Dolly’s grandson making his own history
BRETT D’OLIVEIRA ON HIS PLACE IN A CRICKET DYNASTY
To me, Grandad was the man who bought me ice cream
Ask Brett D’Oliveira about his grandfather, a man who changed a sport and — in his own, dignified way — the world, and he speaks with innocence and pride.
They are emotions, you suspect, that accompanied Basil D’Oliveira on his arrival in this country from south Africa in 1960, embarking on a story which never ceases to echo. Cricket knows it well enough, and for good reason.
Apparently condemned to obscurity — and worse — by an apartheid system that labelled him ‘Cape Coloured’, Basil was brought to the Middleton club in the Central Lancashire League with the help of broadcaster John Arlott.
Officially 29 — though possibly 32 — D’Oliveira graduated to Worcestershire by 1964, and two years later to Test cricket for his adopted country.
In 1968, he made a late-summer 158 against Australia at The Oval, only to find himself excluded from the winter tour party to south Africa. But when seamer Tom Cartwright pulled out, D’Oliveira — known to millions as ‘Dolly’ — was in.
south Africa went berserk, the tour was cancelled and sporting isolation soon followed. When, in 2013, Wisden named its 10 most significant moments across 150 years of cricket, D’Oliveira’s Oval innings was among them.
Brett, a 24-year- old leg- spinning all-rounder who has made a heady start to the new season with Worcestershire, has slowly absorbed his grandfather’s significance. But his first recollection tells of a family unaltered by fame.
‘I remember walking into his house and he’d always be sitting in the same spot,’ he said. ‘He’d have a coat and gloves on. It’d minus five outside but he was too tight to turn the heating on.’
As time passed, Brett heard the stories, mainly from his nan, Naomi, who still lives in st John’s, a suburb 10 minutes from Worcestershire’s idyllic ground at New Road. If he had an awkward question about apartheid, it would be Naomi who decided how much to tell him.
And, all the while, he would be learning about Basil, a man who played 44 Tests, scored nearly 20,000 first-class runs, took over 550 wickets and transcended English cricket like no one since WG Grace. ‘As I got older it was definitely an eye-opener,’ said Brett. ‘You didn’t believe that was the same person who would take you on a day out or give you an ice cream. He was never someone who spoke about it. When you got home, you spoke about family things.’
Basil’s son, Damian, was no slouch either, winning two championship titles with Worcestershire in a side that included Ian Botham and Graeme Hick, and forming part of the county’s coaching set-up until his death two years ago. so how does Brett deal with the burden of the family name?
‘I’d be telling lies if I said I don’t think about it. It’s such a big history and an incredible thing, so I’m very proud of it.
‘At the same time, it’s not me who’s achieved those things. I try to be my own man and achieve my own things. I’ve always said if I can achieve anything like what my old man or my grandad did, then I’ll be somewhere close to where I want to be.’
He has made a good start. Promoted to open in the four-day game at the end of last season, Brett began this one with scores of 128 against Essex, an unbeaten 202 against Glamorgan and 99 against sussex. He has also carved out a role in the limited-overs team, mixing impish batting with perky legbreaks. He says he would ‘absolutely love’ to play for England. The hundred against Essex, his first in the championship, was a reminder that Basil will always be part of his story: it was 51 years earlier, also against Essex at New Road, that Basil made his maiden first-class hundred.
During the winter, Brett became the fourth generation of D’Oliveiras to play for the st Augustine’s club in Cape Town, and soaked up more about his heritage.
‘The chats I had with people, the places they took me and some of the history they showed me was incredible. And to see his name up in lights was amazing really, absolutely amazing.’
He talks like a young man who draws strength from his family’s story but is not overwhelmed by it. He is proud — ‘Why would I not be?’ — but engagingly humble.
And, after losing Basil and Damian in the space of three years, he values his nan as much as ever.
‘It’s quite a big thing for her now to come down and watch her grandson playing, and knowing her son and husband aren’t around,’ he said.
‘ she finds that quite tough. she rings me most nights to tell me how proud she is. she just tells me she’s saying her prayers and wishes she could be here more often.’
The baton is in safe hands.