EXCERPT: THE BOWRAL BOY’S BEGINNINGS
The cricket boyhood of Donald Bradman has become, like all things related to the Don, part of the nation’s lore. As Roland Perry writes in his new book, it was an upbringing from another time – yet has much to teach aspiring cricketers today.
From Roland Perry’s new book, how the childhood of the Don still instructs cricketers today.
The life of this diminutive, strong-willed survivor spanned almost the 20th century. He told me in 2000 of a book he was reading about his home town. It caused him to recall hopping on a horse used by the town’s gas-lamp lighter as early as 1914, age six, and helping the man with his task in the main street. Fourteen years later – in 1928 – he burst onto the international sporting scene, never to leave it while cricket was played or discussed.
There was romance in the story of the working-class country boy made good. He was not from the privileged elite in Sydney or Melbourne. Much to his own chagrin, he left school at 14 when his carpenter father, George, could not provide the funds to further educate Bradman and his four siblings. He was intellectually hungry and inquisitive. It was a blow to stop formal training so young, and it rankled with him for life – especially, I suspect, because he rarely met those with a similar intellect among the highly educated. Bradman had a sharp brain and worked it harder than most.
The family had two outstanding loves, music and sport, and Don was passionate about various aspects of both for most of his 92 years. He and his brother and three sisters could play at least one musical instrument. In the summer, leisure time was marked by the sounds of the violin and piano. They also all played cricket in the
backyard of their home in Bowral, in the Southern Highlands of New South Wales. Physical energy was also spent on tennis and athletics. In the winter, the boys played rugby instead, and the music intensified with more time indoors.
Bradman first held a bat at age five. It was fashioned by George from a gum-tree branch. The boy was a good listener from the start, but the technique he was told to use was little more than to whack the ball at every opportunity. The country game was played for fun. Orthodoxy was not instructed for one so young. Bradman learned footwork and more refined strokes by watching other players, and by age eight was demonstrating good hand-eye coordination.
He rarely heard the cry, “Straight bat!” If he did, he would ignore it or use the dictum instinctively; that is, when the shot required it. Otherwise Bradman learned early to manipulate shots, through the backyard or field any way he could to build a score. This was the reason that from the beginning of his cricket “career”, he was a run accumulator with one overriding aim: to
win every contest, against every bowler and all opposing teams.
By age 11, the young Don was a prodigy, although it would not be recognised immediately. At the crease, he was easily transported into what later became known as the “zone”, where a batsman would build a score, in a state of semi-trance, over a long time – sometimes six hours. No one in the history of the game entered this special space with more concentration, a better temperament, greater skill or a higher run production.
Such was his early dominance at school, he was never dismissed and other schools refused to play any team with him in it. Young Don turned to other sports and was outstanding at tennis. He was the best sprinter and longdistance runner at Bowral High. But by 15, he had to make a decision on which sport he would pursue wholeheartedly. A stellar sporting career beckoned in both cricket and tennis. He chose cricket, which he enjoyed marginally more.
His developing cricket training and “smarts” came from his early teen years in the local Bowral team, for which his father and uncles also played.
They wanted him to change the way he held the bat. His natural grip, with the lower or right hand forming a V on the bar handle, was seen as unorthodox.
THE BOY WAS A GOOD LISTENER FROM THE START, BUT THE TECHNIQUE HE WAS TOLD TO USE WAS LITTLE MORE THAN TO WHACK THE BALL AT EVERY OPPORTUNITY. THE COUNTRY GAME WAS PLAYED FOR FUN.
“I tried out the other methods,” he told me. “I even batted in some early innings with the left hand higher on the handle and the right [or lower] hand more open – that is, for making strokes that would more easily loft the ball.” “And?”
“It didn’t suit me. My natural grip acted as a brake on me lifting the ball. It made it less likely that I would be dismissed ‘caught’.” (Being caught was the most common cause of a batsman’s dismissal in all forms of the game.)
Bradman used this technique for most of his career, particularly early on. He struck few sixes in his career of about 670 innings. Instead he hit fours – 2586 in 338 first-class innings and seven fives. His grip produced two other outcomes in attack or defence. First, the bat sloped at about 45 degrees to the ground. Second, when he hooked or cut, the wrists rolled the bat over the ball. These outcomes both ensured the ball was kept down.
He had no backlift in the technical sense. Bradman used the top hand on the batting handle to lever the bat up when playing a shot. This sped up the time for him to be ready to meet the oncoming delivery. It also took the strain off muscles in the arms and shoulders.
Did Bradman’s batting technique give him advantages? Early in his career, he was criticised for playing “cross-bat” shots when pulling balls around from the off-side to the on.
Bradman reduced the alleged transgression against orthodoxy to absurdity by asking: “How else do you score on the on-side when a ball is well outside off-stump”
If Bradman faced a strong off-side field, he was not going to worry about playing a cross-bat shot through the on-side if that was the only way to score. However, it must be conceded that Bradman could play such shots with impunity because of his extraordinary skills. His batting methods were more effective than anything before or since.
His own moral code also largely stemmed from this time. An instance of this was the way Bradman handled loss or victory in public as captain. After-match addresses invariably included honest praise for a vanquished opponent. There was never begrudging respect, or veiled insults.
I asked Bradman where this came from.
“My parents, my uncles, my teachers and the captains at Bowral when I was a boy,” he replied.
HE HAD NO BACKLIFT IN THE TECHNICAL SENSE. BRADMAN USED THE TOP HAND ON THE BATTING HANDLE TO LEVER THE BAT UP WHEN PLAYING A SHOT.