Born Of The Sun: Seven Young Australians

BORN OF THE SUN

GERALD WALSH

Pandanus Online Publications, found at the Pandanus Books web site, presents additional material relating to this book. www.pandanusbooks.com.au

BORN OF THE SUN

BORN OF THE SUN

S A

hg

L

even Young ustralian ives

Gerald Walsh

PANDANUS BOOKS Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies THE AUSTRALIAN NATIONAL UNIVERSITY

Cover: James Northfield, ‘Sailing Sydney Harbour, NSW’, by courtesy of the James Northfield Heritage Art Trust © © Gerald P. Walsh 2005 This book is copyright in all countries subscribing to the Berne convention. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission. Typeset in Garamond 12pt on 16pt and printed by Pirion, Canberra National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry Walsh, Gerald (Gerald P.). Born of the sun : seven young Australian lives. ISBN 1 74076 174 X. 1. Australia — Biography. 2. Australia — History — 1851–1901 — Biography. 3. Australia — History — 1901–1945 — Biography. I. Title. 920.094 Editorial inquiries please contact Pandanus Books on 02 6125 3269 www.pandanusbooks.com.au Published by Pandanus Books, Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies, The Australian National University, Canberra ACT 0200, Australia Pandanus Books are distributed by UNIREPS, University of New South Wales, Sydney NSW 2052 Telephone 02 9664 0999 Fax 02 9664 5420 Production: Ian Templeman, Duncan Beard and Emily Brissenden

For my students at the Royal Military College of Australia and the Australian Defence Force Academy, 1966–2001.

Acknowledgements Many people, not least one’s students and colleagues, help in the making of a book in ways ranging from words of encouragement to practical assistance. I am indebted to many but especially to the staff of the Mitchell Library in Sydney, the National Library of Australia and the Australian War Memorial in Canberra; Emeritus Professor John Molony, Bede Nairn, Peter Dennis, Helen Boxall, Ben Bowd and Bernadette McDermott of Canberra, and Rowan Tracey of Pymble, New South Wales. Thank you all.

Gerald Walsh February 2005

Contents Introduction

1

Chapter 1 Henry Searle (1866–89) Oarsman

5

Chapter 2 Lonnie Spragg (1879–1904) Rugby Footballer

31

Chapter 3 Barney Kieran (1886–1905) Swimmer

51

Chapter 4 Eric Edgerton (1897–1918) Soldier

83

Chapter 5 Les Darcy (1895–1917) Boxer

107

Chapter 6 John Hunter (1898–1924) Medical Scientist

135

Chapter 7 Archie Jackson (1909–33) Cricketer

155

Epilogue

179

Chapter Notes

181

INTRODUCTION hg

THIS IS THE story of seven young Australians who achieved fame in their various fields of endeavour between the years 1888 and 1930, and who all died in the plenitude of their youth at an average age of 23. The youngest was 19, the oldest almost 27. Some, like the oarsman Henry Searle (1866–89), the swimmer Barney Kieran (1886–1905) and John Hunter (1898–1924), the medical scientist, were world famous for a short time; all were well-known throughout the British Empire, and, while they were household names in Australia for generations, all are largely forgotten today. They were born and died between 1866 and 1933, a period in Australian history that saw important economic, technological, social and political changes. It was a period that began with economic growth and prosperity known as the ‘long boom’, which gave Australians one of the highest standards of living in the world, until the depression of the 1890s, the Great Drought of 1895–1902 and World War I (1914–18) put a brake on progress. It ended with the Great

2

Born of the Sun

Depression (1929–33), during which widespread privation resulting from massive unemployment produced scars that took years to heal. The period witnessed, among other technological advances, a revolution in transport and communications: the expansion of railways and steam navigation, the advent of the motorcar and aviation. Electricity became a source of energy and the establishment of telegraphic and radio communications linked Australia to the rest of the world. From the social and political point of view, the period saw the birth of a distinctive Australian culture, reflected especially in its literature, the emergence of Australia as a sporting nation, and the federation of the six colonies to form the Commonwealth of Australia in 1901. During this time, Australia’s population increased from one and a quarter million in the mid-1880s to six and a half million by the time of the Great Depression. That five of these young men were sportsmen should be no surprise, as sport — the natural prerogative of the young — was, and is even more so today, the way to early fame if not fortune. Sport has always played a large part in the lives of Australians: horseracing, cricket, sailing, rowing and hunting were firmly established by the early 19th century. This preoccupation with sport is an Australian singularity and can be explained largely by the heritage of the British love of sports and games and an excellent climate that encouraged outdoor activity. There was in time, however, a third factor — the provision of adequate leisure time — that resulted from the early closing of shops and factories on Saturdays and the shorter working week,

Born of the Sun

3

both won by the trade union movement. By the 21st century, sport had become a large part of Australia’s national culture, so much so that it now helps define Australia and its people to many outsiders. That these seven young Australians are men and that six died of diseases or conditions that rarely cause death in Australia today is a reminder of the perceived role of women and the state of medical knowledge in the period 1890–1940. In Victorian and Edwardian times especially, women were largely prevented from making a career in sport or in the professions by the social constraints of expected early marriage and the raising of large families made necessary by the high infant mortality rate. Sport was almost universally regarded as a male prerogative. Furthermore, the few women who took up organised sport or entered the universities did not achieve the eminence of men in their chosen fields and died young. That two of the seven died from typhoid fever, two from peritonitis, one from septicaemia and one from pulmonary tuberculosis is explained simply by the fact that there were no effective chemotherapy treatments for these conditions at the time. Antibiotics, such as penicillin, streptomycin and chloromycetin, were not available until the 1940s. Since 1876, when Sydney-born sculler Edward Trickett became the first Australian to win a recognised world championship in any sport, Australia has cherished it sportsmen and sportswomen, who, along with the ‘Diggers’ of both world wars, have been important in shaping Australia’s national identity. But while sporting talent has

4

Born of the Sun

been more venerated in Australia than prowess in other fields, it is well to remember that young Australians have achieved great distinction in fields other than sport. In this book, these achievements are recalled in the lives of Professor John Hunter, a world-famous anatomist, and Lieutenant Eric Edgerton, who, along with thousands of others, fought and ‘dared mightily’ in the Great War, and who represents the finest traditions of ANZAC and the First Australian Imperial Force. Born of the sun they travelled a short while toward the sun, And left the vivid air signed with their honour.

HENRY SEARLE (1866–89)

Oarsman hg

HARRY SEARLE, champion oarsman of the world in 1888–89, became Australia’s first tragic sporting identity. It is difficult to realise today that in the closing decades of the 19th century the sport of rowing attracted crowds of spectators numbering in the tens of thousands along the banks of the Thames in England and the Nepean and Parramatta Rivers in Australia. This helps to explain why the death of Searle at 23, on what was to be a triumphant return to Australia after defending his world title in England, resulted in nationwide shock and grief and immense crowds to watch his funeral procession pass through the streets of Melbourne and Sydney on its way to Maclean on the Clarence River in northern New South Wales.

6

Born of the Sun

In the second half of the 19th century, young Australians had proved themselves proficient not only at cricket and football, but in sculling and swimming. Living on the ‘quiet continent’ and denied the outlet and adventure of war it was perhaps not surprising that the young colonials, often referred to as ‘currency lads’, would try to assert superiority over their ‘sterling’ equivalents in the mother country and the rest of the empire. But in addition to the reasons mentioned why young Australians were fond of and proficient at sport — the heritage of the British love of games, adequate leisure time, good wages and diet, excellent climate — in the case of rowing and swimming there were plenty of good rivers on the eastern seaboard that did not freeze in winter. Champion sculler Ned Trickett, born at Greenwich on the Lane Cove River in Sydney, won his title from Englishman James Sadler on the Thames, defended it twice successfully on the Parramatta River and lost it to Canadian Ned Hanlan on the Thames in 1880. Between 1884 and 1888, the world title was again held by two Australians, William Beach and Peter Kemp, until Kemp was defeated by young Harry Searle on the Parramatta River in Australia’s centennial year. Henry Ernest Searle was born in Grafton on the Clarence River in NSW, on July 14, 1866, the son of English parents from Devonshire, Henry Samuel Searle and his wife, Mary Anne nee Brooks. A shoemaker by trade, Henry Samuel had set up business in Queen Street, Grafton. Seven years after its proclamation as a municipal town, Grafton, in 1866, with a district population of

Henry Searle

7

1,500, was the centre of a thriving agricultural and pastoral district. Forty miles from the Clarence’s mouth and 350 miles north of Sydney by sea, it was a port accessible to sailing vessels and steamships drawing up to three metres of water. The Clarence, averaging 800m in width, was the lifeline of the district. Along its banks were generous stretches of alluvial flats and cedar brush, and in its estuary was a group of 10 low islands, which included Harwood, Chatsworth, Goodwood and Esk Islands. The river was the freshwater highway for the rich produce of the district to reach Sydney and other ports and for the boats of hawkers who serviced the many isolated communities along its numerous tributaries. ‘The Big River’ was also, like the other large coastal rivers of NSW, a place for recreation. Everyone could pull a boat on the Clarence. Scenically, the Clarence Valley is magnificent, indeed almost unrivalled in Australia. Against the backdrop of the New England Plateau to the west, everything, like the ‘Big River’, is on a grand scale. Giant trees, dense rainforests, deep ferny gullies, lush pastures, brush and forests of wattle fill the moist subtropical air with heavy fragrances. It was such wild beauty that attracted and inspired two of Australia’s earliest poets, James Lionel Michael (1824–1868) and his young friend, Henry Kendall (1839–1882), who lived and wrote in Grafton in the 1860s. Kendall, who had also known the area as a boy, wrote some of his best poems here, including Orara, the name of a tributary of the Clarence, beginning:

8

Born of the Sun

The strong sob of the chafing stream That seaward fights its way Down crags of glitter, dells of gleam, Is in the hills today

When he was seven, Harry’s parents bought and moved to Esk Island, one of the Harwood Group. Here they cleared the 40 acres, built a slab house and farmed sugar cane, maize, potatoes and pumpkins. As there was no school nearby, at first Mary Ann (who was also the district midwife) taught her children at home, but when a school was opened at Wombah, three miles away Henry, aged 13, rowed his young brother and sisters to and from school each day, often racing other boys on the way. This task, as well as assisting his father to row to Grafton twice a year for supplies, a round trip of three days, not surprisingly soon made him a strong and fit boy. Searle later recalled: ‘Life at Esk Island was not unlike life must be in Venice. It is not, therefore, surprising that from an early age I took kindly to the sculls.’ When Henry was 17, his father, keenly interested in the predominant sport of the riverine community, bought his son a 22-foot racing skiff. After practising for a year, young Henry won his first race, a watermen’s skiff event at Chatsworth Island on November 9, 1884. The next May, he was equally successful at Harwood Island in the light skiff race, and, with J. Fisher, he won the double-sculling race in watermen’s skiffs. Rowing became a passion and Ned Trickett became his hero. Sometimes after school,

Henry Searle

9

Henry even rowed round Esk Island for extra practice, and when it was suggested that this enabled him to evade family chores he would tell his parents that one day he was going to be ‘champion sculler of the world’. In January 1886 at Harwood, he won a three-mile (4.8km) race, defeating a local champion, Mark Wallace, but lost to Wallace in a mile race the same day. In April, he won again at Chatsworth but at Yamba two days later in a weight handicap race carrying 10 pounds (4.5kg), lost to A. Baker, who carried a feather. Shortly after, carrying 16 pounds (7.3kg), along with A. Baker, he scored another win, this time at Palmer’s Island. In July, he won a private match in light skiffs against Wallace and defeated S. Davis over 2.75 miles (4.4km). In November, carrying 28 pounds (12.7kg), he was second to A. Baker (eight pounds; 3.6kg). Wallace (seven pounds; 3.1kg) was third and J. Read (feather) was fourth. The next year, his successes were repeated and included a handicap event at Chatsworth in which he carried 35 pounds (19kg). Taking the advice of his father not to strain himself, Searle did little competitive rowing the next year; however, he kept up his training to make sure he was ‘thoroughly well set up and matured’. Up to the end of 1887, all Searle’s races had been in light or 22-foot watermen’s skiffs, but at the Clarence River Aquatic Carnival on January 2, 1888, at his first attempt in an outrigger or wager-boat, he won from Chris Neilson and William Hearn of New Zealand, who had conceded him three-and-a-half and two-and-a-half lengths respectively. This victory surprised everyone and was the turning point

10

Born of the Sun

in his career. The established Sydney professional sculler and hotel-keeper Neil Matterson was impressed, took Searle in hand and took him to Sydney where Matterson arranged financial backing from the chemists John and Thomas Spencer. Coached by Matterson, Searle embarked on a strenuous training program, exercising with dumbbells, running, walking and rowing many miles each day and following a strict diet. The main rowing course in Sydney was the Parramatta River, the inland continuation of Port Jackson (Sydney Harbour) stretching westward about 30km from Darling Harbour to Parramatta, at the head of navigation. Dotted with islands in its lower course, its valley was then celebrated for the quality of its orchards, which in places descended to the river in sloping terraces. In the early days, the river had been the main highway between Sydney and Parramatta, halfway along which, at Kissing Point (Ryde), was the famous public house, brewery and hop plantation of James Squire, Australia’s first brewer. Indeed, the championship rowing course of three miles 300 yards (5km) began at Shepherd’s (or Charity) Point off the northern end of the railway bridge at Ryde, not far above Kissing Point. There were four legs. The first, about 30 chains, was to the southeast to a beacon off Uhr’s Point; the second, eastwards, completed the mile off Kissing Point; the third, about 40 chains to Putney; the fourth and longest leg passed Cabarita Point, Gladesville Wharf at Looking Glass Point, One Man’s Wharf at Abbotsford and on to the finish at the beacon on the rocks known as The Brothers, off Henley.

Henry Searle

11

In the rowing scene in the last quarter of the 19th century, professionalism was the name of the game. While there were many purely amateur clubs, the aim of local sculling champions, from Rockhampton on the Fitzroy River to Nowra on the Shoalhaven, was to do well enough to get into the big money in Sydney, where professionals raced for purses put up by big sponsors for hundreds of pounds. The normal arrangement for match races was that sponsors put up so much ‘aside’; the winning sponsor took all and, while most of the money went to the sponsor, his man was paid handsomely. Before the race an ‘arrangement’ would be signed at a hotel function and after the event the settlement would be paid at a similar convivial gathering. The bigger the stake, the greater the interest and large sums were laid on in private wagers by sportsmen who usually followed the race in steamboats — two only being allowed to follow the contestants down the course. By June, Searle’s rough style had been considerably refined and he was ready for his first big race against Julius Wulf, a well-known Sydney sculler, for a wager of £100 aside. The much-anticipated event took place late in the afternoon of June 15, 1888. Wulf, trained by Peter Kemp’s old trainer, Christian Neilson, from Putney, scaled in at 12 stone (76kg); Searle who trained from Mundy’s Hotel at Gladesville, weighed in at 11 stone eight pounds (73.5kg). Searle’s boat was the Jessie Mair, a Clasper-built boat brought out from England by Matterson; Wulf used a new Sullivan-built shell. Betting before the start was two-to-one against Wulf. After a fast start with Searle striking 40 to the

12

Born of the Sun

minute and Wulf 39, they were about level at the first mark off Uhr’s Point, but on heading across the reach to the Ryde bank, Wulf steered the better course to the mile mark. The lead changed several times, seemingly at the whim of the Clarence man, and, while Wulf led by one and a half lengths at Putney and two lengths at Cabarita, Searle finished strongly in great style ahead of his exhausted opponent in the time of 21 minutes 23.5 seconds. On July 13, Searle rowed against James Stansbury, the Shoalhaven sculler, for £100 aside in what Searle regarded as the hardest race of his life. For half the course they were dead level and Searle was stretched to the limit in winning in 19 minutes 53 seconds, beating Trickett’s time by 18 seconds for the fastest race over the Parramatta River course. After easily accounting for Chris Neilson for a stake of £200 aside, Searle was matched against William Hughes for £100 aside at Newcastle. If the conditions on the Hunter River were rough, Searle’s boat proved not much better as he had to stop several times to secure a rowlock and bale out his boat. Just before the finishing line, the boat’s plug blew out and, after stuffing his cap in the hole, Searle just managed to cross the line before his boat sank. Despite this, Searle won by three lengths after conceding Hughes a 10 second start. Searle’s connections now judged that their boy was ready to race Peter Kemp for the world title. The race between Searle and Kemp for £500 aside, the ninth time the world championship had been staged in Australia, took place on the Parramatta course on Saturday October 27, 1888. The early part of the day was sultry, but

Henry Searle

13

early in the afternoon a southerly breeze sprang up and conditions, apart from a slight headwind, were perfect. The crowd was immense, not unlike the one four years before when William Beach defeated Canadian Edward Hanlan for the title. Many went by train to see the start below the railway bridge, hundreds took to the river in more than 50 steamers and every kind of sailing craft, and thousands made their way to the river by foot, four-in-hand, hansom cab, buggy and even coal carts and hawkers’ and furniture vans. There was plenty of noise and dust along every road as the vast throng converged on viewing spots along the water’s edge. The finish at The Brothers Rocks at Henley was exceptionally well patronised by eager spectators on land and water. The betting ranged from five-to-four to seven-to-four on Searle. At 4.25pm on the last of the ebb tide, the pale ‘fairhaired boy’ from the Clarence and his solid bronzed opponent from the Hawkesbury took up their stations below the bridge, with Searle on the right or southern bank. At the start a few minutes later, Searle, striking 41, forged ahead of Kemp in great style and led by a length at Uhr’s Point. Approaching the mile mark, Searle had the race well in hand and, after a magnificent spurt rowing up to 42, he led by four lengths at the mile. At Putney, it was five lengths and Kemp, though rowing in a determined manner, appeared slightly distressed. Opposite the Mortlake gasworks, Searle slackened his pace a little, but as soon as Kemp seemed to be catching up, he drew away effortlessly. In response to a mighty cheer at Gladesville, Searle put on

14

Born of the Sun

another spurt, rowing up to 44, and shot past the wharf with Kemp about 12 lengths behind. The champion, realising he was well out of the race, now slowed down and Searle, ‘plying his sculls with remarkable vigour’, passed the finishing beacon more than 200 yards (180m) clear of Kemp in the time of 22 minutes 44.5 seconds. Those who had expected to see a close and exciting struggle were disappointed in what could only be called a procession. Searle, who was never pushed after the first 200 yards, had won with consummate ease. He finished quite fresh, and, according to the Sydney Morning Herald reporter, ‘thoroughly fit to row a second race’. Kemp was thoroughly exhausted. At the Gladesville Hotel, where hundreds of wellwishers had gathered, Searle, along with his trainer, a Mr Ferne, appeared on the balcony to a tremendous ovation. After dinner, Searle, Matterson and the Spencers went into the city where Searle thanked the crowd that had gathered in and outside Matterson’s Aquatic Rendezvous Hotel in George Street. The party, joined by Hanlan, then went to Her Majesty’s Theatre where, from the vice-regal box, they watched an act of the play Lights O’London and, in response to calls from the audience, Searle, Matterson and Hanlan bowed their acknowledgement. During the rest of the evening, the champion moved freely about town, and everywhere he was recognised, he was loudly cheered. A few weeks later, Searle and Matterson paid a visit to the sportsloving capital city south of the Murray, where they were received with interest and admiration, attended a mayoral reception and were presented to the public at a performance

Henry Searle

15

of Hands Across the Sea at Melbourne’s Theatre Royal before they left for Brisbane to compete in the ‘Grand Aquatic Carnival’. Planned for some months, the carnival was to show off the best in professional rowing and encourage the sport in Queensland. The event, however, was a fiasco: not only did it bring the sport into disrepute, it brought into question Searle’s sportsmanship. The four-day carnival, held between December 5 and 11 on the Bulimba reach of the Brisbane River, offered prizes of £500, £200 and £100 for the eight entrants — six from NSW, Searle, Matterson, Bill Beach, Peter Kemp, Chris Neilson and Jim Stansbury, with two locals, Messrs Wain and McLeer. The first draw for two heats of four, over a distance of two miles 1,500 yards (4.6km), put the second-rankers and the two locals in one and all the ‘cracks’ in the other, which would have meant one of the latter being eliminated on the first day. This, of course, did not please the betting men. Under pressure, the organising committee amended the draw and the new complicated provisions not only lent themselves to manipulation, but made the first day’s racing a farce. Only honour required the competitors to do their best and it was soon clear that they did not. But worse was to follow. In a heat on the third day, Searle and Matterson deliberately fouled Beach and were disqualified from that heat but not, inexplicably and to the disgust of the onlookers, from the carnival! Beach was awarded the race but was so angry with the umpire’s decision that he refused to row in the final, which was easily won by Searle, with Matterson third.

16

Born of the Sun

The next day, the Brisbane Courier was scathing: In whatever light it may be regarded, the carnival just over has proved pretty much of a fiasco. It has not been a thing of pleasure, and it must remain very far from a joy whose memory will be fondly cherished. It has added nothing to our admiration of professional athletics; it has done much to lower our estimation of the tactics of men who for the sake of mere money train and row in wager boats. Perhaps the most plausible reasons given for the institution of the carnival when it was being organised were that the exhibition of their prowess by the best scullers in the world would give an impetus in Brisbane to a fine manly sport which had not been patronised here as it had been in other riverine cities of Australia, and that it would demonstrate in the best of all ways that our noble river is a veritable paradise to those who wish to cross sculls. The carnival has, however, proved the prelude of a very dolorous lent, and the river, if not a place of broken skulls, which it threatened to be at one time, has become the watery grave of some reputations. Nor were we even treated to any great display of oarsmanship. Throughout the four days’ racing there was only one match which resulted in anything like a close contest — all the others were little better than aquatic processions.

It went on to point the finger at the management committee: ‘Thirty-three per cent [of which] were professional betting men, 33 per cent were hotel-keepers, 19 per

Henry Searle

17

cent were nondescripts, and 15 per cent only are known to have a close personal interest in rowing.’ Little wonder, it said, that the carnival was promoted for gambling, ‘for mulcting the gullible public of a certain amount of hard cash’, and for attracting large numbers of visitors to the city who had to be accommodated — ‘and where else than in hotels?’ After the Brisbane incident, which excited not a little comment, Searle adopted a low profile and withdrew for a time to his home on the Clarence. But he could not afford to shun the public gaze for too long; he still had to face the stern test of defending his title overseas and proving himself the indisputable champion of the world. So far he had certainly done very well financially. The £500 won in Brisbane had brought his year’s prize money in outriggers to £2,575, but a professional sculler had to maximise his earnings quickly in view of the fact that he could not normally expect to remain at the top for more than a few years. In seeking a worthy challenger, Searle’s supporters looked to North America, where there were three possible candidates: John Teemer and Jacob Gaudaur in the United States and William O’Connor in Canada. Negotiations were opened with Teemer, but after he was defeated by O’Connor for the American title, Teemer lost interest and Searle’s backers turned to O’Connor as the obvious challenger. As Searle did not want to go to Canada and O’Connor refused to come to Australia, a central venue was arranged on the River Thames. The winding four-and-a-

18

Born of the Sun

quarter mile (7.6km) course upstream from Putney Bridge to The Ship Inn at Mortlake was where Trickett had first won the world title and where Beach twice successfully defended it in 1886: it was also the course of the annual Oxford-Cambridge boat race. After the wager (£1,000) had been agreed on and the formalities and farewells completed, Searle, Matterson, Chris Crane (representing the Spencers, who put up the money for the venture) and two local enthusiasts, Messrs Carter and Myers, left Melbourne in the second week of May on the RMS Orient for London via Suez. Disembarking at Naples, the party made their way overland by rail to Paris, where they spent four days and attended the Paris Exhibition, before crossing the Channel. Matterson had reckoned that Searle, who had not raced since the previous December, needed two months to acclimatise, bring his weight down by about two stone (12.7kg) and work up to peak condition. During training, Searle stayed at Putney with the family of the noted boatbuilder John Hawks Clasper, who built Searle’s boat for the big race, which Seale named Young Chrissy after Crane. (Clasper was the son of Henry Clasper of Newcastle-onTyne, who is believed to be the inventor of the outrigger.) Much interest was shown in the training sessions of each competitor; incidents and minor mishaps were duly reported in the sporting press but the betting was slow to develop. About a week before the race, however, much Australian money went on Searle at six-to-four, but the money on the Canadian far exceeded that on the Australian

Henry Searle

19

and, by the time of the race, the starting price had swung to five-to-four on O’Connor. The race on the afternoon of September 9 was, if anything, an anticlimax, for Searle completely outclassed his opponent. The start ‘by mutual consent’ was won by O’Connor but before he had gone half a mile he caught a crab on one of his sculls, which upset his rhythm and allowed Searle to catch up and pass him. Searle reckoned later that it was a hard contest for one and three-quarter miles, but it was apparent to the great crowd of onlookers along the tow paths that the Australian had established his superiority by Hammersmith Bridge. Searle won by 10 lengths, but said he could have won by four times that margin if he had been fully extended. Everyone, however, including O’Connor and his connections, freely admitted that the better man had won. Back in Australia, Searle’s supporters packed telegraph offices and nearby pubs throughout the land eagerly awaiting the result, which came through by cable and the Overland Telegraph about one o’clock in the morning. In Sydney, Daniel O’Connor, the minister in charge of posts and telegraphs, entertained a small party, which included the Spencers, close to the GPO and happily drank the champion’s health. But all Australia rejoiced, for was not Searle an Australian first and a New South Welshman second? After the race, in an article in the Leeds Times entitled ‘How I Won the World’s Championship’, Searle, among other things, gave an account of his ‘training system’:

20

Born of the Sun

Rise about 6 or 6.30, and strike dumb-bells for about ten minutes, then for a two-mile run on an egg and sherry and a biscuit; breakfast at 8 … After breakfast, as after every meal I take a rest; then I go for a six-mile walk and at 11 start for a five or six mile row. Dinner at 1 p.m. … After about an hour’s rest I take a four-mile walk, and a three or four mile row, according to my average weight; if I am a bit too heavy I take a little extra work. If I am a good weight I take things more leisurely. I have tea at six o’clock … then another six or seven miles on foot, have a few minutes with the dumb-bells and then to bed at 10 p.m.

His careful diet consisted of well-cooked meat and poultry, cabbage, cauliflower (but no potatoes), custards, jelly, plenty of fruit, and tea. His routine, which was harder than usual at that time, combined with his diet, resulted in a splendid body and powerful legs. His measurements were: chest 105.4cm, biceps 34, forearm 30, thigh 60 and calf 41. He was 5ft 10 inches (178cm) tall and rowed at 11 stone 9 pounds (74kg). To the purists, Searle was certainly no stylist, but he rowed with machine-like precision and his repeated, sudden and sustained bursts of speed annihilated his opponents. After Searle’s triumph, Jacob Gaudaur cabled a challenge. Searle was quite happy to row against the American for £1,000 on the Thames, Tyne or Parramatta Rivers, but was not prepared to go to North America. Gaudaur, however, would not accept a river course and

Henry Searle

21

insisted on an English or American lake course, so negotiations broke down. Searle spent the remainder of his time in England sightseeing, visiting relatives and training with Matterson for Matterson’s successful race with George Bubear for the English title, which took place on October 14. Before leaving, Searle and Matterson were presented with certificates by the Royal Humane Society for their efforts to save two boys from drowning in the Thames in July, and were given a magnificent public farewell at the Royal Cambridge Music Hall of Varieties where Searle was presented with a diamond and pearl pin and a silver and mahogany inkstand decorated with Australian motifs. Searle, Matterson and Chris Crane left London on October 16 and travelled overland to Rome where they spent a few days before joining the Orient Line steamer Austral at Naples. Ten days out from port, Searle became unwell and it was thought he had suffered slight sunstroke from playing deck cricket. About 10 days later, he became seriously ill and was hospitalised under the care of the ship’s surgeon, Dr Bagshawe, and two trained nurses who were passengers. Before the ship had reached Albany in Western Australia, typhoid (enteric) fever was diagnosed, and, from then on, as his return to Australia was eagerly awaited, Searle’s illness became a very public one. Searle’s Sydney physician, Dr Lovell, and Thomas Spencer hastened to meet the boat at Adelaide. It was decided, however, that Searle should remain on board until the end of the voyage. On arrival in Melbourne, he was transferred to the government sanitorium at Cut-paw-paw, near Williamstown.

22

Born of the Sun

Here, attended by Dr Lovell, Dr Honmann of Williamstown and his shipboard nurses, Searle’s condition varied a great deal. At first, a speedy recovery was expected, but as the disease took its course, peritonitis set in and his case was given up as hopeless. On Monday December 9, resigned to his fate, he was momentarily cheered by a visit from Matterson, Crane and Thomas Spencer. That evening, calm and cheerful, he joined for the last time in prayer with Rev. Canon Sergeant and died at 9 o’clock the next morning. Late in the afternoon on Wednesday December 11, thousands thronged the streets of Melbourne as Searle’s funeral cortege passed down Collins Street ‘amidst a solemn silence’ on its way to Spencer Street Railway Station. So great was the crush of mourners that all attempts at forming an orderly procession failed despite the number of foot and mounted policemen. Practically all the sporting clubs of Melbourne turned out and scores of elaborate wreaths from rowing, football, cricket and athletic organisations accompanied the hearse and mourning coaches. After the coffin was placed in the special car (a small black box-truck formerly used for transporting gold), Reverend George Middleton recited part of the burial service, gave a short eulogy and read a letter from the Governor of Victoria, the Earl of Hopetoun, and his wife expressing sympathy to Searle’s family and their regret at the death of one ‘who had made himself famous throughout the world’. As the train travelled north through the countryside to Sydney and the scene of his earlier triumphs, thousands at Benalla, Albury and Goulburn lined the railway to pay their last respects.

Henry Searle

23

On arrival of the funeral train at Sydney, the coffin was taken to Matterson’s house 31 Union Street, Pyrmont, where, before the second funeral procession on December 14, thousands viewed the polished oak coffin with silver adornments in Matterson’s back sitting room. About 3pm on Saturday the hearse, flanked by rowers including Matterson, Trickett, Beach, Kemp, James Stansbury and Elias Laycock, moved off to St Andrew’s Cathedral to the strains of Handel’s Dead March in Saul in the following order: Four Mounted Police Members of the Metropolitan and Suburban Cyclist Clubs Sydney Amateur Gymnastic Club The NSW Cricket Association and various cricket clubs The NSW Football Association and kindred clubs The Sydney, Balmain, Newtown and Enterprise Amateur Swimming Clubs The Sydney Amateur Athletic Association and kindred bodies The Neutral Bay Sailing Club Port Jackson Sailing Club Balmain Sailing Club Sydney Amateur Canvas Dingy Club Sydney Amateur Sailing Club NSW Rowing Association St Ignatius’ Rowing Club Penrith Rowing Club Kogarah Bay Rowing Club Balmain Working Men’s Rowing Club

24

Born of the Sun

Leichhardt Rowing Club University Boat Club Balmain Rowing Club North Shore Rowing Club Glebe Rowing Club Mercantile Rowing Club Sydney Rowing Club East Sydney Rowing Club Young Australian Band (100 in number) Hearse, accompanied on either side by the pallbearers Mourning coaches, containing the relatives and friends of the deceased His Worship the Mayor and Aldermen of Sydney Members of Parliament and other sympathisers Patrons of rowing and other sports Various friendly societies The general public

Travelling along Harris and George Streets to St Andrew’s Cathedral, the progress was slow and short halts were frequent. The crowd lining the streets was enormous despite the heat. Flags on public buildings, business premises, houses and on shipping in Sydney Harbour were flown at half-mast; bells tolled as the strains of the Dead March rose and fell at intervals; emblems of mourning — black crepe and bunting — adorned shopfronts, windows and awnings and thousands, young and old, rich and poor, wore Searle’s colours (blue and white) pinned on black crepe. Near the railway station and all along George Street

Henry Searle

25

to the cathedral and its surrounds, was black with people. Traffic came to a standstill as the torrent filled the roadway, which from above seemed to be paved with heads, hats and parasols. In addition to those filling the roads and footpaths, thousands looked down from rooftops and windows on the vast throng, which, as the mounted police advanced, fell back as best they could in the great crush. And, as the hearse passed, hats were reverently lifted in silent respect for the departed oarsman. At the western door of the cathedral, the crowd surged forward, overturning the barricades, but the police quickly restored order and the coffin was borne inside. The Rev. Canon George Moreton of St Luke’s, Concord, gave the address. It was reported in the third person by the Sydney Morning Herald: He presumed there was one feeling uppermost in the mind of every one of them as they gazed upon the coffin which contained the remains, might he say, of the beloved youth who had now in the mysterious providence of God been called from this mortal life. That feeling uppermost in their minds to which he alluded was of sorrow, and at the same time closely allied with that of sympathy. They sorrowed because a youth of great promise had been called from their midst, and they sympathised with the parents and other beloved ones who, instead of welcoming him alive from the distant shores of England, could do no more than weep over his silent remains.

26

Born of the Sun

The Reverend went on to commend ‘honest, manly exercise’, and, in words that must have made some listeners squirm, denounced those who, having ‘no vigour to wield a bat or ply an oar’, perverted the manly ideals of sport and turned them into ‘a gigantic system of betting and gambling’. But he said: Searle had come back to them honest, and, with that purity of mind that left them, and was looking forward to grasping the hand and seeing once more the smiles of those he had left behind. And he had come back accompanied by the ‘Dead March in Saul,’ and thousands and thousands of spectators that day gazed, not upon a triumphal procession, but upon a funeral march, through the streets of Sydney. It did speak to them, and it told them so to number their days that they might apply their hearts unto wisdom. What was it that their talented young oarsman thought the most of since he landed in Melbourne? Was it to meet the friends he had left behind? Was it to return to the scenes of his childhood? Was it once more to fall into the arms of his father? No! It was to meet the everliving and the everloving Redeemer, and while they were committing by slow stages the earth to its earth, they might believe the spirit had departed to that better life, and that Saviour whom he had humbly sought, and who never listened to prayer without answering, had received him.

The choir concluded the short proceedings in the cathedral by singing the 12th-century words of Bernard of Cluny, beginning Hic breve vivitur:

Henry Searle

27

Brief life is here our portion, Brief sorrow, short-lived care; The life that knows no ending, The tearless life, is there.

At the Messageries Maritime Wharf at Circular Quay, the coffin and floral tributes from sporting clubs all over Australia were loaded on to the steamship Australian, many of the wreaths being arranged around the coffin by William Beach and the boxer Larry Foley. Ninian Melville MP, son of a convict, chairman of the funeral committee, and incidentally an undertaker, then briefly addressed the large crowd from the boat. He quoted the words of Eliza Cook: Look well, look close, look deep, look long, On the changes ruling earth, And you’ll find God’s rarest, holiest throng Arise from noteless birth.

He went on to say that, While Searle could not boast of his pedigree, the words of the poetess were prophetic in his case. Coming a stripling to the city of Sydney he became our champion. Then upon the waters of old Father Thames, where kings and knights and rulers had floated on its bosom, some to the Tower, and others to the palace, amid the throng of English people he won for us by every fair and honest means the champion honour of the aquatic world.

28

Born of the Sun

Leaving England full of hope, joy, and the anticipation of the welcome of his parents and all the aspirations of youthful manhood, surrounded by all its joys, he was met before he reached our shores by the grim hand of death. All they had with them that day was the mortal remains, but he believed our hero was in heaven. Some people spoke of federation, and wondered how and by what means it could be brought about. Let but the hour of danger threaten them, and they would immediately federate. The coffin lying upon the deck of the steamer covered by wreaths from every one of the Australian colonies spoke that we were now an Australian nation, and federated as one people.

After the boat loaded the mails and other passengers at another wharf, it left for Grafton about 9pm. The Australian crossed the bar of the Clarence River on Monday about 6am and at Iluka the coffin, together with Searle’s luggage, ticketed ‘H. E. Searle’, was transferred to the drogher Perseverance, suitably dressed in bands of crepe and black cloth, for the voyage upriver. After touching at Searle’s parents’ home at Esk Island, the boat reached Maclean, where a great crowd had assembled about 11am. Borne on the shoulders of young scullers of the district, amid family, schoolmates, youthful friends and admirers, Searle was laid to rest in a brick vault in the centre of the Church of England cemetery after the Anglican and Oddfellows’ burial services were read.

Henry Searle

29

On Thursday December 10, 1891, the second anniversary of Searle’s death, a small gathering at The Brothers Rocks on the Parramatta River watched Ninian Melville unveil a graceful 20-foot (6m) monument of Italian marble to Henry Ernest Searle. The broken column and pedestal on a plinth of bluestone was decorated with a bas-relief of the champion, cross-sculls and wreaths of native flowers. William Beach and Melville spoke briefly, the latter reminding those present of the value of manly sports to the emerging nation. The reporter for the Sydney Morning Herald, however, while acknowledging Searle’s achievements and the value of sport, noted also Australia’s ‘craze for athletics’ and asked: ‘Is it not time to remember that it is just possible to carry a craze in this direction too far?’ A question that has been asked many times since.

LONNIE SPRAGG (1879–1904)

Rugby Footballer hg

ALONZO STEPHEN SPRAGG, the most famous Australian rugby player of his day, was the beau ideal of the sportsman. Well-formed, personable, unselfish and goodtempered, he not only represented NSW and Queensland and played four rugby tests against Great Britain, he was also an interstate oarsman and a first-grade cricketer. But all too short were the years of this young master, who was the idol of adults and schoolboys alike. He died in Brisbane after a brief illness on February 12, 1904, at the age of 24. By the late 1870s, Sydney was a city of more than 200,000 people, almost one-third of the population of the colony of NSW. It was assured, calm and quietly prosperous

32

Born of the Sun

in stark contrast with its more populous Victorian rival. There were two approaches to the city — one by sea, the other by land. That from the west and south over the undulating plain through farms, orchards and scattered suburbs was rather prosaic, but, according to one observer, Edward Field, journalist and former sailor, the approach by sea was ‘full of interest, and creates a delight which can never be forgotten’. The sun is warm, the sky is clear, The waves are dancing fast and bright.

To the traveller sailing through the craggy Heads and up the harbour, a splendid vista unfolded. The well-wooded shoreline with its white sandy beaches formed a delightful margin to the bright blue roadstead, where sailing ships and steam vessels from all over the world rode at anchor. On the southern shore, sumptuous mansions surrounded by beautiful gardens along the water’s edge and crowning the heights were perhaps unequalled by any dwellings south of the equator. Wharves, warehouses and wool stores were packed densely around Sydney Cove and Darling Harbour, and Sydney’s narrow streets, laid out to the cardinal points of the compass and serviced by water and gas mains, now extended out to the south, east and west along the Parramatta Road, merging imperceptibly into the suburbs of Redfern, Paddington and Newtown. Banks, insurance companies, shipping firms and emporiums, many built in the Italian composite style, all testified to the city’s progress.

Lonnie Spragg

33

Whatever the city might have lacked as a consequence of the richer gold strikes in Victoria, it was a handsome city, one that combined the double functions of metropolis and seaport. It was the centre of the coastal trade of eastern Australia, and chief outlet for the export of Australian wool. When Lonnie Spragg was born in Redfern on October 2, 1879, there was one topic of conversation for Sydney’s citizens: the Sydney International Exhibition. There had been exhibitions held in Sydney, Melbourne and Brisbane before, but this was the first international one to be held in Australia. Its aim, like all the exhibitions in the 19th century, was to display the triumphs of the age of steam and to stimulate local and overseas trade. To house the exhibits displaying the fruits of labour from all over the world, a magnificent ‘Garden Palace’ was built on the Macquarie Street ridge in the ‘outer domain’ to the south of Government House (now the Botanic Gardens). The massive timber and glass structure, with its finely proportioned central dome and large towers, covered two hectares and was the largest building in Australia. To carry the thousands of visitors from the outlying suburbs and country areas, a tramway was built from the then railway terminal at Redfern to Hunter Street in the city. Powered at first by horses, in a few weeks it became the first steam passenger tramway in Australia — another novelty and badge of progress for the assured and prosperous metropolis of which its citizens were justly proud. The Exhibition, opened on September 17, was judged an enormous success; when it closed on April 20, 1880 it was estimated that nearly one

34

Born of the Sun

million visitors from the Australian colonies and overseas had passed through its doors. Lonnie was the youngest of five children of George Henry Spragg and his wife, Margaret nee Balser. George’s father, Joseph, had come to Australia as a convict aboard the ship Asia in February 1832. In 1842, at Christ Church, Newcastle, he married Ann Bowen, who had come to Australia as a bounty immigrant in 1839. Joseph worked for a time at Newcastle Hospital and, before his death in 1857, received a conditional and then absolute pardon for the offence that occasioned his transportation. Alonzo, a form of Alphonsus, was a Spragg family name; Joseph had a brother in England, William Alonzo Spragg, and it appears Lonnie was named after him. In 1882, the year the Sydney ‘Garden Palace’ was destroyed in a spectacular fire, the Spragg family moved from Redfern seven miles west to Enfield, where George worked as a carpenter. Enfield, then on Sydney’s ruralurban fringe, was sparsely populated undulating country given over to market gardens and dairy farms. To the west and south was the Cook’s River, which marked the southern boundary of what was then called Druitt Town (between Homebush Road and Rookwood Cemetery), now South Strathfield. Separating Druitt Town from Enfield to the east is a ridge along which runs the road to Liverpool (the Hume Highway); on its eastern fold is the 150-year-old St Thomas’s Church of England, where the Spraggs were parishioners. On the completion of his schooling at Druitt Town Public School, Lonnie passed the special entrance

Lonnie Spragg

35

examination for entry to the newly established Sydney Boys’ High School. On leaving Sydney High, he studied wool classing at the Sydney Technical College and entered the wool trade at the age of 19. When Lonnie, or ‘Lonzie’ as he was called in the family, was born, rugby in Australia was in its infancy. Indeed, the first rugby club in Australia had been formed at the University of Sydney, not far from the Spragg home, just 15 years earlier. At first, the club was forced to play among its own members or against the crews of visiting Royal Navy ships. In the 1870s, the Wallaroo Club was formed, followed soon after by the Waratah, Balmain, Redfern, Burwood and other clubs. These clubs, together with The King’s School, Newington College and Sydney Grammar School, not only widened the competition but did much to improve the standard of play. Today it seems strange that school teams played against adult clubs, which, before the days of ‘district’ football, drew their members from near and far, but a contemporary writer provides the explanation: What schoolboys they were! Until they were 16 or 18, most of them had proved so valuable an adjunct to the management of a station that their parents never dreamed of parting with them for educational purposes till their sons’ juvenescence roused them to a consciousness of their ignorance, and away they sent them to have their ignorance removed and their manners softened by one or two years’ course at one or other of the great Sydney academies.

36

Born of the Sun

In its early days, rugby faced strong competition from Australian Rules football and soccer, but it withstood the competition from other codes because of its increasing popularity in country areas and in Queensland, its links with an increasing number of private schools in NSW and Queensland, and because of the possibility and popularity of intercolonial and international tours. NSW first played Queensland and toured New Zealand in 1882 and two years later New Zealand visited NSW. In 1888, the first English touring team arrived in Australia and played 15 matches in NSW, Queensland and South Australia. It won every game save those against The King’s School at Parramatta and Sydney Grammar School, which were drawn, and showed the strength of ‘schoolboy’ rugby. The second English team arrived in Australia 11 years later and was the first to play ‘tests’. Spragg began playing football in 1897 with the Mercantile (First Junior) Club at Burwood under the captaincy of the one-armed player and umpire, A. Jones. The next season he joined the Wallaroo Club, for which he played all his remaining games in Sydney. The Wallaroos under the captaincy of Percy Manton Lane (1870-1906) were part of what was then called the ‘Senior Badge’ competition along with five other clubs: University, Sydney, Pirates, Randwick and Paddington. Spragg, at 18 and the youngest senior player in Sydney, soon stood out, and his arrival on the representative scene was announced in the popular sporting paper, the Referee, on July 13, 1898:

Lonnie Spragg

37

He has done exceedingly well, and possessing rare gifts, devoting special aptitude for the game, seems destined to shine in the future. He is as fast as, if not actually faster than [Stanley] Wickham, dodges somewhat like the old Wallaroo wing, yet, unlike him, too, he dodges both ways. Spragg is a splendid kick, either place or drop, and is eager and capable in defence.

Spragg did not disappoint. The next Saturday (July 16), playing for Metropolis (City) against NSW Country, he scored most of his team’s points (a try and two conversions) in their 20-point to eight victory. From 1882, the big representative event in Australian rugby was the annual clash between NSW and Queensland. Until 1897, the two colonies played each other twice a year, the venue alternating year about, but from 1898 they met four times a season — two matches each in Sydney and Brisbane. Up to this time the older colony was twice as successful as its rival, though Queensland had some notable victories. However, the general superiority of NSW had an unfortunate effect on the fixture as some Sydney players, preferring the strong local competition, made themselves unavailable for the ‘away’ games in Brisbane. In 1898, the first two games were played in Sydney, with NSW winning the first (13–8) and Queensland the second (18–16). Spragg, who was playing well in the senior competition, also played substitute for Queensland in a match in Newcastle and was chosen to travel to Brisbane for the return matches on August 27 and September 3. The first game, played in the forwards

38

Born of the Sun

with Spragg and the other backs getting little of the ball, was won by Queensland (15-5), but in the second game, which was drawn (3-all), Spragg, although he played both matches on the wing, acquitted himself well and from then on was under the eye of the Australian selectors for the anticipated visit of the English team. The second British team to tour eastern Australia arrived in May 1899 under the captaincy of Rev. Matthew Mullineux of the University of Cambridge. It easily won its first match against Central Southern Districts, but everyone was anxious to see how they would handle NSW and Australia. Spragg, an ‘emergency back’ for the first intercolonial fixture on June 10, was selected for NSW to play against the English on Saturday June 17. This tough and willing match before a Sydney crowd of 30,000 was won by England 4-3, a ‘goal from the field’ to Australia’s try. There were many commendable local performers, but when the selectors considered the Australian side for what was to be the first ‘test’, Spragg was the first to be chosen. The first test match between England and Australia took place at the Sydney Cricket Ground on Saturday June 24, 1899 before a capacity crowd of 30,000 people. The teams were as follows:

Lonnie Spragg

39

ENGLAND

AUSTRALIA Full-Back

E. Maretelli

R. McCowan Three-quarters

G. Doran

C. White

C. Adamson

F. Row

E. Nicholls

S. Spragg

A. Bucher Five-Eighths W. Evans P. Ward Half-Backs M. Mullineux

A. Gralton

G. Cookson Forwards F. Stout

J. Carson

T. McGowan

W. Davis

J. Jarman

C. Ellis

G. Gibson

H. Marks

A. Ayre-Smith

P. Carew

H. Gray

W. Tanner

H. Belson

A. Kelly

J. Francomb

A. Colton

England, captained by Mullineux, wore white; Australia, captained by Frank (‘Banger’) Row, wore the light-blue colours of NSW. The referee was W. G. (‘Gun’) Garrard of Christchurch, New Zealand.

40

Born of the Sun

At 3.05pm, Gralton kicked off for Australia, having lost the toss. With the weather fine and the ground hard and dry, the first half was strongly and evenly contested and, at half-time, Australia led 3-0 from a try by Alexander Kelly, which many thought should have been disallowed. Bucher evened the score for England early in the second half, but, like Australia, failed to add the further two points. For a long time it seemed as if the match would be drawn until Lonnie Spragg, ‘with a dodgy run’, scored and converted his try. Australia now led 8-3 and England, beginning to tire, soon conceded another try (‘Poley’ Evans), which Spragg converted on the full-time whistle, giving victory to the home team by 13 points to 3. All the experts agreed that the game was won handsomely in the forwards and that the Englishmen, despite a brilliant exhibition of passing, were out of condition. Spragg, who scored 8 of his team’s 13 points, and the rest of the Australian backs, played brilliantly. The second test in Brisbane, played at Bowen Park Exhibition Ground on July 22 before 15,000 people, resulted in an easy win for England, 11 points to nil. To save the cost of sending players to the northern capital, the selectors decided to play nine Queenslanders, most of whom lacked the necessary experience and toughness. (Australia played this test in the maroon colours of Queensland.) Nevertheless, Australia was not disgraced and the game was judged a magnificent display, with England dominating the first half and the Australians rallying towards the end of the game but failing to break the

Lonnie Spragg

41

stubborn English defence. The selectors, however, did not make the same mistake for the third test a fortnight later when only three Queensland players were included in the side and Australia lost by one point. This match, played before 16,000, saw Spragg score all of Australia’s 10 points and give his best international display. The weather was perfect and a trifle warm for the time of year, though rain the previous evening made the centre of the ground slippery. At half-time, England led 5-0. Not long into the second half, England scored again and it seemed that the visitors, with their deft passing, forward rushes and sure tackling, were going to run over the colonials, who were hemmed in their own 25 for some time. However, Australia rallied and, from a brilliant backline movement, Spragg scored next to the posts and added the extra points. The pace of play now quickened and Timms scored for England, putting them six points in front. About five minutes before full-time, when Australia’s chances of winning seemed remote, Spragg began a passing rush at halfway; making good ground, he passed to Peter Ward, who in turn unloaded to Spragg, who again scored and converted. Just before the final whistle, five-eight Ignatius (‘Iggy’) O’Donnell took a shot at goal but missed. England 11, Australia 10. According to the Sydney Morning Herald, England was the better side on the day and the Australian forwards could have done better in the large amount of play in the sticky centre of the field. It also reported that a try on either side should have been disallowed, but soberly added: ‘It is, however, a matter of

42

Born of the Sun

impossibility for the referee to be always in a position to say absolutely whether a ball has been passed forward or not.’ The fourth and final test took place the next Saturday, August 12, at the Sydney Cricket Ground in very wet conditions. Australia lost the toss and was forced to defend the northern end in the face of strong wind and driving rain. With the score nil-all at half-time, it was hoped that Australia would have the advantage after the five-minute interval and perhaps be able to draw the series. But it was not to be. England ran away with the game, scoring two converted tries and a penalty goal, defeating Australia 13-0. The Englishmen played, in all, 21 matches on their tour, including games against NSW, Queensland and Victoria, and country districts from Rockhampton in Queensland to Orange in NSW; and, including the first test, lost only three. Though Mullineux’s team included players from England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales, it lacked really experienced internationals, but after they became acclimatised they certainly proved themselves superior to the locals to whom they demonstrated important lessons in the art of passing and the running game. Australia failed narrowly to level the series largely because the visitors had too much experience of big-match rugby, but another factor was that the Australian selectors experimented too much with the team. While England played 21 different players, Australia utilised 34 against England, of whom only four — Spragg, Paddy Carew, C. S. Ellis and Peter Ward — played in all four tests. These four, along with Row and McCowan, certainly distinguished themselves, but

Lonnie Spragg

43

if one player had to be chosen, Lonnie Spragg, who scored 17 of Australia’s 23 points, would have been named Australia’s ‘man of the series’. On the local rugby scene, 1899 was the year of the Walleroos, who won the Sydney premiership for the first time since 1892. By this time, there were eight clubs in the First Badge competition: Walleroos, Randwick, Marrickville, Sydney, Buccaneers, University, Parramatta and the Pirates (so-called because they came over the water from the North Shore). In addition to the premiership First Badge, teams competed for two other trophies, which were awarded by the Sydney Cricket Ground trustees and the Royal Agricultural Society of NSW for matches after the premiership had been decided. The Wallaroos won the first trophy, but were beaten by the Pirates for the latter on September 30 in what was Spragg’s last Sydney club game. Much of the team’s success, however, was due to Spragg’s brilliance. Though he missed about half of the competition games due to selection for the tests and other representative fixtures, he still managed to score nine of the team’s 32 tries and his prowess with the boot was reflected in the fact that in the Wallaroos’ club games (in which they lost only two), they scored 24 points against 87. It was indeed a talented team, with such players as Frank Row, ‘Iggy’ O’Donnell, J. D. Futter and James O’Donnell, the former New Zealand player. Percy Lane, the 29-year-old captain, reckoned it was their best team in 10 years. Lured by offers of employment (rugby was strictly amateur), Spragg moved to Rockhampton, Queensland, in

44

Born of the Sun

January 1900, where he played some cricket and football before moving in May to Brisbane, where Frederick Lea, the ‘father of Queensland rugby’ and an Australian selector, had arranged a job for him at the Government Savings Bank at which he was chief clerk. (Spragg worked there until 1903, when he left to set up business as a hide and skin merchant.) Taking up lodgings at Mrs Jensen’s boarding house, ‘Narellan’, at North Quay, Spragg lost no time immersing himself in the sporting life of the city, joining rugby, cricket and rowing clubs and the Queensland Amateur Sports Club, of which he was later treasurer. He began his Brisbane football career with the City team but, from 1901 to 1903, he played for North Brisbane. The idol of Queensland rugby for his sportsmanship and the brilliance of his play as an attacking centre three-quarter, he soon rewrote the local record book. In 20 games in 1901, he scored 195 points, which included 26 tries, and, in a club match the next season, he converted all 10 tries. He played 12 consecutive matches for Queensland against NSW, in which Queensland, the underdog, won five. In 1900, the honours were equal, both sides winning their home matches, and, in 1901, the result was the same, with both sides victorious in their away games. In 1903, after Queensland and NSW shared the spoils in Brisbane, Spragg was appointed captain at the age of 22 for the two Sydney matches, which Queensland lost, 13-24 and 8-13. (The next year, New South Wales won all four and, from this time, dominated the contests until 1939.) In these 12 matches, Spragg scored a total of 70 points (seven tries, 14 goals, three

Lonnie Spragg

45

field goals and three goals from mark), a Queensland record that stood for 30 years until bettered by the great Tommy Lawton (1899–1978) in 1932. In 21 interstate and international games, Spragg scored 104 points. Neat, lithe and trim, five feet ten inches (178cm) tall and eleven stone eight pounds (73.5kg), Spragg was, and looked, the ideal athlete. He was also one of those rare personalties who colleagues called a ‘player’s player’. Though he was sometimes played on the wing, where he was wasted, and which deployment brought much criticism on the selectors, Spragg was essentially an exceptionally talented outside centre. Moreover, he was the recognised goal-kicker of every team in which he played: of his 70 points for Queensland, 49 came from his boot. With the place kick, he always stood the ball upright on its end, never slanting towards the goalposts. Angle or distance was no problem: he could kick a goal from halfway, and was also adept at the garryowen or upand-under. Spragg was Australia’s first in a long line of outstanding international goalkickers, which included Phillip Carmichael, ‘Dally’ Messenger, Arthur McGill, Paul McLean, Michael Lynagh and Matthew Burke. And it needs to be remembered that his graceful, relaxed kicking style (and memorable try) helped Australia win the first ever rugby test in Australia, and that it was not for another 30 years that Australia defeated England again in Australia. In 1902, Spragg, who had been a prominent oarsman with the Commercial Rowing Club in Brisbane, was selected for Queensland to row in the eight-oared championship of Australia (later, the King’s Cup) in Adelaide.

46

Born of the Sun

This had been an annual inter-colonial event since 1878, but Queensland had won it only once, in 1891. The Queensland crew in maroon jerseys and white knickers consisted of: V. Markwell (Bow)

10 stone

4 pounds

H. D. Browne (2)

10 stone

6 pounds

H. A. Montefiore (3)

11 stone

10 pounds

S. A. Spragg (4)

11 stone

8 pounds

R. W. Cran (5)

13 stone

6 pounds

T. J. Lyons (6)

13 stone

3 pounds

A. A. Petrie (7)

11 stone

4 pounds

A. A. Watson (stroke)

10 stone

10 pounds

W. Dowridge (cox)

8

0 pounds

stone

According to the Adelaide Advertiser, the Queenslanders were physically a ‘model’ crew and, even though they did not bring a coach with them, they were well-drilled and considered capable of winning. Rowed on the Port Adelaide River over three miles and 364 yards (5km) on May 10, Victoria won convincingly from South Australia, who edged out Queensland, running in station four, for second by three-quarters of a length. The time was 17 minutes seven seconds. Given the circumstances, it was a commendable performance, but it was not until 1924 that Queensland won the title again. The 1903 football season was to be Spragg’s last. In June, at the height of his career he severely injured his knee in a club match. In those days, there was no such thing as

Lonnie Spragg

47

‘sports medicine’ or suitable therapy and this mishap ended his playing career. There was also no compensation, save a sell-out concert on his behalf held at the Centennial Hall, which raised £30 towards his medical expenses. In the summer, however, Spragg continued to play A-grade cricket for the North Brisbane Cricket Club of which he was captain and secretary. And he could still row and also play table tennis at which he was very adept; in fact, he was one of Brisbane’s leading players. A few days after playing a ‘neat’ innings of 24 for his club on Saturday January 23, Spragg fell ill. At first, typhoid fever was suspected, but later at the Brisbane General Hospital he underwent a 90-minute operation for appendicitis and developed peritonitis, recovery from which was rare at that time. Spragg’s family in Sydney were alerted and his mother and sister, Lillian, rushed to his bedside, where Lonnie comforted his loved ones and friends, thanked the hospital nurses, and died early in the afternoon of February 12. Though not entirely unexpected given the prognosis, Spragg’s death was a great shock to sporting communities throughout Queensland and NSW. His funeral the next afternoon (Saturday) was quite unlike anything Brisbane had seen, except for the state funerals of public figures. The long cortege moved off from ‘Narellan’ at a 3.15pm. The coffin and hearse, covered in a bower of wreaths and blossoms, was flanked by the pallbearers, ‘Poley’ Evans, Austin Gralton, William Tanner, A. Burton, J. J. Walsh and W. H. Austin — all football or rowing mates of Lonnie.

48

Born of the Sun

After them walked more than 200 leading athletes and citizens and behind them more than 80 cabs and vehicles. All major sporting organisations, including the English Rugby Union, and clubs were represented; sporting fixtures were postponed and cricket matches were interrupted for half an hour as a mark of respect. At the graveside in Toowong Cemetery, the words of the Anglican burial service were pronounced by Rev. S. C. Harris: ‘Man that is born of a woman has but a short time to live … He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down.’ It seemed only too pertinent to the hushed and solemn crowd. Widespread and unalloyed was the public grief for the passing of the young sportsman who was universally admired for his feats and comportment on the football field and for the conduct of his private life. His cheery smile and happy nature had endeared him to all. A teetotaller and non-smoker, Spragg was peculiarly free from any kind of vanity or self-seeking; he was generous in his praise of others and quick to assist those less fortunate than himself. (He once sold more than 200 tickets for a benefit concert for an injured player from a rival club, which enabled the club to set up its own injured players’ fund.) It was not surprising therefore that the grief and sense of loss for Lonnie resulted almost immediately in a move to erect a suitable memorial to his memory. Accordingly, a few days after the funeral, a wellattended public meeting in Brisbane formed the ‘Spragg Memorial Committee’ and set up a one-shilling (10 cents) subscription fund. The public was generous and, in time,

Lonnie Spragg

49

an expensive, massive and tall monument, consisting of a broken pillar (symbolising life cut short) on top of a convoluted ‘Corinthian’ column, was erected over his grave. It bears the following inscription: IN LOVING MEMORY OF

ALONZO STEPHEN SPRAGG BORN 2ND OCTOBER 1878* DIED 12TH FEBRUARY 1904 GONE BUT NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN I THANK MY GOD ON EVERY REMEMBRANCE OF YOU PHIL 1: 3

THEY SHALL BE MINE SAITH THE LORD OF HOSTS IN THAT DAY WHEN I MAKE UP MY JEWELS MAL 3: 17

ERECTED BY THE ATHLETES OF

AUSTRALIA Underneath, on the sandstone base, Lonnie’s sister, Lillian, placed a marble tablet: To the loved memory of ‘LONZIE’ My brother, very pleasant Hast thou been unto me, Thy love to me was wonderful. 2. Sam. 1.26

50

Born of the Sun

In the city of his birth, Lonnie Spragg is commemorated by a plaque on the north wall of St James’ Anglican Church in King Street, Sydney. It reads: ‘To God’s Glory and to the loved memory of Alonzo Stephen Spragg who died at Brisbane Feb. 12th 1904. Aged 24. “I thank my God upon every remembrance of you.” Phil. 1.3’ In 1997, the Brisbane City Council, in consultation with the ‘Friends of Toowong Cemetery’, carried out extensive restoration work on Spragg’s monument, which is one of the largest and most unusual in that necropolis. When the Centenary Test against England was played at Stadium Australia in Sydney on June 26, 1999, a photo of Australia’s first Test side was used in newspaper advertisements promoting the event.

* The year should read 1879

BARNEY KIERAN (1886–1905)

Swimmer hg

I would ride as never a man has ridden, In your sleepy, swirling surges hidden, To gulfs foreshadowed through straits forbidden, Where no light wearies and no love wanes. — Adam Lindsay Gordon

AFTER YOUNG AUSTRALIANS had demonstrated their prowess in international rowing, cricket and rugby, swimming was the next sport in which they proved

52

Born of the Sun

themselves to be world class. In a career of only 23 months, from January 1904 to December 1905, Sydney teenager Barney Kieran amazed the swimming world of Australasia, England, Ireland, Scotland and Sweden with his recordbreaking swims. In this short time, he won 11 Australasian titles and held every world freestyle record from 200 yards to one mile. When he took ill during the Australasian Championships in Brisbane in December 1905, and died aged 19 after an operation for appendicitis, many speculated on what might have been, for Barney Kieran was the greatest swimmer the world had yet seen. Swimming is an art that generally has to be acquired and it did not become a popular recreation and sport until well into the 19th century. Before that, few people, even sailors, could swim and death by drowning was a common natural hazard. The practice and popularity of the art depended very much on developments in swimming technique, which not only facilitated movement through the water, but increased its speed. At the beginning of the 19th century, the racing stroke was a modified breaststroke with the body turned to one side. In the 1840s, what was called the English sidestroke was used, in which the arms moved underwater, as in breaststroke, and the legs swept together in a scissor-like movement. A big breakthrough in technique came in 1855 when in sidestroke the top arm was recovered over the water, and then, in 1873, an Englishman, John Trudgen, demonstrated a revolutionary double overarm stroke in which both arms were recovered over the water. The Trudgen stroke (based on a South

Barney Kieran

53

American native technique and called ‘Spanish swimming’ on the Continent) was the basis for the later crawl stroke. England was the world leader in swimming in the 19th century and it was two Englishmen who did much to promote the art in Australia. The first was former champion swimmer Charles Steedman (1830–1901), who came to Australia in 1854. Steedman taught swimming and wrote the Manual of Swimming, published in Melbourne in 1867. This book was a landmark in the history of swimming in that its illustrations marked a distinct advance in the method of delineating the movements of arms and legs before the use of photography. The second was Frederick Cavill (1839–1927), who migrated to Australia in 1879 with four sons, all notable swimmers. Cavill, who had swum the English Channel, did much to publicise swimming in his How to Learn to Swim (1884), and he and his sons taught the art, and lifesaving methods, at various floating baths and ‘natatoriums’ in Sydney. The Cavills were largely responsible for popularising the new techniques that resulted in the evolution of the Australian crawl about the beginning of the 20th century. Swimming had become organised as a sport in the later part of the 19th century. The forerunner of the Amateur Swimming Association of England (ASA) was founded in 1869 and, in the 1870s, it began holding official national championships that in reality were the world championships. Not surprisingly, the English titles attracted the attention of Australian swimmers: John Hellings (1875–1931), Percy Cavill (1875–1940), F. C. V. (Freddy) Lane (1880–1969)

54

Born of the Sun

and Sydney-born Richmond (Dick) Cavill (1884–1938). Percy Cavill won two English championships in 1897, Freddy Lane won two in 1899 and another in 1900, as well as two Olympic gold medals at Paris that year, and Dick Cavill won the English 880 yard (800m) championship in world-record time in 1902. By the time Barney Kieran appeared on the scene, Sydney, with such champions as Lane, the Cavills, George Read, Alick Wickham and Cecil Healy, was firmly established as the centre of Australian swimming. NSW had held its first championships in 1889, formed its Amateur Swimming Association in 1892 and, with New Zealand, organised the first Australasian Championships in 1896. Between 1901 and 1904, NSW swimmers won every race in the Australasian Championships. Bernard Bede Kieran was born on October 6, 1886 at 2 Princes Street, Church Hill, Sydney, the sixth child and second son of Patrick Kieran, seaman, and his wife, Annie nee Mackin. Patrick, a native of Dundalk, County Louth, Ireland, came to Australia at the age of 21 and on, April 2, 1877, at St Patrick’s Church, Sydney, married Annie, also from County Louth. He was 30 and his wife, who had worked as a domestic servant, was 21. They made their home in The Rocks in Cumberland Street, which was partly obliterated through the construction of the southern approaches to the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Their children were born at two-year intervals: Mary, Catherine, Alice, Annie, Joseph (who, as ‘Joe Costa’, achieved some success as a boxer) and finally Barney. Barney was Christened at St Patrick’s in December 1886, his godfather was Michael

Barney Kieran

55

McGirr, one of the proprietors of the Freeman’s Journal. Bede was a common Catholic name in Sydney, in deference to the memory of the much revered English Benedictine, John Bede Polding (1794–1877), the first Catholic Archbishop of Sydney. Barney’s boyhood was a time of economic depression in eastern Australia and the Kierans, like all low-income families, lived in straitened circumstances. Little is known about the family except that when Barney was four years old disaster struck. Faced with the demands of a young family, his father had left the sea and taken a job ashore. He was working as a labourer for a railway contractor on the Sydney-Goulburn line when, on April 17, 1891, he was cut to pieces by a train near Penrith. In the absence of workers’ compensation, and indeed of any government social services, Annie entered into a relationship with Matthew Conlon, an ex-seaman from Dublin, to protect her young family, whose ages ranged from 13 to four. However, this amelioration was gradually negated by the arrival of five more children, including twin boys, before Annie and Matthew were married in 1904. Soon no longer the baby of the family, Barney was often left to his own devices. He went to the local Sacred Heart Convent School for a time and learned to read and write, but at 13 he became a delinquent, refusing to go to school and staying out at night with ‘bad companions’. Having no control over him, Barney’s mother, in March 1900, went before a bench of magistrates and petitioned that he be committed to the care of the state until he was 18. They

56

Born of the Sun

obliged, and the slightly built boy, with large dark eyes and dark brown hair, was sent to the nautical school ship (NSS) Sobraon anchored off Cockatoo Island in the Parramatta River. This was an industrial and reformatory institution, which accommodated city and country boys ‘found habitually wandering about the streets in no ostensible lawful occupation’; boys under 14 years of age convicted of larceny were also sent there in preference to sending them to jail. The NSS Sobraon (2,130 tonnes), a composite ship of iron and teak, had been a famous Devitt and Moore clipper on the England-Australia run between 1867 and 1891, when it was bought by the Government to replace an earlier training ship, the NSS Vernon. Barney Kieran was just one of 278 boys committed to the Sobraon that year. The philosophy behind the training institution was that its inmates, through strict discipline, constant supervision, physical training, schooling and a system of marks and gradings, would be induced to do their best. Each new boy was placed in the second-lowest class (class six) and, by hard work and good conduct, ‘deserving boys’ could win promotion to the next class and certain privileges, including visits ashore and harbour excursions, as they advanced to first class and apprenticeships at age 16. The boys were dressed in sailor’s rig, slept in hammocks aboard ship, where they did their schoolwork and nautical training, and went ashore for trade classes and sport. From Monday to midday Saturday, there was a wellorganised work program that included instruction in seamanship and arms drill. (Many boys later went to sea.)

Barney Kieran

57

There was an hour of religious instruction a week, imparted by visiting clergy and church attendance on Sunday. Singing was taught and there was instrumental training for the 30 to 40 members of the creditable Sobraon band. The boys were provided with a good library, indoor games when the weather was inclement and, onshore, to engender ‘kindly instincts in the minds of the boys’, they had a menagerie of native and domestic pets. Great emphasis was placed on sport, especially swimming, and, in addition to a swimming club, there were clubs for cricket, football, athletics and gymnastics. Two of the public schools they regularly competed against were Cleveland Street Superior School and Fort Street Model School. Barney had no difficulty in adjusting to the strict regime; in fact, the Sobraon experience, as it proved for hundreds of underprivileged boys, was the making of him. Quiet and good-natured, Barney avoided trouble and consistently gained good grades and promotion. He was also popular with his classmates and gained the ship’s coveted good conduct prize, which was awarded by the vote of the boys themselves. Barney was also especially fortunate to come under the care of a gentle master, sublieutenant William Hilton Mitchell, one of the Sobraon’s schoolteachers who discovered and encouraged Barney’s great natural ability in the water. It was Mitchell who arranged for Barney to be coached by the swimmer and rugby player Robert Craig (1881–1935), who had won the Australasian 220-yard (200m) championship in 1900 and who worked at the Fitzroy Dock on Cockatoo Island. Under Craig’s

58

Born of the Sun

guidance, Barney’s strength and speed increased markedly, and, after easily winning races for the Sobraon club, his guardians, supported by Craig and Walter Bethel, president of the North Sydney Swimming Club, entered him in the NSW state titles in January 1904. In the early years of the colonial or state and Australasian championships, the various events were swum at different venues, usually in connection with a swimming club carnival. In 1904, the 440-yard (400m) freestyle championship was held at the Elkington Park Baths in Balmain, and it was here on January 23 that the 17-year-old Kieran, still in knickerbockers and swimming for the Sobraon club, began his spectacular career. There were six entrants, but the race was virtually between Kieran and the record and titleholder, Dick Cavill. Kieran kept with Cavill most of the distance and it was only at the closing stage that Cavill, realising he could be defeated, changed to the ‘faster’ new crawl stroke and drew away to win by five seconds. On January 26, at the Corporation Baths in Goulburn, Kieran was again second to Cavill by a length in the 220-yard freestyle championship. The experts were quick to notice that Cavill, who had been undefeated for years, now had a serious rival. The pair’s next meeting was on Saturday March 12 at Farmer’s Parade Baths in Rushcutters Bay in Sydney, when Kieran began rewriting the record book. In the 880-yard (800m) freestyle championship of Australasia, in a swim ‘brimful of merit’, Kieran defeated Cavill by 10 yards (9m) in the then fastest half-mile in history. His time of 11 minutes 29.8 seconds reduced the world record by

Barney Kieran

59

20.6 seconds, and to come second Cavill had to break his own record for the distance by 12 seconds! The Sydney Morning Herald proclaimed the ‘Sobraon Boy’ as ‘the phenomenon of the natatorial art’. The next two Australasian titles, the 220- and 440yard freestyle events, were held respectively in Newcastle on March 14 and at the Marble Basin Baths in Coogee in Sydney on March 16. Cavill struck back, but to defeat Kieran, again by the narrowest of margins, he was forced to record-breaking efforts. Cavill, the first of Australia’s great swimmers, realised that his days of supremacy were numbered. The last Australasian title of the season was the onemile (1.6km) event swum over 35 lengths and 10 yards at Farmer’s Baths in Bondi (The Basin) on Saturday March 19. Cavill, the titleholder, did not start because of illness, but Kieran, without stiff opposition, once again stunned the swimming world when, before 1,500 spectators, he beat F. W. Springfield of Queensland by 130 yards (119m) and set a new world record. His time, 24 minutes 36.2 seconds, took 10 seconds off George Read’s 1901 record. With two Australasian titles and world records and second place in four other championship events, Kieran’s reputation was secure. All looked forward to the next season. In the meantime, Kieran applied himself to his carpentry apprenticeship. Though he had passed through the various junior naval cadet ranks successfully, he decided not to follow the calling of the father he never knew and of his stepfather and chose carpentry instead. This was a

60

Born of the Sun

popular choice among the Sobraon boys, who received their instruction on Cockatoo Island where they were employed largely in making school furniture for the Department of Public Instruction. The revenue from their efforts went to offset the cost of running the NSS Sobraon, which in 1901 amounted to £13.18s.3d ($27.82) a boy per annum. Parents who had sons committed to care were expected to contribute so much a week for their upkeep, but few, if any, were in a position to do so. The 1904-05 swimming season began in November when the dozen or so Sydney clubs began holding their first summer carnivals. The season’s state championship events were allocated to Sydney metropolitan clubs; the Australasian titles to clubs in Victoria. The 300-yard championship of NSW, held at the Rockdale club’s carnival at Robinson’s Baths in Brighton-Le-Sands on December 3, saw Kieran beat his coach, Robert Craig, by eight yards, but the time was slow as the result of a heavy roll in the tidal pool. Kieran went on to win the 880-yard championship in Rushcutters Bay and the 220-yard at Drummoyne, but again both times were outside the record. However, on January 25, 1905, at the Randwick and Coogee carnival at the Coogee Aquarium Baths, Kieran broke the Australasian record for 200 yards, before leaving for Melbourne with Cecil Healy and Alick Wickham, the other members of the NSW team, to compete in the Australasian titles. In Victoria between January 28 and February 4, Kieran was again undefeated, winning four Australasian titles: the 880 yards at St Kilda Baths; the mile, swum on Lake Wendouree

Barney Kieran

61

at Ballarat; the 220 yards at the City Baths, Melbourne; and, at the Middle Brighton Baths, the 440-yard championship. Back in Sydney, between February 11 and March 4, Kieran picked up three more state championships: the 500 yards at Bronte, the 440 yards at Pyrmont and the mile at Drummoyne, the latter in the world-record time of 23 minutes 16.8 seconds. By now, Kieran’s supremacy against his rivals was so great that in non-title events he was handicapped often as much as eight seconds. But still he won! In these handicap races, he set new world records for 200, 300 and 1,000 yards and equalled Freddy Lane’s world record for the 220 yards of two minutes 28.6 seconds, set at Weston-super-Mare in England in 1902. Kieran’s amazing times not surprisingly attracted considerable overseas interest. In March 1905, the Royal Life Saving Society of England suggested to its NSW branch that Kieran should go to England to compete in the King’s Cup for lifesaving. The cup, donated by King Edward VII in 1902, had been won by a Swede in 1904 and the society was anxious that it be regained, if not by an Englishman, at least by a subject of the Empire. This was readily agreed to by the local branch and Kieran’s connections, especially as it would also enable Kieran to compete in the English championships in the northern summer. A meeting was held at the NSW Sports Club in Hunter Street, Sydney, to set up a fund for the purpose. The money was quickly raised through donations taken up at carnivals and special functions, and everything looked settled until

62

Born of the Sun

a dispute arose as to who was to accompany Kieran as his manager. Kieran, his mother and almost everyone else thought that this should be W. H. Mitchell, Kieran’s mentor and friend from the Sobraon, but the organisers thought otherwise. Eventually, commonsense prevailed and Kieran and Mitchell left for England on Saturday May 6 aboard the Orient-Pacific liner RMS Orotava. In spite of the unfavourable weather, a large crowd of swimming enthusiasts saw them off with ‘ringing cheers’, and about a hundred friends and the Sobraon band in the ferry Lady Hampden followed the ship to the Heads. The voyage was enjoyable though very rough across the Great Australian Bight, where three of the crew were injured and a sailor was killed when an iron door closed on him. Most passengers, including Mitchell, went down with mal de mer, but Kieran never missed a meal and proved a popular winner at deck games. After leaving Fremantle, the ship touched at Colombo, Port Said, Naples, Marseilles and Gibraltar. Gibraltar’s former governor, Sir George White, the ‘defender of Ladysmith’, joined the ship there and took an interest in the young Australian, wishing him every success in his assault on the King’s Cup and in his swimming career. Almost immediately the Orotava docked at Tilbury on Saturday June 17, it was boarded by a party of welcoming officials, including William Henry, Secretary of the Royal Life Saving Society and W. N. Benjamin, President of the Amateur Swimming Association (ASA). After the formalities, Kieran and party went to London by train. That night at dinner at Frascati’s restaurant in Oxford Street near St

Barney Kieran

63

Giles Circus, they were joined briefly by W. R. Itter, a famous swimmer of the past, and Charles Daniels (1894–1973), America’s first great champion, who had won five medals (including three gold) at the 1904 Olympic Games in St Louis, and who was now a member of London’s Otter Swimming Club. Interviewed by a correspondent from the leading English sporting paper, The Sportsman, Kieran said: I have come home to compete for our King’s Cup, which I shall do my best to win, as we consider that trophy the most important that one can have the privilege to compete for. I shall also take part in the A.S.A. Championship, which every swimmer considers it an honour to win. It is true that I have done some fast times, but I am not sure whether I shall be able to repeat these, or even win the events I hope to win, as I understand that I shall meet the best swimmers in the world at most distances. I can only say that I shall do my best; one cannot do more.

Not having any opportunity to train on board ship for six weeks and completely out of form, Kieran lost no time in getting down to training. The next day he swam at Highgate Ponds in the morning and in the evening at the Bath Club in Dover Street, Piccadilly. It was at this latter venue that he made his English debut in an exhibition swim at an Oxford and Cambridge inter-varsity meeting on Monday evening, June 26. Swimming in the red, white and

64

Born of the Sun

green colours of the North Sydney Swimming Club before a large crowd, including the Duke and Duchess of Connaught and ‘many old Blues’, Kieran successfully lowered the 600-yard (550m) freestyle record. ‘As soon as Mr Kieran started,’ wrote The Times, ‘it was evident that in him Australia possesses the best swimmer known to the world. Though he is only 18 years of age, his pace is remarkable, gained principally through a wonderful leg kick.’ One spectator shouted out, ‘He is a fish, not a man!’ His time, seven minutes 42.4 seconds, lowered the English and American records for the distance by 17.6 and 42 seconds respectively. The crowd was amazed. The next evening he gave an exhibition swim over 120 yards (four lengths) (110m) ‘with great pace’ at the ‘Otters at Home’ meeting at St George’s Baths in Buckingham Palace Road. The same night, Charles Daniels swam in a 90-yard (80m) scratch race; the Otters beat Oxford University at water polo and in a team race; William Henry of the Royal Life Saving Society and others gave a display of ‘fancy and scientific swimming’; and the Australian Annette Kellerman (1886-1975), who had given an exhibition of diving and swimming at the Bath Club, gave a repeat performance. The first event in the English Championships was the mile freestyle. Swum in open still water since 1873, it was considered the best test of speed and stamina combined, and the premier race of the year. In 1905, for the third time only, it was held at Highgate Ponds on the slopes of Hampstead Hill, North London, amid the ‘elmy hilly Middlesex scenery that inspired Keats’. The reservoirs were

Barney Kieran

65

six to eight feet (1.8–2.4m) deep, 110 yards (100m) long, and their surrounds formed a natural arena that enabled vast crowds to watch. On July 1, a glorious summer day, 70,000 gaily dressed spectators turned up to the gala to see the great English swimmer, David Billington (1885-1955) from Bacup in Lancashire, who had won the race the two previous years, compete against Kieran, the world’s recordholder for the distance, and seven other competitors. Kieran went out ‘with tremendous dash’ and led by 10 yards (9m) at the end of the first lap, which was timed at one minute 15 seconds — an impossible rate for a mile swim. After two lengths, Billington began to whittle back Kieran’s lead, which at the quarter-mile was about six seconds. The English champion just managed to touch first at the half-mile in 12 minutes 7.6 seconds, after which he drew steadily away from Kieran to win by 50 yards (46m) in 24 minutes 42.4 seconds, his own best time, but about one and a half minutes outside Kieran’s record. The crowd was ecstatic. The same day, the diminutive Australian diver, Harold Smyrk, came fifth out of 34 in the National Graceful Diving Championship. A few days later, Kieran went to Liverpool, where, on July 6, he won the Mersey Championship swum in the Crosby Channel between New Brighton and Seaforth. Again, from the start he took a long lead against the other 10 competitors, but this time he easily won the mile race by about 400 yards (365m). The competition for the King’s Cup took place in the sea at the foremost seaside resort of Blackpool, noted for its sands, piers, promenades, pavilion,

66

Born of the Sun

150m Eiffel-like tower and its bracing climate. The original format of the contest had been changed, and would now be decided on points awarded for the overall best performance in two events: a 440-yard freestyle race in which the contestants supported a supposed drowning man for the last 40 yards (35m), and swimming 150 yards (140m) breaststroke fully clothed supporting their ‘drowning man’ for the last 25 yards (23m). In the first race on July 8, watched by a large crowd, Kieran was leading when he reached his man, but Billington was more adept at carrying his burden and won by 10 yards in a time of nine minutes 35 seconds. The second race on July 10, watched by an estimated 100,000 spectators, was even more frustrating for Kieran, who was inexperienced not only in life-saving techniques, but in breast and backstroke. This event was won by the English breaststroke champion, W. W. Robinson of Liverpool, who, with 23 points, took the King’s Cup. England’s honour was restored. Billington, with 17 points, was runner-up, and Kieran was fifth. (The first Australian to win the King’s Cup was E. G. Finlay of Western Australia in 1911). However, later the same day, Kieran showed his class when he easily won the 600-yard (550m) International Swimming Race, beating the American Olympic medallist Charles Daniel by 100 yards (90m) in the time of nine minutes 18 seconds. Now that Kieran had discharged his commitment to the Royal Life Saving Society, he was free to concentrate on the English Championships and to accept as many invitations as possible for exhibition swims, matches and handicap races. In the next 14 weeks, these invitations took

Barney Kieran

67

him to Scotland, Ireland and Sweden. It proved to be a taxing schedule. The next event in the Amateur Championships of England was the long-distance event originally known as the Lords and Commons Race, swum between five and six miles (8-9.5km) direct, either below a lock in running fresh water or in a tidal river. From 1897, when Percy Cavill was the first Australian to win it, the race had been held on the Thames from Kew to Putney, a distance of five miles 60 yards (8.5km). In 1905, there were 22 entrants including Billington (in station three), who had come second in 1903, and the 32-year-old John Jarvis (1872-1933), dual Olympic gold medallist in 1900 and winner of the race seven times between 1898 and 1904. Tens of thousands lined the banks and vantage points on July 15 as the race got under way at 4.29pm and, from the start, it was a contest between Barney (station 12) and the two English champions. Billington led from the beginning and, at the Chiswick Church checkpoint, was about 100 yards (90m) in front. From here, Kieran began to pick up and was only 45 seconds behind at Hammersmith Bridge and again by the same margin at Harrod’s Furniture Depository. From here, he made sprint after sprint amid tremendous cheering and got within three yards (2.7m) of Billington beyond Walden’s, but the Bacup boy had something left and, gamely responding to calls on him, came away to win by five or six yards (4-5m). Jarvis, using right overarm sidestroke, a quarter of a mile further back, was third. The times at the various landmarks were:

68

Born of the Sun

Billington

Kieran

M

M

s

s

Grove Park

8 : 14

8 : 31.8

‘Ship’, Mortlake

12 : 31

12: 59

‘White Hart’, Barnes

19 : 17.4

19: 59

Chiswick Church

33 : 45

34: 39

Hammersmith

46 : 27

47: 12

Harrod’s

50 : 12

50: 57

Walden’s

56 : 37

56: 57

Putney

68 : 55

69: 02

It was a magnificent race, especially for Kieran, who had rarely, if ever, swum any distance more than a mile. While not making any excuses, Kieran said he had been advised to ‘stay close to Jarvis’, the champion, as Billington was unlikely to finish. This was no doubt, on the face of it, good advice, but unfortunately Jarvis was not at his best and consequently Kieran was left with too much water to cover at the finish. There was, however, one discordant note. After the finish a man called out to Kieran, ‘What about the dirty Australian now?’ This distressed Kieran more than his defeat: ‘It’s very hard to travel 13,000 miles to be insulted.’ However, according to The Sportsman, balance was restored by a Kieran supporter, who gave the offending ‘gentleman’ ‘as neat a left hand under the chin as could be seen’, when he later stepped aboard the race launch. Not surprisingly Kieran was invited to join the English contingent to compete in a four-day Internationalla Simtaflingarna (international swimming competition) in

Barney Kieran

69

Sweden, from August 11 to 14. The English swimmers left for Sweden on August 4, but Kieran remained to compete in the 440-yard Saltwater Championship and the Half-Mile Championship of England. In Southport in Lancashire on August 5, Kieran beat Billington for the first time and his time, five minutes 22.4 seconds, was the best ever for the event outside of Percy’s and Dick Cavill’s ‘record’ times of 1897 and 1902. Three days later in Abbey Park, Leicester, he again beat Billington in the record time of 11 minutes 28 seconds, over 880 yards, clipping 22.4 seconds off Dick Cavill’s record made in 1902. The next day, Kieran and Mitchell set off for Sweden. Travelling by boat and train, they left Queenborough on the Isle of Sheppey for Flushing (Vlissingen) in the Netherlands and arrived in Stockholm on August 11, joining the other members of the English team, including William Henry of the Royal Life Saving Society, S. J. Lyon, J. W. Kershaw and H. M. Dockrell of Dublin University. The program for the four-day gala was certainly comprehensive. In addition to men’s and women’s races (Kappsimning) and a scientific swimming event (Konstsimning) it included diving, water polo and special events for Swedish officers and non-commissioned officers, ranging from canoeing and rowing to swimming horses across lakes. All the events took place at the Stockholm Baths and nearby Saltsjobaden and Djurgardsbrunsviken. The meeting was a triumph for Kieran, who had no difficulty winning the 100-, 500- and 1,600m races, the first two in the world-record times of one minute 10.4 seconds and eight minutes 28.4 seconds respectively. He

70

Born of the Sun

also won the 100m handicap race. The long-distance event (6.4km) was swum at Djurgardsbrunnsviken on the afternoon of August 14. The water was so cold (13°C) and the currents so strong that the lives of the swimmers were threatened by hypothermia. The current caused Kieran, who was way out in the lead, to stay in one place for 10 minutes and at one stage he took 30 minutes to cover 800m. One by one, the contestants gave up, Kieran being pulled from the water exhausted only 150 yards (137m) from the finish. The Times reported that ‘so bad was Kieran, that it took him nearly two hours to recover’, but the only apparent legacy of his ‘narrow escape’ was a headache the next day! As no one finished, the race was declared void. The only other event Kieran entered was the water polo tournament, in which he played for the Royal Life Saving Society’s team, which lost to the Stockholm Swimming Club. For his efforts at the carnival, Kieran won five medals, a special trophy (Hederpris) for the best competitor, and high praise from the sporting paper, Nordiskt Idrottslif (Nordic Sporting Life). At the end of the meeting, most of the English swimmers went on to Finland for other contests, but Kieran and Mitchell went by train to Goteborg and boarded a boat back to Hull. In Leeds on August 28, Kieran inflicted his third successive defeat on Billington when, at the Kirkstall Road Baths, he won the 500-yard Championship of England, beating the two-time titleholder by three-quarters of a length in the record time of six minutes 7.2 seconds, taking 18.2 seconds off Billington’s record. This race was

Barney Kieran

71

one of Kieran’s finest swims and his record stood for many years. On Friday September 1, Kieran made his only appearance in Scotland. This was at the Fairfield Amateur Swimming Club’s gala at the Govan Baths in Glasgow. Looking ‘fit and well’, he was given a ‘flattering reception’ by a crowd among whom even standing room was at a premium. Using the Trudgen stroke, and paced by G. Sellars of Glasgow, Western Club, Keiran swam 500 yards in six minutes nine seconds, a Scottish record but two seconds outside his own record. After a demonstration of diving, he then demonstrated how the Australian crawl stroke could be successfully used for sprinting. Back in Southport on the Irish Sea on September 5, at the Victoria Baths, he swam 500 yards in six minutes flat, but this record could not be recognised as the baths were not of regulation length. Then it was off to Ireland at the invitation of the Otter Amateur Swimming Club of Belfast. Here on Wednesday evening September 13, at the Templemore Avenue Baths, Kieran gave the big crowd ‘the treat of a lifetime’ as he swam 880 yards in 11 minutes two seconds, a new Irish record. According to the sporting paper, Ireland’s Saturday Night: [Kieran] achieved such a fracture of the English as surgeons would term ‘compound comminuted’. Length after length he ploughed his way through the water, making hacks of his rivals — although they challenged turn and turn about — preserving a perfect line and

72

Born of the Sun

getting his mouth and nose [above] the water about as frequently (and for about as long) as a trout rising to a fly. Each of his double overhand strokes was accompanied by a strong scissor-like kick.

The next night he delighted the crowd with a display of diving and tricks of scientific swimming ‘the like of which had never been witnessed before in Belfast’. As the son of Irish parents, Kieran was in his element and made hosts of friends. The Irish made him an honorary member of the Otter Club and acclaimed him ‘a champion of champions’. Back in England, at Radcliffe near Manchester, Kieran broke the English record for the 300-yard freestyle, his time of three minutes 32 seconds cutting 2.6 seconds off the record set by Dick Cavill three years before. A bout of influenza, however, caused him to withdraw from a few events, including a 500-yard scratch race at Salford on September 18. The Sporting Times (The Pink’un) reported, ‘Kieran looks worn, as the result of hard racing and much travelling’, but he was well enough to leave Salford and win the English 220-yard freestyle title at the Hornsey Road Baths in London on September 26. His time, however, of two minutes 37.4 seconds was well outside his and Freddy Lane’s world record. (At this meeting, Annette Kellerman, while giving a diving display, cut her head and was forced to retire, and the visiting New Zealand rugby team took on and beat the Hornsey club in a team race.) The tour over, Kieran and Mitchell were farewelled by some 200 guests at a concert in the York Room at Frascati’s

Barney Kieran

73

on the evening of Saturday September 30. Both were given certificates from the Royal Life Saving Society: Kieran’s in recognition of his ‘great ability as a swimmer, and for the services rendered to those interested in promoting the art of natation in the United Kingdom’. Presentations were also made to Kieran by the Highgate Lifebuoys, the Amateur Diving Association and the Clarence Swimming Club, and W. N. Benjamin, President of the Amateur Swimming Association, presented Kieran with three medals for the records he set in England (880, 500 and 300 yards freestyle) and paid tribute to his prowess and sportsmanship. In reply, Kieran said: Mr Chairman, Ladies and Gentlemen, – I hope you will excuse me for not making a long speech. I may be at home in the water, but as to public speaking, I must admit I am not. I have nothing else to say, but to express my very best thanks to everybody wherever I have visited, and if I spoke all night I could not say enough in appreciation of the great favours conferred upon me and the splendid welcome I have had during my visit. I must, however, thank Mr Henry for his very great kindness and trouble in arranging the many details connected with the visit. I have thoroughly enjoyed my stay at home, and shall never forget the many kind friends I have made during my tour. Again thanking all swimmers, the Royal Life-Saving Society, and the Amateur Swimming Association for the favours I have had, for which I shall ever be grateful.

74

Born of the Sun

After a few days sightseeing, Kieran and Mitchell left St Pancras Station on the boat train for Tilbury the next Friday, Kieran’s 19th birthday, farewelled by admirers and London cabmen, who joined in singing For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow and Auld Lang Syne. Pestered by reporters, Kieran, never one to say what he was going to do or what he had done, confined his remarks to a general comment on the state of English and Australian swimming. He told them that, in his opinion, Australian swimmers were better than the English at sprinting: ‘There are six Australians who can cover the hundred inside the minute, and I, who am a duffer, can do 61 seconds.’ Before sailing in the RMS Orontes later that afternoon, he sent a farewell telegram to his friends in the Otter Club in Belfast. On the evening of Tuesday November 14, the Orontes reached Melbourne, where Kieran and Mitchell disembarked and spent a week before taking the train to Sydney. On the Friday evening they were given an official welcome by the Victorian Amateur Swimming Association at a ‘smoke night’ at the City Baths, where Kieran gave an exhibition swim over 220 yards in excellent time and, using the ‘crawl stroke’, swam 33 yards (30m) in 19.2 seconds. Replying to his enthusiastic welcome, Kieran, always a man of few words, said: ‘Well, boys, I did my very best. Sometimes I lost, sometimes I won. But I tell you this, win or lose, those English chaps were sports all the time. I hope to go again one day.’ Kieran and Mitchell reached Sydney early on Wednesday morning, November 22, and the next after-

Barney Kieran

75

noon and evening were guests at rousing receptions given by the NSW Amateur Swimming Association and the Life Saving Society at the NSW Sports Club. Great pride was expressed in Kieran’s overseas achievements, for which he had been awarded two cups and 14 medals. Among the many toasts honoured was one from the visiting New Zealand swimmer Bernard Freyberg, later General Lord Freyberg VC (1889-1963). Received with ‘prolonged cheers’, Kieran thanked the company for their kind remarks, paid tribute once again to the hospitality he and his mentor had received in England, saying, ‘You all know I went to England to do my best, and I did it, not only for New South Wales, but for Australia.’ Kieran, now club captain, was formally welcomed home by the North Sydney Swimming Club on November 28 at a carnival at the new Lavender Bay Baths during which the Sobraon Boys’ Band played between events. Kieran, who won the 250-yard scratch race that night, had promised that his first reappearance in Sydney would be with his old club, but this decision placed him at odds with the officials of the NSW Amateur Swimming Association. By honouring his promise to his club, which had so generously furthered his career, and not competing in the 300-yard freestyle championship of NSW, the world champion was not selected in the NSW team for the ninth Australasian Championships to be held in Brisbane! However, as he was still eligible to compete, his club nominated and financed him to travel and stay in the northern capital.

76

Born of the Sun

At the Dry Dock in South Brisbane on Saturday December 2, Kieran won the 440-yard freestyle and 220yard breaststroke titles and, four days later, at the Booroodabin Baths, the 880-yard and 220-yard freestyle titles. In the latter event, he beat Cecil Healy (NSW) by 11 yards (10m) and Bernard Freyberg (NZ) in the worldrecord time of two minutes 28.4 seconds, breaking his and Freddy Lane’s joint record by 0.4 seconds. Kieran also came second in the plunge (diving) event after a dive-off with A. Morrison of Queensland. There remained for Kieran one more event — the mile — to be contested on Saturday, but on Thursday he took ill. Colic was suspected, but on the Sunday he was operated on for appendicitis at the St Clair Private Hospital, in Duncan Street, Fortitude Valley. All seemed to go well for a few days and it was expected that he would make a complete recovery, but towards the end of the week his condition deteriorated. His mother and brothers, Joseph and Matthew were rushed to his bedside arriving just before he died of peritonitis shortly before midnight on Friday December 22. Mitchell also hastened from Sydney to Barney’s bedside but arrived too late. The next afternoon, hundreds viewed the embalmed body in its polished oak coffin in Smith’s Mortuary chapel. On Christmas Eve, it was placed on board the mail train for Sydney, accompanied by his mother and brothers. At Ipswich, Toowoomba and Newcastle, the train was met by bands of sympathisers bearing wreaths and, on its arrival in Sydney early in the afternoon of Christmas Day, Kieran’s

Barney Kieran

77

body was met by 4,000 bareheaded mourners and was taken to his late residence, 20 Burton Street, North Sydney. Arranged by the North Sydney Swimming Club, Barney’s funeral left his mother’s house after prayers at 3pm the next day. The cortege was led by the Sobraon Band playing — with drums muffled — Handel’s Dead March in Saul. After them came boys from the Sobraon in uniform, a detachment of the Naval Reserve, some 300 sportsmen, the hearse covered with floral tributes, followed by a long line of vehicles carrying Kieran’s family and other mourners. The two and a half mile (4km) route to Gore Hill Cemetery was lined with people and a big crowd waited at the cemetery. At the graveside, the Rev. Father William O’Dowling SJ, of St Mary’s North Sydney, intoned the stark burial service in Latin and English, asking God that His servant, Bernard Bede, be forgiven for ‘whatever sins he may have committed in life through human frailty’, and prayed: May the angels lead you into paradise: may the martyrs receive you at your coming, and lead you into the holy city of Jerusalem. May the choir of angels receive you and may you have eternal rest with Lazarus, who once was poor.

At the conclusion of the obsequies on that dispiriting, hot and windy afternoon, more than 80 wreaths were placed on and around the grave from groups, sporting clubs and individuals from Australia and England. Among them were tributes from the ‘Boys of the Rocks’, the ‘Little Boys of

78

Born of the Sun

Bathurst’ and ‘Six newsboys of New South Wales’. For them, as for his shipmates and other schoolboys, Barney was an idol — a champion they felt was their own. Shocked by the untimely death of one so young and talented — and Australia’s greatest sporting achiever to date — the public focused their grief for the ‘Sobraon boy’ in the only way they could. A memorial committee was set up and an appeal raised £306 through direct donations and special functions. It was decided that this money would be used to pay for Kieran’s medical and funeral expenses, to erect a headstone, and pay for two shields, one to be placed on board the NSS Sobraon and the other, ‘The Kieran Memorial Shield’, to be awarded annually to the state gaining the most points in the Australian Swimming Championships. The rest of the fund was used to provide medals for schoolboy swimming champions for the next 10 years. On Sunday afternoon, August 19, 1906, despite miserable weather, a good crowd gathered at Barney’s grave for the unveiling of the monument by Sir Francis Suttor, President of the Legislative Council of NSW and local president of the Royal Life Saving Society. In addition to Barney’s family, among those present were Mitchell and W. S. Bethel, secretary and treasurer respectively of the memorial committee that organised the proceedings, a detachment of Sobraon boys and representatives of various metropolitan sporting associations. Sir Francis gave the main eulogy, the Sobraon Boys’ Band played appropriate airs, and J. W. Turner, Assistant Undersecretary of the Department of Public Instruction, and Captain W. H. Mason, Commander and

Barney Kieran

79

Superintendent of N.S.S. Sobraon, also paid tribute to Kieran’s character and sportsmanship. The monument, a handsome white marble Celtic cross with floral decorations and shamrocks, is inscribed: In Loving Memory of

BERNARD BEDE KIERAN DIED 22ND DECEMBER 1905. AGED 19 YEARS R.I.P. ERECTED BY THE PUBLIC AS A TRIBUTE TO THE LATE CHAMPION SWIMMER OF THE WORLD HE WON HIS LAURELS BY COURAGE, SELF DENIAL, AND PATIENT EFFORT. HIS ACHIEVEMENTS AND MANLY QUALITIES WILL LONG BE REMEMBERED IN THIS, AND OTHER COUNTRIES IN WHICH HIS VICTORIES WERE GAINED.

Kieran’s early death might have been prevented. There is no doubt that he was physically overextended throughout his brief career. This was never more so than on his demanding overseas trip, where on several occasions he was clearly unwell with stomach trouble, even to the extent of vomiting blood during the mile race at Highgate Ponds. In the days when medicine was more primitive and scientific methods of training and ‘sports medicine’ were unheard of,

80

Born of the Sun

sportsmen unknowingly took great risks. For example, swimming events were often in open water and it was not uncommon for swimmers to drown in attempting long distances in cold water. (Two of the Cavills, Charles and Arthur, died in this way.) Kieran, of course, had narrowly escaped death from hypothermia in Sweden. Several of Kieran’s admirers, including at least two medical men, had advised that he should rest from competitive swimming for a time on his return to Australia. Less wise counsels, however, prevailed, with the tragic result that the ever obliging and modest ‘Sobraon boy’ trusted his well-meaning sponsors and was pushed over the limit. Kieran’s technique was as individual as it was effective and his place in the history of swimming is ensured. Solidly built with powerful limbs and an unusually long reach, Kieran stood 5ft 6.5 inches (169cm) tall and, at the height of his powers, weighed 158 pounds (72kg). Like David Billington and most swimmers of the time, Kieran swam the double overarm Trudgen stroke, which, as Billington rightly averred, was a ‘complicated stroke’, but was then universally thought to be better than the crawl, especially for middle and long distances. Kieran’s version of the Trudgen, called by some the ‘amble crawl’, was characterised by a greater roll of the body, which gave him an even longer reach and time to breathe. His powerful kick was timed as the corresponding arm pulled down. According to Gordon Inglis in Sport and Pastime in Australia (1912), Kieran’s ‘beautiful gliding action seemed to take him through the water without any apparent exertion’.

Barney Kieran

81

Kieran’s swims were truly phenomenal and, even given the fact that there was no official world body controlling swimming and that the length of pools and conditions varied greatly, there is no doubt of the authenticity of his world records. This is borne out by the fact that his best times for the 440 yard, half-mile and mile were not bettered for at least 15 years. For example, his record of 23 minutes 16.8 seconds for the mile, made in the 50-yard (45m) pool at Sydney’s Lavender Bay Baths, stood until 1921, when the American Norman Ross (1896–1953), triple gold medallist at the Antwerp Olympics in 1920, lowered it by 18.4 seconds in the 331/3 yard (30m) Coogee Aquarium Baths, Sydney. Yet when the Fédération Internationale de Natation Amateur (International Federation of Amateur Swimming) (FINA) was set up in London during the 1908 Olympic Games by the representatives of nine swimming nations, it rather inconsistently accorded Kieran only one retrospective world record. This was for the 500-yard freestyle, a distance record last held by the Australian John Marshall (1930-57) in 1950, who had reduced Kieran’s time by almost a minute. Kieran’s trophies and medals, originally acquired and exhibited by the NSW Government, are now at the North Sydney Amateur Swimming Club. He is commemorated by the Kieran Memorial Shield, awarded annually to the champion state in the Australian Championships, in the NSW Hall of Champions, and in the Sport Australia Hall of Fame. In 1969, he was honoured by the International Swimming Hall of Fame, Fort Lauderdale, Florida, US.

ERIC EDGERTON (1897–1918)

Soldier hg

CHARLES BEAN, in Volume Six of The Official History of Australia in the War of 1914–1918, wrote, ‘It is in disaster that human character is most clearly exhibited, and though she had known fire, drought, and flood Australia had never seen the one trial that, despite civilised progress, all humanity still recognises — the test of a great war.’ World War I (1914–18) provided just that opportunity when more than 300,000 Australians, roused by patriotism and the spirit of adventure, joined millions from Europe and North America in the momentous, wasteful and tragic four-year struggle against Germany and her allies. During the Great War, thousands of young Australians made the rapid transi-

84

Born of the Sun

tion from school to the front-line where they showed great courage and performed extraordinary deeds. Thousands were killed — some within months of abandoning their books, others, perhaps more lamentably, after surviving years of privation and danger. One such boy who died in France three months before the Armistice was Eric Edgerton from Wesley College, Melbourne, who joined the Australian Imperial Force (AIF) as a private soon after his 18th birthday. His headmaster, L. A. ‘Dicky’ Adamson, recalled: ‘When he left us no one would have taken him for 18, big, loose-limbed, and very boyish-looking, he seemed like one of those kind Newfoundland or Mastiff puppies, whose coats are too loose on them. Yet … he became a real bulldog: sergeant, Military Medal, bar to his MM, commission in the field, DSO [Companion of the Distinguished Service Order], though only a lieutenant, and recommended for the VC.’ And Edgerton had achieved all this by the age of 21. Eric Henry Drummond Edgerton, DSO, MM and Bar (MID), was born on April 1, 1897, in Moonee Ponds, Melbourne, the third son and fifth child of James Edgerton (1861–1946), iron mill manager, and his wife, Florence nee Shacklock (d.1943), both born in Victorian. Eric’s grandfather, William Edgerton (1829–1902), born in Ironbridge, Shropshire, England, the birthplace of the Industrial Revolution, had seen the great possibilities for the manufacturing industry in Australia after the discovery of gold and emigrated to Victoria in 1858. He was a founder and manager of the Victoria Iron Rolling Co. Ltd., in Dudley Street, West Melbourne, whose forerunner was the first mill

Eric Edgerton

85

to roll iron in Australia. The Edgertons were staunch Methodists, and this is reflected in Eric’s second and third names, which commemorated the well-known Scottish evangelist, missionary and writer, Henry Drummond (1851–97), who visited Australia in 1890 and who died only a few weeks before Eric was born. When he was eight, Eric’s family moved from Sydenham Street, Moonee Ponds, to The Priory, Glen Eira Road, Elsternwick, and, after completing sixth class at Hawksburn State School in 1910, Eric followed his two older brothers to Wesley College in Prahran. Eric involved himself wholeheartedly in the life of the school. A strong swimmer, in his first year he gained the Elementary Certificate of the Royal Life Saving Society, and, in 1914, qualified as an instructor in lifesaving and resuscitation methods. At the time, he was the youngest instructor in Victoria and was reputed to have been the first public schoolboy to win the Bronze Medal in lifesaving. In 1914–15, he was one of the instructors of the lifesaving classes at the school that gained the greatest number of awards for the Royal Life Saving Society’s competitions in Victoria and Tasmania. He also coached the Wesley team that won the Junior Life Saving Cup in that season. Outside school, he represented the Elwood Life Saving Club in the Treadwell Shield and was beltman in the surf-reel competition for the St Kilda Foreshore’s Committee Shield. Academically, he was average, but in 1913 he won a form prize for Scripture and in the first term of 1915 he sat for the University Supplementary Examination to complete the Senior Public (leaving) Examination.

86

Born of the Sun

Describing himself as a student, Edgerton enlisted in the AIF in Caulfield on April 14, 1915, and, after basic training in Broadmeadows and Seymour, he was allocated to the first reinforcements of the 24th Battalion (red and white diamond colour patch), which, along with the 21st, 22nd and 23rd Battalions of the Sixth Brigade, Second Division, all raised in Victoria, had left Melbourne early in May for the Middle East. The first reinforcements followed on June 25 in the troopship SS Ceramic and joined the Battalion engaged in working-up training near Heliopolis in Egypt. Manoeuvres, marches and bivouacs, all mostly at night, and musketry practice, occupied most of the men’s time, the leisure hours being spent in Heliopolis or Cairo. Training and living together made the men into a fighting unit and welded them closer in the bonds of friendship, but the grim reality of war was soon brought home to them as they watched the nightly trains loaded with the sick and wounded from Gallipoli draw into the siding of No. 1 Australian General Hospital in Heliopolis. On August 29, the Battlalion entrained in open trucks for Alexandria and joined the SS Nile for the island of Lemnos, the British fleet’s base for the Dardanelles campaign. (Three other ships took the rest of the brigade, one of which was torpedoed with the loss of 33 lives.) On the trip, the usual jocular and carefree attitude of the men was tempered by expressions of a deeper emotion. Contemplating the unknown and remembering the original ANZACs, many, even some of the ‘hard doers’, sat on deck and pondered the pages of the New Testaments, given to

Eric Edgerton

87

them by church groups. According to one soldier, this had the effect of drawing the men closer together, and shed ‘a softening light on the dark days that crossed our path later’. In the evening of September 4, the 30 officers and 991 other ranks of the 24th left Mudros Harbour at Lemnos in the SS Abassia, blacked out and without an escort, for Gallipoli. As they approached that awesome shore, excitement was tinged with apprehension as the men’s thoughts turned to hostile submarines and the battlefield from which they knew some would not return. Facing danger with soldierly resignation, there was hardly a man who did not give the address of a loved one to several companions. One later recalled: ‘I can truly say that of the more than twenty comrades with whom I exchanged addresses that night, I am the only one alive today.’ After about four hours’ sailing, the ship arrived under the shadows of the heights of Anzac Cove, welcomed by the green lights of the hospital ships, intermittent flares, the crackle of rifle fire and the spatter of bullets in the water around the ship. ‘The view of the shore and of the country,’ wrote Edgerton, ‘gave us a dim idea of the tremendous dash and pluck the first division must have had.’ Disembarking in the darkness at Watson’s Pier, the Battalion moved around Hell Spit to Rest Gully. In the morning, the scene resembled a vast mining camp. Before them rose the sheer ridges that had been scaled by Australians on April 25 (‘How did they do it?’). The hungry-looking, terraced slopes covered with straggly, stunted scrub were now crisscrossed with well-worn tracks

88

Born of the Sun

winding up from the gullies to the plateau above. Next day, the Battalion, with all its gear, struggled up to the front on the second ridge, about 1,500m from the sea and saw their first action at Courtney’s, Quinn’s and Steele’s Posts. This, however, was just a preliminary blooding for their real task on Gallipoli — the defence of Lone Pine. This Turkish stronghold of trenches and tunnels had been taken by the Australians in August with great loss of life, during which action seven Australians won the Victoria Cross. (A first cousin of Edgerton’s, Percival Young, was among those killed in the assault.) In the regular garrison work — mining, bombing, sniping and keeping unceasing vigil — the 24th shared duties with its sister battalion, the 23rd, changing over every 48 hours to rest in White’s Valley, as a diary records: September 10th and 11th – Holding ‘Lone Pine.’ Unit divided into four sections for garrison duty. Considerable fire from the enemy. Several casualties sustained. 12th – Returned to ‘White’s Valley.’ 14th and 15th – ‘Lone Pine.’ Sniping and bombing activities. Six men wounded. 16th – Back to ‘White’s Valley.’ Shelled by enemy. Three men killed, five wounded. 18th and 19th – ‘Lone Pine.’ Sniping, bombing, and preparations to meet possible attack. Lieut. Tippet killed, six men wounded. 20th – ‘White’s Valley.’ 22nd and 23rd – In ‘Lone Pine.’ Heavy machine-gun fire damaged our parapets. Three killed, seven wounded.

Eric Edgerton

89

24th – ‘White’s Valley.’ 26th and 27th – ‘Lone Pine.’ Mining and countermining. Enemy blew up tunnel in No. 2 section. New Turkish troops reported opposite our positions. Driving tunnels forward and forming galleries for offensive and defensive operations. 28th – ‘White’s Valley.’ 30th – ‘Lone Pine.’

The routine of trench-holding was varied by patrols on the left sector facing Johnston’s Jolly and the Chessboard where the Australian and Turkish lines diverged. In this work, Edgerton, now a corporal and acting company intelligence NCO, was prominent, frequently leading patrols close enough to the enemy trenches to hear the Turks talking. It was for these daring patrols that Edgerton was awarded the Military Medal (MM). From his ‘hole in the earth at the front’, Edgerton wrote regularly to his parents, letters that reveal the usual soldierly preoccupations concerning food and personal comfort. On September 12, he told them that, It is fairly safe in the trenches, the chief casualties being caused by shell fire. Today I managed to get a swim, but permission to bathe is sparingly given, as Abdul still drops a stray shell over the swimmers. I have just received a pair of Wesley socks. Washing of clothes is an impossibility, as water is unobtainable. The clothes are given a sunbath and turned inside out.

90

Born of the Sun

And, a month later: I received the ‘Wesley College Chronicle’, also paper and envelopes. They were most welcome. Last Monday we were paid £1 [$2], so I went foraging down near the beach and managed to get two tins of condensed milk for 3s [30 cents] and fourteen cakes for 3d [3 cents] Nestle’s chocolate for 7s [70 cents]. I was considered lucky to make such a good haul, as supplies of luxuries are scarce. I hope we do not spend Christmas here. It is not quite to my liking. Constantinople preferred.

He was not to be disappointed. The August offensive, of which Lone Pine had been a diversion for the main attack on the high ground between Hill 971 and Chanuk Bair, was a costly failure, and the decision was taken to evacuate the Peninsula. Before this happened, Edgerton was hospitalised with a stomach ailment and, on December 14 he was taken off to a hospital ship. The Allied forces withdrew on December 18-20, leaving behind more than 8,000 Australian dead — killed in action, died of wounds or succumbed to sickness. After spending Christmas at Mudros, on January 8, 1916, the Battalion embarked to Alexandria en route for the great encampment at Tel-el-Kabir north-east of Cairo to rest, retrain and absorb the badly needed Fourth and Fifth reinforcements waiting for them. Edgerton rejoined his battalion on December 29.

Eric Edgerton

91

In March 1916, after a period in the defence of the Suez Canal zone, the reorganised AIF embarked for the Western Front under the command of Lieutenant General Sir William Birdwood. The 24th Battalion, like other units, sailed from Alexandria to Marseilles where they entrained for Flanders. To the men’s disappointment, the trains took a back route around Paris in their three-day journey to Thiennes, east of Calais, which they reached on March 31. After a short march, the Battalion took up its first billets in the village of Robecq. The Australians in France were not initially confronted with a task comparable with that of the landing at Gallipoli — that was to come later. At first they went into the line south-east of Armentières in what was known as the ‘nursery sector’, the quietest on the British front, where all new divisions were sent for ‘breaking in’. After a few days in support and fatigue duties, the 24th Battalion took over a small section of the front at Fleurbaix for a week, and, at the end of April, moved to L’Hallobeau on the Lys west of Armentières, where for the next month the men dug trenches, laid communication cables and erected gun screens and barbed-wire defences. Casualties during this time were light. The experience of the Dardanelles campaign, however, was a poor preparation for war on the Western Front. If conditions in the lice- and flea-infested trenches on Gallipoli were wretched, life in the rat-infested, waterlogged trenches was, if anything, generally worse. The technology of war too was different: batteries of machine guns, massive concentra-

92

Born of the Sun

tions of artillery, flamethrowers, gas and aircraft were all new to the Australians, who found the Germans a tougher foe than the Turks. But some things were an improvement. Medical facilities and the casualty evacuation system were better than in the Middle East, the food was generally better and more varied, and the provision for leave in the rear areas or in Paris or England gave the men time to recuperate and enabled them to broaden their education. Early in July, after taking part in a successful brigade raid in the relatively peaceful Armentières sector, the Battalion moved south for the fiery ordeal of the Battle of the Somme. On August 4, Edgerton’s battalion, along with the 22nd, took part in the attack on Pozières Ridge, the enemy’s last hold on the Pozières defensive system, the objectives being designated as OG.1 (Old German Trench No. 1) and OG.2. As the Battalion moved off through ‘Dinkum Alley’ ‘Centreway’ to ‘K Trench’, the jumping-off line about 140m from the German front, they were lashed with a tornado of whiz-bangs that caused severe casualties, caused platoons and companies to become mixed up and delayed their arrival. Darkness had fallen by the time the battalions were in position and, as there was no time for sorting out, the exhausted men were organised as they arrived and sent over the top. After great confusion and bitter fighting, the attack succeeded, owing largely to the initiative of junior officers and NCOs, including Temporary Sergeant Edgerton, who played a prominent part in mopping-up operations at OG.2, smoking Germans out of their dugouts with phosphorous bombs and helping to capture 34 prisoners. Edgerton

Eric Edgerton

93

reorganised the men at hand and consolidated their position in that part of the line. When all the runners were either killed or wounded, he took over the dangerous task of carrying messages back through the shellfire to battalion headquarters. On August 7, the Battalion was relieved and moved back from what Edgerton called the ‘floating iron foundry’ for a week’s rest in the contiguous villages of Berteaucourt and St Ouen. On August 12 Edgerton was happy to tell his mother: ‘We are now billeted in a peaceful French village which nestles between the trees in a valley among chalk hills. A small clear stream winds through tall green trees. It is so peaceful and quiet.’ After a time in the line at Mouquet Farm, the Battalion was withdrawn to Poperinghe in the Ypres sector. Edgerton, however, did not go with them. Reporting sick on August 17, he was sent to a rear hospital where he was operated on for a serious rupture (hernia) a week later and was unable to rejoin his unit until October 31. It was while recuperating that had a chance meeting with a Chaplain, James Gault of Cheltenham, Melbourne, an old boy of Wesley, who felt constrained to write to his parents: It was my great pleasure this morning [October 27] to meet your boy here and have a long chat with him in my tent. He is quite well again and soon will be returning to his work. He has not been fortunate enough to have a trip to ‘Blighty’ but perhaps that will come later. It was a great joy to find with him that the effect of the war had been to deepen his character and make him a true

94

Born of the Sun

representative of the Master here. I found that the experience he had gone through had broadened his mind without in any way spoiling him. How true was that saying of Professor Drummond: ‘Build a boy of sound timbers and he will weather most storms.’

In the meantime, after a rest, the Battalion was employed in mining at Hill 60, and digging trenches and gun pits before going into the line at Zillebeke outside Ypres. It was here in dugouts along the railway embankment that the men voted in the first plebiscite on the contentious conscription issue that dominated politics back home in Australia. Then it was back to the Somme, and a winter of discontent. To September 1916, the AIF, in ill-conceived narrow frontal attacks without sufficient artillery support, had suffered 23,000 casualties in six weeks — about equal to those on Gallipoli in eight months! From now on, according to the high command, attacks were to be on a larger scale and on wider fronts. But the results were no better by the time 1 ANZAC Corps had replaced General Rawlinson’s exhausted divisions at the beginning of November and heavy rains had turned the Somme battlefield into a quagmire. November 1916, at the beginning of which Edgerton was promoted to sergeant, was the worst month of all the 24th Battalion’s active service — like Pozières, the operations at Flers remained a nightmare in the minds of the men who survived. Camped in the open amid mud and shell holes near Delville Wood, the Battalion was in turn

Eric Edgerton

95

engaged in railway building, carrying British wounded out and, from time to time, holding portions of the line. Rain, snow, dense fog and intense cold continued day after day in that devastated and puddled landscape where men sank to their waists in water and slime in rat-infested trenches and shell craters, all the time under harassing fire. Trench-foot and frostbite cases rose alarmingly in what was the most uncomfortable winter experienced by the Australians on the Western Front. A fluke of luck was all that stood between life and death when all too many became little brown bundles with bones showing through, which lay in the mud and later among the grass and nettles. In December, Edgerton finally got his trip to ‘Blighty’. He arrived in Southampton on December 11 and, after a brief visit to Edinburgh, he spent the rest of his time sightseeing in London and visiting relatives near Ilford. It was a flying visit though more than enough for him to eagerly anticipate a longer stay, which eventuated the next year. The Sixth Brigade came off the front-line in midJanuary for a period of rest and training. Late the next month, the Germans began to retreat to what became known as the Hindenburg Line, laying waste to the ground they had occupied and leaving behind strong rearguard detachments, which the Australians engaged in their advance. The 24th reached Flers Switch on February 25 and ‘A’ Company (Edgerton’s) together with ‘B’ Company, under the cover of mist, pushed forward to Warlencourt and established a line of outposts. When the mist cleared, however, they came under intense enemy fire. It was here in

96

Born of the Sun

the vicinity of the Butte de Warlencourt that Edgerton carried out a daring daylight patrol to within 35m of the enemy and brought back valuable information. For this, he was awarded a bar to his MM — the first to be awarded in the Sixth Brigade. On March 8, 1917, he was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant. ‘By the time this letter reaches you,’ he wrote home on March 21, ‘I will have been a soldier in the A.I.F. for two years. I would never have felt comfortable at home while the war was on, so I am not sorry coming when I did.’ On his birthday (April 1) he was presented with his Military Medal by Lieutenant General Birdwood. His reaction was characteristic: ‘I do not know which is the worst, winning the medal or getting it presented before a Brigade lined up in a hollow square. However, I got my medal, shook hands with “Birdy” and was pleased when it was all over.’ Second Bullecourt in May saw the Second Division involved in some of the most intense trench fighting of the war and casualties were heavy: four officers and 110 men of the 24th were killed in the first few days. Though the Australians broke into the Hindenburg Line, the Germans repeatedly counterattacked and frustrated the Second Division’s advance on Bullecourt. On May 8, the Second Division was replaced by the Fifth and the 24th left Favreuil for Mametz, part of the unit travelling on the light railway and the rest marching behind their band, for a good spell of rest and training. After a week at Melbourne Camp in Mametz, they moved to their favourite village of Warloy, where they

Eric Edgerton

97

entered into the life of the friendly villagers, organised concerts and sports and enjoyed leave in nearby Amiens. The 24th won the Brigade Australian Football competition and Edgerton’s company won the Battalion sports cup. In mid-June, however, the unit moved to a tent encampment near a destroyed sugar factory in Transloy, between Bapaume and the front, where the Second Division was in reserve. It was the usual war-smitten landscape of stripped trees and ruined villages but now brightened by the raiment of summer. Edgerton wrote home: The fields are covered with poppies, white marguerites, blue cornflowers, and grass knee-deep. Nature has transformed the bitter winter battlefield pitted with shellfire and strewn with debris into a garden where the horrors of war have been overgrown by the grass. (July 22)

From August 1917 to April the next year, Edgerton was fortunate to be stationed in England. Experienced, battlehardened and decorated, he was posted to a Training Battalion, Rollestone Camp, near Salisbury in Wiltshire as an instructor, where, after a rigorous 10-day course in bayonet fighting and physical training, he and his staff of 14 settled into the routine of training much-needed recruits for the 24th Battalion. Powerfully built, very fit and weighing 12 stone 4 pounds (78kg), he revelled in his new task. While his particular speciality was bayonet fighting, he was also involved in wrestling, Australian Rules football and soccer with his men, though there were few opportunities

98

Born of the Sun

for swimming. There was, however, much scope for sightseeing and theatre, locally and in London. He used his leave to travel widely by car and train and his lengthy letters detailing his experiences reveal a love of nature and a keen appreciation of history. On Sundays, he took every opportunity to attend a church service, whether it be Anglican or Methodist, though he admitted he was much happier if it were the latter. Edgerton was promoted to lieutenant on September 5, 1917, but the highlight of his stay in England was undoubtedly the visit of his father and brother Jim in October. With them he toured the Lake District, where at Gracemere they visited Wordsworth’s house and grave. Then it was on to Edinburgh and Stirling in Scotland and to the Wallace Monument on Abbey Craig, which commands one of the finest panoramas in all Britain. They then went on to scenic Callander, through The Trossachs to Loch Katrine before returning south. In Middlesbrough in Yorkshire they were delighted to be shown over the famous iron and steel works of Bolckow, Vaughan and Co. As one who knew a little about iron mills and foundries, including ‘flying iron’ ones, Edgerton summed up this experience in one word — ‘magnificent’. After visiting York and Sheffield, they returned to London, where Eric took leave of his father and brother. In early December, Australians voted once more on the conscription issue. In the previous plebiscite, Edgerton thought that a ‘yes’ vote was the only way ‘the losses of the war [could] be borne evenly by the people’, and his attitude had not changed.

Eric Edgerton

99

Needless to say I had no compunction in voting to bring over a few shirkers, strikers, I.W.W.’s [Industrial Workers of the World] and Sinn Feiners to fight for the liberties they enjoy. The soldiers will give a pretty solid ‘yes’ for conscription. I don’t know what the Allied world will think of Australia if conscription is turned down … (December 4)

Edgerton returned to his unit on April 14, 1918, and was delighted to be allotted to his old company. The Battalion was in the line at Millencourt just west of Albert (called ‘Bert’ by the men), famous for the statue of the ‘Hanging Virgin’ or Madonna, which had leaned out horizontally from the tower of the battered cathedral since the 1916 offensive, and which the men called ‘Annette Kellerman’ after the noted Australian swimmer, as ‘the Madonna looked as if she was diving into the street’. The superstition was that, when the statue fell to the ground, hostilities would cease, but while most were too cynical by this time to place much faith in this prophecy, none certainly had any objection to its realisation. Indeed, a few days later, after heavy shelling by the Allies, Edgerton noted: ‘Annette Kellerman … fell a few days ago, but the war hasn’t finished yet.’ After the severe fighting in March and April, the next few weeks were comparatively quiet in the British sector as both sides recovered and prepared for the next onslaught. The Australians, however, stayed on the offensive and carried out a number of daring night raids (using what the

100

Born of the Sun

Germans called ‘bush tactics’), the biggest and most spectacular of which was the capture of the high ground around Ville-sur-Ancre, which was the key to the defence of German-held Morlancourt. This was effected by the Sixth Brigade: the 22nd Battalion attacked from the south, the 23rd Battalion was to assist the 22nd in mopping up operations in the village, while ‘A’ and ‘D’ companies of the 24th attacked over the river from the north. To troops used to trench warfare, the terrain of the 24th’s sector was a welcome change. Unlike most of the surrounding area, it was open wood and grassland carpeted with wildflowers and almost untouched by the ravages of war. Some marshy ground, however, presented difficulties, but while the tall reeds helped conceal the enemy machinegunners, they also provided cover for the stalking attackers. Edgerton made several reconnaissances selecting suitable crossing points of the river in preparation for the attack, which began at 2am on May 19. The full story of the operation, for which Edgerton was awarded the DSO, is told in detail by Bean, based on an interview with Edgerton on May 25, in Volume Six of The Official History of Australia in the War. Edgerton’s achievement is, however, epitomised in Lieutenant General Sir William Birdwood’s letter of congratulations: Dear Edgerton, I am indeed pleased to see that your exceptionally fine work in our attack on Ville-sur-Ancre on 19th May has been recognised by the award of the D.S.O., on which I send you my heartiest congratula-

Eric Edgerton

101

tions. After successfully completing a daring reconnaissance with two other ranks, you led your platoon in the attack, assaulting and capturing one enemy machine gun post after another, and sending back prisoners. At one stage of the advance you pushed forward with one man only to the edge of the village, and very skilfully outflanked an enemy machine gun, which was very active, and accounted for the crew. You then led five of your men into the village, and captured a fourth enemy post with the machine gun. Throughout the whole attack your splendid leadership, courage, and initiative were of the highest order, and inspired your men to the utmost. Thank you very much for your good service, which has fully merited this high and senior distinction, and again my hearty congratulations on your excellent record.

Edgerton’s commanding officer, Lt. Col. W. E. James, supported by Brigadier General John Paton (Sixth Brigade) and Major General Charles Rosenthal (Second Division), had recommended Edgerton for the Victoria Cross, but the recommendation did not go forward. This was probably because the main task of capturing Ville-sur-Ancre had been given to the 22nd Battalion where Sergeant William Ruthven also ‘dared mightily’ and became the first VC winner in the Sixth Brigade. While his battalion was naturally disappointed, Edgerton regarded himself ‘jolly lucky to get a D.S.O. … as this decoration’, he proudly told

102

Born of the Sun

his sister Curtis, ‘is usually reserved for senior officers — majors & above’. But, he said, ‘mustn’t skite’! In late May and early June, Edgerton was twice hospitalised. On June 11, ‘feeling crook’, with a temperature of 39˚C, he was sent to No. 8 Red Cross Hospital in Boulogne. It is just about three years now since I saw ‘The Priory’. I put up my fourth blue chevron in another ten days for having completed three years overseas. One wonders how many more to put up before we get home. (June 15)

He returned to the Battalion on June 26 and a week later was picked, along with Corporal D. M. McKinnon MM, to represent the Battalion in the parade of Allied troops in Paris on Bastille Day, July 14. The march, led by French troops, included a composite British Battalion, No. 3 Company of which consisted of Dominion troops. Edgerton commanded the Australian platoon, which marched along the Bois de Boulogne, down the Avenue des Champs-Élysées to the Arc de Triomphe and, according to Edgerton, ‘along about every boulevarde in Paris’ amid cries of ‘Vive les Australienes’ and ‘pelted with flowers the whole way’. Back from Paris, which he regarded as the most beautiful city he had seen, Edgerton settled once more into the routine of dodging ‘the floating iron foundries’. On August 8, when the great advance of the Allied armies began with the Battle of Amiens, the 24th Battalion was

Eric Edgerton

103

holding a sector of the front at Villers-Bretonneux. By noon that day it had advanced into the previous day’s no-man’sland and was resting near Guillaucourt and Harbonnières alongside the railway where they saw a captured German 11-inch railway gun — ‘a snifter’, according to Edgerton — pass by on its way to be exhibited in Paris and later in Sydney. On August 11, they relieved the 18th Battalion between Rainecourt and Framerville. Edgerton recorded in his diary: ‘Reveille 2:30a.m. Move to old trench system near Framerville. Successful stunt by the 5th and 7th Bdes. Still supports. Little shelling.’ That night, after Edgerton had established his men in a forward post, he was standing talking to them when a burst of machine-gun fire came out of the darkness. He fell, shot through the heart. On receiving an urgent telegram from Victoria Barracks, Melbourne, on the afternoon of Thursday August 22, Reverend Thomas Butcher of the Methodist Parsonage, Elsternwick, knocked on the door of The Priory in Glen Eira Road and gave the Edgerton family the news they had long lived in dread of hearing. It seems somehow inadequate even now, but this was usually how next of kin were told. All over Australia — scarcely a community was spared — the unexpected arrival of a minister or priest was a chilling portent of grief and mourning. A few weeks later, Mrs Edgerton received the customary letter of sympathy from Eric’s commanding officer.

104

Born of the Sun

In the Field 20th August 1918 My dear Mrs Edgerton, Just how to write and tell you the particulars of your son Eric’s death I scarcely know. Beloved by one and all, his death leaves a blank indeed hard to fill. He was the ‘show’ boy of the Battalion, and the pride which we all felt in him did not affect his sunny, unassuming nature in the least. I have tried to save the lad, but he was killed by a most unlucky shot … The men were all very depressed over it. They all said it was about the last shot they heard fired for the night: quite at random, of course, and yet he was shot through the heart as fairly as though it had been aimed at him … I could write you many pages of his untiring, unselfish work among his men, who simply worshipped him, and he did it all by clean straight living. Never a drop of strong drink passed his lips, nor did he ever indulge in any of the coarse stories or jokes which so many men consider necessary when banded together. Personally, my affection for the boy was just as great as though he were my very own, and my sorrow at his

Eric Edgerton

105

demise is just as great as one can bear to let it be where death stalks more surely and stealthily than life itself. You may be able to judge of the popularity and universal esteem in which your son was held when I tell you that today that I have received an expression of regret and sympathy from General Birdwood himself. Yours in sorrow W. E. James Lieut-Colonel

As much loved for his personal qualities as he was admired for his bravery and leadership, no one in the Battalion was more deeply mourned. All spoke of his happy, generous and unassuming nature and no one ever heard an unbecoming or harsh word from him. Even when he was an officer it was said that he often carried up to three rifles and the packs of men who had knocked up on the march: according to a mate, Sergeant Sidney Horton, ‘he would have carried the burdens of the whole A.I.F. if he could’. Inexpressibly sad and untimely as Edgerton’s death was, he was but one of the 910 men of his battalion and of the 60,000 members of the First AIF who gave their lives in the bloodiest and costliest war that had yet been fought, and whose sacrifice is an eternally resonant monument to one of the great tragedies of history. Bean wrote their epitaph:

106

Born of the Sun

What these men did nothing can alter now. The good and the bad, the greatness and smallness of their story will stand. Whatever of glory it contains nothing now can lessen. It rises, as it will always rise, above the mists of ages, a monument to great-hearted men; and, for their nation a possession for ever.

He was buried first in the Australian Military Cemetery near the village of Blangy-Tronville and, after the Armistice, with 800 other Australians in the Villers-Bretonneux Military Cemetery, where his grave is marked by the regulation white stone. He is the most highly decorated soldier there. In the land of his birth, he is remembered on the bronze entablature Roll of Honour in the cloisters of the Australian War Memorial, Canberra; on the Honour Roll and War Memorial at Wesley College, Melbourne; and by a stained-glass window in the Cato Uniting Church, Orrong Road, Elsternwick, unveiled by his old headmaster on June 15, 1919. The window depicts a youthful St George, the patron of soldiers, chivalry, and the guardian of England, with the Union Flag and crossed lances. In addition to the dedication, it bears two inscriptions: No Life is Short That’s Nobly Spent and, from Revelations, 21:7 He That Overcometh Shall Inherit All Things And I Will Be His God And He Shall Be My Son.

LES DARCY (1895–1917) Boxer hg

OF THE SEVEN young Australians in this book, perhaps the best remembered by the older generation today is the boxer Les Darcy, who had all the makings of a workingclass folk hero. His humble background, extraordinary physique, remarkable record in the fighting ring, his happy disposition, exemplary personal life and untimely death, all combined to make him a notable legend. Greg McMinn in the Australian Dictionary of Biography completes the picture: ‘His decision to leave Australia secretly, in breach of the War Precautions Act, provided the controversy (and the enemies in high places) without which no hero-figure is complete: his lonely death gave him an aura of martyrdom.’ So pervasive was the legend that, half a century after his

108

Born of the Sun

death, flags flew at half-mast as Sir William McKell, a former governor-general of Australia, unveiled a memorial at his birthplace, Woodville, on the Paterson River 13km north of Maitland, NSW. James Leslie Darcy was born on October 31, 1895, the second son of Australian-born parents, Edward Darcy, labourer and farmer, and his wife, Margaret nee O’Rourke. He was of Irish-Australian stock, both his grandparents having migrated from County Tipperary, Ireland. Ned, his illiterate and somewhat feckless father, registered the surname as Dorsey on the birth certificate as that was how he pronounced it, and it seems that he got the date wrong by a few days as well. The family always regarded October 28 as Les’s birthday. The lower Paterson district and the lower Hunter Valley, with its then twin settlements of West and East Maitland, is one of the oldest settled areas outside the Sydney region. From the mid-1820s, its alluvial soils, surrounded in the distance by sandstone hills and bush, made it ideal for ex-convict small farmers and, later, bounty and other immigrants. Some, like the O’Rourkes, who had migrated to Australia in the 1850s, had been tenant farmers on the Tipperary estates of Sir Richard Bourke, who was Governor of NSW in 1831–37. West Maitland, at the head of navigation on the Hunter River, originally called Molly Morgan’s after a twice transported, spirited convict pioneer, was the older settlement and became the commercial centre. East Maitland, five miles away on higher ground less prone to flooding, was laid out a few years later and was the

Les Darcy

109

official or government township and the administrative centre of the district. From the 1870s, both became coalmining towns and centres of light industry, and, by the 1880s, the land around the lower Paterson and Hunter Rivers around West and East Maitland was fairly densely settled, devoted to cattle raising and dairying as well as intensive agriculture producing maize, lucerne, pumpkins, potatoes and other vegetables and fruit for Newcastle and the other nearby port and mining towns. By 1911, West Maitland, with a population of 12,000, had more than twice the population of its rival to the east. At the time of Les’s birth, his father was a share-farmer running a small dairy on a selection taken up on the old Stradbroke run, but four years later the family moved to a small dairy farm at Oakhampton on the Hunter near East Maitland. It was here that Les received most of his schooling and had his first lessons in boxing from the headmaster, George Ridley, who encouraged the boys to settle their inevitable differences using the gloves in a paddock outside the schoolyard with himself as referee. On the farm from an early age, Les helped with the milking morning and afternoon and was invariably late for school after doing a milk run with a horse and makeshift cart, usually barefooted or wearing old socks in winter. The Darcys were desperately poor, but, except for Ned Darcy’s heavy drinking, the ever growing brood was perhaps no worse off than many large, lower Hunter families in the depressed 1890s and the early years of the new century. There were few children who didn’t work at such tasks as

110

Born of the Sun

delivering milk, pulling corn, digging potatoes, picking fruit, currying horses and trapping rabbits for their skins and meat. At Oakhampton Public School, the cheerful and quick-witted Les learned to read and write well. He was no scholar, but, according to his headmaster, he was as ‘quick as a flash. What he knew he knew well.’ As well as being a notable scrapper, he excelled at cricket and football, both games being played barefooted. Much responsibility devolved on the growing boy, called ‘Bub’ by his mother and siblings until his mid-teens, as his older brother, William (Cecil), was born with the handicap of a club foot and the next boy, Frank (‘Frosty’), was four years younger than Les. About 1907, the Darcys left Oakhampton, first for Horseshoe Bend and then to the low-lying Pitnacree area of East Maitland. Here Les and ‘Frosty’ briefly attended the convent and Marist Brothers’ schools and met the local curate, Father Joseph Coady, who besides preparing Les for Confirmation, gave him some useful tips on boxing. The two became firm friends and thereafter Les frequently sought his advice. On leaving school at the age of 12, Les worked from dawn to dusk as a ‘groom and useful’ at Arthur Bray’s stables in East Maitland for 2s. 6d. (25 cents) a week, with meals and a bed in the harness room. By this time, the Darcy family had increased to seven children and, from then on, Les’s contribution from his meagre wages was a welcome addition to their income. As hard work and a simple diet of maize meal, milk, meat and potatoes built him up, he became more and more

Les Darcy

111

conscious of his boxing prowess. From his savings, he bought a set of boxing gloves, which he carried around with him in a sugar bag, taking on anyone interested in a friendly spar. Every Sunday morning after church, the milk delivery and stable boys met at Fred Cush’s place on the Oakhampton road near West Maitland, where they boxed, exchanging black eyes and bloody noses, under the eye of Cush, who acted as coach and referee. In these bouts, Darcy, at 14, solidly built with long arms and big hands, often took on lads three or four years older and acquitted himself well. Cush, perhaps the first to predict that ‘Bub’ Darcy would be a champion, recalled many years later that, ‘He was different from the others, not bigger, but solider. I took a poke at him once myself, just in fun like, and it was like connecting with a little bullock.’ Clearly, Darcy took after the O’Rourke side of the family. His mother’s brothers were fond of scrapping and, in those days of open sectarianism, they were apparently so fond of fighting Orangemen on St Patrick’s Day and on the ‘glorious 12th of July’ that, if there were not enough of them around Maitland, they would travel to Cessnock or Newcastle for a stoush, or what they called ‘thrashing the Protestants’. Pugilism in the form of bare-knuckle contests, until the practice was banned in 1884, was popular on the northern coalfields, where many of the miners were Irish, Scots or Geordies from the north-east of England. Working-class youths and young men boxed for honour and money and would walk miles to watch a bout. Local

112

Born of the Sun

champions were household names, and none more so than Francis Patrick Slavin (1862–1929), ‘the Maitland Boy’, who won the heavyweight championship of Australia in 1889 and thereafter had a successful career in England and North America. Boxing mania swept eastern Australia from the 1890s and, in 1908, it received a great stimulus as a mass spectator sport when the sporting and theatrical entrepreneur Hugh D. (‘Huge Deal’) McIntosh (1876–1942) staged a world heavyweight title fight between Tommy Burns and Jack Johnson, the black American challenger, at his new Rushcutters Bay stadium on Boxing Day. The world-record crowd of 20,000 saw Johnson outclass the white titleholder to win by a knockout in the 14th round. Thousands throughout the world saw the film of the contest, which was a great commercial success, and prompted McIntosh and others to bring more famous fighters to Australia. In 1910, the boxing experts who watched Darcy in action at Cush’s stables arranged his first fight, a catchweight bout against another local, Sid Pascoe, who had a bit of a reputation. The fight took place at Jack Andrew’s ‘stadium’ behind the Currency Lass Hotel in West Maitland and resulted in a win by Darcy, who knocked out Pascoe in the second round. About this time Les took a job as a navvy, ‘horse pugging’ or driving a horse and dray on the railway line duplication works between Maitland and Newcastle. The workmen were all keen on fighting and gambling and Darcy took several hidings from bigger youths before he was matched against what he considered his first formal

Les Darcy

113

opponent, a 28-year-old tough amateur, George (‘Gov’nor’) Balser, described as ‘all wire and whipcord’. This fight, very much in the old pre-gloves tradition, took place (illegally, because it was a Sunday) at Thornton in a small makeshift ring of sapling posts, old ropes and fencing wire. After the 10 rounds, the referee could not decide the outcome, so another round was fought and Darcy was crowned the winner. Les handed over his share of the stake, 15 shillings ($1.50), to his mother. Darcy’s success against such a locally recognised fighter increased his following and encouraged him to believe that professional boxing might be the way to help his struggling family, which, by the end of 1910, had increased to nine children. But, strong as he was at the age of 15, weighing nine stone (57kg), he was still a growing boy and friends advised him to take it easy and build up his already impressive physique. Accordingly, in 1911, he became apprenticed to Billy Ford, a blacksmith in Melbourne Street, East Maitland. His work in the early years of his five-year apprenticeship was as a ‘striker’, wielding the heavy hammer as the blacksmith fashioned the hot iron on the anvil. This demanding work developed his chest and arm muscles and breathing. In his spare time, usually in the evenings, he trained and sparred with all-comers in a shed behind the family’s dilapidated skillion cottage at Pitnacree. Among his partners were his good friend Les Fletcher, Eric Newton and an Aboriginal boy, Matt Ross. He learned dancing to improve his footwork and, to save money, often ran into

114

Born of the Sun

East Maitland after attending early Mass at 6am to start work at 7.30. It was at Pitnacree, through Father Coady, that he met Mick Hawkins, who became his first manager and trainer. On July 26, 1911, Darcy fought and won a four-round preliminary bout at the Maitland Town Hall. (The short newspaper reports of this fight in the Newcastle Morning Herald and the Maitland Mercury were the first mention of his career in print.) Also, at this point in his career, Darcy gained useful experience and a little money from seasoned troupers in sideshow tent bouts at country shows. The demands of work and the at first unsympathetic attitude of his employer made it difficult to get time off for training and contests. In March 1912, however, he entered the 10-stone (63.5kg) (lightweight) division of the Newcastle Summer Park boxing tournament, which he won on May 4 by defeating in 10 rounds the much older and experienced Tom Page of Newcastle. In addition to the prize money of £20, he was given a gold medal, which he wore with pride with his best clothes. On September 28, the ‘neat, clean-limbed, muscular’ 17-year-old again won the Summer Park tournament in the same division, and, in November, he stopped the American Dave Depena, pupil of Sam Langford (‘The Boston Tar Baby’), in nine rounds. Hundreds of spectators from East and West Maitland went by train to Newcastle to watch the tournament finals and the Darcy v. Depena fight. The last fight he had that year was his first 20 rounder. At the Adelphi Hall in West Maitland, he knocked out Jimmy Burns in the ninth round

Les Darcy

115

for a purse of £50, almost twice as much as he earned in a year as a blacksmith’s apprentice. Darcy, dubbed ‘The Boy Boxer’ and ‘The Maitland Surprise Packet’, was now the pride of both townships. In May 1913, the Darcy family was flooded out on the Pitnacree Road and moved to a property in Brisbane Street, East Maitland South, where Mrs Darcy carried on a small dairy. Ned Darcy grew lucerne on the Pitnacree lease, which he carted and sold, usually spending the proceeds on himself at the George and Dragon Hotel. Nearby in Brisbane Street was a hayshed or warehouse fitted out as a gymnasium, called the House of Stoush, where Darcy and other boxers trained and sparred. By the end of October, Les had won four more fights, including a points win against Billy McNabb from Cessnock, the lightweight champion of the Hunter, on October 25. Nine days later, however, Les suffered his first defeat when he was outpointed by the 35-year-old blacksmith and Australian welterweight champion, Bobby Whitelaw, in Newcastle. Two more wins in January at a recently opened small stadium in Newtown in Sydney, and successes against Whitelaw and McNabb in return bouts in Maitland in five and four rounds respectively, provoked Darcy’s backers on the northern coalfields to demand that the young Maitlander be given a chance to prove his ability at the Sydney Stadium. In superb condition now, and tough as teak, Darcy’s reach (measured from finger tip to finger tip on outstretched arms across the chest) was 7 inches (18cm) greater than his height of 5 foot 7 inches (170cm).

116

Born of the Sun

Darcy’s first fight at Sydney Stadium took place on July 18, 1914, when he was matched against the American Fritz Holland. Two train-loads of Darcy supporters descended on the venue and, when Holland clearly won on points in 20 rounds, the crowd rioted and fires were lit in the bleachers. Two months later in a return bout, Darcy lost again, but this time on a foul that Darcy’s supporters reckoned was contrived by Holland. Boxing, more than any other sport, even then, had a reputation for ‘fixes’ and crookedness and many thought the newcomer to the big time in Sydney was being manipulated. But they need not have worried as the all-round sportsman and showman, R. L. (Snowy) Baker, who controlled Sydney Stadium, was so impressed that from then on Darcy became the stadium’s leading drawcard. In January 1915, Darcy was matched against the American Jeff Smith in a contest billed as a world welterweight championship. When he lost, after his seconds threw in the towel after a foul missed by the referee, the resultant controversy added even more lustre to his reputation. That defeat, however, was his last. Later in the year, after twice beating Holland in Sydney and Melbourne, he won on a foul against Jeff Smith and, on July 31 in Sydney, he beat Eddie McGoorty (‘The Oshkosh Terror’), a leading contender for the disputed world middleweight crown. After four more fights and wins, the return bout against McGoorty on December 27 before a crowd of 16,000, including many servicemen, was probably the only time Darcy was fully extended. In a magnificent display in the greatest fight of his

Les Darcy

117

career, he stopped his opponent in eight rounds. This victory and his wins against such other skilled American imports such as Jeff Smith, Jimmy Clabby, Billy Murray and ‘K. O.’ Brown extended Darcy’s reputation not only in Australia but in the US. Fighting at the Sydney Stadium meant that Darcy had to live and train in Sydney for much of the time. Darcy signed a one-year training contract with 28-year-old Dave Smith, the Australian light-heavyweight champion, who had given Darcy some much needed tuition in ringcraft after the first Holland fight. Smith, who lived in Mosman, Sydney, arranged accommodation for Les and Mick Hawkins with the Pearce family, who ran Pearce’s Boatshed at The Spit on Middle Harbour. (The Pearces were involved in many sports. Bobby, then aged nine, became an Olympic and world professional sculling champion.) Smith devised Darcy’s rigorous training program, which Hawkins supervised; Darcy’s sparring partners included Smith, Les Fletcher, Jimmy Fitton and Mick King, the West Australian middleweight. Mrs Pearce became a second mother to Les and his days at The Spit and at the local baths, where he was the idol of schoolboys, were happy ones. Darcy, who had learnt the mouth-organ as a boy, now learned to play the violin as well, as a form of relaxation from his training schedule. It was while he was staying at Pearce’s Boatshed that Darcy met Maurice O’Sullivan, later a state member of parliament and cabinet minister, whose family owned the Lord Dudley Hotel in Paddington. Darcy and Maurie O’Sullivan became good friends and O’Sullivan’s young

118

Born of the Sun

sister, Winifred, became Darcy’s sweetheart. As the hotel was close to the stadium, Darcy often stayed there on fight nights and, though a non-drinker himself, he often helped out behind the bar. Darcy was now comparatively well-off. Each contest earned him several hundred pounds, and he was paid for giving exhibitions with theatrical companies and for acting in a ‘hilariously bad’ film, The Heart of a Champion. He was able to buy himself out of his blacksmith’s indentures by mid-1915 and bought a new Buick motorcar for £525. But all was not well on the home front. His father’s alcoholism got worse and his mother, with whom he had a special bond, which he proved by the way he regarded himself as the family’s protector and provider, was frequently seriously ill. Accordingly, he bought his parents a large new house (which he helped design) surrounded by a small farm in Emerald Street on the western fringe of East Maitland. From then on, Les’s goals were clear: to make his family financially secure, to become middleweight champion of the world, and to marry Winnie O’Sullivan. There was one thing, however, that would thwart the greater part of Darcy’s plans — the war. Though thousands of men had flocked to the colours for the war against Germany and her allies, which had broken out the year before, the war had impinged little on Australian life until April 25, 1915, when the AIF was blooded at Gallipoli. That day became the dramatic caesura in Australian history; the war had become a stark reality for Australians and changed the nation forever. As the long casualty lists began

Les Darcy

119

to appear in the press, the pressure on eligible young men to enlist greatly increased. Like most males between the ages of 12 and 25, Darcy was already undergoing compulsory military training and his first instinct, like most of his mates, was to join the AIF. But, as he was under 21, he needed parental consent, and this was refused. As his reputation grew, the pressure increased. The military authorities, of course, realised that if such a popular sportsman as Darcy joined up, his example would be an inducement for other young men to enlist. There were even tentative offers of a special role for Darcy, either as an aide or physical education instructor in the army, but he refused any special treatment. In November 1915, Darcy announced he was considering an offer from a visiting American fight promoter, Jack Kearns, to fight in the US. It was the only way to achieve his ambition of becoming world middleweight champion as the main claimant for the disputed crown, Al McCoy, refused to come to Australia. However, influenced by Snowy Baker, who promised him more home fights with top Americans, Darcy changed his mind. It was a fateful decision. In 1915, he could have left Australia legally, but a year later the political scene in Australia had changed drastically. In Sydney, on February 19, 1916, Darcy defeated the Balmain-born all-round sportsman, Harold Hardwick, for the heavyweight championship of Australia. Darcy was never a ‘killer’ in boxing parlance, preferring to outpoint or stop his opponents, but if he was hurt, as he was in this

120

Born of the Sun

fight by having two of his front teeth knocked out, he went all out to finish the bout quickly. At the end of round six, Darcy asked his seconds if his teeth were gone. When they affirmed this, he said, ‘That’s the end of the fight then’, and promptly knocked out Hardwick in the next round. Five weeks later, he defeated Les O’Donnell, and, on April 8, won a points decision once again against the Greek, George ‘K. O.’ Brown, who had fought most of the best American middle and light-heavyweights. Australian society in the first half of the 20th century was very different from that of today. The two main religious groups, Protestant and Catholic, very much led separate lives and mixed little; blatant sectarianism and open discrimination concerning employment were facts of life. Catholics were mainly working-class and generally considered themselves persecuted or, at best, marginalised. Furthermore, while, unlike in England, there was no established church in Australia, the Anglican and Protestant churches, whose members constituted the majority of the population, presumed a monopoly on patriotism. Catholics, because of their ‘Roman’ acknowledgement, were thought by many to be less patriotic, although they had volunteered for the armed services in proportion to their numbers. For Catholics of Irish extraction, like Darcy, the situation was complicated by Britain’s attitude towards her oldest colony. When the leaders of the Easter week rising in Dublin in April 1916 were executed, the political atmosphere became charged. Worse was to follow. A few months later, after the London-born Australian Prime Minister, W. M. (Billy)

Les Darcy

121

Hughes, returned from a visit to Britain and the Western Front convinced that Australia should do more to help the mother country, he plunged Australia into the most bitter and divisive political crisis until the Vietnam War half a century later. As the war bogged down in the trenches in Europe and casualties and the demand for recruits soared, Hughes decided that the only solution was to introduce conscription for overseas military service. Accordingly, on August 30, 1916, he announced that a plebiscite would be held on October 28, when the electorate would be asked to vote ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ on the question. The campaign that followed revealed some very ugly and discreditable aspects of Australian society, none more so than that shown by the numerous civilian warriors who hid behind dubious excuses for not enlisting and became increasingly bloodthirsty in proportion as the voluntary enlistments faltered. These ‘patriots’ were assisted by a shrieking sisterhood who liberally handed out white feathers, the symbol of cowardice. Darcy was just one of thousands of young men who unfairly and anonymously were sent white feathers through the post. From April 1916, Snowy Baker found it difficult to find suitable opponents for Darcy, but in the next five months he arranged six contests, all of which Darcy won easily. Two were against decidedly weak opponents, two were against his former trainer, Dave Smith, and one each against the Americans Jimmy Clabby and George Chip. Before the second fight with Brown in Brisbane, Darcy announced his intention to enlist for overseas service, but

122

Born of the Sun

once more parental consent (his mother’s) was withheld. With no foreseeable quality opponents to fight, his mother’s ill-health, and wanting five or six more bouts to make his family financially secure, Darcy’s thoughts turned once more to going to America. During the war, passports, necessary for leaving the country legally, were being refused to men of military age unless they had been exempted from or rejected for military service. Using influential channels, it might well have been possible for Darcy to get a passport to visit America for a short time to fulfil his mission, but through innocence and ignorance of proper procedure, he failed to secure one. The alternative — leaving Australia illegally — was suggested to him by E. T. (Tim) O’Sullivan (no relation to the Paddington O’Sullivans), a small-time, somewhat shady operator in the local boxing and racing worlds. Initially impressed with the smooth-talking O’Sullivan, Darcy agreed to go along with his plan. Accordingly, he put up the money and O’Sullivan arranged for them both to stowaway on a boat from Newcastle. Nearly all to whom he confided his plan, including Father Coady, pleaded with Darcy not to go in this manner, but Darcy was stubborn and stuck to his fateful decision. On October 27, 1916, the collier Hattie Luckenbach, with Darcy and O’Sullivan aboard, left Newcastle for the neutral Chilean ports of Taltal and Antofagasta. The next day, Australia rejected Hughes’ plan for conscription for overseas military service, and four days later James Leslie Darcy turned 21. At Antofagsta on December 7, Darcy and

Les Darcy

123

O’Sullivan signed on as crew on a Standard Oil tanker, the SS Cushing and, after passing through the recently completed Panama Canal, arrived in New York on December 23. The news of Darcy’s defection broke a few days after the stowaways sailed and it was not long before the patriotic press branded him as a shirker. Baker and his Sydney Stadium connections, who had profited greatly from Darcy, were annoyed at Darcy’s ‘unpatriotic action’, mainly because he had broken his contract for a return fight with Chip, and announced that Darcy was stripped of his middleweight and heavyweight championship titles. Hugh D. McIntosh’s Sydney Sunday Times newspaper, which had strongly supported conscription, attacked Darcy in a venomous article on November 17 and suggested that Darcy should be banned from fighting in America. The article was careful not to mention that McIntosh, still very much involved in the fight game, had tried and failed to persuade Darcy to go to America a few months before. It was not surprising that Darcy’s fiercest critics were those who stood to lose financially from his misconceived plan. In America, Darcy was received enthusiastically by the press and numerous would-be fight promoters who hoped to make money out of him. He gave interviews freely and cheerfully and wrote two articles on the background of his visit for the New York American. George ‘Tex’ Rickard, a well-known boxing promoter who had staged some notable bouts for that other Maitlander, Frank Slavin, took Darcy into his care and assured him he was confident of arranging a fight with the 20-year-old European champion, Georges

124

Born of the Sun

Carpentier, who was then an officer in the French Air Force. Darcy, as ever, was eager and confident, and announced at his first press conference: ‘I’ll meet anybody selected to meet me. I would not hesitate at Jess Willard [the world heavyweight champion]. I am in good condition and have never required more than fourteen days’ training for a fight.’ A few days after his arrival, Darcy met the American public for the first time when he was introduced by the famous escapologist, Harry Houdini, during his act at the Palace Theatre, New York. But the enthusiastic reception accorded Darcy in the theatre was soon to be replaced by snide criticism and political intrigue. A week after his arrival, two press articles, including one by the writer Damon Runyon, cast doubt on Darcy’s motives for coming to the US and shirking his military obligations. Probably inspired by the critical piece in McIntosh’s Sunday Times on November 17, they intimated that Darcy had bolted from his country at its time of need, and sowed the poisonous seed of doubt about Darcy in the minds of the public and some influential politicians as proAllied war sentiment grew and America drifted closer to war against Germany. Awaiting an acceptance from Carpentier across the Atlantic, Rickard advised Darcy to reject other offers of bouts and arranged for him to join a vaudeville show in which he gave exhibitions of boxing with Fred Gilmore, a friend from Australia, during a sixweeks tour ending in Chicago on February 10, 1917. In the meantime, things began to go wrong. The Carpentier fight fell through, Rickard abandoned Darcy

Les Darcy

125

and other New York promoters either bickered among themselves or began to lose interest. Les also parted company with the flashy and dodgy O’Sullivan, who, while posing as Darcy’s manager, seemed more interested in himself and the local turf scene; indeed, the only good news that month for Les was the arrival of his old friend Mick Hawkins in America on January 20. A major bout was arranged for Madison Square Garden for March 5, but the Governor of New York State banned it, ostensibly because of the way Darcy had left Australia. Two fights were organised in the state of Ohio, but they were also banned by the State Governor. These bans, however, were not so much against Darcy personally, but in response to political pressure from the strong antiboxing lobby. In April, Darcy took the oath of allegiance to the United States of America and the first steps to become an American citizen; two days later on, April 6, the US declared war on Germany. After yet another fight was banned by the Governor of Louisiana, Darcy’s luck appeared to change when prominent fight promoter, Billy Haack, Sr, arranged a bout with Len Rowlands, one of the best American middleweights, in the river port town of Memphis, Tennessee. This match was threatened by a ban, which was prevented only by Darcy enlisting as a reservist in the US Army at the Signal Corps Aviation School in North Memphis. Darcy was given the rank of sergeant and two weeks’ leave to train for the fight. Three days into training, on April 27, Darcy complained of a temperature, aching joints and stiffness and

126

Born of the Sun

was admitted to St Joseph’s Hospital, where doctors diagnosed his condition as serious and arranged for him to be transferred to the Gartly-Ramsay General Hospital. Here he was treated for a streptococcal infection of the tonsils, probably caused by infected teeth that had been remounted on their stumps after the Hardwick fight, septicaemia (blood poisoning) and endocarditis (inflammation of the heart). His infected teeth and tonsils were removed but his condition worsened and, on May 19, pneumonia set in. Distraught, Mick Hawkins sent for Winnie O’Sullivan, who had recently arrived in San Francisco as a travelling companion with the Australian screen actress Lilly Molloy. After a four-day train journey, she arrived at the hospital on the morning of Thursday May 24, soon after Les had received the last rites of the Catholic Church. Their loving reunion was brief. At 1.45pm, he died. With Winnie at his bedside were Fred Gilmore, Billy Haack, Mick King and Les’s faithful friend, Mick Hawkins, who had been in his corner for every fight but one since the days in the old shed at Pitnacree. The medical staff had done all they could in the days before penicillin and sulfa drugs, and now it was the turn of the American public and sportsmen to show their respect and generosity. Hundreds of messages of sympathy poured in as well as offers to pay for the body to be returned to Australia. In Memphis, the Phoenix Club, a sporting organisation, took the leading role in the obsequies, paying all the expenses associated with the return of Darcy’s remains. Les’s embalmed body was placed in a metal casket and, after a Requiem Mass at St Brigid’s Church, Memphis, began its long journey,

Les Darcy

127

accompanied by Hawkins, to San Francisco via New Orleans. At San Francisco, after even more elaborate obsequies, it was placed on board the SS Sonoma. Father Joseph J. McQuaide told the mourners: Friends, we are engaged today in performing one of the corporal works of mercy, albeit under most unusual circumstances. We are engaged in a funeral which had its beginning in Memphis, Tennessee, and will have its finality in the Land of the Southern Cross. We are engaged in the transportation homeward of all that is mortal of one, a mere boy in years, whom we knew only by reputation; of one in life had not put his foot in this our City of the Golden Gate; yet we bear gently, as our hearts, touched by the pathos of this boy’s sad ending impel us, these, his remains to the good ship that will carry them over the trackless Pacific Ocean, to have them finally rest at home, touched by the hands and moistened by the tears of a heartbroken mother … We know only that Les Darcy was without peer as a boxer and a perfect example among his brothers and sisters. He was a clean liver, and practised in the religion taught him by a devoted mother. He had goodness in his heart, and a deep affection for his family. It was to help them, and to place them in better conditions, that he sought for the opportunities offered in this country to one of his prowess in his chosen field of sport …

128

Born of the Sun

No time now for criticism! The occasion is too sacred. Let the dead past bury its dead. We owe it to ourselves to say that the American sport-world was anxious to see Les Darcy perform. Had he done so, I am sure that he would have received the same generous treatment that scores of his fellow-Australians, many of them less famous than he, have received here. We feel that in the death of Darcy a bright star was lost to the long proud list of Australian’s sons in the realm of sport … May He who watches over us all give comfort and strength to the bereaved family of the stricken champion … This is our prayer, this our message.

At the dockside, the organising committee presented Hawkins with a bronze garland of leaves and an inscribed silver in memoriam plate from the sportsmen of San Francisco to be passed on to Mrs Darcy. In a brief, emotional speech, Hawkins thanked the committee for their great kindness. The next day, June 5, the boat left for Australia. The news of Darcy’s death, in the same newspapers that contained the long casualty lists of the Second Battle of Bullecourt, was met with disbelief and shock in Australia. Indeterminate reports of Darcy’s illness had reached Australia and, on May 25, the Sydney Daily Telegraph carried a short cable item from Vancouver headed, ‘DARCY’S CONDITION HOPEFUL’. The next day it announced, ‘LES DARCY DEAD!’ People stopped one another in the street to ask, ‘Have you heard the news? Is it

Les Darcy

129

true that Darcy’s dead?’ Sports followers especially were incredulous. How could such a fine athlete suddenly sicken and die? Was foul play involved? Then, not surprisingly, came the preposterous rumour that he had been deliberately poisoned. The legend had begun. The journalists who had been the most censorious in their attacks on the late champion were now either silent or contented themselves with non-committal reports. On the northern coalfields, the heartland of Darcy’s supporters, disbelief and grief merged into anger directed particularly against McIntosh, Baker and officialdom, who were all seen as the cause of the tragedy. The Sonoma reached Sydney on Tuesday, June 26, and was met by an immense crowd that accompanied the casket to Wood Coffil’s Funeral Parlour in George Street, where for two days and evenings an estimated 300,000 people viewed the body through a glass panel in the casket. On June 28, after a Requiem Mass at St Joseph’s, Woollahra, the church where Darcy sometimes worshipped when training in Sydney, the cortege moved through huge crowds to Central Railway Station. Only once before had Sydney seen such a massive outpouring of grief for a sportsman — the funeral of Harry Searle, the sculling champion, 28 years before in 1889. Darcy’s remains arrived in East Maitland at 7pm and were taken to St Joseph’s Church where, by Saturday morning, when Father Joe Coady celebrated a Requiem Mass, more than 6,000 people had filed past the closed coffin. Father Coady’s passionate and pointed eulogy for his young friend began:

130

Born of the Sun

Mother never had a better son, and there is widespread sorrow, not only in this his native district, but also right throughout this vast island continent, where the memory of this smiling boy is enthroned in the hearts of all good men and women. He preferred to live comparatively poor, rather than enter suddenly into wealth by foul and unfair means. He was a martyr to truth and his life was offered as a holocaust on the altar of prejudice, jealousy and avarice. It was the unscrupulous agents of these vices that hunted this boy to earth, and by virtue of them does he lie dead today.

After the Mass, the body was taken to the Darcy home in Emerald Street. Les Darcy’s final journey began on Sunday afternoon, July 1. The two-mile-long (3.2km) funeral procession was headed by the Maitland Federal Band, followed by numbers of Catholic benefit societies wearing their regalia and a host of boxers, including Dave Smith, Les O’Donnell, Billy McNabb, Fritz Holland, Tommy Hanley and Bill Squires. The many mourning coaches bore hundreds of wreaths from all over Australia and some from sporting groups in the US. Special trains from Sydney, Brisbane, Newcastle and Cessnock brought thousands who swelled the ranks of local mourners in the procession along the route and at the East Maitland Cemetery, the crowd being estimated at 100,000. At the cemetery, Darcy was buried in a brick-lined grave, pending the construction of an underground vault,

Les Darcy

131

on the slope adjacent to the main northern railway line. Father O’Gorman, the parish priest of East Maitland, read the burial service and spoke briefly to the thousands assembled: We, as Catholics, are proud of Les Darcy, have always been proud of him, and we are prouder of him today than ever. Those who have been his calumniators and those who have said that Les Darcy was a shirker were not truthful. This great demonstration by the people of this district shows this. Before this grave closes, I must say on his behalf, that we forgive his enemies. God’s will has been done. Eternal rest to one of the noblest sons Australia has ever produced.

There were many, however, who refused to draw the veil of charity over Darcy’s bad judgment, and alleged dereliction of duty. The hostility to Darcy took many forms. In Sydney, a girl was given a handful of white feathers to throw on his coffin, a duty her mother told her to perform as her brother had been killed in the war. But so dense was the crowd that she was unable to perform that pathetic gesture. Some criticised the Government for putting on extra trains for Darcy’s mourners. On July 8, 1917, Hugh D. McIntosh’s Sunday Times carried a distasteful article headed ‘Canonising Les Darcy’, and the Anglican rector of Maitland wrote that the display of mourning for Darcy was ‘an insult to our boys at the Front’. He was answered by a letter writer, who said that ‘if he was as true to his religion

132

Born of the Sun

as Les Darcy was to his, he would not condemn. Judge not lest ye be judged.’ So great was the sectarian bitterness of the day that it was many years before all such rancour faded into dim memory. Early in 1919, the Darcy vault was completed. Surmounted by a tall, granite Celtic cross, it records that This monument has been erected to the memory of JAMES LESLIE DARCY by his numerous admirers and friends throughout the Australian Commonwealth as a tribute to his unsurpassed brilliancy as a boxer, and in testimony of his high and lovable character, and of the uprightness and integrity of his life.

It enjoins the visitor to pray for the soul of the ‘late champion middleweight boxer of the world’, and bears the apposite epitaph: Being made perfect in a short space He fulfilled a long time. WISDOM, IV: 13

Les Darcy was far from forgotten. Poems, biographical sketches — including a 20-part series in the Labor Daily — reminiscences and press articles flowed in abundance down through the years, and the first full biography, Raymond Swanwick’s Les Darcy: Australia’s Golden Boy of Boxing, was published in 1965. Three years later, on Sunday October 27, 1968, 200 people, including two of Darcy’s brothers

Les Darcy

133

and two of his sisters and his old sparring partner, Les Fletcher, stood on a green hillside near the Paterson River as they watched the Rt Hon. Sir William McKell, GovernorGeneral of Australia, 1947–53, dedicate the Les Darcy Wattle Grove and unveil a monument inscribed: Stradbroke Woodville Birthplace of LES DARCY

‘Even though,’ Sir William said, ‘he received no official recognition, there never was a greater world champion than Les Darcy.’ But perhaps the young Australian is best summed up in the words of one of his opponents, Billy Hannan of Maitland, who told the author D’Arcy Niland, ‘There were boxers, there were good boxers, and there was Darcy.’

JOHN HUNTER (1898–1924)

Medical Scientist hg

JOHN HUNTER might have become as famous an anatomist as his 18th-century namesake, the founder of scientific surgery, had he not been struck down by typhoid at the age of 26. Brilliant medical student, prizeman, Professor of Anatomy at the University of Sydney, gifted teacher and researcher, his published scientific work attracted worldwide interest and acclaim. But above all, Johnny Hunter was loved by his mentors, colleagues and students for his happy and unselfish nature, his modesty and deep Christian faith. It is perhaps not surprising that the death of one so dear elicited in the scientific world a profound sense of irreparable loss and tragedy and added to

136

Born of the Sun

the legend that had begun to grow around him in his short lifetime — a legend that has diminished only slightly with the passage of three-quarters of a century. John Irvine Hunter was born on January 24, 1898, in Mundy Street, Bendigo, Victoria, the third son of poor Victorian-born parents, Henry Hunter, a second-hand furniture dealer, and his wife, Isabella nee Hodgson. ‘Jack’, as he was known in the family, was born with a club foot, which, at 18 months of age, necessitated hospital treatment and several operations. In his early years Jack, small for his age, wore walking irons, but he eventually recovered enough to partake in games like any normal boy and go bush with his brother Claude. When he was 11, however, he had a serious illness, possibly pulmonary tuberculosis, and he was sent to convalesce with an aunt and uncle, Elizabeth and Isaac Hodgson, and their family, in Albury in NSW, where he stayed for three years and attended Albury Superior Public School. Here on the Murray he was an enthusiastic member of the recently established cadet corps, which required all males between the ages of 12 and 26 to undergo compulsory military training, and, in 1911, he was a member of the champion drill team in the district brigade competition. At St Matthew’s Church of England Sunday School he won several diocesan gold medals for his knowledge of scripture. It was during this time that his parents’ unhappy marriage finally broke down and his father left home for good. Jack never saw him again. After being equal dux of his school and taking his Intermediate Certificate in 1912, Jack won a government

John Hunter

137

bursary to do his Leaving Certificate at Fort Street Boys’ High School in Sydney and was able to rejoin his mother and sister, Dorothy, who had moved to the Sydney suburb of Redfern. Fort Street’s headmaster was the redoubtable A. J. Kilgour, who was dedicated to discipline and hard work, but who also took a close personal interest in all his pupils, the ablest of whom he encouraged to go on to university and study medicine or law. Hunter took to school life and flourished under the stimulus of bright fellow students and talented masters; he topped his class at the end of his first year, became a good school debater and, for sport, he swam and played cricket and handball. He was also popular with his classmates. Kilgour later recalled: ‘He was a delightful boy to teach with his quickness in grasping essentials, his clearness of vision and his industry. But what most endeared him to all was his charming disposition.’ Hunter duly received an excellent pass in the Leaving Certificate Examination in 1914 and qualified for entrance to the University of Sydney. He had decided, like many of his classmates, to study medicine, but because of his mother’s straitened circumstances and, unlike most of his schoolmates, he needed considerable financial backing. Given his almost maximum Leaving Certificate pass (seven As and one B), there was every chance that he would win one of the newly instituted free places offered by the university, so, after working as an errand boy for six weeks, he was elated to learn that he had won a University Exhibition and Bursary, which covered his fees and provided a small textbook and living allowance.

138

Born of the Sun

Medicine at Sydney’s only university in 1915 was a fiveyear undergraduate course. The first year consisted of a foundation science course of botany, zoology, physics and chemistry taught in isolation from any clinical reference, though in the third term students were introduced to comparative anatomy and embryology. Second and third year consisted of the preclinical subjects, physiology and anatomy, and the final two years were taken up with pathology, bacteriology, materia medica (medical substances), surgery and other clinical subjects. Hunter came second to his Fort Street friend, J. M. A. Paling, and won prizes for botany and zoology in his first year, numerous prizes in his second and third years, which he topped, and in his two final years he won every prize, despite having to support himself by coaching other medical students. An essay he wrote in his final year for the Sandes Prize, ‘Abdominal Pain and its Associated Reflex Phenomena’, was published in 1920 in two issues of the Medical Journal of Australia, a rare honour for an undergraduate. During the first three years of his course, Hunter, living in his mother’s boarding house, was often short of money and was forced to spend much time coaching fellow students — often his seniors in academic standing — to supplement his and the family’s budget. But coaching was no chore for him as it was in teaching that he really found himself. His thorough understanding of his subjects and his clear and logical order of presentation meant that he had remarkable success. At one time, his private coaching classes were so popular that it was necessary to conduct them in

John Hunter

139

the Darlington Town Hall. Fees were low but men returned from war service could attend free. Hunter’s brilliance as a teacher was recognised in official undergraduate auxiliary teaching appointments; he was a prosector (1916–17) and demonstrator in anatomy (1918–20). Hunter’s lengthy but concise notes on neurology, prepared and distributed to students early in 1918, were much prized and circulated for use for years afterwards. In a very real sense, ‘the original explorers of John Hunter’s genius were his fellow students’. But it was not all work to the exclusion of other activities. The extra money from coaching enabled Hunter to enter Wesley College when it opened in 1917, and he took to collegiate life with enthusiasm. At Wesley, he was medical tutor from 1917 to 1920, a member of the house committee, first editor of the college journal, a member of the debating team and he contributed much to the development of a ‘fitting spirit’ within the college. He even took classes in debating and visited Parliament House and the open-air speakers in the Sydney Domain to improve his technique. He was also a notable union debater, member of the union’s billiards and games committee and union vicepresident in 1920. As a debater, he was considered thoughtful, intelligent and incisive, though according to author and publisher Frank Sheed, who, as a law student, debated with and against Hunter, he was entirely devoid of charisma. (Sheed, it might be said, was not alone in this observation.) Hunter also found time to study English literature and to be well informed on domestic and international politics. The Wesley experience exposed Hunter to new friends and influ-

140

Born of the Sun

ential contacts, something normally denied non-residents of colleges. In particular, he became close friends with Michael Scott Fletcher (1868–1947), the Master of Wesley, and later Professor of Philosophy at the University of Queensland, and his wife, who described herself as his ‘college mother’. It was Mrs Fletcher who sent Hunter some gum leaves to burn and remind him of home when he was first in London. The great question on every undergraduate’s mind during the years 1914-18 was whether to enlist in the First AIF. While there was a heavy enlistment of staff, students and graduates from all faculties, medical students were placed in a difficult position. The Government exerted every pressure and did everything possible to encourage enlistment, especially in 1916-17, but the Department of Defence saw more merit in medical students completing their courses. Hunter and many of his colleagues were uneasy about this predicament. However, at the end of the long vacation in 1916, Hunter enlisted, but, after the intervention of his teacher, Professor J. T. Wilson, Challis Professor of Anatomy, the Department of Defence ordered Hunter back to his studies. By April 1918, the department’s attitude towards medical students had changed and, in July, Hunter and many of his colleagues joined the University Company. Though enlisted, he was not called up, and it was one of his great regrets that he did not see active service. A few years after graduation, however, he held a commission as lieutenant in the Australian Army Medical Corps. Though frustrated in his desire to enlist, Hunter made his own special contribution to the war effort. At the time

John Hunter

141

chemists and pharmacists were having great difficulty standardising Dakin’s Solution (sodium hypochlorite), then widely used as an antiseptic in the treatment of wounds. Though only a third-year student, Hunter spent many of his leisure hours in research and was successful in producing a stable and uniform modification of Dakin’s Solution, which was used to good effect in nearby Royal Prince Alfred Hospital on patients returned from the war with osteomyelitis. In this work, he was assisted by Frank Cotton, later Professor of Physiology at the university. One other dilemma confronted Hunter in his student days. His own early hardships had developed in him an intense sympathy for the suffering of others and, noting the appalling poverty in the streets that surrounded the university, he wondered if he should forsake medicine to take up some form of social work for the disadvantaged. He turned to others for advice, including, no doubt, the old, kindly Canon Bevan, Rector of St Matthew’s Albury, who had helped him as a boy. Their advice was to stick to medicine, as this would give him wider scope for serving the public than any lay position. The end of the war saw the outbreak of the deadly influenza pandemic, which reached Australia with the returning troops in January 1919. Affecting mainly the young and middle-aged, the ‘Spanish flu’ killed more than 30 million people worldwide, including more than 11,000 Australians, mostly in NSW. In Sydney and other places, assemblies were banned, schools, churches, theatres, hotels and racecourses were closed, travel was restricted and

142

Born of the Sun

people wore masks in public. Medical facilities were stretched to their limit and, with many doctors and nurses still overseas, senior medical students were called on to help in the hospitals. Hunter became a junior resident at Royal Prince Alfred Hospital; he fell gravely ill with the virus in May 1919 but recovered, and, after a period of convalescence with his Hodgson cousins in Lockhart in southern NSW, he resumed his final-year studies. Hunter graduated Bachelor of Medicine and Master of Surgery with first-class honours and the University Medal in April 1920. He had graduated with the highest possible distinction; only two others that year were awarded firsts. Paling, his old school friend, got a second. When Hunter received his testamur in the majestic Great Hall as the autumnal light filtered through its stained-glass windows, the standard polite round of clapping accorded to each graduate erupted into a standing ovation and loud, prolonged cheering — a response rarely, if ever, seen before. Many in that appreciative audience were grateful returned servicemen whom he had coached in their medical courses. It was a fitting tribute to a brilliant and unselfish academic performance. Towards the end of his course, Hunter, like any other high performer, had to consider whether he should specialise in the clinical or practical side of medicine or concentrate on academic research and teaching. His mentor, the Scottishborn Edinburgh graduate, Professor Wilson, noting Hunter’s great success as a prosector and demonstrator, urged him to adopt a career as investigator and teacher, so immediately after

John Hunter

143

graduation, Hunter was appointed resident medical tutor and senior demonstrator in anatomy. Wilson, however, knew the value of clinical experience and surgery to an anatomist and arranged for Hunter to act as a resident in the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital during the university vacations. Wilson did two other things for his protégé. Soon after Hunter’s graduation, Wilson was appointed to the Regius Chair of Anatomy at the University of Cambridge and, before Wilson left for England, he arranged for Hunter to be appointed associate professor at a salary of £900 and put in charge of the Department of Anatomy pending the appointment of Wilson’s successor. He also persuaded the University authorities to give Hunter extended leave to widen his experience by visiting medical schools in Europe and the US. Wilson left Australia in August 1920 and, for the next year, before he followed suit, Hunter was heavily involved in teaching, administration and research. His research was in three separate fields: embryology, physical anthropology and neurology. In 1921, he published two papers on abnormal human pregnancies in the Medical Journal of Australia and joined with A. N. Burkitt in an investigation of an Aboriginal skull believed to exhibit characteristics associated with Neanderthal man. Their findings were later published in the Journal of Anatomy. In the field of neurology, he embarked on his most notable research on spastic paralysis. In his fourth and fifth years at university, he had become acquainted with the work of Dr Norman Royle, an orthopaedic surgeon at Lewisham Hospital and, at the instigation of A. E. Mills, the new Professor of

144

Born of the Sun

Medicine, Hunter teamed up with Royle in experimental work at the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital and later at the university. Mills had taught Hunter and, after Wilson’s departure, the 55-year-old professor assumed the role of Hunter’s medical mentor. Like Hunter, he was a country boy (Mills was from Mudgee) and the two developed a great friendship, even to the extent of taking holidays together. Hunter worked his way to England as a ship’s surgeon on the cargo-passenger ship SS Port Caroline, which left Sydney in early August 1921 and arrived in London on October 14. After a few days in London meeting old medical friends, he visited the Wilsons in Cambridge. Wilson lost no time in introducing him to another Sydney medical graduate, Grafton Elliot Smith (1876–1937), the dynamic Professor of Anatomy at University College, London, and Sir Arthur Keith, Conservator of the Hunterian Museum at the Royal College of Surgeons, and arranged for Hunter to work with both. Appointed Honorary Lecturer in Anatomy at University College, Hunter set to work with characteristic energy. He assisted in teaching, attended a course of lectures in neurology at King’s College, studied clinical methods, read a paper to the Anatomical Society of Great Britain and Ireland on ‘A Primitive Modern Australian Skull’, and studied the Rhodesian Man and Piltdown Skull material in the British Museum of Natural History. He also found time for a bicycle tour of south-west England. In December and January, Hunter and a friend, Ralph Noble, a Sydney medical graduate doing postgraduate work

John Hunter

145

in London, went on a three-and-a-half week sightseeing tour of the Continent. Travelling by train through Belgium, Germany, Austria and Italy as far south as Rome, Hunter, who kept a diary of the trip, was delighted by the cathedrals, castles, art galleries, museums and shops and took every opportunity to attend the opera in Cologne, Frankfurt, Munich, Vienna and Milan. They returned home by way of Switzerland and France, and in Paris they visited the Louvre, the opera and the Foliès Bergère. Back in London, Hunter took rooms in St John’s Wood and resumed work at University College, this time on neuroanatomical research, the findings of which he presented in a paper to the Anatomical Society. In March, he and Elliot Smith visited Piltdown Common, near Lewes in Sussex, where Charles Dawson made his ‘discovery’ of bones in 1912. The next month he attended an anatomical conference in Ghent in Belgium where he met many leading European anatomists and observed the latest laboratory techniques. After the conference, Hunter went on a tour of some of the battlefields of Flanders where trenches, barbed wire, shell holes, broken bayonets and bogged tanks lay everywhere, untouched since the Armistice. His guide, the 36-year-old Dr Joseph Shellshear, a Sydney medical graduate, certainly knew what he was talking about. Shellshear, who had a practice in Albury before the war, had served in the artillery from 1916 to 1918 on the Western Front where he won the DSO and was twice mentioned in dispatches before he transferred to the Australian Army Medical Corps. Shellshear, like Hunter, was doing postgraduate work in anatomy in London.

146

Born of the Sun

In May, after telling the Anatomical Society that there was no discrepancy between the Piltdown Skull and the ape-like jaw found with it, Hunter left for Amsterdam to attend an anthropological conference and to work under the neurologist Ariens Kappers at the Central Institute of Brain Research. Kappers put him to work on the brain of a Kiwi (Apteryx australis), the investigation of which became the basis for his MD (Doctor of Medicine) degree which was conferred with first-class honours and the University Medal in May 1924. In the remaining three months in England, as well as preparing his doctoral thesis, Hunter interested himself in the work of Professor Nicholas Kulchitsky on nerve endings in muscles, and the two developed a close working relationship. In October 1922, Hunter sailed to North America, where he visited leading medical schools and observed the latest research in anatomy in Canada and the US. In New York, he gave a talk on Piltdown and the Rhodesian Man to the New York Academy of Sciences and made contact with the Rockefeller Foundation, which led later to a generous grant from the foundation to Sydney’s new medical school. After about three weeks in New York, he made his way to San Francisco, where, before boarding the ship to Sydney, he received the University of Sydney’s offer of the Challis Chair of Anatomy at the salary of £1,100. His duties were to begin on March 1, 1923. On his return to Sydney in February 1923, Hunter was warmly welcomed by the university community and by his profession. The press enthusiastically announced his

John Hunter

147

return and he was invited to contribute several newspaper articles on his overseas experiences. At the beginning of the academic year in March, the slim, dark-eyed, dark-haired youthful Hunter, looking more like a student than a professor, gave the address of welcome to the first-year medical students, which was described as ‘a nice blend of wit and exhortation’. A few weeks later, he announced his engagement to Hazel McPherson, who he had met while she was nursing at the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital. Five years older than Hunter, she was the daughter of Hunter McPherson, the Sydney manager of the Melbourne hardware firm, Thomas McPherson and Son; her uncle was Sir William McPherson, a Melbourne businessman, politician, philanthropist and later Premier of Victoria. His first year in charge of one of the medical school’s key departments was a busy one. As well as a considerable amount of undergraduate teaching and his own heavy program of research, he was much in demand to serve on university committees and to give lectures to scientific bodies and the university Extension Board. He was also appointed consulting neurologist to the renowned Lewisham Hospital, run by the sisters of the Little Company of Mary. The year 1924, though it was to end in tragedy, began on a happy note with the marriage of Johnny and Hazel at the Congregational Church, Summer Hill, on January 30. The reception was held in the ballroom of ‘Fairmont’, Ashfield, the home of the bride’s parents, who gave the couple a block of land at Rose Bay as a wedding present.

148

Born of the Sun

For their honeymoon, they went on a motoring tour of southern NSW, during which they spent some time visiting relatives and friends. Back in Sydney, they moved into a flat in Croydon until their house was finished. In April 1924, Dr William J. Mayo and Dr Franklin Martin, Director-General of the American College of Surgeons, together with other American medical practitioners, visited Australasia for a congress of the Australasian branch of the British Medical Association, which was held in Auckland. It was a visit that was to have enormous consequences for Hunter and Royle. In Sydney, the Americans were highly impressed with the work of the professor and surgeon in the treatment of spastic paralysis, and, on his return to the US the next month, Mayo told the New York Times that Hunter had made three new medical discoveries for diseases hitherto considered incurable. These were treatments for spastic paraplegia, an affliction common among Great War veterans and caused by brain injury; Little’s Disease, a type of cerebral palsy found in children; and ‘certain Parkinsonian syndromes, allied to shaking palsy’. Mayo described the discoveries as astonishing and soon afterwards Hunter and Royle were invited to give the fifth John B. Murphy Oration of the American College of Surgeons at their congress in New York in October. Accordingly, the university, conscious of the great honour bestowed on two of its alumni, gave Hunter leave, provided he had finished his lectures and practical classes in neurology. In August, Hunter renewed his friendship with Professor Grafton Elliot Smith, who visited Sydney during

John Hunter

149

an extensive lecture tour of Australia, during which he stressed the need for anthropological research, especially into Aboriginal culture. His advocacy bore fruit when the state and commonwealth governments, and later the Rockefeller Foundation, financed the first department of anthropology in Australia established at the University of Sydney in 1926. Hunter finished all his classes in September and sailed with his wife, Royle and Elliot Smith for the west coast of America. On their way across the US, Hunter and Royle gave lectures and demonstrations of their theories and techniques in Chicago, America’s secondlargest city, and in Cleveland, Ohio. The 14th clinical congress of the College opened on October 20 at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, New York, in the presence of more than 2,000 surgeons from throughout the US and Europe and some from Australia. In their dual oration on the treatment of spastic paralysis, Royle spoke first, describing the operations he performed, and Hunter followed with a commentary on the anatomical aspects and the significance of their findings, stressing that not all cases of spastic paralysis were suitable for operation. Their presentation was enthusiastically received and the audience applauded when shown film of the results they had achieved. The next day another Australian, Dr (later Sir) Hugh Devine (1878–1959) from Melbourne, received acclaim from the august body with a new surgical method of treating stomach ulcers. His technique supported the findings of Hunter and Royle that the sympathetic nervous system played an important part in the functioning of the stomach.

150

Born of the Sun

After the congress, Hunter and Royle were much in demand on the lecture circuit, and they honoured commitments at Harvard University and in Philadelphia, Montreal and Toronto in Canada, and again in Chicago. While at the University of Chicago, Hunter received an invitation from Elliot Smith to give three lectures in London. Hunter was delighted at the prospect of returning to the UK, which then led the world in anatomy and physiology, and at seeing old friends, and he and his wife sailed for England on November 17. Royle stayed on in the US. In London, Hunter gave three university lectures and attended the annual meeting of the Anatomical Society, where he delivered a paper and read another for an absent fellow researcher; both were on his specialty — the nervous system. The Hunters then went to stay with the Wilsons in Cambridge for a few days. After giving a lecture at the university on December 5, Hunter returned to London to prepare a set of advanced lectures in anatomy at University College. But it was not to be. He fell ill with typhoid (enteric) fever, despite having been inoculated against it before leaving Sydney, and was admitted to University College Hospital. Wilson watched by his bedside in gloomy Gower Street, but despite every effort, he died on December 10, on the darkest day of a London fog. Two days later, after a funeral service at St Pancras Church, he was buried in North Finchley Cemetery in the open spaces north of Hampstead Heath, close by the field of the Battle of Barnet. The mourners included his widow, Professor J. T. Wilson, Professor and Mrs Grafton Elliot Smith, Sir Arthur

John Hunter

151

Keith (Royal College of Surgeons), Sir Joseph Cook (the Australian High Commissioner), Sir Timothy Coghlan (the Agent-General for NSW), numerous university professors and staff, and some English-resident alumni of the University of Sydney and other Australian universities. The news of Hunter’s death reached Australia by cable on December 11, and was received with shock and disbelief. The Medical School, in the midst of examinations, became a house of mourning. Hushed were the voices of teachers, students and attendants, and many wept openly. The Dean of Medicine, Professor A. E. Mills, spoke for all when he said that Hunter’s death had taken from them their ‘most inspiring teacher, most brilliant scientist, most loyal colleague and most lovable friend’. Flags were lowered to half-mast at the university and at the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital; the metropolitan and country press carried the news, spontaneous tributes were paid by university and educational authorities, and motions of condolence were passed in the NSW Parliament and by various organisations. In the little border town on the Murray, A. G. Morgan, the headmaster of the now Albury Rural School, told an assembly of boys and girls of the life and work of the school’s illustrious former pupil, after which, as a token of memory and respect, they stood bareheaded for a minute’s silence as the flag was lowered. Soon the obituaries, all ab imo pectore, began to appear in the medical and other journals. Wilson, who loved Hunter like a son, quoted Tennyson’s In Memoriam:

152

Born of the Sun

For can I doubt who knew thee keen In intellect, with force and skill To strive, to fashion, to fulfil — I doubt not what thou wouldst have been:

Grafton Elliot Smith called Hunter ‘the incomparable anatomist of the British Empire’ and said that ‘Had he lived; he might have become the foremost man of science of the age’. All tributes remembered his personal qualities. A. E. Mills wrote that ‘with all his gifts of genius, he was free from the besetting sin of pride and vanity and bore himself with modesty most becoming and most rare’; and Charles Macdonald (later Sir Charles), a medical colleague and later Chancellor of the University of Sydney, wrote: ‘Johnny Hunter was the friend of all who knew him. His mind lived on the peaks, but his heart was on the plain — on the plain with the lesser spirits who knew him as genius, teacher, colleague and friend in one.’ The next March, a meeting representatives of professional and scientific bodies was held in Sydney for the purpose of setting up a memorial fund and determining ways of commemorating the ‘wonderful boy’. Suggestions included a portrait, a bust, an annual oration, a library and a laboratory with annual scholarships for research workers. Meanwhile, the lead was taken by Wesley College and Fort Street Boys’ High School, where bronze plaques by the sculptor Rayner Hoff were placed in 1927. Fort Street also gave a prize in his memory for the best student entering the Faculty of Medicine at Sydney University. On September 6,

John Hunter

153

1929, the Chancellor of the University of Sydney, Sir William Cullen, unveiled a three-quarter-length portrait of Hunter in his doctoral robes, executed by that year’s Archibald Prize winner, Sir John Longstaff, in the university’s Great Hall. Among those present at the ceremony were Hunter’s mother, his widow and four-year-old son, Irvine John Hunter, whose birthday it was that day. The same year, another portrait, by the multiple Archibald Prize winner W. B. McInnes, was commissioned by the university’s Medical Society, and later the Albury High School named a new library in his honour. The depression and World War II, however, interrupted other projects, and it was not until 1950 that the first Hunter Memorial Oration was given at the University of Sydney. The Hunter legend lived on. It was revived from time to time by press and magazine articles, and it was recalled especially when the university’s Medical School celebrated its centenary in 1983. That year saw the publication of John Brett’s commendable The Life of Johnny Hunter. Two year’s later, the legend was further enshrined when Dr Michael J. Blunt, a successor in Hunter’s chair, intrigued by the aura that pervaded the history of the ‘boy professor’, published his excellent, and necessarily all too brief, biography, John Irvine Hunter of the Sydney Medical School, 1898–1924. So much for the legend, what of Hunter’s legacy? No legacy is as valuable as a life spent in the search for truth and in this respect Hunter’s place in the world of medicine remains secure. However, it is given to few to make impor-

154

Born of the Sun

tant and enduring discoveries in medical science and time has confirmed that Hunter was not one of those few. While he probed new paths in neurology and he and Royle have a place in the origins of sympathectomy (the excision of the sympathetic nerve), the most acclaimed part of his work on the ‘double innervation of muscle’ was disproved within five years of his death. Likewise, his work on the famous Piltdown Skull came to nothing, when the skull proved to be an elaborate forgery. In this case, however, Hunter had plenty of company, as the Piltdown hoax fooled practically every investigator until 1953–54, but by this time Piltdown had long been an isolated anomaly and of little significance in the debate on the antiquity of man. Hunter’s enduring fame rests on his noble example — a life-giving inheritance to the true spirit of his university — and his great human qualities. Australia’s heritage is all the richer for the remembrance of one ‘in whom genius flourished in a character of singular charm and simplicity’.

ARCHIE JACKSON (1909–33)

Cricketer hg

EVER SINCE THE famous ‘Ashes’ test match at The Oval in London in 1882, cricket has been Australia’s national game, and the feats of cricketers — such as Spofforth, Murdoch, Turner, Trumper, Noble, Gregory and Grimmett — have, along with the performances of racehorses, become the focus of the sporting press and the main topic of conversation between sports followers in the workplace, the home and in pubs and other places of recreation. To beat England at cricket and win a test series was the acme of sporting achievement. From 1877, when Australia beat England at the Melbourne Cricket Ground in the first ‘test’, English and Australian teams exchanged visits alternately,

156

Born of the Sun

and, by 1926, Australia had won 47 matches, four more than England. Public interest and pride in Australia’s triumphs against the mother country in these encounters was intense, and, like Australia’s participation in World War I, did much to foster a sense of national identity. In the 1928–29 test series against the 17th visiting English team, two young Australians made their test debuts: Don Bradman from country NSW and Archie Jackson from the Sydney suburb of Balmain. (Sir) Donald Bradman (1908–2001) went on to become the greatest batsman in the history of the game, but Archie Jackson, who experts reckoned was the equal of Bradman, played test cricket for only two years before he was struck down by tuberculosis (TB) at the age of 23. Even so, Jackson achieved something that Bradman, the great setter of records, did not: he made a century in his first test — and he was then only the 12th and the youngest player to have done so. At the age of 19, opening Australia’s batting in the fourth test in Adelaide in February 1929, Jackson scored a brilliant 164, executing every conceivable stroke with perfect artistry and timing. Australia lost by 12 runs, but Archie Jackson was the toast of Australia. Archibald Jackson was born on September 5, 1909, in the royal burgh of Rutherglen, Glasgow, Scotland, the only son of Alexander Jackson (1868–1960), a brickyard foreman, and his wife, Margaret nee Gillespie. Alexander (‘Sandy’) Jackson had come to Australia with his parents in a sailing ship about 1880, but the family returned to Scotland a few years later. In 1912, however, when times

Archie Jackson

157

were tough in Glasgow, Sandy, remembering the land of opportunity, returned to Australia and judged the possibilities in Sydney to be better than those in Glasgow. So, in August the next year, his wife, two daughters and four-yearold Archie arrived to join him and the family rented a two-storey terrace house with a laced-iron verandah at 14 Ferdinand Street, Balmain. Balmain (‘The Main’) on the Parramatta River was not unlike Rutherglen on the Clyde in that it was an industrial suburb with a strong connection with shipbuilding and associated industries. It was working class and proud. Bounded on three sides by water, it was the locus of engineering shops, timber yards, a colliery, a chemical works (Elliot’s) as well as Mort’s Dry Dock and, offshore, the Cockatoo Island Dockyard. At the turn of the century, nearly all Balmain’s population was connected with its local industries; unionism and left-wing political activity were strong, and the inner western Sydney suburb had a reputation for toughness: ‘Balmain folk dancing’ was a euphemism for street or pub brawling. Sandy found employment as a labourer at Cockatoo Island Dockyard, but as he was unskilled and middle-aged, his income remained low, and when the family increased to four with the arrival of another daughter they lived, like so many working-class families at the time, very close to the poverty level. This meant that Archie never had more than one pair of trousers at a time, and when he showed his early aptitude for sports his father made him a cricket bat and put rubber strips on Archie’s old shoes to serve as soccer boots.

158

Born of the Sun

Archie received a good education — as was later evidenced by his letters and journalism — first at Birchgrove Public School, where he passed his Qualifying Certificate, and then at Rozelle Junior Technical School. But at school, sport was Archie’s specialty. He excelled particularly at soccer and cricket, but it was the summer game that became his passion. After school, he and his mates played at nearby Birchgrove Park, adjoining Birchgrove Oval, the Balmain Cricket Club’s home ground. More often, however, defying the horse-drawn traffic and the occasional motor vehicle, they played impromptu games in the street, where they blocked gutter drains to save the loss of precious balls and suffered the execrations of irate householders for errant balls and the odd broken window. To contain Archie (dubbed ‘The Champ’), who was a prolific scorer in these matches, a special rule was introduced whereon a batsman reaching 100 had to retire. Archie’s tactic was to stonewall when he was in the nineties; his mates, however, retaliated by forcing him to run contrived overthrows and hand over the bat. Besides playing cricket and football, Archie’s gang did the things most normal boys did: they engaged in fisticuffs, stole fruit from orchards, scaled rides on trams and, being ardent cricketers, wagged school at lunchtime to watch cricket at the Sydney Cricket Ground. Archie’s proficiency at soccer and cricket led to his selection by the Public Schools’ Amateur Athletic Association (PSAAA) to represent NSW in both. At Rozelle, Archie was a member of a talented cricket team

Archie Jackson

159

that included Bill Hunt, Archie’s great friend, Dudley Seddon and Syd Hird, all of whom went on to play Sheffield Shield cricket for NSW. But, as in the case of most working-class children, Archie’s secondary schooling was short. While his parents had the usual Scottish high regard for education, financial necessity dictated that he leave school at 15 in order to contribute to the support of his family. His first job was as a messenger boy with the manufacturing firm, Jackson and Macdonald’s, in Bromley House, Kent Street, Sydney. Archie’s high scores and excellent bowling figures in junior cricket soon attracted the attention of the Balmain Cricket Club. At the age of 14, in the 1923–24 season, he played second and third grade for the club. The wristy shots, deft footwork and the beautiful timing and placements of the slight figure in short pants and flapping pads soon attracted a loyal gallery of supporters at Birchgrove Oval. Seeing him strain with a heavy man’s bat, his supporters chipped in and bought him the more suitable, lighter Harrow-sized bat. Arthur Mailey (1886–1967), test cricketer and Balmain captain, one of his growing number of admirers, wrote: Balmain has developed a young batsman who may take a big part in Australian cricket … As a rule, in a boy so young, there is that apparent anxiety that affects his cricket, and periods of cramped play occasionally are seen. But Jackson just moves along, flicking this ball past point or through the covers, and turning the next sweetly

160

Born of the Sun

to leg with the grace of a master. As a second line of defence, his legs are always in a handy position, but it is refreshing to know that he intends to use his bat whenever possible. I am not going to compare him with the glorious Victor Trumper at this stage, but if a wealth of common sense and ability is an asset, then this boy’s future is assured.

The next season, 1924–25, at the age of 15, he played 12 first-grade innings and scored 246 runs at an average of 30.75. From then on, his future in the top grade was secure. The development of young sporting talent depends very much on the will and dedication of the aspirant and usually owes much to adults who recognise the youngster’s potential and create conditions to foster that talent. In Archie’s case, there were many who took an interest in his development. Besides his teachers at Birchgrove and Rozelle and the officials of the PSAAA, there was Arthur Mailey, who helped polish his batting, and Alan Kippax (1897–1972), who became his employer and exemplar. The long hours and work on Saturday mornings at Jackson and Macdonald’s placed strains on Archie’s cricket, so he was delighted when Kippax, the NSW captain (1926–34), offered him a job. Employment at Kippax’s sports store in Martin Place, Sydney, from 1926, was most important in Archie’s development, as his mentor gave him not only guidance and encouragement but time off to practice and play during the week. Archie was especially attracted by the flowing style of the impeccably correct and elegant Kippax, who, like Victor

Archie Jackson

161

Trumper, excelled with the late cut (which went to ground between wicket-keeper and first slip) and the leg glance, strokes seldom seen today. Trumper and Kippax rolled their sleeves between wrist and elbow and Archie followed the same fashion, which also had the effect of protecting his fair skin and concealing some psoriatic discolouration. Another who helped Archie was the lawyer and state member of parliament for Balmain, Dr H. V. Evatt. Archie’s parents were supportive of their son’s cricket aspirations, but, as they could not afford the club fees and the cost of fitting him out, the sports-loving Doctor of Laws obligingly came to the rescue and saw that Archie was a financial club member and was properly attired for grade cricket. The 1925–26 season saw him make some good scores, including 88 against Sydney University, and his first century in first grade — 129 against St George, the club that was to recruit a boy from Bowral by the name of Donald Bradman the next season. In appreciation of his stylish hundred, Archie’s supporters took up a collection for the shy 16-year-old, who bashfully accepted it. He had now passed a batsman’s first significant milestone, and he achieved another soon after when he gained representative honours on being selected to play in the NSW Second XI against Victoria. A car trip over dusty dirt roads to Goulburn at Easter, with a group of Balmain cricketers, for two social matches, ended a memorable season for Archie, who had scored 670 runs at an average of 40 for his club. The next season was to be Jackson’s best for Balmain and saw him pass yet another reckoning point for a crick-

162

Born of the Sun

eter — his promotion to first-class cricket through his selection to play for NSW in the Sheffield Shield competition. After Australia had lost the Ashes in a memorable game at The Oval in England in 1926, Australian cricket experienced one of those times that come about periodically when older players retire and representative sides have to be rebuilt: a time of exigency for representative teams and of opportunity for young players. In NSW, Herbie Collins, Warren Bardsley and Johnny Taylor all retired and the state selectors held a trial match at the Sydney Cricket Ground to help decide on their replacements. Jackson, who had already hit three centuries in grade in the current season, was a natural trialist. According to one press report, when the first ball he received flashed from his bat past point to the fence, ‘An immediate buzz of conversation expressed an almost instantaneous thought, “At last. Here’s another Trumper”’. Jackson was selected to play against Queensland in that state’s first Shield match. Archie failed, however, as he sometimes did in his first innings, but hit a useful 86 in his second innings to help NSW to win by just eight runs. In his first season of first-class cricket, he made 500 runs, including two centuries, at 50. For his club that season (1926-27), he scored 870 runs, including five centuries, at 87, and became the first Balmain player to top the Sydney first-grade aggregate. His total remained a club record for 53 years. In October 1927, Jackson, with two Sheffield Shield centuries to his credit, was included in a strong NSW side to play against the New Zealand team returning from its

Archie Jackson

163

first tour of England. During the match, he and Kippax figured in a partnership of 176, the first hundred being made in just more than half an hour. Jackson went on to make 104 and Kippax 119 out of a total of 571, which was enough to easily beat the out-of-form New Zealanders. Towards the end of the season, the Australian Board of Control sent a team captained by Victor Richardson comprising established players (Ponsford, Woodfull, Kippax, Oldfield and Grimmett) and some rising hopefuls (including Jackson, Schneider, Oxenham, Blackie and Alexander) across the Tasman. (Bradman missed selection but was considered as a replacement if needed.) The Australians easily beat the various provincial sides and played two matches against New Zealand: the first, in which Archie was rested, was won by Australia by seven wickets. Ponsford (915 runs) and Woodfull (864), both with three centuries, were the outstanding batsmen of the tour, followed by Schneider (547). Jackson (474), with one century, 110 against Southland in Invercargill, was fourth and finished with a first-class average of 49.5. Clarrie Grimmett (born in New Zealand), with 74 wickets at less than 14 runs apiece, dominated the bowling. The two youngest players, Jackson (18) and the diminutive South Australian batsman Karl Schneider (22), were the best of the younger players on the tour. Tragically, they were to have something more in common. They were both to die of the same infectious disease at the same age. The first signs of Schneider’s dire condition became evident towards the end of the tour when he suffered a severe haemorrhage

164

Born of the Sun

while out horse riding with teammates on the slopes of Mt Cook. Archie was one of those who helped carry him in. Six months later, on September 5, 1928 (Archie’s 19th birthday), Schneider died of tuberculosis in Adelaide. The 17th English tour of Australia began in Perth on October 18, 1928, when England (the MCC) played their first match against Western Australia. The MCC line-up, captained by A. P. F. (Percy) Chapman, included such notable players as Hobbs, Sutcliffe, Hammond, Hendren, Larwood, Tate and White, had little difficulty in winning the series four to one, for only the second time in the history of England-Australia contests. England won the first test in Brisbane by the huge margin of 675 runs. Bradman, playing in his first test, had failed and was dropped for the second in Sydney, which the MCC won by eight wickets. Reinstated for the third crucial test in Melbourne, Bradman made 79 and 112 and so began his amazing 20-year test career. But once again England won, this time by the narrower margin of three wickets. Unlike Bradman, Jackson had not done well in the lead-up games for test selection, scoring four and 40 for NSW against the MCC in Sydney early in November, and 14 and 61 for an Australian XI versus the MCC in Melbourne, on November 16-19. In January, however, he made 162 and 90 in a Sheffield Shield match against South Australia, and now with the Ashes lost and the need for an opening partner for Woodfull in place of the injured Ponsford, Archie was selected for the fourth test to begin on February 1 at the Adelaide Oval. Archie became the

Archie Jackson

165

second-youngest player to represent Australia after Thomas Garrett in 1877, and great was the jubilation of his many admirers. England won the toss and Hobbs and Sutcliffe made a good start by putting on 143 for the first wicket. The pitch played more slowly than usual as there had been some rain a few days before, and, at the end of the first day, England was five for 246. On the Saturday, Australia employed ‘leg theory’, using the spinners Grimmett and Blackie to bowl on or outside the leg stump to a packed leg-side field in order to contain Hammond, who at the end of the first session was 85 not out. These tactics certainly slowed Hammond’s scoring, but when seven English batsmen hit only 27 runs between them, Hammond’s unbeaten 119 nevertheless enabled England to post a reasonable total of 334. Jackson’s great moment had arrived as he walked out to the centre with Bill Woodfull to open Australia’s innings before a crowd of 30,000. (As he had no second or given name and everyone else had two initials in the scorebook, he added his father’s name and appeared in the record as A. A. Jackson for the sake of uniformity.) But disaster struck. Woodfull was out for one, Hendry for two and Kippax for three, and Australia was three for 19 when captain Jack Ryder joined Archie, who though naturally nervous was now under almost unbearable pressure to succeed. And succeed he did! He leg-glanced a ball from the speedster Tate so late that the bowler appealed for leg before wicket (l.b.w.), but by the time the umpire answered ‘not out’, the ball had

166

Born of the Sun

reached the long boundary. ‘Did he glance that?’ asked the incredulous Tate. ‘Yes,’ replied the umpire. ‘Then,’ said Tate, ‘the kid’ll get a hundred.’ Jackson and Ryder, in his usual style, set about the English attack and added 100 runs in less than two hours. According to P. G. H. Fender in a memorable description of this test match, Jackson ‘displayed quite the best and most polished form that any of the Australian batsmen had so far produced against the English bowlers. He both cut and drove with perfect execution and style, and was frequently successful in playing Tate to the square-leg boundary.’ At the end of a very hot Saturday, Australia, recovering some pride, was three for 131. On Monday, February 4, after the early dismissal of Ryder for 63, Archie was joined by Bradman and at lunch Archie, playing more cautiously than on Saturday, was on 97 and Bradman 34. As they came out on the resumption of play, with Jackson to face Larwood and the new ball, Bradman advised his partner, ‘Take your time and you’ll get your century in your first test innings.’ Jackson’s reply was to hit Larwood’s first ball through point to the fence, from which it rebounded 20 yards (18m). The crowd rose and wildly applauded Australia’s new champion, who had achieved the rare distinction of making a century in his first test match, only the seventh Australian to have done so. Archie now seemed to take fresh heart in his task and batted as attractively as he did on Saturday afternoon, hitting a further 63 runs in even time, playing every conceivable stroke ‘with a perfection of timing and a crispness which stamped him as a really class player’. On 164, Archie fell to

Archie Jackson

167

White, l.b.w., as he went down the pitch attempting yet another big drive. Australia was now in a good position at six for 287, and by the close of play was nine for 365. Day four, Tuesday February 5, saw Australia all out early for 369, with a lead of 35. England then batted for nearly two days (there was then no time limit on tests) in temperatures above 38ºC, making 383 in reply, of which Hammond contributed 177 and Jardine 98. Woodfull and Jackson began Australia’s second innings just before 5.30pm, and at stumps Australia was none for 24. With only 325 to get and all wickets in hand, Australia had every reason to be confident. Woodfull and Jackson started well the next day against Larwood and White, but on 36, Jackson, attempting a square cut was caught behind with the score on 65. Woodfull and Hendry were out soon after, and, with three down for 74, the game had swung round again. At stumps on the sixth day, Australia needed 88 runs with four wickets in hand. With both sides having a good chance of winning, Friday’s cricket was full of interest. As time was not a factor and each side was careful to maximise their chance of winning, the play was slow on yet another very hot day. But Australia was again in trouble when Oxenham was caught and Bradman, who had been batting confidently, was run out for 58. At lunch, Australia wanted 23 to win with two wickets in hand. Soon after the resumption of play it was 13 to win, but the last two wickets fell for no addition to the score. England’s victory owed most to Wally Hammond’s 296 runs and the bowling of Jack White, who took 13

168

Born of the Sun

wickets for just less than 20 runs apiece. Though Archie’s triumph was not to be crowned by his team’s victory, his brilliant 164, and 200 runs for the match, was the focus of Australian attention. Tributes for the 19-year-old prodigy poured in, and those from former test-players turned cricket commentators and writers were especially generous. Former Australian captain M. A. Noble told listeners over radio station 5CL that Archie’s knock was ‘the best of the series’. Clem Hill cabled the London Daily Telegraph that Jackson was ‘the nearest approach to Trumper’ he had ever seen, and added ‘I cannot pay a greater compliment to Jackson than that.’ John Worrall in the Australasian wrote that Jackson played like ‘a seasoned veteran’ and that he was ‘already a finished batsman’; and the former England great Frank Woolley in the London Daily Chronicle was reminded of a truism when he told readers that Jackson was yet another example of ‘Australia’s knack of producing someone to check a slump in her cricket prestige’. Archie, who had already been introduced to the Governor of South Australia, Sir Archibald Hore-Ruthven (later Lord Gowrie), and photographed with the 78-year-old Charles Bannerman, who hit the first test century, was also the recipient of more material testimonials. The South Australian Cricket Association gave him a set of crystal glasses, a ‘bob-in’ fund was started in offices and factories, and the Mayor of Balmain called a public meeting to discuss how they could honour him on his return to Sydney. Jackson and Bradman, Australia’s young batting luminaries, were to get their first taste of a test victory in the

Archie Jackson

169

fifth test in Melbourne played over a record eight days between March 8 and 16. Jackson was run out for 30 in his first innings and gave a sunny display of straight and square drives for 46 in his second. Woodfull contributed 102 and 35 and Bradman 123 and 37 not out to Australia’s win by five wickets. Some self-respect had returned to Australian cricket through the recognition and achievements of youth. The appearance of Bradman, Jackson, Fairfax and Wall seemed to auger well for the future and the coming tour of England. Summing up the 1928–29 season, John Worrall wrote in the Australasian on April 6 that: In Bradman and Jackson Australia possesses two of the most wonderful young batsmen she has ever been blessed with, players that give promise of mastering English conditions. Jackson is grace personified, with beautiful wrists, while Bradman, besides having the heart of a terrier, has splendid power.

Jackson had certainly had a successful season. Apart from his impressive test debut, he was a member of the victorious Sheffield Shield team, averaging just more than 60, and in all first-class matches he had hit 992 runs at an average of just less than 50. On Saturday evening, May 11, he was the guest of honour at a function at the Balmain Town Hall. After tributes were paid to his batsmanship and personal qualities, the Mayor presented him with a silver-plated service and a cheque for £200, the result of a drive for funds by the citizens of Balmain.

170

Born of the Sun

By now as popular a sporting personality as the Olympic swimmer Andrew ‘Boy’ Charlton, he became the star employee in the sports department of Anthony Hordern’s and Sons store, Brickfield Hill, Sydney, where he took a special interest in talking to and demonstrating aspects of the game to admiring audiences of boys and youths, many of whom sported ‘Archie Jackson’ pins in their lapels. With his increased earnings and testimonials, he bought a blue De Soto motorcar and helped his family to move across Iron Cove and a little further up the Parramatta River to a detached house at 46 Wright’s Road, Drummoyne. It was about this time that Archie, whose health had never been robust, began to show the early furtive signs of tuberculosis. In 1929-30, he played only five innings for his club and five for NSW, largely due to bouts of illness. However, he did well in the main first-class fixtures, and especially in the ‘test trial’ at the Sydney Cricket Ground on December 6, when he hit a memorable 182. Jackson, like Bradman, was an automatic choice for the side to tour England in 1930. Announced on January 30, it consisted of Woodfull (captain), Richardson (vice-captain), Kippax, Bradman, Jackson, McCabe, Fairfax, Oldfield, Ponsford, a’Beckett, Grimmett, Wall, Walker, Honnibrook and Hurwood. Archie’s delighted fans responded with another ‘bob-in’ appeal, which raised £212 towards his expenses, a princely sum as the economic depression began to hit hard. There was no doubt that Jackson had earned his place in the team. But there was some doubt in the minds of the

Archie Jackson

171

cricket authorities about his fitness for a long and demanding tour. He had been hospitalised in Adelaide after the shield match, and now, as a ‘precaution’, the Board of Control insisted that he have his tonsils removed, despite the fact that Archie had never suffered from tonsillitis. This unnecessary operation caused a further setback for Archie, but fortunately the long sea passage to England proved efficacious in his recovery. The Australian cricketers assembled in Melbourne on March 7, and, after playing two matches in Tasmania and another in Perth, set out across the Indian Ocean to Naples, where they disembarked and did some sightseeing on their way to London. In between welcoming functions and practice, the Australians found time to attend St Clement Dane’s Church in The Strand on Anzac Day, and the Football Association Cup final at Wembley two days later, before beginning the first of 20 County and six other firstclass fixtures, besides the tests, of the tour. In the first match against Worcestershire at the picturesque ground in the shadow of Worcester Cathedral, Jackson compiled a neat 24. After this, however, came failure after failure as the weather and ill health constricted him. He made a ‘duck’ on his first appearance at Lord’s in mid-May and, after more relatively cheap dismissals, was not considered for the first two tests at Trent Bridge, Nottingham, and at Lord’s. It was not until the third test at Headingly, Leeds, in July when Ponsford was ill that he was given a chance. He made only one run and, with Bradman’s record score of 334 and England forced to follow on, he

172

Born of the Sun

had no opportunity even of living up to his Australian reputation as a second-innings performer with the bat. However, after hitting 118, his only century of the tour, against Somerset in Taunton at the end of July, and an ‘absolutely classic’ 52 in Nottingham soon after, he was selected for the fifth and vital test at The Oval, on August 16–22. Batting slowly and pluckily against the hostile bowling of Larwood and Hammond, Archie made a disciplined 73 at a time when Australia needed every run it could get. His fourth wicket partnership with Bradman of 243, still an Australian record for that ground, helped the score to 506 and eventually victory by an innings and 39 runs. Australia had regained the Ashes. Though Jackson had finished the tour on a high note, his performances in England were a disappointment to all including the critics who were always kind to him as they patiently waited for his full flowering as stroke player and run getter. Most felt that he never quite ‘read’ the pace of the English pitches, some thought he played too much at the pitch of the ball and that he concentrated more on stroke-making rather than scoring runs. At the end of the tour, Bradman headed the batting aggregate and averages with 2,960 runs, at an average of 98.66. Archie, with 1,097 runs at 34.28, was fifth. Geoffrey Tebbutt, who covered the tour for the Australian Associated Press, put it well: ‘England’s applause was ready for Jackson. Bradman got it.’ Back in Australia, Jackson played four tests against the West Indies in the inaugural series between the two sides. In

Archie Jackson

173

the first test in Adelaide in December 1930, he made 31 and 70, but failed badly in the next three and was dropped from the Australian side. All this time, the disease stalked him. Illness had forced him from the field during the third test in Brisbane in January and caused him to miss several first-class fixtures during the 1930–31 season. In March 1931, however, Archie felt well enough to undertake a promotional tour of North Queensland with a team, led by Alan Kippax, which also included Bradman and McCabe. In a physically demanding trip in hot, wet conditions, they travelled great distances by boat, car and train to play local teams in Cairns, Malanda on the Atherton Tableland, Innisfail, Townsville, Ayr, Bowen, Mackay, Rockhampton and Gympie. The locals, as everyone expected, were thrashed, but the crowds were big and appreciative and the tour was a financial success. After the players’ daily fees of 10 shillings ($1) and travelling and accommodation expenses were deducted, the profit of £3,000 ($6,000) was spent on improving cricket facilities in the towns in which they played. As in the case of the New Zealand experience in 1928, Archie found the tour with its attendant dinners and socials especially enervating and he told Bill Hunt that he would never do it again unless he was ‘guaranteed £100, and that’s not enough!’ Nevertheless, it was good fun if exhausting, and the non-drinking, non-smoking Archie, always the sunny companion, had the satisfaction of heading the batting aggregate and average tables. During the winter, Archie kept himself fit playing tennis and golf and, at the opening of the 1931-32 season,

174

Born of the Sun

he scored 183 for his club against Gordon — his highest ever score. Selected for the first Sheffield Shield match of the season, he went with the team to Brisbane, but, after coughing up blood, he collapsed and was hospitalised for the duration of the match. On his return to Sydney, he was prevailed on to enter Bodington Sanitorium for TB sufferers at Wentworth Falls in the Blue Mountains. (Medical thought at the time was that rarefied mountain air was good for TB patients — a theory now discounted.) After several lonely months in depressing surroundings Archie left the hospital and, with financial support from the NSW Cricket Association, he and his sister Margaret rented a cottage at Leura where they spent the winter of 1932. The enforced inactivity helped slow the progress of the disease and Dr McIntosh, his Leura doctor, who examined him on August 11, reported that X-rays showed considerable improvement. Although in those days very few TB patients recovered, Archie remained cheerful and hopeful. Archie now made a fateful decision: he decided, against the wishes of his family, to go to Brisbane for a few months to be with his girlfriend, Phyllis Thomas, a dancer, whom he had met on a previous visit. Dr McIntosh agreed, provided that he returned to Leura for the summer. In Brisbane, Archie stayed with the Thomas family in Clayfield, got a job as a sales assistant at Johnson’s Sports Depot, acted as assistant coach to the Queensland Cricket Association and wrote on cricket for the Brisbane Daily Mail. Happy and feeling relatively fit, so much so that he did not put himself under a doctor’s care, Archie decided not to

Archie Jackson

175

return south for the summer and instead joined the Northern District Cricket Club and began playing regular grade cricket with some success. Resuming cricket in Brisbane, however, was the worst thing he could have done. The physical exertion further strained his lungs and the warmer climate increased his body’s rate of metabolism, causing the disease to spread rapidly. Towards the end of the season, he was so short of breath that he was allowed to bat with a runner. Why did he persist in playing? There was, of course, an explanation in his great love for the game, but it is now thought that there might have been another, physiological reason. It was not known at the time, but medical research has since shown that certain toxins produced by the TB bacillus incongruously produce a sense of wellbeing in the sufferer. This perhaps explains Archie’s apparent indifference to his health: he was beguiled by the natural course of the disease that was to kill him and for which there were no anti-TB drugs then available. Exhibiting an intimate knowledge and love of the game, Archie’s pieces in the Daily Mail were forceful and incisive. He commented on what he called the ‘most pronounced inferiority complex’ that pervaded Queensland representative cricket and reckoned that, rather than persevere with certain older players in their forties, withdrawal from the Sheffield Shield competition might be preferable until suitable young players were found to strengthen the side. He was adamant that good young talent was essential for Queensland’s progress and he did everything he could to effect this. He was especially interested in country boys

176

Born of the Sun

such as 16-year-old Don Tallon from Bundaberg, whom he thought might emulate Les Ames, the great English wicketkeeper and batsman, and Eddie Gilbert, the Aboriginal fast bowler from Cherbourg, whose delivery he thought was ‘fair and above suspicion’. But it was his comments about the ‘Bodyline’ affair that were the most controversial. During the 1932–33 English Test series, England and Australia had won one test each when they met in the third test at Adelaide, from January 13–19, 1933. In this, the most controversial of all test matches, England, led by the arrogant, aquiline D. R. Jardine, employed the bodyline tactics that had first been used against an Australian XI in Perth in November and in the first two tests. Bodyline, or ‘leg theory’, consisted of bowling very fast, short-pitched balls at the batsman to a packed leg-side field, the result being that the batsman was not so much playing the ball, or even a game, as defending himself from being struck (helmets were unknown). Woodfull, the Australian captain, Ponsford, Oldfield and other players were struck and injured. The crowd became incensed and the harsh words and violent ill-feeling directed against the English team nearly led to a diplomatic incident. There was no doubt that Jardine’s bodyline attack was devised to contain the high-scoring Bradman, but it was used against other Australian batsmen as well. Jardine’s tactics were certainly within the laws of the game, but were they in the spirit of the game? And, of course, the question remains: would Australia have adopted such tactics if England possessed a player of Bradman’s stature?

Archie Jackson

177

Jackson told his Daily Mail readers that the English express bowlers, Harold Larwood and Bill Voce, could be played effectively and safely. All that was needed was quicker footwork! He maintained that Fingleton and Woodfull were often struck by the ball because they were flat-footed players, whereas Bradman and McCabe, with more nimble footwork, largely escaped a battering. He was partly right, as McCabe had made a dazzling 187 in the first test, and Bradman devised a plan that was at least partly effective against fast short-pitched balls down the leg side, but no Australian – not even Bradman — mastered the bodyline attack. Archie, never short of courage at the crease, entertained the thought for a time that he might get well enough to prove his point, but late in January he collapsed after playing cricket and was admitted to Ingarfield Private Hospital in Old Sandgate Road, Clayfield. The fourth test was played in Brisbane, from February 10–16. As the players assembled and the test unfolded, there was no shortage of visitors, English and Australian, who called to see Archie, who was now critically ill. Archie’s parents were sent for and, a week later, Bill Hunt flew to Brisbane with Captain P. G. Taylor, the aviator, to be with his mate. Phyl Thomas was in attendance constantly at the hospital and, each night after her performance at the Regent Theatre, she returned to sit with him. Another regular visitor was Rev. H. M. Wheller, a Methodist minister, who talked and prayed with Archie. On Tuesday February 14, Archie and Phyllis, realising there was now no hope of marrying, announced their engagement. On

178

Born of the Sun

Wednesday afternoon, Archie rallied a little and wanted to know the test score. Told that Australia had slumped in its second innings, he went into a deep sleep and died shortly after midnight on February 16, the day England won the fourth test and regained the Ashes, and almost four years to the day since he made his splendid test debut at the Adelaide Oval. Archie’s body went south to Sydney on the same train as his parents and the Australian and English cricketers. On Saturday February 19, after a brief service in the Jackson home, he was buried in the Field of Mars Cemetery across the Parramatta River in the suburb of Ryde. Woodfull, Ponsford, Bradman, Richardson, Oldfield and Kippax carried him to his grave through a vast throng of mourners. Neville Cardus once wrote of cricketers that ‘The true knight of romance never grows old’. It was so with the great Victor Trumper, and now it was the same with Archie Jackson. Like Trumper, he became a potent symbol of all that was best in the game, the small boy’s idol, and known to thousands in succeeding generations who never saw him play. Six months after the funeral, on September 3, a red granite headstone, paid for by Archie’s cricket friends and admirers, was unveiled by the NSW Premier, Bertram Stevens. It proclaims the simple verity: ‘He played the game.’

EPILOGUE hg

THESE SEVEN YOUNG Australians from varied backgrounds and education used their talents to the best of their ability; they stood up and had a go in times when the going was far from easy. Their lives are now part of the national page; they have an honoured place in the history of their various callings and all are commemorated in that vast repository of the Australian identity, the Australian Dictionary of Biography. World War I, the defining event in the period 1890–1930, touched the lives of four of them. Archie Jackson, the cricketer, was a schoolboy during the war, growing up in poverty exacerbated by wartime shortages. John Hunter, the medical scientist, was prevented by the authorities from enlisting in the AIF because his skills were thought to be better directed elsewhere for the war effort. Les Darcy, the boxer, was courted by the authorities to enlist but his parents prevented him by withholding their consent, as he was under 21. On attaining his majority, he

180

Born of the Sun

made a fateful decision and his predicament involved him in the most bitter political battle on the Australian domestic front during the war. Eric Edgerton enlisted in the AIF and, after a notable career marked by bravery and devotion to duty, he paid the supreme sacrifice along with thousands of others from all walks of life for whom the years 1914–18, were, in the words of one historian, ‘the broken years’. These young men had many gifts but length of years. While age is the future of youth, those who die wearing the rose of youth upon them have one undeniable advantage over the rest of us: they remain young eternally after they have entered what Macaulay called ‘that temple of silence and reconciliation’. Soon fades the spell, soon comes the night; Say will it not be then the same, Whether we played the black or white, Whether we lost or won the game?

CHAPTER NOTES hg

Introduction and Epilogue The lines quoted in the Introduction are from Stephen Spender’s poem The Truly Great, from Collected Poems, 1928–1985, (London: Faber and Faber, 1985). The lines quoted in the epilogue are from Thomas Babington (Lord) Macaulay’s Sermon in a Churchyard (1825), Miscellaneous Essays and The Lays of Ancient Rome (London: J. M. Dent, 1910).

Chapter 1 Henry Searle The definitive biography of Searle is Scott Bennett’s The Clarence Comet (Sydney, 1973), which contains excellent photographs and a complete record of Searle’s rowing career. See also Bennett’s brief notice of the oarsman in Volume 6 of the Australian Dictionary of Biography (1976) and E. H. Swan, Champions in Sport: Henry Searle and Chimpy Busch (Maclean, NSW, 1973). My description of the Clarence River district is largely from F. F. Bailliere’s

182

Born of the Sun

New South Wales Gazetteer and Road Guide (Sydney, 1866), pp. 131–3, 236–7. For Searle’s early life and rowing career, see the obituaries in the Australian Town and Country Journal, December 14, 1889, p. 39 and Australasian, December 14, 1889. Sculling and other major sporting events were covered in great detail by the press of the day. For Searle’s races against Wulf, Stansbury, Hughes and Kemp, see the Sydney Morning Herald, June 16, July 14, October 6 and October 29, 1888. The ‘Grand Aquatic Carnival’ in Brisbane is reported in the Brisbane Courier, December 5, 6, 7, 8 and 12, 1888 and Searle’s victory in England in The Times, September 10, 1889, p. 8. Searle’s ‘How I Won the World’s Championship’, Leeds Times, October 5, 1889, was reprinted in a supplement to the Hobart Mercury, December 11, 1889; the course of his illness and death in the Sydney Morning Herald, 11 December 1889, pp. 7–8, and in the above-mentioned obituaries. The description of Searle’s funeral is from the Sydney Morning Herald, December 16, 17, 1889. For Searle’s monument on the Parramatta River, see the Sydney Mail, February 7, December 12 and 19, 1891.

Chapter 2 Lonnie Spragg The basic sources are Don Wilkey’s brief but excellent article on Spragg in Volume 12 of the Australian Dictionary of Biography (1990), and the Spragg file in the Dictionary office at The Australian National University, Canberra. Spragg’s life is outlined in the death notices and obituaries in the Brisbane Courier, February 13, 1904; Daily Mail,

Chapter Notes

183

(Brisbane), 13 February 1904; the Australian Town and Country Journal (Sydney), February 17, 1904; the Referee, February 17, 1904, and the Sydney Bulletin, February 18, 1904. The descriptions of play in the four test matches against England are from the Sydney Morning Herald, June 26, July 24, August 7 and 14, 1899. Brief tributes to Spragg’s prowess are in D. B. Ryan, Fifty Years of Football (Brisbane, 1932); W. H. Bickley (ed.), Maroon: Highlights of One Hundred Years of Rugby in Queensland 1882–1982 (Brisbane, 1982), and Jack Pollard, Australian Rugby Union: The Game and The Players (Sydney, 1984). Spragg’s funeral is described in the Brisbane Courier, February 15, 1904; the decision to commemorate him is reported in the Brisbane Courier, February 18, 1904. I am indebted to Rosaleen Tidswell of Hunters Hill, Sydney, for details about Spragg’s grandparents, and to Alex Ochmann, of Cairns, Queensland, for providing photographs of Spragg’s monument in Toowong Cemetery, Brisbane.

Chapter 3 Barney Kieran This chapter is based on my article on Kieran in Volume 9 of the Australian Dictionary of Biography (1983). On the development of swimming and lifesaving and for early swimming records, see: Te Whero, ‘Sydney Swimming and Swimmers’, Sydney Mail, 10 February 1904, p. 346; Archibald Sinclair and William Henry, Swimming (The Badminton Library: London, 1908); Frank Sachs, The Complete Swimmer (London, 1912); David Billington, How to Become a Good Swimmer (London, 1926); and Forbes Carlisle on Swimming

184

Born of the Sun

(London, 1963). The Australian part of the story is based on records held by the Archives Authority of New South Wales (NSWA) and the Mitchell Library, Sydney. Especially valuable were the Sobraon Entry Book, 1897–1900, NSWA 8/1747; the E. S. Marks sporting collection in the Mitchell Library; W. W. Hill (comp.), NSW Amateur Swimming Association Annual: Season 1905–06 (Sydney, 1906); and the annual reports of the Nautical School Ship Sobraon in the Votes and Proceedings of the Legislative Assembly of New South Wales, 1900–1906. Apart from certain Australian newspapers such as the Freeman’s Journal (Sydney), the Referee (Sydney) and the Australasian (Melbourne), most of the newspaper research was carried out in 1977 at the British Library (Colindale), London. The major newspapers used were: The Times, the Sportsman, Sporting Life, Referee, Ireland’s Saturday Night (Belfast), the Scottish Referee (Glasgow), the Sydney Morning Herald and the Australian Town and Country Journal. For copies of material in Nordiskt Idrottslif (Stockholm), I am indebted to the generosity of the Royal Swedish Embassy, Yarralumla, Canberra, ACT. On the ship Sobraon, which became the naval training ship HMAS Tingira in 1912, see the article by Captain J. H. Matson in Navy League Journal, Vol. 4, No. 3, July 1923, pp. 10–13. A monograph by Laurie Fromholtz, The Sobraon Wonder: A biography of Bernard Bede (Barney) Kieran (Wagga Wagga, 1991), contains much detail about the ship and life aboard the NSS Sobraon, together with excellent illustrations. It gives a good account of Kieran’s life but it is inaccurate and incomplete in some details.

Chapter Notes

185

The death of Patrick Kieran (1848–91), Barney’s father, is reported in the Sydney Morning Herald and the Daily Telegraph, April 18, 1891. He was buried in St John’s Catholic Cemetery, Jamisontown, near Penrith. Barney’s brother, Joseph Francis Kieran (1885–1933), who, as the welterweight ‘Joe Costa’, fought many contests at the Golden Gate Athletic Club and the Gaiety Theatre in Sydney, died at 5 Cleveland Street, Darlington, Sydney on June 22, 1933. He was buried in Gore Hill Cemetery.

Chapter 4 Eric Edgerton As in the chapter on Kieran, much of the research for this chapter was carried out when I was preparing the article on Edgerton for Volume 8 of the Australian Dictionary of Biography (1981). The main source is the Edgerton papers in the Australian War Memorial, Canberra, AWM3DRL/ 6582. These consist of his 1915 diary, letters and other material deposited by his family. In addition to these papers, I am indebted to Mr I. R. E. Clarke of Balwyn North, Victoria, who supplied much useful family and background information. For the citations of Edgerton’s decorations, see the London Gazette, October 27, 1916, May 11, 1917, September 16, and December 31, 1918. The main secondary sources used were: W. J. Harvey, The Red and White Diamond (Melbourne, 1920); C. E. W. Bean, The A.I.F. in France, 1918 (Sydney, 1942); Geoffrey Blainey et al., Wesley College: The First Hundred Years (Melbourne 1967); W. H. Elwood, ‘Lieutenant E. H. D. Edgerton … 24th Battalion’, Reveille, May 1, 1938, pp.

186

Born of the Sun

12–13 and 28; Michael Migus, ‘William Edward James (1882–1954), soldier and farmer’ (Edgerton’s commanding officer), in Australian Dictionary of Biography, Volume 9, p. 469; and the Wesley College Chronicle, 1911–19. I am indebted to Peter S. Wilkie, head librarian, Wesley College, Melbourne, for providing copies of the Chronicle relating to Edgerton’s activities at school and at the front. The Chronicle of December 1915 contains extracts of some of Edgerton’s letters to his parents. James Edgerton, Eric’s father, died on August 25, 1946, at the age of 84, three years after the death of his wife. Of Edgerton’s four brothers, William Sydney (1886–1975) joined the RAN in 1913 as its first schoolmaster, and retired as headmaster commander of the Royal Australian Naval College in 1946. James Arthur (1887–1975), engineer and metallurgist, joined the family firm in 1918, which became the Melbourne Iron and Steel Mills in 1929. He was a founder and first president of the Australian Institute of Metals. Victor Robert (‘Bobs’) entered Wesley College in 1914, enlisted in the AIF in April 1918 and saw service as a driver with the Army Service Corps. After the war, he joined his brother James in the firm. Clive Newton (1907–35), who entered Wesley College in 1920, joined the RAAF and was killed in a flying accident near Laverton, Victoria. Edgerton is a reminder of the deaths of many other outdoor sports-loving Australians who served in World War I. They included the rugby test players Lt Clarence Wallach (1890–1915) who was killed at Gallipoli and Private William Tasker (1892–1918); the brilliant all-round

Chapter Notes

187

sportsman Lt Stuart Spratt (1895–1918), the older test cricketer Tpr Albert ‘Tibby’ Cotter and the Olympic swimmer Lt Cecil Healy, both in their thirties.

Chapter 5 Les Darcy A second edition of Raymond Swanwick’s excellent biography was published as Les Darcy, the Legend: Champion of Champions in 1994, the same year that Peter Fenton’s Les Darcy: The Legend of the Fighting Man appeared. For a favourable and insightful review of both books by Peter Corris, author of Lords of the Ring: A History of Prize-Fighting in Australia (North Ryde, 1980), see the Sydney Morning Herald, October 29, 1994. In addition to the above, I have used ‘Solar Plexus’ [Will Lawless], The Darcy Story (Sydney, 1919); Francis J. Ferry, The Life Story of Les Darcy: Late Middleweight Champion of the World (Harbord, NSW, 1936); Lou D’Alpuget, ‘The Darcy Argument’, Sporting Life, June 1953, pp. 16–23; Bob Power, Fighters of the North (Newcastle, 1976); and Peter A. Horton, ‘The “Green” and the “Gold”: The Irish Australians and their Role in the Emergence of the Australian Sports Culture’, Chapter 4 in J. A. Mangan and John Nauright, Sport in Australian Society: Past and Present, (London, 2000). The author D’Arcy Niland (1919–67) worked for many years on a biography of Les Darcy, after whom he was Christened, but died before it was completed. He interviewed practically everyone who had any connection with Darcy in Australia, the US, New Zealand and England. After his death, his wife the author Ruth Park (b. 1923) and

188

Born of the Sun

her son-in-law Rafe Champion published Home Before Dark (Ringwood, Victoria, 1995) based on the vast collection of ‘Darcyana’ amassed by Niland, consisting of books, pamphlets, articles, newspaper clippings, letters, photographs, unpublished memoirs and taped interviews. This well-illustrated and presented biography, with a good index, is in an unusual format as it consists largely of extracts from written and oral evidence interspersed with authorial comment. While the work lacks a bibliography and the conventional citation of provenance and dates of much of the evidence used, it is the most complete account of Darcy’s life and career. Good articles drawn from Niland’s material were published in the National Times, December 30, 1978, January 6 and 13, 1979, and in the Australian Magazine, September 30–October 1, 1995, pp. 13–19. For the portrayal of Les Darcy in literature, see W. H. Wilde et al. (eds), The Oxford Companion to Australian Literature (Melbourne, 1991), p. 203. In 2001, as part of the centenary of federation celebrations, a musical, The Flight of Les Darcy by Raffaele Marcellino and Robert Jarman, was performed in Sydney and Hobart. See, the Sydney Morning Herald, March 24, 2001. Darcy died intestate and his father, who was appointed administrator of his estate, which was valued at £1,760-150 ($3,521.50), soon dissipated it. Frank Michael ‘Frosty’ Darcy, trained by Dave Smith, won eight of his nine professional fights but died in the ‘Spanish flu’ epidemic on May 8, 1920, aged 20. Darcy’s mother died on May 11, 1929, aged 58; his father on June 10, 1936, aged 72. All are

Chapter Notes

189

buried, along with Cecil (d. 1953) and Kathleen (d. 1959), in the Darcy vault. The house Darcy built for his family is still in good condition as is his monument in the East Maitland Cemetery, but the isolated memorial marking his birthplace has been vandalised.

Chapter 6 John Irvine Hunter The main source is Michael J. Blunt’s excellent monograph, John Irvine Hunter of the Sydney Medical School 1898–1924 (Sydney, 1985). Professor Blunt, a graduate of the University of London, was Challis Professor of Anatomy at the University of Sydney, 1973–84. On taking up Hunter’s old chair, he became intrigued by the persistence of the ‘Hunter legend’; the result was his thorough study and evaluation of Hunter’s work. Of great use also were John Brett’s The Life of Johnny Hunter (Albury, 1983) and the following obituaries and notices that appeared in the Medical Journal of Australia, December 20, 1924, pp. 669–71, January 10, 1925, pp. 36–40; British Medical Journal, December 20, 1924, pp. 181–3; the Journal of Anatomy, Vol. 59 (1924–25), pp. 340–4; The Times, December 12, 1924; Sydney Morning Herald, December 13, 1924, January 30, 1925; September 7, 1929; Daily Telegraph (Sydney), December 13, 1924; Albury Daily News, December 12, 1924; Albury Banner and Wodonga Express, 19 December, 1924; and The Gazette (University of Sydney), October 1958, pp. 225–7. The quotation, ‘the original explorers of John Hunter’s genius were his fellow students’, is from Dr C. G. (later Sir Charles) Mc Donald’s tribute in the Medical Journal of

190

Born of the Sun

Australia, December 20, 1924, p. 671; Michael J. Blunt in op. cit., p. 78, described Hunter’s address to first-year medical students as ‘a nice blend of wit and exhortation’; the last tribute to Hunter, ‘in whom genius flourished in a character of singular charm and simplicity’ is from Hunter’s memorial plaque in Wesley College, within the University of Sydney. Hunter’s father, Henry, was run over and killed by a motorcar in Cessnock, NSW, in June 1930; he was 64. Hunter’s mother died in Sydney in 1944 at the age of 77. Hunter’s son, Irvine John (b. 1925), graduated in medicine from the University of Sydney in 1950 and specialised in pathology. After gaining experience in England (1954–59), where he took a law degree, he became director of pathological services at Bankstown Hospital, Sydney (1963–76), before moving to Darwin in a similar position. His son, J. I. Hunter’s grandson, David John (b. 1957), graduated in medicine from the University of Sydney in 1982. J.I. Hunter’s wife, Hazel, died in 1964 without remarrying.

Chapter 7 Archie Jackson The main sources are Bede Nairn’s article on Jackson in the Australian Dictionary of Biography, Volume 9 (1983); David Frith’s monograph, Archie Jackson: The Keats of Cricket (revised edition, London, 1987), which has a foreword by Harold Larwood; and newspapers, including the Sydney Morning Herald, Sydney Mail, Daily Telegraph (Sydney), the Referee (Sydney), Australasian (Melbourne) and Advertiser

Chapter Notes

191

(Adelaide) during the period 1929–33. The historian Bede Nairn (b. 1917), who saw Jackson play, gave me the benefit of his knowledge of Jackson and cricket in general. Nairn and Frith (b. 1937) gained much of their information from Jackson’s great friend, W. A. (Bill) Hunt (1908–83), and from members of the Jackson family. The quotations from Arthur Mailey’s article and Jackson’s letters are from Frith’s fine study, which, though detailed, is often deficient in precise dates. The account of the Adelaide test is from P. G. H. Fender’s ‘Australia v. England 1928–9, Adelaide’ in Handasyde Buchanan (ed.), Great Cricket Matches (London, 1962), pp. 137–73, and R. S. Whitington, The Courage Book of Australian Test Cricket 1877–1974 (Melbourne, 1974), pp. 147–8. The Australians’ tour of England is covered in Geoffrey Tebbutt, With the 1930 Australians (London, 1930). On the course of Jackson’s disease, see the article by Philip Derriman, ‘Archie Jackson: a legend who might have lived’, in Sydney Morning Herald, February 18, 1983. Cricket is the most statistical of games, and the reader will no doubt be interested in Jackson’s figures. In 64 firstgrade games for Balmain, he scored 3,093 runs at an average of 58.35. His first-class batting average was 46.31; in Sheffield Shield, 56.65; against England (four tests), 58.33, and in all tests, 47.40.

PANDANUS BOOKS Pandanus Books was established in 2001 within the Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies at The Australian National University. The Pandanus Books catalogue focuses on books relating to Asia and the Pacific. The publishing list includes not only scholarly texts relating to the region but also embraces biography, memoir, fiction and poetry. Since its inception, Pandanus Books has developed into an editorially independent publishing enterprise with an imaginative list of titles, a reputation for high quality production values and an international marketing strategy which promotes sales to a worldwide readership. SULLIVAN’S CREEK PUBLICATION SERIES The Sullivan’s Creek Publication Series is a developing initiative of Pandanus Books, seeking to explore Australian cultural issues, literary texts, biography and history through the publication of both emerging and established writers who address a global audience. Books selected within this series are still published and marketed under the Pandanus Books imprint.