to be in a state of stupor.
The men of the Orient, both Chinese and Japanese, are probably the most expert in the world at presenting an imperturbable countenance in any set of circumstances, but for expressionless faces I have never seen anything to equal those of the opium smokers of Geraldton. I have been to many parts of the world since then, but have never had any desire
The old Lass O'Gowrie was loaded down to her marks when we left Geraldton for Townsville. There is little doubt that this ship must have been a profitable investment for her owners in those days. No motor-cars and no concrete or bitumen roads forced all traffic north and south to go by steamer. Modern mechanized transport must have taken away much of the passenger traffic up the coast of Northern Queensland. In some parts of New Zealand the motor-bus and private car have caused passenger steamers to cease running on certain routes.
We were in Townsville the following morning, and saw all our cargo transhipped into the Peregrine, which vessel had been down to Melbourne and back since I disembarked from her some weeks previously.
It was not long before she was heading south again to Melbourne, via Brisbane and Sydney. Just before leaving the latter place we got word of the result of the first day's play in the Test Match at the Oval, between Darling's famous Australian XI of 1902, and an equally strong English XI, captained by MacLaren. Australia had just notched a sensational win in the Manchester Test Match, when England failed by three runs to reach the total set them.
I have already described the public interest in Australia when a cricket Test Match is being played, whether it be in England or Australia. This was no exception, and we talked of the first day's play and discussed the prospects of each side, with the usual predominance among Australians of unbounded faith in their own men. This was before the days of wireless, so we heard no more news till we were nearly berthed at the wharf in Melbourne. As the mooring ropes tightened and we drew nearer the wharf, someone from the top deck called out, “Who won the Test Match?”
Back came the ready reply, “England won by one wicket.”
This anxious enquiry from the ship's deck revives the story
The Old Curiosity Shop. The American people, who were great readers of Dickens, had to await the arrival of the next ship from England to read a further instalment. As the vessel was being berthed at New York, and the mooring lines slowly pulled her nearer, an anxiously expectant voice called aloud from the wharf to the passengers lining the deck, “Did Little Nell die?” Hushed silence provided the answer.
It was a different atmosphere that prevailed on the Peregrine when that prompt and loud answer came from the wharf at Melbourne. Partisans of England cheered, while Australians, too, were loud in their praise of the Englishmen's magnificent win. It was an animated scene, with the exciting finish and Jessop's century the main topics of conversation.
It does not take passengers long to disembark when they reach port, and soon all were ashore. What most of us wanted to learn were the details of what was clearly a famous match. Jessop's wonderful innings stood out above all else.
Back in Melbourne, I was soon at work again after a month of interesting experiences. My eyes had been opened with regard to the potentiality of Australia, while the attractiveness of the physical features of the sub-tropical regions of Queensland had surpassed my expectations.
I had been fortunate in meeting many men in high positions, and was shown the greatest courtesy by all the managers of the branches of the Howard Smith organization. The technical nature of my mission appeared to win me greater respect than would have been shown to other young men on our staff, of a similar age, who would no doubt still have been looked upon as juniors had they been clerks in the freight, passenger or accountancy departments. Besides stirring my imagination, the sights I had seen kindled in me an even greater admiration for my chief's judgment and optimism with regard to the future of Australia. It needed vision to plan on a scale in keeping with the rapid development that was taking place, and Mr, H. B. Howard Smith was one of the many great Australians who contributed largely to what has been termed the birth of a nation.
In addition to making a full report on all I had seen on my voyage, I was able to make drawings of the steamer we were planning to compete against in the Townsville-Cairns run.
Kuranda, for my chief had set his mind on a ship with a maximum amount of upper deck space. It was, however, useful to have knowledge of the passenger accommodation we had to equal or surpass. There is no doubt that the finished plans of this pocket-liner made her an attractive ship on paper, but in reality not more attractive than she looked when she arrived on the coast. Named the Mourilyan, she was a popular ship until the big passenger vessels began running as far north as Cairns, which was the final blow.
It is interesting to record that the Mourilyan was later purchased by the Northern Steamship Company of New Zealand, for the Auckland-Whangarei run. Ousted by both rail and road transport she was purchased by the Anchor Shipping Company, re-named the Matangi, and is, at this date, in the regular run between Wellington and Nelson. She now meets a new type of competition, for who can say what the final effect of the daily air liner service across Cook Strait will be upon the fortunes of this much-travelled little ship.
At about this time I was becoming a little restless, having intended to stay in Australia but a year or two before going on to England. Nearly three years in the beautiful City of Melbourne had enabled me to make many friends and gain splendid cricketing experience. Although obtaining unique business training and enjoying the advantage of being in close touch with Mr. Howard Smith, whom I held in respectful, if not awesome regard, I saw no future prospect for my advancement from the niche into which I was so pleasantly settled. One day, with a feeling of hesitation, I told Mr. “H. B.”—as we always called him among ourselves—of my thoughts and ambitions, and to my pleasant surprise he said, “Well now, Reese, that'll suit me very well, for I wish to pay a visit to England and will be taking these plans with me. If you'll stay on for, say, another few months, to enable me to finalize my ideas of this latest ship, it will then make a very easy and suitable ending to your employment with us.”
One of the earlier plans was of the Bombala, a very good ship, but my final pencilled sketches, although not gone on with for some time, saw the hatching in Mr. H. B. Howard Smith's mind of the great Canberra, the best of Howard Smiths' fleet, and still one of the most popular ships on the Australian coast.
In this way I said good-bye to a man who inspired me, and who was to play a big part in the shipping and industrial world, for Howard Smiths reached out beyond the confines of shipping to become largely interested in the coal, sugar, steel and cement industries, all with interlocking benefits to their original freight-carrying business.
Mr. C. M. Newman, later to become Managing Director, Captain Lyttle, the Marine Superintendent, and Mr. A. B. MacDonald, the Engineer Superintendent, who were often at my drawing table, all wished me a pleasant farewell and loaded me with letters to people in England who they thought might assist me in getting placed. This association with the big men of the firm was a valuable experience, and gave me a confidence that might have taken years to acquire had I been climbing the ladder in the usual way of a junior.
Life in Melbourne in these few short years was pleasant indeed. I found the people very similar to New Zealanders, and private entertainment and dances played their part, just as in my own country. The present-day young men and women would have found getting home from dances a more exacting problem than it is to-day, when motor-cars and taxis are at everyone's disposal. In a large city like Melbourne, with the distances between the suburbs so great, it was often a case of the good old-fashioned horse cab—usually capable of holding six people—bringing a group back into the centre of the city, there to connect with other cabs going to one's particular residential area. Getting to a dance was an easier matter, for Melbourne had a wonderfully efficient suburban railway service, and one was soon out to such places as Kew, St. Kilda, Toorak and Camberwell. Getting home was a different matter when all the trains had stopped! To be called for at one's front door and delivered home again at the hour of her own choosing, makes the modern young woman's lot much easier than it was at the beginning of this century, but there was something pleasant even in the difficulties of those times.
Little or no bridge was played, but solo whist had many adherents. I have often regretted that I did not take up golf then, for living in a boarding house is the same all the world
After twelve months I moved from Jolimont Terrace to a more comfortable place nearby in Clarenden Street, and overlooking Fitzroy Gardens. These gardens, while a lovely place in the day-time, with beautiful trees, many of the English variety which found the Melbourne climate suitable to their rigorous growth, were held in awe at night, for stories had been handed down from the earliest years, telling of robbery by violence and garrotting. This made people timid about going through late at night or in the early hours of the morning, for there were no lights in this park. Despite the fact that it was a longer way home, I always made “discretion the better part of valour,” and kept to the road, yes, to the middle of the road, when passing between the gardens on the one side and Jolimont Reserve on the other, if walking home after the trams and trains had stopped.
One day there came to our boarding house in East Melbourne a quiet little German lady. A few days later a German battleship, paying a courtesy call to Australia, arrived at Port Melbourne, and it turned out that our fellow guest was the wife of the Admiral, and he came ashore to stay with her. They had a private suite, so we did not see much of the Admiral, but saw enough to judge that the arrogance of his race was strongly in evidence, even in those days. No wonder his wife was tractable and docile, for in no other way could there be peace in a home ruled over by such a man.
On another occasion an amusing interlude brightened the atmosphere round the dinner table. Strangely enough this story also refers to a German woman. Charles Arnold and his company were playing that humorous play Why Smith Left Home. Our German friend was a bright young thing—twenty-eight as usual—and, bubbling with excitement, said she was going to the theatre—pronouncing it “teatre”—that night. When asked what she was going to see, she replied in her broken English “Why Left Schmidt Home”! She joined in the roars of laughter, for she was very good-humoured about her efforts to master the English tongue. Why Left Schmidt
Home was laughed over for many a year afterwards, when any of those old fellow-boarders met.
During the whole of my stay in Melbourne, I lived under the same roof as an outstanding man, one William Montgomery, the leading stained-glass artist in Melbourne. He changed to the house overlooking Fitzroy Gardens at the same time as I did. He came originally from Newcastle, England, had studied art in Heidelburg, and specialized in church windows. His quiet manner, combined with his wisdom and sagacity, made a lasting impression upon me.
Another interesting fellow-boarder was a genial Swiss. He had a good sense of humour, and although he spoke fairly good English, it became a bit broken when he got excited, and caused great laughter, in which he always joined. So much for my first experiences of boarding-house life.
My cricket with the Melbourne Club continued to prove valuable experience, and in my last year
I visited many parts of Victoria with M.C.C. teams, and came to know the different districts of the State. One Easter tour in particular was outstanding for the amount of fun we had. We played matches on the Saturday, Monday and Tuesday, with parties or dances at night. We had with us Arthur Aiken, a good-looking young man and probably the best-dressed cricketer in Australia. He was just as fastidious over his cricket flannels as he was over his ordinary clothes. In his youth he had been nicknamed “The Duke,” which, as one would expect in Australia, soon became “The Dook.” When we arrived at Stawell, it was discovered that Aitken's cricket bag was missing. He had to be provided with borrowed flannels, and one never saw such discomfiture in anyone as he walked on to the field with trousers and shirt both badly crinkled and in need of cleaning and pressing. The fun old
Ballarat and Bendigo were two places that interested me and many thrilling stories were told of the gold-rushes of many years ago. These places made men rich overnight while others toiled without success. The storekeepers and the hotel-keepers were always on the regular vein of gold, and fortunes were made by these suppliers of merchandise and liquor. In one small gold-mining village in New Zealand, in 1865, there were as many as thirteen pubs, so it can be imagined how many there were in Ballarat and Bendigo in the early days.
Then there were the stories of Ned Kelly and his mates, known as the “Kelly Gang,” famous for their bush-ranging exploits, told by people who were able to point out the places where these daring and desperate men had operated. I saw, for the first time, the blue gum and mountain ash, species of trees that form the bush of Victoria. It was easily seen how these bush-rangers were able to commit robbery and then appear at another place many miles away, for with no undergrowth in this bush, it is possible to ride anywhere. In New Zealand the undergrowth in the bush is so thick it is impossible to ride through on horse-back, and this was the reason for the failure of the remnants of this bush-ranging group when they tried to operate on the West Coast of the South Island of the Dominion. What limited success they did have was by waylaying the successful miner when he followed the road or beaten track to a town to deposit his gold in the bank. They told me that Ned Kelly would not take a life if he could help it, but his brother and other members of the gang, when operating in New Zealand, acted on the policy of “dead men
The stories of Ned Kelly and his gang are still exciting to read, but it seemed more realistic to hear them in the districts where the bush-rangers had operated, and from men who knew the details, and in some cases knew the men.
These brief sketches will show that I was favoured with many opportunities for seeing the country districts of this the smallest mainland State of the Commonwealth. The wealth and importance of Victoria is not to be measured by its relative dimensions as compared with the other States, for practically every acre of land is either fertile or covered with valuable bush, while the manufacturing capacity of its capital city, even in those days, was rivalling that of Sydney. Truly, this part of Australia, of which I have seen so much, was to prove of great educational value to me.
When I left Melbourne, I was able to claim friendships that have remained constant throughout the years; my cricket friends, especially, brought much pleasure into my life. Sailing by the Moeraki, the vessel I frequently went down to see at the wharf, and to which I have referred earlier, I had an uneventful trip back to New Zealand.
Home! What it meant to me to return to my family circle! The reunion was a joyous affair, for we Reeses were indeed a happy clan. Many mirthful evenings were spent exchanging stories of incidents and happenings covering the period of my absence. In that arresting book, The Mortal Storm, the dear old professor says that the happiness of family life is founded on tolerance and a sense of humour: these qualities were certainly predominant in ours.
Chapter10
Lord Hawke's Team
Lord Hawke's team had already arrived in New Zealand and was sweeping triumphantly through the country in a manner reminiscent of some of the great International sides that had visited the Dominion. Ever since 1878, Australian teams had regularly visited New Zealand every two or three years, but no English side had come to our shores since 1887, consequently there was immense local interest. On account of an injury Lord Hawke, at the last minute, was prevented from captaining his own side. His choice of
The strength of the side may be judged from the fact that later in their careers six of its members played for England! Just as MacLaren's was the last privately organized cricket team to tour Australia, so Lord Hawke was the last great Englishman to receive an invitation to bring a team out to New Zealand. It was about this time that the Marylebone Club, acting on behalf of all the counties of England, decided to take over the organization and management of all English tours overseas. New Zealand, with its Cricket Council, constituted in 1894, had led the way in setting up an organization based on all provinces and minor counties having representation on a body corporate that governed and controlled the game on behalf of the whole Dominion. Australia, on the other hand, owing to the antagonism that developed between the players and the Board of Control, did not effectively manage its affairs until many years later.
The arrangements for Lord Hawke's team were on a different basis from those of any previous tour. Our Council, feeling the financial responsibility of greater travelling costs than those to which they were accustomed for the much shorter trip for Australian teams, arranged that the members of this English side should be billeted privately with leading citizens in the different towns and cities. These dashing amateurs, some just out of the universities, were made welcome in homes
Although our local cricket authorities knew that I was spending but a short holiday with my family, it was natural perhaps that they should wish to include me in the Canterbury XI, due to play against the Englishmen in a few weeks' time. Coming straight from the higher standard of cricket in Australia, I was naturally in good form, and when, in a club match, I made 134 against Riccarton, a team that included
Warner and his men had by now finished an extensive tour of the North Island where, against the major provinces, they had played eleven-a-side matches, but in the minor association matches were opposed by eighteen players. The system of playing against odds has long since been discarded, but it was the common practice in this and earlier years. One remembers reading of W. G. Grace's making 400 against 22 of Grimsby, and all the very early English teams to Australia played against odds, even in the matches against the States.
After visiting Greymouth, on the West Coast of the South Island, a town that has rarely received visits from touring teams,
The setting for the match was in surroundings that must have pleased the Englishmen. Lancaster Park has remained the best cricket ground in the Dominion, and to-day compares favourably with any county ground in England, excepting Lord's, The Oval and Old Trafford. To add to these impressive features, two of the best umpires in the world were officiating in this match.
Fine weather prevailed throughout this match, and when Warner won the toss, he naturally elected to bat. Everyone sat back in a state of expectancy to see these dashing young amateurs exhibit their powers of defence and attack, and demonstrate that the coaching of the boy produces an orthodox style that is pleasing to the onlooker.
Colonial cricketers seem to develop in their own natural style. Their schools and associations are unable to afford the highly developed system of coaching that prevails in England. Even in Australia, most of the champions of the past and present are the products of a natural gift and their own development of a genius for the game. They get little coaching beyond being put on the right track during their primary education. In England, the great schools, the universities and the counties all have an organized system of coaching, usually carried out by retired county professionals who continue to have an influence on succeeding generations of cricketers. It is this, more than anything else, that enables England to square, and keep
It is doubtful if a better side for demonstrating the style of English batting ever left England than this team of Lord Hawke's. We did not have long to wait to have the above impression made upon our minds. Warner opened the innings with Burnup, the dashing Kent amateur. They both played exceptionally well, the score reaching 50, then 70, and on to 100, for the first wicket. Warner's graceful style was typical of the well-coached English schoolboy, with forward off-play predominating, but Burnup was strong on the on side, and playing back more than his captain, looked a safer player for slow and bad wickets.
After these two had been dismissed for more than half a century apiece, the Englishmen began to struggle for runs. Fane, Dowson, Johnson and Bosanquet did not make many, but T. L. Taylor, who in the previous season in England had impressed the Australians, was a hard nut to crack. When Thompson joined the Yorkshire amateur, our success came to an end for a while, and the day's play ended with them both undefeated.
The batsmen were never, at any time, really on top of the bowling, and were sometimes in difficulties when facing it. It was not until lunch-time on the second day that they reached their total of 352. This was not fast scoring, but in Callaway and Prankish we had a redoubtable pair of bowlers, worthy of the best class of cricket, who made our attack stronger than anything the Englishmen had so far met in New Zealand. They were backed by a first-class fielding side with one of the world's greatest wicket-keepers in Boxshall. His stumping of Burnup in this match was the finest I have ever seen. Burnup played very soundly on the on side, and scored frequently from a shot off his pads that sent the ball between square-leg and mid-on. He always moved forward as he made this stroke. Frankish was a left-hand off-swinger, and as Burnup moved to play a ball that swerved quickly outside his legs
The Englishmen took the field at two o'clock, with Sims and Reese opening for Canterbury. Thompson and Hargreaves, who did all the spade-work on this tour, took up the bowling. It was at once a keen contest. Sims and I were rated the best batsmen on our side, so it was a fair test of strength. To everyone's delight we handled the bowling comfortably and moved on from 10 to 20, then 30, then 40. At this stage Bosanquet came on. It was the first time “Bosie,” or as it is now commonly called googly, bowling had been seen in New Zealand. Naturally, great interest was taken in the tall, handsome Middlesex man's appearance at the bowling crease. To the batsman, there was, of course, not only interest, but also curiosity and, perhaps, anxiety. We did not know then of Jim Kelly's remark at Lord's, during the Middlesex match. Sent in to play out time, he was soon back in the dressing-room and disgustedly said to his team-mates: “There's a bloke out there bowling leg-breaks that come back from the off!” There was a shout of laughter at Kelly's remark, but next day the others were to learn for themselves.
Bosanquet bowled to Sims. The first two were leg-breaks which Sims patted to third man. The third ball, pitched about the same spot and played at in the same way, hit his leg stump. This was surely a good start for the “Bosie.” But that was the end of Bosanquet's success. We struggled along, keeping out
Our wickets kept falling regularly, but I was managing to take some toll of the bowling. I remember what a contest it was with Thompson and how hard he appeared to be trying to get my wicket. He had a beautiful delivery, was medium-fast in pace, with a good off-break that made pace off the pitch, but he also bowled a good ball that came with his arm. I was always taught to watch the bowler's fingers, and saw him keep putting his thumb well under the ball for this delivery, and was therefore not caught napping by it. I was able to drive even fast bowling, and when he overpitched a ball I cracked him hard once or twice, straight through to the fence. This seemed to make him bowl faster and shorter, which meant he was not as effective against me as he would otherwise have been. When I had reached 60 I had a bit of luck for, hitting Hargreaves hard and high to long-on, the ball went straight to Fane who was standing near the fence. To the amazement of the Englishmen—for Fane was a very good outfield—he dropped the ball. Needless to say, the Canterbury crowd was pleased. Our total moved on to 150, but seven wickets had fallen. I had previously experienced the batsman's usual struggle to get the remaining few runs to complete a hundred, but this time the three figures appeared in a flash. When I was 88, Burnup came on again and in one over I hit him to the fence with an off drive, a cut behind point and a swinging hit to long-leg. Naturally, there was some excitement and those country people must have been glad of the delayed departure of their trains. Thompson finally clean bowled me at 111, and our total reached 226. It was remarkable that there were only three other double-figure scores, with the next highest score, 29. Our side had scored at a faster rate than the Englishmen, and the total was considered a satisfactory one, despite the fact that we fell 100 short of our opponents' score.
The crowd had enjoyed the cricket and was in a happy mood when the visitors, with about an hour to bat, began their second innings. Warner and his men now forged ahead, showing the same batting skill they had displayed in their first innings, but still having to fight for runs. Warner again passed the half-century, and Dowson played dashingly. After forcing the pace, Warner declared, with the score at 159 for seven wickets. It was a remarkable performance of Callaway's and Frankish's to have taken all the wickets; five each in the first innings, and Frankish five and Callaway two in the second. They bowled unchanged in the latter innings.
Canterbury was left 288 runs to get and the whole afternoon to bat, for it was a three days' match. Sims and I again opened, but soon I was badly hurt by a rising ball from Thompson. Warner insisted that I should retire for a while. Bosanquet repeated his first inning's performance of bowling Sims with a googly, so we did not get as good a start as in the first innings, and never looked like getting the runs. On returning to the wickets I reached 21 before again being bowled by Thompson. At the finish, we were all out for 154, and lost by 133 runs. It was not a good batting performance, but Thompson was again in great form and bowled like a champion. He clean bowled all his five victims and thus hit the stumps ten times in taking eleven wickets in this match.
Up until the final innings it was a really keen contest and closer than the figures might show, for the only time the Englishmen looked masters of the situation was in the opening partnership of Warner and Burnup, and again when Taylor and Thompson collared our bowling at the end of the first day's play. From the point of view of public interest, one had to go back twenty-five years, to the visit of the first Australian XI, or better still, forty years, to the match against Parr's English XI, to find cricket matches in New Zealand that attracted so many people. It is stated that in 1864 the total attendance was 10,000 for three days, a number equal to the then population of Christchurch. In those days there were few competitive sports in the summer months, so one could say that the people were “cricket mad.” An illustration of this is to be found in a happening at the time of the visit of Lilly-white's team; when the workmen of Andersons' were gathered together prior to starting the day's work, someone said, “What
It is Rugby football that attracts enormous crowds in New Zealand to-day, but for many years cricket took more money at the gate than the winter game. It was surprising to learn from the old records of the Lancaster Park ground that cricket led all through the years in this respect, until 1912, when the present oval and stand accommodation converted the ground to a more suitable area for football and its supporters.
In Canterbury's second innings against Warner's team an incident occurred that momentarily held up the game in the manner of the Eady incident in Hobart, in 1899. Pearce was batting to Bosanquet and, bending his knees as he was wont to do when hitting to leg, was bowled round his legs. The batsman hesitated to leave his crease, and then, as he started to walk away, Sims called to him to go back and await the umpire's decision. Bannerman was at the bowler's end and, like Sims, could not see the stumps when the stroke was made, so would not give a decision. An appeal was then made to Spencer, but he, too, was unable to give a ruling, for he had momentarily ducked, expecting the ball to be hit his way. This meant that Pearce went on batting. The Englishmen, hurrying to force home their victory, did not take kindly to this decision. A barracker on the bank did not help matters when he called out to the wicket-keeper to keep his hands off the stumps. This caused a ruffled young English stumper to say things he ought not to have said. There is no doubt Pearce was clean bowled, but the fact that Sims was standing alongside Bannerman at the time is proof that his doubt as to what happened was a genuine one. Actually, I do not think Bosanquet could have seen his leg-break hit the stumps, for the batsman's legs covered the wickets. It was just as well that it was two such famous umpires who got into this tangle of indecision!
On the last day of the match I was to get a surprise when, just before play began, someone came into the dressing-room and said I was wanted outside. Going out, I found a large crowd gathered in front of the pavilion where Mr. A. E. G. Rhodes, the President of the Canterbury Cricket Association, with a few congratulatory and kindly words, made a presentation to me. It appears that after my making a century on the Saturday afternoon, the ever enthusiastic
My success in this match, followed by a keenly expressed desire by the authorities that I should stay and play for New Zealand in the two Test Matches to be played at the end of February and early March, created a problem for me. I had already been engaged to join the S.S. Maori which was due to sail for London in a fortnight. At this time there was a very laudable practice by the Shipping Companies of allowing young engineers to work their passages Home. To put the arrangement into legal form they were signed on as assistant engineers at the princely salary of one shilling a month! Cricket enthusiasts wanted to subscribe to my fare Home as a passenger, but I preferred to be independent and carry out my original intention. Rimutaka, the Company's most modern passenger liner. This allowed me another six weeks in New Zealand, which was a great joy to me as well as to my family.
Before the first Test there was a match at Dunedin, between a South Island team and the Englishmen. Our team was not well chosen, for it included six bowlers, and this left us with a batting strength no better than that of a provincial eleven. With Fisher and Downes, as well as Callaway, in the side, we felt we could at any rate hold the English batsmen down to a fight for runs, as had been the case in Christchurch.
Warner won the toss, and he and Burnup again put on 50 for the first wicket, but after that they were in real trouble, for Callaway and the great Otago pair bowled grandly, and the score was only 80 with four wickets down. Again the Englishmen were to be saved by a fine partnership. After the opening, Taylor was the only batsman to show any mastery over the bowling, and he was batting very well when joined by Bosanquet. I had no idea the latter was such a dashing batsman until he began to lay on the wood, and score at a very fast rate, with strokes in every direction. It was not slogging, but first-class, forceful batting. Our fielding let us down, for he was twice missed off Downes, but in the end Bosanquet was dismissed by a brilliant left-handed catch by Orchard, our captain, for a score of 82. Taylor's 105 was a beautiful innings
The pace of Bosanquet's scoring had enabled this total to be reached soon after five o'clock. No side likes starting an innings at the end of the day when the light is beginning to fail, as it does in late summer, but no one expected that we would have lost seven wickets by the drawing of stumps. The batting was not good, and certainly not true to form, but the chief contributing factor was the bowling of Thompson and Hargreaves. Next day, Boxshall, our wicket-keeper, played his well-known “cow shot” with some success, and in getting 15 was the only double-figure scorer in a total of 51. This was a bad performance and indeed spoilt the match. Thompson and Hargreaves bowled unchanged, the former taking four wickets, again all clean bowled, and Hargreaves six wickets for 12 runs—a splendid performance.
We did a little better in the second innings, but still very badly for such a side.N Again Boxshall, a left-hander, hitting everything to the on side, and caring not who was the bowler, ran to 40 before skying one that fell into safe hands. But for his innings we would have blushed at making two totals of under a hundred. This time it was Burnup, with his swervers, who did the damage, and he finished with six for 36. Our failure with the bat completely ruined the Saturday gate and damaged our reputation. While cricketers know how these things can and do happen, the public is not always so understanding.
It was Burnup who first showed New Zealanders how to swerve the ball at will. Frankish had been, and remains to this day, the greatest swerver ever seen in New Zealand cricket, but to him it was natural. Fisher was the first one to use Burnup's advice, but the knowledge came to him a little too late in his career.
The rout of the South Island team did little to destroy the faith of the people in the ability of New Zealand's chosen XI. It certainly did not affect public interest, for in the first Test Match, played at Christchurch, large crowds again came from the country districts, and the attendances were much the same as for the Canterbury match three weeks earlier.
When the Englishmen began their innings, everything was in their favour, for the wicket had rolled out well. Warner and Burnup opened as usual and were moving along steadily when we had the joy of seeing Downes clean bowl the English captain with a ball that nipped off the pitch quickly and turned sufficiently to beat the bat. It was the first time on the tour that double figures were not reached by Warner, whose sequence of scores in the South Island matches had been remarkable. We were certainly glad to see his back, but Fane, who came next, played finely, and was helped by Burnup to add 50. Then followed one of those partnerships that always seemed to come at the right moment for this side. It was Taylor
New Zealand's second innings was little better than the first, although we made a few more runs. Tucker and I, getting together again, repeated the first-innings partnership. This was the only time the googly bowler secured my wicket in the whole series. Tucker went on to play another fine innings for 67. Four of our remaining batsmen reached double figures, and all looked like producing the form we knew they were capable of, but did not survive the sustained attack. Our total of 214 was enough to leave the Englishmen only 75 runs to win. Thompson, on this occasion, got most support from Bosanquet, and they finished with four wickets each; both bowled very well.
Warner and Burnup soon disposed of any chance of quick success by our bowlers, for they took the score to 60, before being separated. Their wickets fell in successive overs, but by this time there were only a few runs to get. Callaway then clean bowled Taylor, but the game was soon over.
We were still not satisfied that this represented our true batting form, and went North for the next Test, at Wellington—the final match of the tour—believing our side was capable of holding the Englishmen to a more even contest. Fisher and Upham came into the team in place of Frankish and Downes who were unable to play, but this still left us with a strong attack, for Callaway, at this time, was in great form. It will be seen that the selectors were again spared the difficulty experienced on the Australian tour of making a final choice from such a group of fine bowlers. It was unfortunate that on
Public interest was as great at the end of this tour as at the start, and large attendances marked the final match. Richardson won the toss and took me in with him to open the innings. A hard wicket and a calm day for Wellington made conditions ideal. Thompson—it was always Thompson—started trouble for us when he clean bowled our captain with only 10 on the board. Tucker followed and we moved along to 30, then 40, then 50, when Thompson again hit the stumps in dismissing Tucker. Two more wickets fell quickly and Mahoney, an ex-Australian, came in. He was a stubborn batsman and held the fort for some time. He was a little deaf and took a lot of watching in running singles, or the last run from a hit to the outfield. The contest between Thompson and me, which had been evident in other matches, was renewed, but I kept taking a steady toll. I hit him so hard through the covers and past mid-off and mid-on that at times he seemed disconcerted. This, however, did not stop him from keeping the batsman at the other end on the defensive. When Mahoney was caught and bowled by Hargreaves I had already passed the century. Warner walked across to make a kindly and complimentary remark. Cricketers will know that after one passes the century, there comes a feeling that one can take some risks, and in the next half-hour I really paid back Thompson for hitting my stumps in the previous matches. I certainly hit him harder and more often, and raced to 148 when I was l.b.w. to him. Wisden's of this year, when referring to Thompson's performance in this match, said: “… but he was severely punished by Reese,” so I suppose it could be said we finished all square. Our total reached 274.
After a long day at the bowling crease Thompson's persistency was rewarded, and, taking the last four wickets, he finished with eight for 124. It was an outstanding performance and the culmination of a series of successes that has rarely been equalled in New Zealand cricket. His sequence of wicket-taking feats in the Canterbury, Otago, South Island and the two Test Matches was as remarkable as Warner's batting performances had been. No wonder some of our batsmen were awe-stricken and did not produce their true form!
Warner changed his order of batting this time, for Burnup's
Just as our opponents were left to play out time in the late afternoon of the previous day, so we were left with only a quarter of an hour to bat, but were not as successful as they were. I again accompanied Richardson to the wickets, but we had not been going long when I attempted to force a ball on the on side and was caught at deep mid-on. As Tucker, who followed, failed to score, it will be realized what a dent this made in our armour. This was bad enough, but on recommencing on Monday morning we were so overwhelmed as to make us feel chagrined. The wicket, now slightly worn, had dried hard over the week-end, and was much faster. A strong wind made conditions difficult for batsmen facing bowlers who could swing the ball. Difficult as Thompson, Hargreaves and Bosanquet had been, it was when Burnup took the ball, with the shine still on it, that we saw another whirlwind performance, similar to this bowler's routing of the
Thus ended a cricket tour that had been a brilliant success. No other touring team has ever reached the cricketing centres of all our minor associations as well as the main cities. It was certainly a strenuous tour, for in less than three months they played seventeen matches, and except for the last two weeks of the Test Matches, had played a three-day and a two-day match each week. The team comprised only twelve men—an arrangement to save the New Zealand Cricket Council expense —but in one or two of the minor matches, Warner took the opportunity of playing an Englishman resident in the district.
The strength of this team could not be compared with the great English and Australian Test sides that had visited New Zealand, but on our wickets would be equal to the full strength of New South Wales, Victoria or South Australia. Warner enhanced his reputation as a fine batsman and an able leader. He certainly paved the way for his future selection as captain of the All England XI in the contests against Australia. Fane, after starting brilliantly, slumped a little, but returned to his best form at the end of the tour—his century in the first Test, like Warner's in the second, being the foundation on which the Englishmen's victory was built. These two were always attractive. Their styles were very similar; strong on the off and in front of the wicket, and sound on the on side; this gave them a range of strokes that was to stand them in good stead when they reached the higher plane of Test Matches against Australia.
It was, however, Taylor who impressed me most. He held us up so often when our bowlers looked like prevailing, that before the tour was over we all had the greatest respect for
Burnup ranked close up to Warner, Fane and Taylor and was most consistent throughout the tour. His style was similar to Taylor's, with the same soundness as the Yorkshireman's in his on side play. Dowson and Bosanquet both batted with a certain amount of abandon, and seemed to relish hitting fours. Once or twice they had a demoralizing effect on our bowling and, fortunately for their side, at a time when runs were needed. In bowling, too, they were strong, with a varied attack. The tour was a personal triumph for Thompson, whose performances I have already recorded. With his beautiful, swinging, windmill-like action and a medium-fast pace that at times, on a hard wicket, appeared almost to equal a fast bowler's, he was too good for most of our batsmen. Hargreaves, a left-hander, had a lovely, easy action and kept a perfect length. Bosanquet was at times exceedingly difficult, but his length was not always good, though the knowledge that a googly might come down at any minute seemed to make most of our basmen stay at home. This meant playing into his hands, for his “Bosie” had a lot of spin on it and made pace off the pitch. Burnup put plenty of pep into his bowling, as was evidenced in those two performances in Dunedin and Wellington. Dowson, while a right-hand batsman, bowled left-handed, and might have proved useful, but was rarely needed.
The above picture of Lord Hawke's team will enable readers to judge that they were a very good side, and representative of the best county cricket of England. The surprise and disappointment from New Zealand's performances against them was the failure of so many of our batsmen whom we knew could make runs in company as good as this. Actually, our bowling, we considered, was as good as theirs, and Warner said at the end of the tour that this had impressed him most. Callaway, Frankish, Downes, Fisher and Upham were the greatest quintette of bowlers we have ever had in New Zealand cricket at one time, and as many of our batsmen could make runs against them, why not against the Englishmen?
This was Frankish's last season in first-class cricket, for after a long, lingering illness, he was to die at the early age of thirty-five. One speaks of a brilliant batsman, but seldom is this term applicable to a bowler, yet I think it could be used for Frankish. With a new ball he could at times, in a few sensational overs, break the back of a batting side. It is for these flashes of brilliance that he is best remembered. In one match, at Wellington, when the last wicket fell just before a quarter to six, a lenient Canterbury captain thought it hardly worth while taking the field for the few remaining minutes. Induced to go on, he opened with Frankish who, bowling into the wind, took three wickets in his one over before stumps! When two wickets had fallen, the next batsman drove a ball past mid-off and called for a run, but his partner,
As the Englishmen were returning via Australia and playing matches in Sydney, Melbourne and Adelaide, Warner invited
In the early stages of each of the matches played against New South Wales, Victoria and South Australia these young Englishmen showed form that impressed the critics and looked like bringing them victory. Second innings collapses at Melbourne and Adelaide—typical of the way New Zealand wickets had fallen at Wellington—robbed them of what looked certain wins.
Some reference should be made to the match against New South Wales. The great Trumper-Duff opening partnerships were at this time the bane of Australian bowlers. On this occasion,
Later googly bowlers, like Vogler, Hordern, Mailey, Grimmett and Freeman developed a perfect length, but Bosanquet, the originator of this freakish ball, remained the type of bowler who had his day. On the occasions when he did strike form, his height of delivery, deceptive flight and quick break-back made him dangerous on any type of wicket. This was Bosanquet's day, and he finished with six wickets for 153. Dowson, who had batted in happy-go-lucky style in New Zealand, played splendidly in these Australian matches, and the best judges predicted that he would return with the next All England XI.
In the match against South Australia Thompson, in the first innings, took nine wickets for 85; seven of the batsmen being clean bowled—a remarkable performance on a hard Adelaide wicket. One of the stories handed down about the great Spofforth was that if he beat a batsman he bowled him. During all my cricketing experience, I did not see a bowler hit the stumps as often as Thompson.
This cricket tour was in every way an outstanding success. The matches in Australia proved invaluable experience for those members of this team who were to return with England's next Test Match side. The tour just described was, of course, in the main a New Zealand venture, and the way this team stalked through the Dominion, demonstrating the correctness and efficiency of the Englishmen's style of play, is still talked of to-day. Excepting the great International sides of representative strength, Lord Hawke's team, led by
Chapter11
My Departure for England
Even though I was now going to the other side of the world, I did not experience, to the same extent, the feelings of emotion of three years earlier, when leaving home for the first time. There is a big difference between 12,000 miles to England and 1,200 miles to Australia, but it savoured more of an adventure to go so far away, with but a nominal sum of money, and mainly dependent on my own resources and ability.
Out of Wellington Heads we set course for Cape Horn, on what is probably the longest run in the trade routes of the world without sighting land. The opening of the Panama Canal has completely changed the route of shipping to and from New Zealand. In those days all ships to England went via Cape Horn, and returned via Cape of Good Hope. The prevailing strong westerly winds and gales across the Southern Pacific have always, as far back as the old sailing-ship days, made it, if not impossible, at least unprofitable to sail this ocean in a westerly direction.
We were no sooner clear of land than the long, heavy swell made our ship dip into the troughs of the sea, and conditions were far from comfortable. I was not at this time a good sailor, so the Chief Engineer said that I had better go and lie down, and take time to find my sea-legs. I was thus a “passenger” for several days. It was a really nasty trip all the way to Cape Horn, but I eventually became used to the motion of the ship. My duties were not onerous, for I was on the day shift throughout the journey, starting at 8 a.m. and working till 5 p.m. My work was mainly overhauling auxiliary machinery, of which there was a great deal on this ship. Time passed pleasantly, for the engineers on the Rimutaka were a genial lot. T was not only initiated into the engineering side of the ship's life at sea, but also into the fun and enlightening conversation in the mess-room. The mess-room stories were mostly new to me; altogether we were a jolly party. I also knew a good many of the passengers and in the evenings was able to fraternize with them, although it was not until we rounded Cape Horn and reached calmer
It was more than two weeks before the most southern part of South America was sighted, and everyone was filled with excitement in anticipation of seeing the famous Cape Horn. In earlier years the New Zealand Shipping Company's ships always went through the Straits of Magellan, a route that not only shortened the journey but also gave passengers a fine view of the scenery, for the Straits, with mountains and hills on either side, resemble a great fiord. The wreck of the Mataura put an end to this short cut. I went aboard the Mataura the night before she sailed from Wellington on her ill-fated voyage, to see my cousin who was Chief Refrigerating Engineer. Many years later he told me of his experience and how the accident happened. He said he was on deck on a beautiful day and on approaching the entrance to the Straits noticed they were fairly close in. Turning to his comrades he said: “By Jove, I've never seen her in as close as this before!” The words were hardly out of his mouth when the ship crashed on an uncharted rock. Everyone got away in the boats and made for the Straits close at hand. The shores of this part of Chile, which adjoins Patagonia, are far from hospitable, but the boats were soon in the secluded waters of the channel, and thus free from the danger of the storms that so frequently rage round the Horn. They were later all landed safely. It turned out that the Captain had been persuaded by passengers to go close enough to give them a good view of the shore. It is recorded that the Master of the Mataura was so distressed and humiliated at this disaster that he never left Patagonia, and ended his days there.
The Mataura was carrying to England the New Zealand University examination papers. As all the students were given a pass, there was much good-humoured chaff meted out to those who acquired what was satirically called a “Mataura” degreé.
Cape Horn was certainly an inspiring sight, standing out in its barren ruggedness. The storms of this area would seem to have formed the character of this famous Cape, and given it a unique place in the noted landmarks of the world. In the old sailing-ship days a man was not considered to be a sailor unless he had “rounded Cape Horn,” and the thrilling tales-of the sea, as told by Conrad and other sea-writers, enable one
No sooner had we got clear of this point and turned to a northerly course than we were in calm seas and a much warmer temperature. Out came the deck-chairs, and people who had not been seen since the ship left Wellington were soon walking the decks. It was not till then that shipboard friendships began to develop, and soon there was much gaiety on board; sports games were started, dances were held at night, and the boat-deck, known as the “pair-garden,” began to play its usual part in life at sea.
Days of warmth and sunshine brought us to Montevideo. It was my first experience of bunkering a ship, and as the junior engineers had to keep tally of the baskets of coal emptied down the bunker hatch I knew, before the night was through, what a dirty job it was. Clad in overalls, with a scarf round my neck to keep out the coal-dust, I sat there, ticking off every ten baskets as they were emptied. The coal contractor's tally-man was with me and called out in his Portugese tongue, “Uno, dos, tres, quatro, cinco, ciace, ciete, ocho, neuvo, tally!” this last in a higher pitched voice, to complete the count of each ten. All through the night it was, “Uno, dos, tres, etc.” Every now and then this cunning old devil would attempt to jump from seven to nine, or from eight to tally, so one had to be on the alert. No one got ashore at Montevideo, for we were anchored offshore and bunkered from lighters. The sea became choppy, and new passengers, arriving alongside in a lighter, had to be hoisted aboard in baskets. We were glad to get away and have the ship's decks and deck-houses washed down, and so get rid of the coal-dust.
In about five days' time we passed Rio de Janeiro. The weather became hotter each day, and as the sea was calm, life aboard was pleasant indeed. Our captain, Commander Green-street, R.N.R., was the Commodore of the New Zealand Shipping Company's fleet, and a most popular Master. Measured by the number of times he had sailed round the Horn, Greenstreet was the greatest captain on this run. He was outstanding as a host and left behind him a reputation that is still remembered by old travellers. I did not learn until after I was married that twenty years before this voyage, my wife's father, who was a clergyman, and had studied and learned to speak
We were now out in the middle of the South Atlantic, and nearing the Equator. Passengers were feeling the heat, and white duck suits and light and airy frocks were the order of the day. Crossing the Line was accompanied by all the usual ritual so long associated with the passing from one hemisphere to the other.
We passed Cape Verde, and next day were at Teneriffe, in the Canary Islands, off the north-west coast of Africa, The moment we dropped anchor many islanders, of Spanish origin, swarmed on board and displayed their wares. After taking aboard some fruit cargo, and replenishing our bunkers, we were off again, this time on the last leg of our journey. We were now beginning to feel the freshness of early spring, for it was April, the month that brings with it cold and showery weather round the British Isles. Soon we were abreast of Spain and Portugal, and presently were crossing the Bay of Biscay, famous for its rough seas. We were not to be disappointed, for a strong westerly wind was blowing, and although it was a fair wind to us. it tossed the seas into white-crested waves that would have made conditions unpleasant had we been outward bound. It was easily seen how these gales, blowing into the entrance to the English Channel, raised seas that spread themselves out into the Bay of Biscay, giving it the reputation of being one of the roughest seas in the world.
At last we saw England, the Mother Country of our great Empire, and the land spoken of so affectionately by all who live under the Union Jack. Land's End could be seen in the distance, but it was the headland of The Lizard, the southern-most point of Cornwall, that gave us the first nearby view of the shores of the Homeland. As was my wont on the coast of Australia, I had recourse to the atlas, for there is no better way of fixing in one's mind the geography of a place than by studying the map. We had pointed out to us the port of Falmouth, tucked in behind The Lizard and sheltered from the steady roll of the Atlantic. “Falmouth for orders”—how many people outside the seafaring world understand what this means? In the early days of the sailing-ship, and before the cables had been laid across the ocean, it was often necessary for vessels
Mayflower. Seeing renowned places always interests colonials visiting the Old Country, and revives memories of history learnt at school. There was a Trafalgar ship at anchor; on the terrace in the distance, was pointed out the place where Drake and his Admirals were playing bowls when the news came through of the approach of the Spanish fleet. Plymouth clearly stood out to me as one of England's historic places. A large number of our passengers disembarked here, and this brought to an end—not without regrets—some happy friendships.
Out in the English Channel again we passed the Isle of Wight before dark, then Beachy Head, Dungeness Point and on past Dover. It was the lights of Dover we saw, not the white cliffs, so famous in the coastline of England. Next morning we were in the Thames Estuary and I was to see something that astonished me. I had seen much shipping activity in the approaches to ports like Sydney and Melbourne, but London…. Well, it was unbelievable! There was everything from the great liner down to the smallest coastal ship, and innumerable barges. What great use is made of barges in big cities that have river harbours!
Next we were at Gravesend. As I gazed over the side of the ship at this Thames port, I thought of my father and mother who, in the early 'sixties, had transhipped from the Leith boat into the bigger ship about to leave for New Zealand. Imagine the term “bigger ship” being used for a vessel that did not register much more than 500 tons! They certainly were brave souls in those early days. No wonder an ocean voyage was considered an adventure! Soon we were moving up the Thames itself, and as the river narrowed the immense sea-borne traffic passing right alongside us presented a scene that was intensely
Slowly we moved up towards the docks, and at last were opposite Tilbury. We are prone, out in these parts, to refer to the far-sightedness of the pioneer settlers in Australia and New Zealand, but here one sees the great docks of London, and one must pay homage to the men who, through the ages, planned and carried out the work of constructing these great wet docks close up to the heart of the City of London. With the River Thames being affected as far up as this by the tide, the dock gates are opened only at the turn of the tide.
At last we were berthed at the wharf, with the usual excitement of friends and relatives meeting the travellers from far-distant New Zealand. As I had been signed on as an assistant engineer, I had to be signed off before I could finally leave the ship, so all the passengers had gone before we went down to the shipping office to get our discharge. I remember when being paid my one shilling and sixpence—for the voyage had taken forty-two days—an old shipping office attendant laughed and said, “Do you want the money?” I don't know whether I was expected to leave the cash for drinks, but thought I should like those two small silver pieces as a souvenir.
I have travelled many times on passenger liners since that voyage, but I do not think I ever experienced such splendid fun and entertainment as on the Rimutaka of so many years ago.
Chapter12
First Days in London
I Was fortunate in not having to look for lodgings. My cousin, Walter Sneddon, for twenty-one years Chief Engineer of the Remuera, trading to New Zealand, had married a London girl, and I received an invitation to stay with her people. They lived in South Tottenham, which is due north out of London, the nearby railway station being Seven Sisters. It was down High Road, where they lived, that Dick Turpin galloped his gallant and faithful Black Bess, and Mrs. Sneddon's father, old Mr. Bullock, a man of over seventy, loved talking of old England and revelled in retelling the story of this epic ride.
The Bullocks were a fine family, typical of so many in a great maritime nation like Britain. The father was a town traveller for the firm of Samuel & Company of the Minories, in the centre of London. His son, Ralph, was a departmental manager of the same firm, and his youngest daughter, in her early twenties, was her brother's secretary. All the other members of the family were connected with the sea. William, the eldest son, was Master of one of the Leyland Company's passenger liners in the Atlantic trade. They were all very proud of William, especially his mother, and they had reason to be, for he was a R.N.R. Commander, and typical of the men who qualify to act as Reserves for the Navy. Charles was Second Engineer of a tramp steamer trading out East. He should have been a Chief years before, but he was the hard case of the family and had the habit of slipping on the second-to-top rung of the ladder. He could talk of Vladivostock and Nikolaievsk of the far north of the Far East, and of Japan, China, India, the Persian Gulf, the Black Sea and goodness knows where else. He had always been on tramp steamers and this accounted for his peregrinations. Harold was an officer in the Union Castle line trading to South Africa. With the eldest daughter married to my cousin, and the second girl the wife of an officer in the Union Castle line, it will be seen what an atmosphere of the life of the sea I was to become associated with. I refer to this in detail because it was to have an effect on my future career.
My first day in London was to provide a unique experience. At Plymouth, Mr. and Mrs. Jackson and their daughter, of Auckland, passengers on the Rimutaka, were met by their son, who told them of a great concert that was to take place in the Albert Hall two days later. Before leaving the ship they invited me to join their party for this concert. Going into London, I was surprised how easily I found my way about. This was again due to my familiarity with maps and plans. On the Rimutaka, the barber's shop had on sale splendid maps of London which were exhibited as we neared England. They were so detailed and gave so clear a picture that I was soon able to find my way about in the centre of the city. Arriving at the Liverpool Street Station, it was at first just a case of following the crowd along Bishopsgate Street, but soon people were branching off in various directions until I had to choose my own route. Turning into Cornhill, I found myself gazing at the Bank of England, that great bulwark of the financial structure of the Empire. Opposite was the Royal Exchange, in front of which stood the imposing monument of the Duke of Wellington. Along Cheap-side, I turned in past St. Paul's and stopped to gaze upon Wren's masterpiece, the pride of the Empire and the admiration of the peoples of the world. Moving on, I went down Ludgate Hill to Ludgate Circus, there to see the big sign over the office of Thos. Cook & Son, of world-tours fame. As I went up Fleet Street I looked for signs of the activities of the newspaper world. I was soon in the Strand, and on reaching Trafalgar Square was over-awed with feelings of excitement, and stood watching the crowd. I felt I had done pretty well for my first day in London, but seemed unable to take it all in. The many outlets from this famous square made it less easy to decide which one to take. I knew that I had to keep on going west, but was undecided whether to go up through Haymarket or Regent Street, but soon found myself in Piccadilly. When leaving I had left myself plenty of time to reach the Albert Hall, but my many halts to take bearings and to gaze, stare and wonder at the marvels of this greatest of all cities had encroached upon my time. I therefore jumped into a hansom cab—it was always the horse cab in those days—and arrived just in time to join Mr. Jackson's party. It thus didn't take me long to learn of the London cabby's saying, “I leave it to you, sir,” when an American or colonial, on alighting, asked the fare!
It was a matter for astonishment to colonials to find the huge Albert Hall packed to the doors for an afternoon concert. The attraction was comparable with Grace, Ranjitsinhji and Trumper playing at Lord's, for the artistes this day were Madam Patti, the prima donna who preceded Madam Melba, Charles Santley, the famous baritone, and Ada Crossley, the attractive Australian possessing a lovely contralto voice and charm of manner which made her so popular in England at the beginning of this century. One does not need to be a musician to be able to appreciate what a feast it was to have three such artistes singing at the same concert. That I was never a highbrow so far as music was concerned, may be gathered from the fact that the only item I am able to remember as having been sung that afternoon is “Comin' Thru the Rye” as an encore by Patti. Had it been a Sims-Reeves concert, I suppose all I would remember would be his famous rendering of “Come Into the Garden, Maud.” I do remember, however, how I enjoyed the wonderful singing, and have vivid recollections of the quality of the voices of those stars of other days.
Among the many letters of introduction I had was one from
Mr. Reeves received me in the most friendly manner. It was
My escort and I arrived at Parliament Buildings about half an hour before the sitting was to begin, so that Members arriving could be pointed out. Most of them walked, but the old hansom cab played its part. It was a cold spring day, and all arrived in their heavy top-coats. I remember noting the fashion of the time of having an astrakhan collar on the overcoat. They were certainly well-groomed men, with the proverbial bell-topper much in evidence. It was from the Strangers' Gallery that I was to have pointed out to me the great statesmen of those days; Balfour, who was Prime Minister, Joseph Chamberlain and his son, Austen, Campbell-Bannerman, Asquith, Lloyd George, Bonar Law, Sir Edward Grey, and many others, including the Irish Members. Unfortunately, it was not an important matter that was being debated, so I did not have the privilege of hearing Cabinet Ministers or leaders of the Opposition, but the whole setting gave me a picture of the House of Commons at work. After taking in the whole scene, and listening to a rather desultory debate—during which I looked eagerly from bench to bench, studying the features of the various great men whose names were legends to me—we retired to see over the House of Lords. This House was not sitting, so we were able to walk around the famous Chamber. I sat on some of the beautifully upholstered seats and was keenly interested in this close inspection of the House where
The day after this visit to the Houses of Parliament I was back again in the Trafalgar Square and Charing Cross area to spend a few hours in Westminster Abbey. One could go many times and never weary of studying the picture that unfolds itself. The magnificence of the building gave a first impression that could not be improved upon, even with more minute examination; but the history of the State, the Church, and the lives of the men who, through all the years, have made England so great, and so revered, could be found in every nook and corner.
In New Zealand we look back with pride upon the men who founded our Dominion and praise their foresight, judgment and enterprise in the work they carried out so well in a colony even now but a century old. But, in England, the Abbey takes one back hundreds of years, and presents lasting memorials of “The Intellect and Valour of Britain,” and of the courage and devotion of men whose lives light up the path of British history and leave reputations that extend far beyond the shores of England. I was certainly glad to be privileged to see these historic places and that I so closely examined them. It was always England and Scotland that I wanted to see, and I became as proud as any Londoner of the city upon which we all look as the centre of our Empire.
Trafalgar Square and Charing Cross became as familiar to me as our own Cathedral Square in Christchurch. Walking past Parliament Buildings to Westminster Bridge, I turned to pass Scotland Yard, and along the Thames Embankment. The traffic on the Thames fascinated me; barges, barges, barges … tugs, tugs, tugs … all plying up and down stream. Surely this must be the world's busiest waterway for this class of traffic. On under the bridge that carried the trains into Charing Cross Station, I was in sight of Waterloo Bridge; passing this, I was next in sight of Blackfriars Bridge, which marks the end of the Embankment.
On this particular trip I was making for “The Monument,” from the top of which I had been told I would get a good view. I was certainly not disappointed. It was some climb, as the Americans would say, but worth it. Right below was London
I should, perhaps, finish with my visit to St. Paul's. I went by myself and was shown everything from the Crypt to the Whispering Gallery. St. Paul's leaves the same impression upon one as does Westminster Abbey—one of solemn grandeur, sacred and magnificent—and it will ever remain one of the Empire's most priceless treasures.
My next experience in England was to see the English Derby run. In Melbourne, in 1900, I had attended my first race meeting when I saw the famous Melbourne Cup run, the most important race in the Southern Hemisphere. An attendance of 80,000 people on the great Flemington Racecourse was an inspiring sight to me who came from a city with little more than that for its total population, but at Epsom this figure was to be far exceeded. Naturally I wanted to go, and with a friend who also wished to do it as cheaply as possible, joined a coach leaving close to Lambeth, on the south side of the Thames. I had seen the traffic on the road to Riccarton, in Christchurch, where the New Zealand Cup is run, had had my recent experience in getting to Flemington, but the journey to Epsom Downs surpassed all previous ideas of what a crowd could be. All transport was by buses, coaches, carriages and buggies, with many pearl-buttoned costers in donkey-drawn carts.
The traffic was repeatedly jammed, and this made for slow progress, but we had been warned of this, and started with plenty of time to spare. To see London lads moving among the traffic brought many hair-raising moments. These little chaps would do hand-springs and cart-wheels in the hope of getting pennies thrown them by passengers on the vehicles that moved at little more than walking pace. At any moment one of these youngsters might have been run over or kicked by a horse, but they were too agile. The fun and humour created by these Cockney boys is something to remember. It certainly can never be repeated in these days of motor-cars. The high spirits of
My friend and I were not making for the grandstands, but for the flat in the centre of the course. It was not the best place to get a view of the race, but we certainly obtained a close-up view of some sections of English life. It was more like a fair. All sorts of sideshows competed with the noise of the bookmakers, who called the odds incessantly. There were gipsy fortune-tellers, card-trick men, swings for the children, in fact everything that makes for a family holiday. It was only when the great race was about to be run that there was a cessation in this entertainment. A rush was then made to gain any vantage-point from which some part of the race could be seen. People climbed on the tops of the buses, coaches and other conveyances, and there were many parked out in the middle. The majority ran to the rails, getting just a glimpse of the horses as they flashed by. I did not have a good view, being in the second row on the rails, about half-way down the straight. After following the jockeys' colours down the back of the course and round the end, then losing them altogether as they turned into the straight at Tattenham Corner, I saw the flash-past I have referred to. A part I remember was the noise of the horses' hooves as they approached and galloped by: Rocksand won.
This was the first occasion on which I saw King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra. The King, in his frock-coat and bell-topper, appeared to be in a jovial mood? surrounded by his friends in the Royal Box. He was, of course, smoking his usual cigar, for which he was famous, as is Mr. Churchill to-day. In the early 'nineties, King Edward gave one of his cigars to a member of an Australian XI. This was too good to smoke, thought the Australian, and many years afterwards it was still held as a souvenir!
How the East-ender revelled in the fun of the fair was an eye-opener to me. I have never seen people so supremely happy. It was laughter all the time; there was a joke in everything. The Cockney slang was highly diverting, and it would be impossible
By this time I had begun to play some cricket, taking part in club matches, but continued to explore London, taking advantage of every opportunity. My elderly host had an intimate knowledge of old London, both East and West End, and used to tell me each evening what he thought would make a good trip for the following day. He had always been a traveller in the heart of the City, so was able to direct me to places off the beaten track of tourists. On Sundays he would come with me, and we had some happy jaunts together. The thrill of seeing the great places of the West was not more exciting than those of the East, when, with feelings of trepidation, I wended my way through Whitechapel, Houndsditch, Stepney, Shoreditch and Limehouse, and visited Paddy's Market. One time it was Mile End Road and Commercial Road; another, the London Docks and the waterfront on the Thames near by. It will thus be seen that my early sightseeing was not among the expensive restaurants and theatres of the great city, but I saw the London and her people depicted so wonderfully by the immortal Dickens. This experience brought back memories of our family circle round the fireside. My father was a great reader, with Dickens among his favourite authors. I can remember him saying, “Listen to this, mother,” and he would then read aloud some choice passages from Pickwick Papers, the greatest of all Dickens' works. Reading aloud was a feature of family life during last century.
I was also able to appreciate the noble work of Dr. Barnardo, who founded the Home that must rank as the greatest of all orphanages, and is subscribed to by all the peoples of the Empire. A thing that struck me was that in the midst of all this poverty and the poor dwellings the people seemed happy. One certainly saw wan faces and evidence of malnutrition, for these families all lived on the border of the bread-and-butter line. No open spaces were provided for the children, who played on the footpaths and streets. No wonder these little chaps could dodge the traffic and literally pick up pennies from among the horses' hoofs on the road to Epsom Downs on Derby Day.
The Cockney is a happy and humorous soul, and an integral part of old England. How important, and how brave, was amply demonstrated in the dreadful bombing that has so recently taken place over the very parts to which I have just referred. No other people in the world could have shown greater courage and fortitude in facing such desperate hazards than these brave men and women of the East End during the Battle of Britain.
I was later to see the London that most tourists see, but those first weeks in the great city remain with me as the most exciting and most illuminating of all my travels.
Chapter13
Cricket in England
My first contact in London with first-class cricket was my meeting
Mr. Alcock proved to be all and more than Major Wardill and
Hargreaves, returning from New Zealand via Australia, came overland from Marseilles to be in time for the match, and on a wicket that was assisting the bowlers I saw him take nine wickets for 35 in Surrey's first innings. It made me feel that he was a class bowler in England.
Mr. Alcock, turning to his Surrey friends, said, “This is the young man who made two centuries against the English team in New Zealand.” It was a very kindly way of introducing me.
Imagine my surprise when, two days later, I received a letter from
Dr. Grace, in build and appearance, was very much like my own father, with the same hearty manner, and his reception of me was as warm and enthusiastic as could be imagined. He introduced me to Murdoch, Ranjitsinhji, MacLaren, Fry, Jessop, Beldham, Poidevin and others. Here was a galaxy of talent to be met at one time! The players waited, expecting
These great English cricketers all seemed just as friendly and chatty as the Australians I had been associated with in Melbourne. I had played against Poidevin in Christchurch when he came to New Zealand with the New South Wales team in 1896, and again in Sydney, in 1899, so it was a pleasant renewal of acquaintance with him. “W.G.” said, “Of course, you must play for London County,” and invited me to play in several matches ahead.
I had already played in a number of games for Tottenham, a team that was well known in London club cricket. Ralph Bullock, with whom I was staying, was a great supporter of the cricket club at South Tottenham. He must have told the club officials that I was staying in the district, for I was called upon, and asked to play in their next match on the following Saturday. I started off by making 4, and in my next game made a “blob.” I had the feeling that Bullock began to think that I was not as good as he had been led to believe. The next match was against Essex Club and Ground, who brought over a pretty good side, including several of the county XI. This time I scored 98, and as in the next match I made 102 against Cheshunt, in addition to taking a few wickets, my position was established. Later on I made 152 against Mitcham, the club of the famous Tom Richardson. The team included two sons of Bobbie Abel's, the well-known Surrey player. I thought one of these boys would go a long way in the game, but he never approached his father's class. In another match I took four wickets for 10 runs on a soft wicket, 30 began to be accepted as an all-rounder.
Tottenham had a very good First XI.
The return match against Cheshunt was to show me one of the most picturesque grounds it is possible to imagine. I had known our own Hagley Park in Christchurch, surrounded by beautiful trees, but Hagley is a large ground of about eighteen acres, and capable of providing space for six matches at one time. Here, however, was the regulation-size ground, bordered by glorious oaks, elms and chestnuts. These trees are all of a great age and, in their English setting, made beautiful surroundings for a cricket ground.
Our return match against Essex Club and Ground, at Leyton, was to bring me a unique experience. After I had had my innings, Mr. O. R. Borrodaile, the county secretary, asked me if I would mind having a knock at the nets. We went across to the practice ground, and who should be there but
So here was Shaw, All England player of the 'seventies, the great bowler of whom I had so often read. I have heard old Englishmen and old Australians, too, say that he was the most accurate length bowler the game has known, and this reputation is always likely to be associated with his name. As a young man, he used to practise in a barn all through the winter months, and around his name is built the story of his being able to hit a half-crown placed on the wicket at the spot of a perfect length ball. There must have been some great contests between Grace and Shaw in those days. The story is handed down that Shaw once said, “I puts 'em where I likes, and 'e puts 'em where 'e likes,” which rather suggests that Grace usually won. And this, too, was the Bobbie Peel I had endeavoured to emulate. Subtle change of pace and flight—sometimes going nearly over the crease, sometimes bowling almost an extra yard. They tell the story that he would at times go over the crease to distract the umpire's attention from the doubtful
The Tottenham ground, close to Seven Sisters Station, was actually in Middlesex County, but the sentiment of the players was always towards Essex, and the club remained a nursery for that county. There was a happy atmosphere about this club, and as is the case with many clubs in New Zealand, the players' women friends used to give afternoon tea; in this way one met many interesting people at the ground on Saturday afternoons. One day I was pleasantly surprised when introduced to Miss May Beatty, a Christchurch girl, who had made a name for herself in New Zealand as principal girl in the once-famous Pollard's Juvenile Opera Company.
My first match for London County was against St. Thomas's Hospital team, at Chiswick. Like the equally famous Guy's Hospital, this institution had both cricket and football teams. They had quite a good eleven, but Dr. Grace did not field his full strength, for having so many cricketers at his call, only too willing to make themselves available for the club matches that he organized between the county fixtures, he included in his team a number of lesser players. This match was almost a replica of my first game for Melbourne, against Fitzroy. The wicket was damaged by rain, and St. Thomas's had a good left-hand
My first big match for London County was against M.C.C. at Lord's, a week later. It was to prove, perhaps, the most remarkable match I have ever played in. Bad weather from the previous week continued, and on the first day of the match there was a drizzling rain, and no one thought of going to the ground. Tuesday was again wet, but on Wednesday there was brilliant sunshine. When my cab pulled up at the entrance gate at Lord's, who should arrive at the same time, from the opposite direction, but W. G. Grace. When he alighted from his hansom and saw me, he gave a hearty greeting and said, “Come along with me, Reese.” Perhaps he appreciated the feelings that a youngster from so far afield would experience on entering the famous ground for the first time. At any rate, we were soon through the gates, and there met Sir F. E. Lacey wearing his I Zingari blazer and flannels, for he had been having a knock at the nets, “Here, Lacey, meet young Reese from New Zealand.” After a pleasant welcome from the M.C.C. Secretary we moved on, but had not gone many yards before “W.G.” called out, “Here, Doyle, meet a young New Zealander!” It was none other than the famous Conan Doyle. In this way I was fairly carried into the precincts of the home of the M.C.C. Such kindliness, such warmth of welcome, soon allayed my timid feelings, and before I knew where I was, found myself in our dressing-room. More introductions followed, this time to those members of our own team whom I had not met before. I soon chummed up with Johnny Douglas, who was about my own age. R. M. Bell, from Melbourne—Dick Bell to his friends—had been resident in London for some years. C. Robson, the second wicket-keeper of MacLaren's team to Australia, was our stumper. Taken as a whole, it was a good side, but the M.C.C. team looked considerably stronger. Captain Wynyard, Burnup, back from New Zealand, J. T. Hearne of Test fame,
Grace won the toss and took Murdoch in with him. It was a thrill for me to see these old champions open the innings on this famous ground where they had so often met as opponents. Grace was fifty-four years of age, and Murdoch forty-eight, which confounds one when comparing their ages with those of the usual county players. There was no need for any softhearted or sentimental leanings towards these “old 'uns,” for on this sticky wicket they set about to play as though they were in their youth. Grace amazed me by the way in which he played Hearne. Llewelyn, a left-hander, was also difficult. On they went—20, 30, 40—taking advantage of every moment before the wicket cut up, as it was bound to do. Murdoch was out first for 20. I got a shock when I found the Dr. had put me in first wicket down, but making runs against the bowlers of St. Thomas's on a soft wicket was a bit different from making them against Hearne, Trott and Llewelyn, It had been my dream to see the famous “W.G.,” but to be at the wickets with him, at Lord's, was enough to upset the equilibrium of any young player. He went first for an excellent 25. The following over I jumped out to Llewelyn, missing the ball, and Huish had the bails off in a flash. This was the beginning of a procession, for our total was only 72, after a first wicket start of 40, Grace and Murdoch being the only double-figure scorers. Hearne and Llewelyn both bowled very well indeed.
Wynyard and Burnup batted as Grace and Murdoch had done, taking the score to about 50, when Burnup hit one hard and low towards me at long-on. It was almost identical with the hit of McAllister's off' Trumble, in Melbourne. Racing in, I caught the ball a few inches off the ground. Wynyard was next out. It was the first time I had seen Wynyard bat, and he certainly played well.
London County's second innings was a repetition of the first. Grace and Murdoch, with the wicket now cut up and more difficult than at the start, again batted like champions, taking the score to about 30. This brought Trott on for the first time in the match. Grace was the first to go this time, and again in first wicket down, I was thus at the wickets with the famous old Australian captain. It is a pleasant recollection that such an opportunity and privilege of batting at Lord's with these two great players should come my way. I was not, however, destined to stay long, for one of Trott's fast ones gave me a terrific crack on the inside of my left knee and, a few balls later, my leg stump was knocked back. I do not remember finding anyone so difficult as was the erstwhile Australian on that wicket. I had certainly seen two old champions in Grace and Murdoch, but I was also seeing a modern champion in
The Australians had opened their tour against Nottingham in cold weather, which the visitors felt very much:
M.C.C. all Out for 33! Five of the last six batsmen fail to score! Spofforth six wickets for 4 runs! Impossible! It couldn't be true! Then: Australia all out for 41 !
Whatever satisfaction the Englishmen felt over the dismissal of the Australians for a score that gave the visitors a first inning's lead of but 8 runs soon vanished when, in the M.C.C. second innings, four of the first five batsmen failed to score. The whole side was out for 19! This time it was Boyle who took the wickets, but throughout Spofforth remained the demoralizing
Ever since Grace had become the greatest star in the cricket world and a national figure as well, the Londoner has always, when he could, sneaked away from his office when the champion was batting at Lord's or the Oval. This day it was to see two great sides engaged in what proved to be an extraordinary and thrilling contest.
In later days this same hurried migration to the ground took place to witness Ranjitsinhji, to see Jessop, to be there when Trumper flashed his brilliant bat, or still more recently to watch the great Bradman run off his centuries. Both England and Australia have had many shocks since then, but no match did more to rock the foundations of England's cricket supremacy and disturb her complacency than did this one.
By comparison with such a clash of giants, our match against M.C.C. was a small affair. It was surely remarkable, however, and a commentary on the staying-powers of some players, that Grace and Murdoch, who both played in this match in 1878, should, twenty-five years later, still be predominant figures on the field in another “All-over-in-one-day” match on the same ground.
So far, much of the cricket I had played in England had been on rain-affected wickets, including my first two games for Tottenham. It was pleasing, however, that the sunshine of this day at Lord's proved to be the forerunner of beautiful weather.
As London County had no more first-class matches for a fortnight, I had some enjoyable games with Tottenham. Immediately after the matches against Essex Club and Ground, and Cheshunt, to which I have referred earlier, I joined Dr. Grace's team to play against the County XI of Leicestershire at Leicester. The fun on the field of the London County matches was equalled by the fun of touring with the team. Old “W.G.” and old
I had been fortunate in associating with many great Australian players, but this association with Grace and Murdoch was a rare privilege. Their views on the game, and the recounting of sidelights on old historic battles on the field, covering so
The match against Leicester began on Whit-Monday, one of England's most popular holidays. We were amazed at the crowd, for 10,000 people assembled, mostly, no doubt, to see the famous “W.G.” He was still a tremendous draw, and immensely popular wherever he went.
What a thrill we in New Zealand would get to see a man over six feet tall and weighing about nineteen stone, with a bushy beard gone grey, walk on to the field! His name had been handed down from generation to generation of cricketers, and small boys were just as enthusiastic about the old-time champion as they are about Bradman to-day. But the present-day champion cannot sport a beard or attract attention off the field as Grace always did with his commanding presence. The Leicester ground is typical of the county grounds of England. Perhaps it is a little smaller than most of them, and the embankment is not wide enough to hold large crowds. The attendance on this occasion taxed the accommodation to the limit, and in the afternoon people were sitting on the grass inside the fence around a portion of the ground.
Leicestershire won the toss and opened in fine style, the batsmen, one after another, taking toll of our bowling. The best innings was by A. E. Knight, a Test Match player, who just missed the century. He was among the best of the professional batsmen in those days. The brightest batting was by V. F. S. Crawford, an ex-Surrey player, who was now Secretary of the Leicestershire County Club. Twice he hit Grace clean over the pavilion with straight drives. He made graceful, sweeping hits, more like golf strokes, with a full follow-through. The “Old Man” would not give up, and kept believing he could trap Crawford, which he did at the finish, but took a “father of a hiding” in the process of getting his wicket. Grace finished with one for 112, which will show how over-persistent he was. Kermode, from Sydney, New South Wales, who was qualifying to play for Lancashire, was our best bowler. Medium-fast right-hand, with a ball that came from leg, he was often
When our innings opened we soon learnt that in Gill and Woodcock Leicester had two bowlers of pace. Cricketers would call them “pretty fast,” and as they made the ball lift from the pitch, our batsmen found them difficult to play. “W.G.” had changed the batting order on account of having to play out time overnight. Wickets fell quickly. The “Old Man” went in fourth wicket, Murdoch fifth. Three for 30 became four for 40 when Murdoch joined his captain, but Grace did not make many. The score was six for 70 when I joined Murdoch. We both stood up to the fast howling better than the earlier batsmen, and were soon forcing the pace. Runs come quickly off fast bowling if one is not tied down to behind-the-wicket shots. At any rate, on we went, appearing to gather speed as the score mounted. Soon 100 was up, then 120, 140 and eventually past 160. We had added nearly 100 runs in an hour and a quarter, when Murdoch was bowled for 57. It was not hard to visualize his greatness in earlier years. Shortly afterwards, Odell, who was a good medium-pace bowler and played for the Gentlemen against the Players that season, clean bowled me with a ball that beat me all the way. My score was 45. This partnership with Murdoch was one of the breeziest I ever took part in; he, at his age, preferred hitting fours to running threes. As the last two batsmen failed to score, our forcing tactics would seem to have been justified. Our total was only 178.
The Leicester captain preferred to bat again rather than make us follow on. C. J. Posthuma, a Dutchman, whose opportunities of cricket in Holland were not great, was a medium-pace left hander, with a wrist-action break similar to a righthander's leg-break. Getting a big break from the off, he puzzled the county batsmen. This was the very ball that Sammy Jones, some years earlier, had advised me not to bowl, Posthuma,
London County was not equal to the task set them, for Leicester's big first innings' score left us over 300 to get. We got only 160. There were four noughts on the side, of which I got one, caught behind the wicket. As Grace scored only i, it will be seen that half the side played practically no part in the small total. Murdoch was again top scorer with 31. I was deeply impressed with his batting, and drawn to him in a personal way by his friendliness, kindness and sense of humour. We were glad to finish this match early for, being due to begin a match against Gloucestershire, at Crystal Palace, on the following day, we caught an afternoon train to London.
The Crystal Palace ground, set in beautiful surroundings within the great park in which stood the marvellous glass structure that gave it its name, was not equalled in picturesqueness by any other ground in England where first-class matches were played. It was really a park within a park.
In the year 1899 Dr. W. G. Grace left the Gloucestershire County, the home of his birth, to become Secretary of the London County Club, formed by the Palace authorities in the belief that first-class cricket would add to the attractions of the great institution that they managed. What better man could be found than “W.G.” to organize and manage these matches! All the great players just loved the “Grand Old Man,” and in the times between their ordinary county matches were often available. It was his good fortune to be able to present Ranjitsinhji one day, MacLaren on another, and Fry, Jessop and other great amateurs, besides Tom Richardson, Brockwell, Braund and other leading professionals.
Great enthusiasm was shown at the start of London County's career, but the distance from the centre of London prevented anyone from going to the ground for an hour or two, as is always possible in the case of Lord's and the Oval. They could see “Ranji” when he came to these grounds and, in the main, that is what they did. Though the venture was a financial failure, there can be no doubt that it was a great cricketing
The match against Gloucestershire was remarkable in several ways. First, T. H. Fowler and Wrathall scored over 250 for the first wicket; it was “W.G.” who finally dissolved the partnership, getting Fowler stumped. After that it was Grace's match, for he bowled like the shrewd “old head” that he was, and had all the batsmen scratching. When Jessop came in we had visions of Crawford's slashing innings at Leicester, and imagined the “Old Man” was in for another hiding. The famous Jessop first hit him for a 4 and then, after a couple of singles, faced “W.G's” slows again. “Dolly drops” we used to call them, and the mighty smiter, starting out to put him over the fence, changed his mind and, playing forward over-carefully, spooned one tamely back. Seizing it with great glee, “W.G.” turned to Murdoch and said, “What do you think of that, ‘Mother’?” Jessop stood for a moment and then walked away with a broad grin on his face. On and on went Grace, finishing with six for 102. He was not a whit less bashful than
Members of the earliest Australian teams told me that Grace, in his prime, was a really good medium-paced bowler. They said no one was quicker in spotting a batsman's weakness and bowling for it. Woe betide the player who showed signs of flinching or drawing away! “W.G.” would then go on to bowl, pegging away at the leg stump as though there were but a single wicket to aim at. His persistence was disconcerting to a batsman, who might have a range of strokes on the off only to find himself unable to bring them into play because of the accuracy and direction of this attack.
Now I was to see the champion as a slow leg-break bowler, but with that lowered-arm delivery that comes to most bowlers in the veteran stages of their careers. Although his control of length was still remarkable, the nip off the pitch had gone, and he relied mainly on flight and subtle ways in his efforts to deceive the batsman. One of my earliest coaches used to say, “Diddle 'em out—that's what Grace did.” Gloucestershire's innings ended with a total of 397.
Grace's bowling was not the end of his proof of greatness. With half an hour to time, I was again lifted to first wicket position in the batting list, but had not been in long when, jumping in to hit Spry, their slow bowler, I was stumped—well out of my crease. When I got back to the dressing-room old
I have referred to MacLaren's being considered a majestic figure on the cricket fields of Australia, but the stature of Grace, plus the beard, which at this time was worn by no other player, surely made “W.G.” look the most masterful and impressive figure in the game. A Bateman cartoon, “How the bowler felt when he bowled to Grace,” would have made a choice addition to the picture galleries of the pavilion. So this was Grace—the giant of the game, about whom I had read in my youth: six wickets for 102, and a century and a half from his own bat. Is it any wonder I was profoundly impressed, and carry to this day memories of this marvellous cricketer? Our total reached 311, so it will be seen the old champion scored half the runs.
Gloucester collapsed in their second innings and were all out for 61, Hesketh Pritchard and Kermode proving too good for them. The former, with his high delivery and nip off the pitch, was a very good bowler who played for the Gentlemen against the Players in the Lord's match that season. Jessop injured his back and could not bat in the second innings: they certainly needed him. Left with 115 runs to get, London County won by seven wickets. I scored 27 in our second innings. It was a good win considering we faced a first-innings total of close on 400.
On the Saturday evening of this match I stayed behind with Johnnie Douglas and his father to see a great fireworks display. We walked up to the Palace, situated in a commanding position overlooking the grounds, and witnessed a marvellous exhibition of fireworks. In New Zealand we are used to Chinese crackers, Catherine-wheels and rockets, but in England it was Pain's fireworks—always Pain's—and this famous firm certainly did justice to its reputation, giving a display the like of which I had not seen before.
London County did not have another first-class fixture for
There is no need to go over the details of this match. One memory I have of Grace is seeing this huge man carrying his cricket bag like the rest of us, as we went to catch the train, but in his case it looked like a little handbag as he strode along the platform. In county matches the baggage was always cared for by an attendant, but in club games we sometimes had to fend for ourselves.
It was now becoming clear to me that I could not continue indefinitely leading the life of a gentleman. To play as an amateur in first-class cricket in England one needs a private income. The call to the pleasures and pastimes of life is often seductive and insistent, and the urge to a career but faintly heard. Money is a loud speaker always, and as my bank account became smaller and smaller I had to face up to the fact that I must leave something in the kitty in case of a rainy day. It was at this time that the Essex Committee, aware that I was shortly due to go to one of the engineering works in Scotland, made a move to see whether I would qualify by residence for the East Anglia county.
I was asked to call and see Mr. Charles E. Green, who was President of the Essex County Club; still more important was the fact that he was senior partner in the great firm of Green & Green, associated with the Orient Company. His family had large engineering works at Millwall, in Essex, and it was hoped that he would be able to arrange for my employment with them. I had met Mr. Green at the county ground at Leyton, but on meeting him in his own palatial office in the heart of London I
He then put on his hat and we walked along to the Fenchurch Street Station and took the train to Millwall. This tall, handsome man, with steel-grey hair, dressed in morning coat and top hat, made me feel I was in important company. On arrival at the works, we met his nephew, who was manager, and Mr. Green explained to him the object of his visit: would they employ me for six or seven months in the year, and then allow me off to play for Essex in the summer months? I should have done my thinking before going so far. When my elderly patron had just about completed the arrangement, I said to him, “I'm a little afraid of this, Mr. Green, for it is not what I came to England for, and I can't see any future in it.”
With a quick glance, and looking me straight in the face— no doubt to make sure that I meant it—he said, “You're right, Reese, and see that you stick to that viewpoint. Come, let's get back to the City.”
On the return journey he spoke to me more as a father would to his son, and his words were a comfort to me. He seemed more pleased than if he had made the arrangements that would have ensured my playing for Essex.
Dr. Grace had invited me to go to Bristol and to Manchester, and during the Gloucestershire match Jessop had asked me to join the team he was taking to Scotland to play matches in Glasgow and Edinburgh a few weeks later. Although I have always been glad of my resolve at that critical point of my career, there is no doubt that it was something of a temptation to accept these invitations. However, once my decision was made I did not look back with any regrets.
I was now preparing to go north, for the letters of introduction I had from the Howard Smiths of Australia would be almost certain to get me placed with one of the shipbuilding firms that had built steamers for my late Melbourne employers. One evening, at Tottenham, when discussing my plans, old Mr. Bullock turned to me and said, “Have you ever thought of going to sea?” and he then gave it as his opinion that this represented a short cut to the top in the mechanical side of engineering.
The following evening, when Ralph Bullock returned from London, he said to me at dinner, “How would you like to go to the Far East? I heard of a steamer due to sail in a few days that requires a junior engineer, and I think I can get you the job.” The Far East! The Orient! What an opportunity of seeing the world! The suddenness of such a prospect rather hurried my thoughts, and I promised him I would go up to London with him in the morning and inquire about the position. Bullock took me round to the office of the Superintendent Engineers of the company, and before I left them was taken on as Fourth Engineer of the S.S. Claverhill, due to sail from Cardiff at the end of the week. This was quick work and represented a definite milestone in my career.
When I told Dr. Grace he seemed surprised, even disappointed, and said, “Why, Reese, I thought that I was going to have you for the whole season.” I wonder if he, too, thought that I was a gentleman of means? This brings me to the end of the first phase of my experience in English first-class cricket.
Had I wanted to play a greater part in English cricket I should have gone on then. I should certainly have liked to play in more matches for London County. After my fielding at Lord's, old “W.G.” made me feel he would want me all the time, whether I made runs or not. He apparently remained in ignorance of the fact that I could also bowl a little. Without my ever having a practice at the nets with him, Grace had no opportunity of seeing me bowl. It was on that glue-pot wicket at Lord's, made for a left-hander, that I might have been tried. I could not, of course, say what
Chapter14
W. G. Grace
I Cannot pass from London County cricket, which was one of the brightest parts of my cricketing career, without giving my impressions of the great and only “W.G.”
His name has been sung through the years since cricket first won pride of place in the games of England and spread to all parts of the Empire. It is not possible to measure the part that cricket has played, or the influences it has had, on inter-Imperial relations. The great Test Match contests and the friendships made have certainly brought closer the players and the peoples of all the cricketing countries.
One great player stands out above all others in the history of the game and ranks not only as the greatest player, but the greatest personality cricket has known. What was it that made cricketers of the different generations of his time become so attached and devoted to this famous man—Dr. W. G. Grace? His character, his charm of manner, and his ways, which were often as playful as a schoolboy's, won for him a unique position. He was generous in his praise of good play, but could also change in a flash to a harsh exclamation if a fieldsman fumbled when a run-out was possible, or when a catch was missed that meant much to his side.
In the Gloucestershire match I was to witness a humorous piece of side-play that will illustrate this trait of his character. T. H. Fowler and Wrathall, in their great first-wicket partnership, were giving us a pretty rough time. Presently, one of them spooned a ball to cover-point. Who should be there but Murdoch and, to the consternation of all, he “put it on the carpet.” What would the “Old Man” say? He could say with a look what other men would have to call out aloud. But old Billy knew what this silence meant, and he wasn't taking any frowning look from his captain. He threw the ball back to the bowler, but wouldn't look at “W.G.” Another ball was bowled and it was the end of the over. Murdoch, with a face as expressionless as a sphinx, walked across, and the field was set for the next bowler when the culprit looked
At one stage of his career, Grace was as well known to the people of England as was their Prime Minister—to many, even better. Men in the highest positions in the land valued his friendship because, added to his greatness as a cricketer, there was a fineness of character and a warmth of companionship that made him an outstanding personality and a very desirable friend.
Except for the definite breaks made by two world wars, there has been little variation in the general standard of play from one generation of cricketers to another; on this subject opinions often differ, for the present-day critic is not always in a position to judge past performances in the light of conditions prevailing at that time. When Grace began his cricket career, wickets varied according to the nature of the turf of each playing field, but before his retirement, Nottingham marl, and other binding soils, had become the special top-dressing used on all English wickets, and changed the fortunes of both the batsman and the bowler. In both these periods “W.G.” remained the outstanding figure in the game and raised the standard of play until, in the early 'eighties, the game had been lifted to a level that is still regarded as being comparable with the best periods of later years. About 1885 cricket actually fell away, at any rate so far as Australia was concerned, to come back again in the middle 'nineties, stronger than it had ever been. Yet in 1896 Grace was still great, and was still England's captain. Just as twenty years earlier he had played Spofforth's fastest deliveries, so he stood up to Jones's tremendous pace and, although approaching fifty, was able to demonstrate that as the standard-bearer of other times, he could hold his own in modern cricket.
The very great players will always be able to carry on into the cricket of the next generation. One can imagine that Bradman, ten years hence, will be able to walk to the wickets and trounce bowlers who are at primary school to-day. This only goes to show that Grace did carry over the standard of play of a period which the present-day cricketers do not always appreciate or know of, to a period in the 'nineties that even
In 1906, when Grace was fifty-seven years of age, he captained the Gentlemen against the Players, scoring 74. When he was returning to the pavilion, everyone rose and cheered, for they marvelled at a performance so remarkable, considering he was facing some of the best professional bowling in England. He was naturally not active enough between wickets to notch the full value of the runs his batting entitled him to, or he would have probably reached his century.
Another great innings was by Murdoch. Called in as a substitute for Warner, who became ill on the first day of the Gentlemen-Players Match in 1905, he scored 140 against
Nearly twenty years after I played with Grace and Murdoch, I saw MacLaren, when fifty years of age, play a magnificent innings of 200 against New Zealand, at Wellington.
The mammoth scores made by Bradman, to-day's greatest batsman, have been so marvellous, and have so overshadowed everything else in modern cricket, that the impression created has been that never before have such scores been made. But let us take a telescopic view of the past and examine some of the purple patches of many years ago, when Grace towered above all others, as Bradman does to-day. Conditions then were less favourable to the batsman than they are in these days of the doctored and covered wicket, yet, even in the totals made, many of Grace's scores stand out so boldly as to defy being overshadowed by any comparison. One sequence of scores will suffice: in 1876, when Grace was twenty-eight years of age, he played for M.C.C. against Kent, and scored 344. He left immediately for Bristol to play two home matches for Gloucestershire against Notts. and Yorkshire. As the men of Nottingham were leaving by train after their match, the Yorkshire team arrived at the station. Tom Emmett, the famous Yorkshire bowler, ran across the platform and called out, “How many did the ‘Old Man’ make?”
“177,” came the quick reply.
“Hurrah!” called back Emmett. “He can't do it three times running.” He was reckoning without the Master who, on winning the toss, went in to repeat his performance against Kent, this time going right through the innings to finish with 318 not out. 839 runs in eight days. Is there need to say more?
It was at the end of the first day's play in this Yorkshire match that Tom Emmett, a great humorist, said, “Damn it all! It's Grace before meat, Grace after meat, and Grace all day. I suppose we'll have Grace again to-morrow!”
I cannot finish these comments without some reference to the delightful friendship that existed between this great Englishman and Murdoch, the former Australian captain. In his younger days Grace had the reputation of being a domineering man, but it must be remembered that Murdoch and other members of early Australian teams were equally unyielding when differences of opinion cropped up, as they did, in the first years of Test Matches. This makes the warm friendship of these two old captains and veterans of many battles on the cricket field all the more remarkable. When Grace won the toss for London County, Murdoch always put on the pads. The “Old Man” would say, “What have you got the pads on for?”
“I'm going in to bat,” would come the reply. It did not matter whether it was a county match or a club match—it was always the same.
In club matches, going in first meant more than in county games, as the following story will show.
Being a little nervous, Lusk replied, “If you don't mind, sir, I would rather not go in first.”
The “Old Man” just chuckled and said, “Oh, all right,” and put him in about sixth wicket.
When Grace walked away, old
Cricketers who afterwards took to golf will appreciate this story. Grace did not begin to play the ancient game until middle-aged and, like all golfers, was very keen in the early stages. In a cricket match at Crystal Palace, play was adjourned on account of a drizzling rain, so the “Old Man” put on an extra sweater and, taking a mashie-niblick and a dozen golf balls, went on to the field and from a distance of about sixty or seventy yards began to play mashie shots to the players grouped in front of the pavilion. The short game was the best part of Grace's golf, and he made a very good job of landing them on to the “middle of the green,” where many of them were caught and thrown back. Can anyone imagine a more ludicrous yet exhilarating exhibition of exuberance of spirit!
Someone said to Grace, “Don't you find golf interferes with your cricket?”—for the straight arm of golf and left elbow up of cricket are very different actions.
“W.G.” replied, “I find cricket interferes with my golf!”
Grace and Murdoch, at the end of their playing days, played golf in the same spirit as they played cricket. One day, when out on the links playing a four ball, all had played for the green, “W.G.” getting on and Murdoch landing into a deep bunker, made more difficult on account of a high mound on the edge—a customary hazard in those days. Getting down into the bunker and departing from all the rules of the game, Murdoch, picking up his ball with a handful of sand, threw it over the mound, the ball going close to the flag. The “Old Man” was caught napping, but discrediting Murdoch's ability to make such a shot, looked first at the other two players and then kept his eye on Murdoch as he trotted across the green with a delighted but innocent look. As at Crystal Palace, on the occasion of the dropped catch, their eyes met—more laughter.
Stories of Grace are legion and have been re-told many times, but I will risk one more that I think has never appeared in print. It wants
It may seem difficult to reconcile such playfulness with the character of one wielding such authority on the cricket field, but let no one doubt his seriousness and resolution when the occasion demanded! Even in his way of calling the ground professional at Crystal Palace there was a note of command; he would come out of his office on to the balcony, loudly blow a whistle and soon Murch would come hurrying towards the pavilion.
And so I leave this great man. My last impression of him as a first-class cricketer was of his retiring to the pavilion after scoring a century and a half against Gloucestershire. Perhaps a better picture of his final exit from the game is to be found in the photo of him, taken ten years later, when he is seen striding to the wickets in a village cricket match. No other picture that I know of shows up better than this, his magnificent physique and commanding presence.
Truly I can end with an oft-repeated phrase—“The Immortal Grace!”
Dr. W. G. Grace at the Age of 64
S.S. Claverhill—A British Tramp
The Old Mauretania
Chapter15
To the Far East
Now came the time to say good-bye to London. My trunk did not take long to pack, and I was ready to proceed to Cardiff to join the Claverhill. Sailors will know that when a man goes to sea he takes the minimum amount of clothing. When he leaves his ship he has accumulated so much that he wonders whether it is all worth taking home. “Join a ship with a handbag, and leave it with a sea-bag,” is a saying at sea. Men, at any rate, are not much good at any time, but when at sea, especially visiting foreign ports, they have this and that palmed off on to them to a degree that is sometimes incredible.
I arrived at the Welsh capital in the late afternoon and, searching for my ship, my spirits went up and down as first I approached an attractive-looking vessel, then came to a real old tub. Which would it be? At last, after about half a dozen, my porter called, “There she is!” Yes, there was the Claverhill. My spirits went down to zero. Travelling as a passenger on steamers trading between Australia and New Zealand, the trip on the Peregrine to Queensland, and the voyage home on the Rimutaka had made me acquainted with modern passenger liners. Here was the good old British tramp. I steeled myself as I climbed the gangway, for I had the feeling that her accommodation would be in keeping with her outward appearance; I was not mistaken. She was just like thousands of others that sail the seas of the world, winning and holding trade that has made Britain the world's greatest maritime nation. I was later to learn, not without pride, the respect that is shown to the Union Jack in far-distant lands—even if flown from the masthead of a plain-looking and plainly-furnished cargo steamer.
The first man I met on board was the Chief Engineer, who was walking the deck awaiting my arrival, the owners having wired him the train by which I was to arrive. I received a pleasant reception from this sturdy Scot from Ardrossan. William McGill was his name, and of all the men I was at sea with, there was not one I came to hold in higher esteem.
This was a lovely summer's evening and after dinner I went for a walk ashore with one of my new shipmates. I got a great thrill when we came across the famous Cutty Sark. She had come down in the world since her racing days, and was now owned by a Portuguese company and traded on the short run across the Bay of Biscay. It was rather pathetic to see this once world-renowned ship, bereft of her smart appearance of the good old days, and ranking as just a common cargo carrier. Oh for the days of tea and wool cargoes which left her so much more buoyant and able to make a fool of steamers when she was favoured with a fair wind! A little farther along the wharf we saw women stevedores loading a cargo of produce into a small coastal boat. I could hardly believe my eyes. The following day the watches were set, and this enabled me to go ashore for a few hours, for we were sailing that night, and it would be my only chance of seeing Cardiff.
At 9 p.m. we moved out into the Bristol Channel and were soon under way. The Fourth Engineer always takes the Chief's watch, which is from 8 to 12. As it was my first time in sole charge, the Chief stayed down with me for most of the time. One did not have long to wait to feel her lifting to the swell of the Atlantic, which was enough to test my sea-legs, and I just escaped the seasickness stage. It took us two days to cross the Bay of Biscay. Our first glimpse of Spain was Cape Finisterre and we were soon appreciating a warmer atmosphere and calmer seas. In two days' time we rounded Cape St. Vincent and headed for the Straits of Gibraltar.
I was keenly interested in being shown the scene of the Battle of Trafalgar. Mr. McGill, our Chief, loved hearing the story my father had told us at the fireside when I was a small boy. It was of a Scot who was in one of those slogging matches, with British and French ships close together, firing at point-blank range. With rifle in hand, crouching behind what turned out to be a barrel of salted butter, he was picking off his victims on the French frigate. Suddenly, one of the old-fashioned cannon balls fired from the French ship struck the barrel, covering the man from the Clyde with its contents. Immediately he was heard calling excitedly, “Fecht on boys! Fecht on, for it's naethin' but bootter they're firin'!”
Another day's run brought us abreast of Gibraltar—the Rock of Gibraltar—one of the outstanding places on the map,
The Mediterranean lived up to its reputation as the bluest and calmest of all the seas. Not that it cannot be rough, but the smallness of the rise and fall of the tides, the limited depth and the locked-in nature of the sea, make it practically a huge lake. We had now been more than a week at sea, and long enough for me to gain a knowledge of the ship and the crew that manned her. The Claverhill, rated a good ship in her class of those days, was owned by the Hazelhurst Company of London, and one of a fleet of about six vessels, known as the Claver Line, all trading to the East. We were loaded with briquettes made from the slack of Welsh coal. It did not seem a very profitable cargo to carry so far, but tramp steamers do not get much of a look-in with the freighting of merchandise, which is so much better catered for by the regular services of the great P. & O., Orient and B.I. Companies. It is on the homeward journeys that the outsiders get a share of the seasonal cargoes that are always in excess of the carrying capacity of the liner companies' ships.
The old Claverhill, with engines that turned about eighty revolutions a minute, was typical of the ships designed to run at a minimum cost, with regard to coal consumption, and with the smallest number for a crew. I was impressed by the cosmopolitan nature of ours; Captain Urquart was from Glasgow, the First Mate from Liverpool, the Second from London, while the Chief Engineer was a Scot, the Second a Geordie from South Shields, the Third a real Cockney, and the Fourth a New Zealander; the Steward was a German, and our Cook hailed from Liverpool. Here were representatives from many
We soon settled down to the prosaic life experienced on a tramp steamer when at sea. One quickly gets to know a man's character when one lives with him, and we moved east with every confidence in a happy voyage. The warmth of the midsummer sun, and the calmness of the sea, made life pleasant indeed, although I had already found out the difference between a liner and a tramp steamer. On the former, the engineers have greasers on watch with them. The Americans call them oilers, which is a more appropriate name, for their duty is to oil the engines every hour and keep feeling by hand this and that bearing to make sure it is not getting hot. On a tramp steamer, the engineer on watch has to do all this himself and has also to look after the firemen in the stokehold. It was no white-collar job, this, and at the end of the watch the “Englishman's tub” in the engine-room could be compared with the shower bath at Melbourne, which, after hard cricket practice at the nets, was, perhaps, the most enjoyable part.
The people of England and New Zealand speak of distances in hundreds of miles, but when it comes to traversing oceans or sailing alongside a continent it is a case of thousands. From Gibraltar to Suez is two thousand miles, and the run along the north coast of Africa reminded me of the trip up the coast of Australia on the Peregrine, just a year before. The only difference was that this time there were no ports of call. We had steamed nearly a thousand miles before temporarily losing sight of the African coast on the starboard bow, only to pick up Sicily on the port side and were next passing Malta. So this was Malta! Another of the places that demonstrate the foresight of our ancestors. It does not impress one as does the giant rocky face of Gibraltar, but nevertheless wins a proud place in the hearts of all Britishers. It is almost as vital as the Rock, and stands as a lonely sentinel in the middle of this great calm sea.
In those days there were no refrigerators on ships of the type of the Claverhill. Having long since finished off the stocks of fresh meat, green vegetables, milk, etc., we were down to far less palatable food; meat out of the brine tub, tinned milk, a few vegetables that would keep well and dried fruits, with plenty of rice for puddings. Generally speaking, we were back to the standard of a second-rate boarding house. At first my appetite rebelled, and I began to eat very little, but soon became so hungry that it mattered little whether it was brined or pickled meat, rice or dried fruits. It is amazing what one can get used to.
The weather became warmer as we approached the eastern end of the Mediterranean, and naturally the men below began to feel the heat before anyone else. I was all agog to see our approach to Port Said and, rising in the early morning, came on deck to see a light ahead. Soon we were abreast of the lighthouse on the headland at the Damietta mouth, one of the many outlets that carry the waters of the Nile to the Mediter-ranean. Another light hove in sight; it was the entrance to Port Said. Dawn came and the sun was up by the time we entered this busy port.
Of the first things that catch the eye one of the first is the splendid statue of De Lesseps, the great French engineer who built the Canal, and in doing so became world famous. Port Said, the greatest of all coaling stations, needs little description.
Claverhill. Soon the gangways were fixed from these lighters to our deck, and streams of natives began carrying up the baskets of coal, dumping the contents into the bunkers. At this time it was and, I suppose, still is the most efficient bunkering system in the world. It is a human chain that moves up as the natives trot to empty their baskets and return to the coal barges. Black faces and black bodies soon became blacker and shinier as the coal-dust adhered to their sweating skins. They chatted and chanted as they worked, until the whole ship was buzzing like a bee-hive.
But the “coalies” were not the only natives who climbed to our deck, for, as soon as the ship was passed by the Port doctor, there arrived numbers of pedlars, selling all sorts of articles, such as cigarettes, scent, lace, etc. Sometimes an Arab of doubtful-looking character would exhibit postcards, at first showing beautiful illustrations of Cairo and all its ancient surroundings, then, if he thought it was safe, would produce some of the most obscene pictures one could possibly imagine. With no passengers on our ship, we did not prove a good investment for these sellers of wares who seemed to love being called by nicknames. There was a Jock, a Sandy, a Mac, and Paddy, and so on. The first-named seemed to be the chief of the tribe; he wore a bit of tartan in an effort to live up to his name, and could talk and laugh in a way that made him a real entertainer. He had numerous articles made mainly of wood, which he insisted were made from a piece of the “True Cross.” This greatly amused us. After doing their rounds, this motley crew went down the gangway, boarded their bum-boat, and pulled away to another ship to repeat the performance.
We finished bunkering in the late afternoon, and our ship was covered in coal-dust, far worse than the Rimutaka had been at Montevideo a few months earlier, but she was soon hosed down. I was surprised to see searchlights being installed on our bow. It was explained that the traffic in the canal is unceasing, and at night the ships steam along with headlights focusing ahead. Our speed was necessarily slow to avoid a sidewash that would damage the walls of this wonderful
Had I been possessed of more Biblical knowledge I should have been able to piece together some of the stories of the Scriptures. Despite my early training, the one about Moses leading the Tribes of Israel out of Egypt was the only one I could remember, and was soon to be reminded of this epoch-making event. It was not long before we were steaming full speed across the Great Bitter Lakes. Another short length of canal and we emerged into the head of the Gulf of Suez, with Suez itself on the starboard side. The distance through the canal is ninety-eight miles, and it had taken us a whole day. We did not take long to drop the pilot and were soon speeding—if you could call eight knots speeding—for the Red Sea proper. As we steamed along, our incorrigible Third said, “That's where they rowed across.” He obviously did not believe the story of the miracle that resulted in the parting of the waters. Our religious Second quickly corrected him, and pointed out that originally the Red Sea extended beyond the Bitter Lakes, and that the crossing took place somewhere about Ismailia. Producing his Bible, with a map showing the route of the trek from out of the Valley of the Nile, he explained how the fleeing Israelites turned south to assemble at Mt. Sinai and from there marched round the northern end of the Gulf of Akaba into Arabia. I did not expect to find such Biblical knowledge in the engine-room of a tramp steamer.
By this time I knew intimately my fellow officers. The mess-room talk was often exhilarating and instructive, as may be gathered from this story of Moses. There were stories, of course, some clever and subtle, with the Third's always risqué.
We were now finding it increasingly trying as we steamed south, each day getting hotter. I had felt the heat of Melbourne on those excessively hot days when the north wind from off the continent proved so oppressive. Sydney, while not registering such a high temperature, was even harder to bear, but the Red Sea, either on deck or in one's cabin, let alone down in the engine-room, was something hotter than I had ever experienced. Fortunately, the sea was as calm as a millpond, so that as evening came round conditions were more pleasant. It took us more than a week to pass through the Red Sea, for it is 1,400 miles from Suez to Aden, and our firemen found the temperature in the stokehold so overbearing that there was often not a full head of steam. We were all looking forward to getting into the Indian Ocean, for the Red Sea narrowed again as we approached and passed Perim, where it was hotter than ever. Steaming into the Gulf of Aden, we at once got relief, but it was not the relief for which we had been looking. We were rid of the heat, but the glass had fallen and the weather looked ominous. The Chief said that it was lower than he had seen it for a long time. “Monsoon!” said the Captain.
When abreast of the Island of Socotra, all on board knew
Fifteen hundred miles of this, from Socotra to Colombo, were not pleasant to anticipate. I hung on like grim death as I gripped the polished hand-rails and climbed round those engines on my watch. I sometimes had to pinch myself to make quite sure I was the same young man who had so recently played at Lord's with W. G. Grace. I wonder what the “Old Man” would have said could he have seen me. Had Murdoch been with him, they would just have looked at one another and roared with laughter. But I was not laughing, for I had to keep my watch, seasick or not. I was missing half my meals; even those our Steward brought to my cabin I could not always eat. My loss of weight in the heat of the Red Sea and of appetite in the Indian Ocean was making me feel miserable. My weight was always a little under twelve stone, but by now I must have been well under eleven.
I have already referred to a “father of a hiding”—well, we got one this time. Instead of reaching Colombo in a little under a week from the Gulf of Aden, we took a fortnight! I don't wish to experience a monsoon again. The sea gradually subsided during the last two days and, as we passed well to the south of the most southerly point of India, was fairly moderate. Long before we came in sight of land we saw catamarans, those quaint Indian craft that have the equivalent of a canoe as an out-rigger braced to one side. When the outrigger is on the weather side, a man goes out and sits there to prevent the craft heeling over, and with a stronger wind another man joins him. This is the origin of the Indians' saying of a “one-man breeze” or a “two-man breeze.” These
As we approached the entrance to Colombo harbour, we could see the heavy swell dashing against the breakwater, throwing up tremendous clouds of spray. We did not stay long at this, the principal port of Ceylon, and passing round Point Galle were soon out into the Sea of Bengal. By the following morning we were bowling along over the calmest of seas. Looking at the map, one would imagine that it is just a short hop from Colombo to Sumatra, yet the distance is a thousand miles. In this hot, calm weather we envied the deck officers in their white duck uniforms while we were sweltering below. As we approached Sumatra at sunset, there was a thick haze over the sea. It was not sufficient to slow us down, as does a fog, but was nevertheless not very helpful for picking up land. At about eleven o'clock that night I received one of the shocks of my life when the telegraph rang violently “Full Speed Astern.” It is always the Second's duty to take a steamer in and out of port. Usually, the junior engineer stands by the telegraph and answers back the rings that come from the bridge. At both Cardiff and Port Said I had been given some practice in reversing the engines from “Slow Ahead” to “Slow Astern” as we were warming the cylinders preparatory to sailing, so despite the suddenness of this ring and my lack of experience I remembered to open the drain cocks of the little reversing engine, and had the main engines running on the astern motion when Mr. McGill, hurrying down in his pyjamas, called out, “We've run ashore!” Until the Second arrived the Chief took the reversing engine and I stood by the telegraph. Next it rang “Stop,” then “Slow Astern,” “Half Astern” and “Full Astern” in quick succession, then “Stop” again, and there were no further rings for some time. At last the Chief went up and conferred with the Captain. The Second then went through the same performance, but even at “Full Astern” she would not budge. Luckily we had run on to a soft, muddy shore at the northernmost point of Sumatra; we were equally fortunate in having grounded on a rising tide. It was decided to wait an hour or so, and try again.
The Chief stayed down below, but sent me up on deck occasionally to see how they were getting on. It was always the same story; heaving the lead and taking soundings. At last
A glorious morning followed and when steaming down the Malacca Straits one realized the fascination of the tropics. Across the Indian Ocean, while the monsoon raged, the clouds overhead had given the sea an ugly greenness. Across the Bay of Bengal and in the Straits, the cloudless sky was reflected in a sea that, while not such a deep blue as the Mediterranean, was, nevertheless, beautiful.
All my shipmates had been out East before, and they were ever ready to point out this and that place of interest. It was the Chief, however, who proved my most valued mentor. Right from the first he had shown a kindly interest in me. He liked asking me questions about New Zealand and Australia, to which parts he had never been. The earliest years of his seafaring career had been on steamers trading between Glasgow and Canada, and he made us laugh when he told of how he came to get married. While still a young engineer, he found that on arrival at their home port of Glasgow all his shipmates used to go to their respective homes, so thought that he, too, had better get a wife. He was soon to transfer to tramp steamers trading East on voyages that often took twelve months. At the time I speak of, he was the father of five children. In his inimitable way, he told us that when he returned home he would think, on finding an extra youngster at the table, that it was a young friend who had been invited in to a meal,
We were shortly abreast of Penang, an important British outpost, but too far away to see more than its outline on the horizon. Our thoughts at this time were of Singapore, where we were to bunker for the last time before making our final run up to Hong Kong. On the days following our grounding, the Captain and Chief Engineer were often in serious conversation. We learnt that they were discussing the question of the advisability of calling at Singapore, and wondering at the same time whether we could make Hong Kong on the remaining bunkers. Having touched bottom the Captain would have had to report to the authorities at once, and this might mean discharging our cargo and going into dry dock. It is not hard to see that this was a serious position. As we had another two days' steaming before reaching Singapore there was no hurry for a decision to be made. Next afternoon the Chief took me with him into the bunkers and we carefully measured how much coal was left. I had not previously seen the weight of coal calculated by its cubic measurement. Finally, the Chief advised the Captain that he was prepared to give it a go, much to the relief of the “Old Man.” To me it was a disappointment, for I had set my heart on seeing Singapore.
It was daylight when we passed, and even these few hours in which we were in the vicinity were sufficient for me to gain some idea of its importance as a shipping port. Many more ships were now seen, for Singapore, the nerve centre of the East, is a half-way house to China and Japan, and a centre of trading for the whole of the Malay peninsula, as well as Java and other islands of the Dutch East Indies. The forceful competition of the Dutch of a hundred years ago and more, as told in The Surgeon's Log, is instructive to anyone interested in Britain's acquisition of her widely separated Colonies and Dominions.
We were now heading due north for the China Sea. Earlier, I have told how, in the race on the Australian coast, Chief Engineer McPherson had “opened out” his engines, but here we had another canny Scot reversing the process and “shutting in.” Opening out marine engines, while increasing speed,
This final part of our journey must have caused our Captain and Chief Engineer no little anxiety. I will ever remember the care that was taken. The firemen nursed their fires, and very little superintending was required. The Chief watched the bunkers so that nothing was left to chance. On the bridge, the Captain watched the barometer; to have struck rough weather would have been disastrous. The monsoon in the Indian Ocean was bad enough, but a typhoon, the most devastating of all cyclonic storms, would have found us struggling to make the nearest port. Although the glass did begin to fall, the weather remained fine, and the sea calm.
Lagging behind all other traffic on the route, we kept plugging away to cross the Gulf of Siam and steam along off the coast of French Indio-China, about half-way on this run north. Checking up on the coal position, the Chief told us we should just make it if the weather held. At last, to the great joy of all, it was announced that we would be at Hong Kong in the morning. I was up at daylight to witness our entry into the harbour of this great British possession. Here was the real East! The peculiar smell in the air as we approached our anchorage was something that can be experienced only in ports of the Far East.
Thus ended the excitement of our great run of 1,600 miles since passing Singapore. Instead of eight days, it had taken ten. It was a great co-operative effort, with most of the honours going to the firemen. I have an idea that the Captain or the Chief gave them more than a pat on the back, for there was merriment and song in the fo'c'sle that night.
They were a grand lot, these rugged men, some of them as rough as bags, but all made of the right stuff for a crisis. When leaving port there would often be several so drunk they could not do their firing. The engineer on the first watch at
It will thus be appreciated that an engineer's life on a tramp steamer is not merely a matter of walking the engine-room floor during his four-hour watches, especially when it is added that in fine weather the Third and Fourth have to work an extra two hours each day, overhauling the winches on deck.
We were now anchored in the harbour, and the sampans swarmed around us. Lighters came alongside, and as soon as the gangways and rope ladders were put over the side there was a wild scramble aboard. I naturally wondered what all this haste was about. The reason was soon evident. It was like the race for position that I had seen in Geraldton, Australia, when the Chinaman wanted to get his bananas loaded first. In Hong Kong it was also first come, first served. Working down in the hold is no joke in the tropics, hence the race for deck positions.
Chutes were hauled on board to enable the briquettes to be pushed along from man to man. They all showed a first preference for a position between the hatch-combing and the ship's side. The beaming smile of the Chinaman who won one of these positions recorded his satisfaction as he flopped down an old Panama hat to mark his place. It was amusing to hear them chattering in their own tongue, when, in these moments before unloading began, the winners of deck positions appeared to be chuckling over their good fortune. As with the coal bunkering at Port Said, so this hand-to-hand discharging was the human chain over again, with an efficiency that often compared favourably with mechanical appliances.
It was great fun to watch the sampans alongside. The father would be working on our ship with mother and family in their house-boat below, going about their work without the slightest concern for anyone. They cooked the meal on deck—it was
On the second day the Third and I went ashore for the day. We took one of the passenger sampans that were always waiting alongside. At that time, out of a population of 400,000 there were only about 15,000 white people. Hong Kong is a very much bigger city to-day.
It was interesting to watch the Chinese at different classes of work. I had been used to seeing only Chinese market gardeners and fruiterers in my own country, and was inclined to judge them accordingly. Here we saw the tradesman of China who is very deft with tools, and we stood for some time watching carpenters at work. On the foreshore we watched a shipwright rip-sawing a beam. One end was on the ground and the other on a trestle; he was using a saw very like the saws used by bushmen in New Zealand when cross-cutting a log. We noticed that the Chinaman made the saw cut on the up-stroke. On a downward cut the saw must be of sufficient thickness not to buckle, whereas, on a pull stroke, the thinnest of saws could be used, and less physical effort required. This may be the Chinaman's reason for using a draw-saw with the teeth the opposite way to ours, or it may be just a thousand-year-old custom.
We were about a week in discharging, but before completing were to learn how wise the Captain and Chief Engineer had been in steaming on past Singapore, for the Claverhill was ordered into dock for survey! Our Captain may have been vexed about the delay, but the junior officers were not perturbed at the expense to the owners, with the prospect of an extra week at Hong Kong! When the dock was pumped dry, sure enough there was the evidence of our having been ashore; a bad dent on the bottom of the starboard side of the bow. We had made very little water since backing off the shore at Sumatra, and could easily have withstood the trip back to England, but the surveyors insisted on a number of plates being taken off and the frames put back into their original shape.
Now we were to see the Chinaman in the workshop. Although the work was supervised by Britishers, mostly Scots, the Chinaman was the blacksmith, the boiler-maker, the ship-wright
As the days in port, when discharging, had enabled the engines to be gone over in readiness for the homeward voyage, the Chief was generous in allowing us to take turn about in having an afternoon and sometimes a day off. One now had time to see the city in a more leisurely way than the rush ashore of the tourists, who race here, there and everywhere. I took much interest in studying the people.
The merchant and the lady of position looked picturesque in their ornamental dress, and the sedan chair seemed to lift them, socially, above the rickshaw passengers and the pedestrians. When I saw the Chinaman of the higher classes, I could not believe he was of the same people as the laundry-man and market gardener whom I had seen in Australia and New Zealand. The Chinaman we see in our country is always an under-sized person, the reason being that practically all have migrated from the Canton area. The continuously oppressive heat in this low-lying part of China stunts the growth of the people, as it does in many parts of India; this does not mean that a well-fed Cantonese cannot be a sturdy little chap. In Hong Kong I saw some fine, big men and was told they came from the highlands of North China, where the extremes of heat and cold toughen the fibre. It is interesting to note that Frenchmen of Canada are bigger men than the Frenchmen of France. In Scotland, the Highlander is a bigger man than the Lowlander!
There is a story told of King George V, then Duke of York, when he visited New Zealand in 1901, which will illustrate the effect an imposing figure has upon the rank and file of a native race. Our late beloved King was a man below the average height. He visited Rotorua accompanied by he the fella for the King!”
The first time I had the whole day off, I went for a trip to
From the highest point of “The Peak” one gets a magnificent panoramic view. Looking east, the view is out over the China Sea, with always a ship in sight. To the west and north-west one looks upon the China that claims the oldest civilization in the world—the China with her teeming millions. The view looking down on Hong Kong, with its harbour sheltered by a dozen or more islands, was inconceivably beautiful. Lantao, the most western island, is bigger than Hong Kong itself, and stands like a sentinel at the mouth of the great estuary into which the Canton River flows. To the north lies the mainland portion of the British concession, with Kowloon its chief city, although it is always spoken of as part of the Colony of Hong Kong. I should like to have gone as far as Canton, a hundred miles up river, but this would have meant a day each way by steamer and, apart from having already been treated so generously about leave during our long stay in port, I had to remember my pay was that of a Fourth Engineer. The view from “The Peak” I have never forgotten.
One Saturday afternoon I took a rickshaw and was pulled out to Happy Valley, where I saw a cricket match. The teams were from the Army and Navy, and young men from the offices of banks and merchant houses. I watched the game for some time, saw some fairly good cricket with plenty of evidence of English public school coaching, then “drove” off to see more of the country.
One evening my Chief took me to dinner at the Hong Kong hotel; needless to say, it was like living for a moment in luxury. It was a very hot night, and afterwards we sat and smoked on the balcony; I had just begun to smoke and, considering I was then twenty-four years of age, it may be said I was of abstemious habits, especially when it is added that up till then I had not drunk more than “gin and ginger beer,” which was a popular drink in hot weather at the Melbourne Cricket Club's pavilion bar.
At this fine old hotel in the East, I was to see, for the first time, an old-fashioned punka circulating the air in the large dining-room. It was certainly fascinating to watch a Chinese youth, who appeared to be asleep, standing in a corner, carrying out his monotonous task of pulling the cord that worked short curtains reaching from one side of the room to the other. They were spaced about eight feet apart for the full length of the ceiling. I can still picture that young Chinaman pulling the cord as one rings a church bell, so deliberately and so slowly that we could almost believe the story they told us that these boys do actually fall asleep as they stand and pull, pull, pull….
The time was now approaching for our departure, yet no word had been received of our destination. The demand for tonnage must have slackened, for masters of ships usually receive instructions on arrival at the port of discharge. Just before we came out of dock, our agents told us they thought it would be Kobe. Some were thrilled, for we wanted to go to Japan, and Kobe was right in the heart of that country. Next day the order came to proceed to Manila to load copra!
All the time in port we had been continually pressed by persistent pedlars to purchase all sorts of goods and trinkets, just as we were at Port Said. The Chinaman, however, had better wares to sell and he was much more pleasant to deal with. This man of the Orient is a born dealer, from the merchant down to the humblest occupant of the sampan. His reputation for honesty helps him tremendously in transactions with the outside world, although we struck one or two who did not live up to this standard. By way of contrast, the Japanese, and there were many of them in Hong Kong, were not trusted in the same way as the Chinese. As a matter of fact, in the Japanese Bank at Hong Kong, Chinese tellers were employed! We were told they were considered more trustworthy. I have since heard it said that the Japanese are not quick at figures, but, leaving all else aside, the Jap is not such a pleasant fellow to meet as the Chinaman. Cheeky and arrogant, he was at this time standing up to Russia and using language much the same as an American boxer uses to his opponent prior to entering the ring.
We certainly had some fun on the decks of the old Claverhill during the last hours of our stay in Hong Kong. We had swung
An illustration of the Chinaman's cunning is to be found in his always addressing the Second as “Mr. No. 1 Engineer,” the Third as “Mr. No. 2,” and so on. It was the same subtle flattery that I heard referred to in Christchurch a few months earlier, when
These pedlars aboard the Claverhill persisted up to the moment of sailing. I bought a number of small things to post home to New Zealand. Strange to say, most of the fun at the
Steaming away from Hong Kong on a sunny afternoon, we had a fine view of this famous island. The sight of “The Peak,” the close, then distant, view from far out on the China Sea, was something to remember.
After three and a half days' run we steamed into Manila Bay in the early morning. Only a few years before, the great naval battle of Manila, in the Spanish-American War, had taken place at this very spot. When passing through the entrance, my Chief showed me where the American battleships had stood off and shot to pieces the Spanish fleet that had taken refuge in the Bay. It was amazing to learn that in a battle that began at dawn there was not one Spanish ship afloat by noon. Many hundreds of Spaniards were killed, while the Americans, although receiving several direct hits, suffered no loss of life. Neither in ships nor crews were the Spaniards a match for the alert and efficient men of the United States.
All this information added greatly to my interest in the
We anchored off-shore, and when the loaded lighters came alongside it was at once clear that we were to load at our anchorage and would not see as much of this city as we did of Hong Kong. A fairly wide river runs through the city and, as there were no bridges near the mouth where it enters the Bay, there was much boat traffic from one side to the other. It was astonishing to see so much life on these boats on the waterfront. It was a repetition of Hong Kong, where there appeared to be literally thousands of sampans. I had heard in Australia that in the centre of the continent one could meet children who had never seen rain, but it was still harder to believe the Hong Kong story that there were to be found old men who had spent all their lives in a sampan!
The Filipinos are a more coppery colour than the Chinese and Japanese. The Chinese are generally considered the originals of the term the Yellow Races. The men of the Philippines are small in stature—more like the Malays. They are good workers and as there were also Chinamen among them, loading the ship, our holds soon filled.
It was on the Sunday morning that we were to have our greatest excitement. On one of the large barges lying alongside the Claverhill, there gathered a crowd of Filipinos and Chinamen. They had organized a cock-f