Man of letters, inquiry and cricket
From opining on Don Bradman’s last hurrah to rustling up his own version of the national flag, Frank Bailey was never shy to express a view, Richard Swainson writes.
Back in September, when Frank Bailey knew his days were numbered, I received an invitation to come visit. He was looking to divest himself of one or two cricket books. Might I spare the time to look them over and perhaps take tea, or ‘‘. . . an Irish coffee, depending on the time of day’’? There was only one stipulation: ‘‘My health is not to be on the agenda.’’ Frank had an abhorrence of the maudlin.
With more luck than good planning, I knocked on the door of his Hamilton East abode at precisely the appointed hour. The exactitude pleased Frank, a draftsman by profession, a student of grammar by avocation. The stage had been set: volumes devoted to his favourite sport set aside neatly, carefully cut cake on a plate next to the seat where I was to sit. The jug had been boiled but Frank was at pains to point out that a colder beverage was on offer too. Never once drunk in his 88 years, the host had thoughtfully purchased a rather good craft beer for his so-inclined guest.
The walls were festooned with images of Frank’s life and times. Victorious XIs dating back to the late
1940s and early 1950s, with Bailey in his whites. Family photos, of children, grandchildren and greatgrandchildren. With as much pride as any man ever mustered, he talked me through the achievements of each, noting that ‘‘there was not a scallywag among them’’. How could there be, I wondered, with as wise and reflective a patriarch as Frank?
Frank indulged me by once again describing what it was to see Bradman on his farewell tour of England, some 72 years ago. Was there anyone else in Hamilton who had witnessed the Don first hand? As ever, Frank’s digressions were the stuff of wit and erudition, noting quirks of language and history. His was a spirit of inquiry and debate.
Chances are if you have read Hamilton’s paper of record in the past half century you have seen the name Frank Bailey.
Profiled in 2014 by the Waikato
Times’ Denise Irvine, Frank estimated that he averaged 35 letters to the editor a year. Beginning in
1965, his total contribution ran well into four figures. Expressing himself on a multitude of issues, his perspective was socialistic and egalitarian and often informed by an acute awareness of difference between the land of his birth and the country he came to love and call home. The aesthetics of the national ensign were of particular concern: his own redesign of the New Zealand flag draped his coffin.
Born in 1932 in Hastings, Sussex, Frank was raised largely by his loving if unwell father, a well travelled man in his 50s. Frank’s first memory was of a Zeppelin flying overhead in honour of George V’s 1935 Silver Jubilee. During World War II he was billeted with four different families, finding his feet educationally aged 11, winning a scholarship to Hastings Grammar School. Captaining the 2nd XI, he once carried his bat for 36 not out, an innings which remained fresh in the memory seven decades later.
National service with the RAF was Frank’s lot from age 18 to 20. Demobbed, sport and amateur dramatics filled the extracurricular hours until he found his vocational calling, training as a cartographic draughtsman. Commuting to London every day, he met his future wife, Eileen, and they were married in 1958. Their first daughter Jennifer was born ‘‘whilst her father was playing cricket’’ and her sister Jacqueline arrived 18 months later.
With the family expanding, Frank took up a position with the Devon Waterboard. If an increase in salary was welcome, the climate proved inclement. An advertisement for civil engineer draughtsmen in New Zealand caught the eye. In July of 1964 the Baileys boarded the Southern Cross at Southampton, bound for the Antipodes. During a stopover at Port of Spain, Trinidad, Frank was told that he looked like
Gregory Peck. He dined out on the compliment for the rest of his days.
Frank described his early days in Hamilton, working for the Ministry of Works, as ‘‘the most miserable from a working environment perspective’’ that he ever experienced. Thankfully, fate was but playing tricks. He happened to be in the room when Professor Michael Selby from the University of Waikato phoned to ask for freelance draughting. Frank parlayed the opportunity into a three-decade career.
Respected by the most exalted of academics, valued and talked to as an equal and virtually his own boss, Frank’s tenure as university draughtsman was a happy one. He played a vital role in the institution’s sporting and cultural life, finding favour with founding vice-chancellor Don Llewellyn by turning out for his cricket and football teams.
With an excellent memory for trivia, Frank was born to quiz competitively. He once competed on
pitting his brain against the nation’s best. His specialist subject was vexillology, the study of flags, yet he could as easily have nominated Spanish, rare books, birds, antiques or stamps, interests which he formerly indulged for well over half a century.
Frank’s life was not short on tragedy, with second daughter Jackie dying at just age 38 and Eileen predeceasing him in 2010. Yet his twilight years were joyous, with much international travel and time spent with companion Pamela and his many friends. Never a confident driver, he rode his bike fearlessly, almost to the last, and was kind, generous and intellectually curious. He is survived by daughter Jenni, six grandchildren and four greatgrandchildren.