October 29, 1932 saw the only instance of Don Bradman dismissed twice in a single day’s play in First-Class cricket. Arunabha Sengupta recalls the craze surrounding the Bradman phenomenon in Perth and the disappointment of the crowds as he fell twice on a damp wicket.
It was perhaps the oddest day ever witnessed in cricket. The great Don Bradman was dismissed twice on a single day — the only time such a bizarre oddity took place in his spellbinding career.
The Bradman effect
The match between Douglas Jardine's Englishmen and the Australian XI at Perth had attracted record crowds. 10,000 had assembled on the first two days — even as the visitors had piled up largely meaningless runs. And more than 20,000 had assembled on Saturday, the third day, to watch their brilliant hero blaze away in his usual manner.
However, there had been rains, and on the wet wicket Bradman’s efforts fizzled out— not once but twice.
The legend had arrived journeying from Sydney, a rickety train journey of five days and nights. Jack Fingleton and Stan McCabe had boarded the train with him. The three young men had been joined by Vic Richardson and Roy Lonergan at Adelaide. The five had chugged across the great expanse of the southern country to play at Perth. After all, the very presence of Bradman worked miracles for the gate.
The long days had been spent playing cards and having meals in restaurant cars. As they had crossed over the Nullarbor Desert, news had spread that there were cricketers on board. And especially one particular missive — there was Don Bradman amongst them.
The five men, getting down bleary eyed from the bunks in the morning, found men hastening across platforms, shielding their eyes from the sun and peeping into the windows, trying to get a glimpse of them — to be precise, one of them.
The Bradman name conjured up fabulous images. He had done great deeds in England, had plundered the West Indians and South Africans at home. In the summer of 1932 he had travelled to America and had set grounds on fire in the new world. He was a star beyond dreams.
The Australians, under the yoke of the world-wide economic depression, considered him the one bright spot amidst the drudgery of their days. They queued up for just one sighting of the legend. As a result, there was wildest enthusiasm along the entire line.
As the train halted in the nondescript town of Quorn, the mayor organised a civic reception in the shade of peppercorn trees. Kalgoorlie saw Mayor Leslie, a 6 feet 6 inch veteran of the gold rush from the 1890s, waiting for him fully decked, his sombrero perched on his head, with all the trappings of another reception. At Coolgardie the excitement of the miners almost caused a stampede.
Bradman, tired from the long American tour, and in conflict with the Board about his writing and broadcasting contracts, chose to lock himself in his cabin when the adulation became too oppressive. As a result, the fans at Coolgardie got on the train and started ransacking the cabins. The driver started the train a little earlier than the scheduled departure, just to escape these swarming cricket lovers.
When the train finally chugged into Perth, the station was barricaded. A special force of policemen was given the duty to escort the cricketers to the Palace Hotel, not to relax their vigilance till they were safe in their rooms. No man had been given such a welcome in Perth since the Prince of Wales had visited in 1920.
Twice in a day
On the first day, the Englishmen batted. Herbert Sutcliffe and The Nawab of Pataudi got together to bat for what seemed an eternity. But the spectators were overjoyed just by the sight of Bradman fielding and throwing like a man possessed, prowling the covers like a crouching tiger.
And then, captain Dick Bryant withdrew with a leg strain, and the hero was asked to bowl his leg-breaks. The crowd went delirious. Bradman sent them down, over after over, and on the second day trapped Gubby Allen leg-before. And finally, Jardine drove against the spin and was caught by McCabe at mid-on for 98. Bradman had an unusual century against his name, with the ball. His figures read 19 eight ball overs, one maiden, 106 runs, two wickets.
Sutcliffe had scored 169, before being out to a fantastic boot-high catch at third man taken by substitute fielder Mervyn Inverarity — the father of future, still unborn, Test player John. Pataudi stitched together a slow 129. The sound of Wally Hammond’s willow reverberated around the ground as he stroked his way to 77. MCC declared at 583 for seven.
It was just the second match of the tour, and both Harold Larwood and Bill Voce had been rested. There was no hint of Bodyline as Allen took new ball with Hammond. The Australians were quickly on to 59 without loss by the end of the second day.
And then it poured during the night. On the resulting gluepot, Hedley Verity ran in smacking his lips. Vic Richardson was taken at slip by Sutcliffe, and Bradman walked in to thunderous ovation at 61 for one. Soon, however, after just seven minutes, Verity’s ball jumped viciously and the edge from the shoulder of the bat was brilliantly held by a diving Hammond at second slip.
There was silence and sighs as Bradman walked back for just three. Verity finished with seven for 37, and only McCabe showed the inclination to stick around. The Australian innings folded for 159.
Just about two and a half hours remained to be played when the Australian openers went in again. And this time Allen sent Richardson’s stump flying through the air till it pierced the ground and remained stuck askew just in front of George Duckworth. Bradman walked in without a run on the board, accompanied by another round of hopeful applause.
This time he scratched around for 22 minutes, scoring 10 while Allen bowled at lively pace. Later Fingleton wrote that Bradman had met him mid-pitch and requested him to take Allen’s bowling. “I think they’re going to have a pop at me,” The Don is supposed to have said. But then, Fingleton’s tales about Bradman are infamously coloured by the seldom concealed animosity he harboured towards the man. But, even Jack Hobbs later wrote, “Some of us thought Bradman did not care a lot for the fast bowling of Allen.”
Finally, Allen made one rise, and Bradman’s backfoot stroke was taken at short-leg by Pataudi. The legend had been dismissed twice in the same day — something never repeated during his career.
He walked back briskly, the cumulative runs scored in the two innings amounting to an unlucky 13. The 20,000 people assembled in the crowd could hardly believe their eyes.
What followed
During the remainder of the afternoon the match meandered into a draw. Jardine chucked the ball to Maurice Leyland, Eddie Paynter, Les Ames, Sutcliffe, and finally took it himself. Fingleton remained unbeaten on 53 when time was called.
That day, some strong gusts of wind caused the collapse of several telegraph wires. Hence the news of Bradman’s twin failures took some time to reach the rest of Australia.
During the match, Bradman spent his time answering fan mail as usual. The correspondence includes this touching note sent to two very young boys from Broome, some 1000 miles north of Perth.
Written on Palace Hotel notepaper, the message ran: “So you are both very keen little cricketers — what a pity you could not come to Perth to see these famous Englishmen in action. Never mind, when you get a little older I’m sure mother will let you make the trip — perhaps in 1936.”
There was indeed some a soft side in Bradman’s make up.
Brief scores:
MCC 583 for 7 decl. (Herbert Sutcliffe 169, Nawab of Pataudi 129, Wally Hammond 77, Douglas Jardine 98) drew with Australian XI 159 (Stan McCabe 43; Hedley Verity 7 for 37) and 143 for 4 (Jack Fingleton 53*).