Still meditating, after all these years. Here, at Tanunda. That’s kikuyu. And that’s the old Kelso wheelbarrow from the mid-60s which has done time in Wang (maybe), Shepp, Oakey, Eudunda and Mt Barker. We inherited it a few weeks ago after Nanna died.
Perth Test 1974-75
Today, Friday, December 13, is the fiftieth anniversary of the first day of the Second Test of the 1974-75 Ashes Series in Perth in what was arguably the most significant summer of cricket of my childhood. Reminded by scorecards, and with many moments etched in to my mind, I remember it pretty well. But, recently, while in the meditative state into which mowing sends me, my recall became even sharper. The thing is mowing was central to that Perth Test all those years ago. And so was Kevin Douglas Walters.
After Australia won at the Gabba, we Grade 7 boys couldn’t wait to see Thommo in Perth. We didn’t have to read the newspapers to realise that Thommo was going to be dangerous. We knew cricket. Listened to it. Watched it. Read every word we could about it.
We played cricket. I played for Oakey State School on Fridays in the Toowoomba schools competition and Under 12s for Wests in club cricket on Saturday mornings.
As Oakey’s skipper throughout that long final term season (just three terms in those days), I set the textbook junior field which included that vital schoolboy position, deep backward square leg, for the half tracker down the leg side that was farmed (as my father would say) to the square boundary; silly mid-off and silly mid-on were set in stone, for the bottom-handed defensive prod; and long stop, although our keeper had no need of one.
But I soon took my lead from Ian Chappell. They said he was aggressive and positive, and a brave thinker, a creative captain. Along the way I thought, maybe I could be creative.
Somewhere along the way, Ian Chappell had put a fieldsman at a revolutionary position, silly point, perhaps to Tony Greig, partly to put the fear of God into the batsman. So, I went to silly point myself, close enough to smell the cigarette-breath of the tough kid with a Polyarmour. This will test him.
Whack! When his follow through from a back foot drive for four through cover point nearly clipped me, I took one step back. He lined me up again and spanked another one, compo onto my chin slamming my front teeth together so forcefully I was in Dr Schrapnel’s chair on Monday afternoon. I took another step back, an early indication that I had little in common with the Australian captain.
Which isn’t quite true. I actually adopted Ian Chappell’s open stance and I would go back and across, early, against genuine Under 12 pace. Colin Lindenberg and the likes were quick. (“You can hear the ball fizzing.”)
We lost that game. I trudged off, caught at silly mid-on, for a duck.
**
I made pocket money mowing a couple of lawns. I’d started in our Sheppartion days when I was about nine, keeping the lawn at St Paul’s in perfect nick for Divine Service on Sundays. I was paid 50 cents by the next grateful parishioner on the roster, if he didn’t want to mow. Moving to Queensland had been good for the piggy bank. Up North, in the wet 1970s, grass grew while you looked at it.
We lived next door to The McGraths. They owned McGrath’s Service Station and workshop and sold a few secondhand cars. I eventually bought my first car, a 1968 sugarcane Morris 1100 from John McGrath, the son. Old Mr McGrath had died. Mrs McGrath was a beautiful person, as was her sister Mary, who lived in the house too. They cared for Noel, who had severe cerebral palsy. They took him on outings, two in particular: to the Western Line Hotel for a couple of hours every Friday afternoon, and to the Oakey Rugby League ground where his wheel chair was parked just inside the fence where the players ran out just in front of the little wooden grandstand.
Across the summer, I mowed their lawn every fortnight, sometimes more. Early in the week of the Second Test, Mrs McGrath had called out while hanging out the washing. They were having people over after Mass on Sunday and asked me to “run the Rover over the yard.” Of course, I agreed.
Really, there was one lawn, an expanse of rampant kikuyu, across our two yards with a token low, lightwire fence over the top. One of the tee boxes for our chip-and-putt golf course was in The McGrath’s Yard.
I put it off on Wednesday.
I didn’t get around to it on Thursday.
I reckon Friday was the last day of school in 1974, and my last day of primary school ever. I had the Sharp pocket radio with me.
“Get the radio out, Darky.” It was probably Noel Leahy asking.
“Hasn’t started,” I said. “It’s Perth.”
“Oh, yeah. Perth.”
“Really. Perth.”
“Yeah. WACA.”
“Suffer.”
“Yeah, suffer in your jocks you Pommy pricks.”
“They’ll be packin’ shit.”
We knew about packin’ it. We’d played against some of the bigger schools.
After water fights and watermelon and Kool Pops, we said goodbye to Morgy (Mr O’Brien, a terrific teacher) and raced home to catch some of the pre-lunch session from the WACA. Bizarrely, Perth was just one hour behind Queensland that summer. I reckon we were the only state not to have daylight saving.
I remember all being surprised when Ian Chappell won the toss and bowled.
“We’ve put ‘em in.” More laughter.
We lost track of the cricket.
Until we got home. The black and white screen fired up to reveal a slips cordon like an albatross wing.
“What’s happening?”
No wickets had fallen.
“Why haven’t Lillee and Thommo run through them?”
Colin Cowdrey had been enticed from his winter lounge chair to come and hold things together for the visitors. A rescue mission. He was a retired champion who’d made his debut in 1954 and he was all the talk. When Brian Luckhurst was dismissed, M.C.C. Cowdrey walked to the crease – he couldn’t have looked more English to us – with the score on 44. Cowdrey had never met Jeff Thomson and so they shook hands in the middle of the WACA. Thommo then peppered him with thunderbolts which thudded into his ample tummy, chest and shoulder and whizzed around his ears.
The Poms got to lunch, bravely. 1/60ish.
There was no way I was getting the Rover out of the shed.
My brothers and I didn’t move from the TV room.
Greg Chappell took a brilliant catch at second slip to break the partnership for the second wicket – the first of three catches that day. And seven for the match. On 2/99, England were making a fair go of it. But what followed produced one of my favourite ever day’s scorecards because of how unlikely and diverse it is – which I thought proved Ian Chappell’s creative genius. Doug Walters got a couple of wickets. The skipper bowled himself and had Chris Old caught by his brother, another sharp catch. The Poms only made 208 in the day. And then Ian Redpath and Wally Edwards survived an over or two.
I was going to get up and mow before the cricket.
But the day was too perfect and the patterns of my life’s behaviour were well and truly entrenched. We were on the bikes and at the Oakey Memorial Swimming Pool. Brown as pennies already. Full of beans.
But then back for the start of the cricket.
We needed to bat and bat and bat.
Mum started to get involved. “Don’t you have to mow next door?”
No response.
“Mrs. McGrath’s?”
“Soon.”
After a slow start, in the style of the cricket of the day, the batsmen were starting to play a few shots. Wickets fell and no single batsman was really getting a hold of the bowling. No-one was opening the shoulders.
Time was getting away for me, as Doug Walters joined Ross Edwards at the crease. Doug was my favourite, in a hot field. How could I not watch Doug? But I had to get up put of the bean bag, fill the mower, get the old Kelso wheelbarrow, find the row-maker and the rake, because the catcher wouldn’t seal properly and go next door.
I was kicking myself.
But, Doug Walters is batting.
Idiot. Doug Walters is batting.
Why did this happen to me? Why did I let this happen to me?
I did the next best thing. I had the Sharp in my pocket and my ear plugs in, but the chord kept tightening and it kept pulling out and bobbling around. Doug was pulling everything, it seemed.
I kept adjusting it until I was getting the full commentary. More pull shots. Excited commentators. Doug cruised to 50.
I had started on the broad Queensland country town nature strip where we played kick to kick, in front of both yards. Then the difficult bits between the oleanders and the patch of lipia which didn’t really need a mow, before tackling the lawn at the back. It took an hour and a half, probably a bit more. Doug was flying and the commentators were talking the innings up.
The sun was close to the horizon as he got into his 70s, twilight enough to see sparks come from beneath the mower. I pushed on as Doug cracked more boundaries. The Poms kept bowling short.
I’m missing this.
Then I had to rake the rows. Fill the wheelbarrow quite a few times and put the clippings around the garden and on the compost heap.
By the time I pushed the mower out through Mrs McGrath’s front gate, Doug was in the 90s and Bob Willis was to bowl the final over.
I missed the first boundary. I reckon I saw the last three or four balls.
“Six for a century in the session.”
Everyone was around the TV. I remember a falling away swat pull shot that must have so hit the middle of the bat because it flew over square leg for six. People all over the field. Doug was running. We were jumping around.
Doug Walters. What an innings. 103 not out and the Poms were gone. We were fired up for tomorrow.
The next day we went to church, as always. Mrs McGrath had a yard full of people. It looked nice in the midday sunshine.
We went to Doug Darr’s place for lunch with their family and to watch The Cricket.
We thought K.D. Walters would be 200 by lunch. By drinks even? Flat track. Shimmering light. Broken bowlers.
He was caught at slip by Fletcher in the first over.
When the Englishman went back in, trailing significantly, David Lloyd was famously hit in the box. I saw him topple, live.
Australia won the Test to go 2-0 up.
**
Colin Cowdrey won even more respect.
So did Ian Chappell.
Bumble eventually became Bumble and we sat in our lounge rooms for a couple of decades with him and were better for it.
Next stop: Boxing Day in Melbourne.
I still mow, and I still love mowing.
I will follow the Gabba Test closely.
Read John Harms’s story of the First Test of 1974-75 HERE
See the Scorecard of the Second Test at the WACA in 1974-75 thanks to Cricinfo HERE
Read more from John Harms HERE
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About John Harms
JTH is a writer, publisher, speaker, historian. He is publisher and contributing editor of The Footy Almanac and footyalmanac.com.au. He has written columns and features for numerous publications. His books include Confessions of a Thirteenth Man, Memoirs of a Mug Punter, Loose Men Everywhere, Play On, The Pearl: Steve Renouf's Story and Life As I Know It (with Michelle Payne). He appears (appeared?) on ABCTV's Offsiders. He can be contacted [email protected] He is married to The Handicapper and has three school-age kids - Theo, Anna, Evie. He might not be the worst putter in the world but he's in the worst four. His ambition was to lunch for Australia but it clashed with his other ambition - to shoot his age.
I feel as though I was mowing too. Great story. Not quite the same in Hobart, but I remember watching it.
I’m thinking Skyhooks, Alvin Rides Again (which everyone saw but me) and this series. I somehow kept the cover on my ABC Cricket Book which included Malcolm Francke as one of the four potential spinners. Rick McCosker didn’t get a mention. How did Wally Edwards keep his spot for the third Test?
The row-maker has me baffled though JTH.
Cheers Mark.
Swish, i can’t remember what it was called, or what we called it. But we had a Rover that shot the clippings out of the side. Hence a side catcher which wasn’t that great. with the mountains of grass that would come off. Half a single length of the back yard and it was chockers or clogged. Or you could have no catcher and just let it fly. But our model also had a flap, and the flap made rows. Then we’d have to rake the grass into heaps, pick them up, and put them on the compost heap. Someone will remember what that wing/flap/row-maker was actually called.
Terrific JTH. I have good memories of that test but I can’t remember seeing Doug hit his six live. ??
Extraordinary events. I was lucky enough to talk to him about it years later.
Cheers Dips. Doug was terrific at the Bob Speechley Conversazione. He did the interview in two sessions, so he could have a smoke.
He also turned up at Indooroopilly Golf club and then our post-uni party house when he was coaching at a cricket camp at St Peters.
Thanks John.
We had club cricket in Adelaide on the Saturday so I too missed viewing the Test from Perth. My memory is hazy as to whether or not we saw Walters reach his century when we were back in the clubrooms after stumps.
An English friend and I flew to Perth the next morning, he on business, myself on holiday. By the time we had landed and travelled to the ground Walters was out. Then the hurricane arrived in the form of Lillee and Thomson. A collective cringe ran around the ground when Lloyd was hit in the lower stomach. Then the forty-plus year olds, Cowdrey and Titmus, displayed some grit.
The next day saw us at Houghton winery where we were fortunate to meet the genial winemaker Jack Mann. Jack told us of his personal life commitment to the three C’s – Christianity, Chablis and Cricket.
Thanks for taking us back to the summer of ’74-75 John.
I remember that Saturday afternoon vividly. Our cricket game ended just in time. My team (ANU) got the runs against Queanbeyan, so I jumped in the HR for a quick dash home. I reckon it was at the start of the last over of the day when I made it to the telly – KD Walters on 93. Dad was fixed to his chair – lawns mowed. The theatre of that over was brilliant. I was thinking century. Doug was thinking 100 in a session! The final ball: Bob Willis obliged and Dougie did the rest.
There’s a story in Jack Mann, Peter. Thanks for your comment. Reminds me that on the saturday of the Perth Tst in 1982-83 we did the same as you – we were away to Toombul (fourths) and we were in their clubhouse watcing with Thommo, Harry Frei and another first class player (?). When Alderman tackled the spectator, and looked injured, everyone started yelling out, “Pack your bags Thommo”. He played in Melbourne.
Yes, Peter Clark, it’s terrific theatre. It’s worth working through that hour of highlights that’s at the end of my piece. Gee, G.S. Chappell had good hands.
Nice John. I was there. Would’ve been my first first live Test cos I moved to Perth from Boulder in 1974 for some serious study at Graylands Teachers College.
There too a few years later when Jack’s son Tony scored a century as a nightwatchman.
another cracking read, JTH
Dougie was one of the guests at the St Peters Lutheran College cricket lunch in late 2022, around the time the boxes were being packed for the big move south … curiously, another guest was the ex West Indies physio from the Joel Garner etc era, who is from the Gold Coast. Interesting bloke.
Post lunch, I was getting KD Walters to sign his biography (we had watched the YouTube highlights of THAT innings on the big screen earlier) – I asked the great man: “how different would it have been using Dave Warner’s bat that day in Perth?!”
Doug’s response, chuckling as well as shaking his head: “it’s a different game these days … very different”
JTH likewise my final day of primary school re- Perth test and on that week end we were having to clear rocks in the backyard for a above ground swimming pool to go in.I got a bee sting and swelled up like a balloon and so was given a reprieve from rock duties remember- Doug’s century v fondly and having done-8 kids coaching clinics with the great man I’m convinced he’s got 2 livers all the drinking stories are true – astonished he managed to give up cigarettes over -12 years ago now ( I do remember my sisters were spewing that I got out of having to pick up rocks ) thank you
Wonderful JTH, what a seminal series that 74/75 Ashes was, always enjoy reading about it. WACA Tests were always a highlight growing up because of the timeslot and the different conditions. Mowing and cricket and the ABC cricket book are summer in Australia.