by John Lazenby
The first the England cricketers knew of the crisis was when they alighted at Cape Town in the early hours of Friday, 17 March, and saw the placards in the station. Their constant fear throughout the tour had been that war might break out at any moment while they were some 5,000 miles from home, and each man was desperate to devour the news, exhausted as they were by the long journey from Durban.
That same day, as the cricketers sailed from Cape Town for England, Chamberlain delivered a speech in his native Birmingham. His apathetic response in the House of Commons to Hitler’s act of aggression and violation of the Munich Agreement had caused widespread anger. The policy of appeasement was in tatters; Britain had yet to lodge an official protest to Germany, and the silence of the prime minister was damning. On the train to Birmingham, however, he underwent a significant change of heart. He had planned to speak on domestic matters but, in an abrupt shift of tone and mood, he condemned Hitler for ‘taking the law into his own hands’. In a speech broadcast to the nation, he asked solemnly, ‘Is this the last attack upon a small state, or is it to be followed by others? Is this, in fact, a step in the direction of an attempt to dominate the world by force?’ If that was the intention, he warned, ‘No greater mistake could be made than to suppose that, because it believes war to be a senseless and cruel thing, this nation has so lost its fibre that it will not take part to the utmost of its power in resisting such a challenge if it ever were made.’ The next day Britain informed Germany that the occupation of Czechoslovakia was ‘a complete repudiation of the Munich Agreement . . . devoid of any basis of legality’. The countdown to war had begun.
‘On the boat home we talked of little else but war,’ Hammond admitted. ‘Everyone knew that Hitler was poised to strike; no one could guess who the next victim would be, or whether the next cruel aggression would bring the world tumbling into chaos.’ There had been the occasional sinister reminder, even in South Africa, of the impending conflict. As Hammond recalled, certain pro-German Afrikaners made no attempt to hide their hatred of Britain, or where their allegiances would lie in the event of a war: ‘We had one or two glimpses of that rather vocal minority who still, at that time, understood Nazi principles so ill as to pretend to profess them.’ Yet this was still the South Africa of coalition government, of Jan Smuts and J. B. M. Hertzog, united against the extreme nationalists. Smuts, once the sworn enemy of Britain but now a First World War hero, stalwart imperialist and architect of closer ties within the Commonwealth, entertained the England cricketers during their visit to Pretoria and told them he did not believe there would be another war. The German economy, he said, would be unable to withstand the strain. Edrich remembered they listened keenly to the soldier-statesman but that he and his team-mates had not shared his optimism3.
The two-week voyage home also provided the players with ample time to reflect on what had been an unquestionably happy and successful venture. For Hammond – freed from the shadow of his bête noire, Bradman – his first tour as England captain was to all intents and purposes a triumph. He had presided over a contented crew and the harmonious team spirit, fostered aboard the Athlone Castle on the outward journey, sustained them for 161 days away from home. In later years he was much criticised for his lack of personal touch, and players were invariably left to fend for themselves. But as Howat pointed out, ‘In those pre-war years the burden of responsibility touched him lightly.’
England took the series 1–0 – the first MCC team to win on South African soil for 16 years – were victorious in exactly half of their 18 games and remained unbeaten and largely injury-free throughout. Hammond’s batting was supremely consistent, topping a thousand runs for the tour and averaging 87 in the Tests (609 runs), where he hit three centuries. According to his biographer Mason, he batted with ‘an indolent controlled mastery that set him quite apart from any other batsman then playing except Bradman’. Duffus considered his batting to be ‘still brilliant, but subdued’ and added that he made ‘an exemplary, resolute captain. He maintained firm control, set his field cleverly and was forever presenting batsmen with fresh strategies. His slip fielding was at times uncanny’. Swanton also praised Hammond at the time as a ‘sagacious tactician’ in The Illustrated London News, yet appeared 38 years later to have undergone a radical change of mind, claiming in his book, Follow On:
As a captain he was defensive and quite lacking in flair and inspiration. He had an easy ride in South Africa in that his side never failed to make as many as were needed, while the bowling was always stronger and more varied than the opposition’s, though similarly apt to be frustrated by the deadening ease of the pitches. Off the field he could be good company with those who amused him, cool and detached with those who did not. Seeing him at close quarters on this tour I felt he was the wrong man to lead England on future tours, while realising the difficulty in asking such a tremendous cricketer to step down . . .
Mason wrote that Hammond led England with his ‘customary air of impassive and controlled detachment’ and rated his captaincy as ‘sensible but uninspired’, though his promotion of Edrich in the second innings of the timeless Test in Durban had, he acknowledged, constituted an inspired moment.
The unqualified batting success of the tour, however, was the 37-year-old Paynter, who had several inspired moments – not least in the third Test at Kingsmead when he scored 243 to help set up the decisive victory of the series by an innings and 13 runs inside four days. It remained the highest Test score in South Africa for 31 years until superseded by Graeme Pollock’s 274 against Australia, also at Kingsmead, in his country’s last series before their expulsion from international cricket. Paynter’s 653 Test runs at 81.62 was a record for a series aggregate in South Africa at that point; in all he scored 1,072 runs with five centuries.
After his world record 364 at The Oval, it was inevitable perhaps that Hutton would suffer a comparative dip in form, and he failed to complete an innings of three figures in the Tests, scoring 265 runs. Nonetheless, he saved his best for the provincial games and finished as the side’s top-scorer overall with 1,168 runs at 64.88. He appeared to make a conscious effort after his marathon at The Oval to bat as attractively as he could at all times, as if determined to erase any suggestions that he was a stodgy player, and Duffus wrote that he performed with ‘eager enterprise and daring recklessness to the surprise of the spectators’. Wisden went further and claimed that he ‘looked the most accomplished player of the party’. Ames, with 339 Test runs at 67.80, Gibb (473 at 59.12) and Valentine (275 at 68.75) all seized their opportunities when they came, while Edrich (240) redeemed himself at the last. Ames was also a ‘steady and sometimes brilliant wicketkeeper’.
On wickets so heavily loaded in favour of batsmen few bowlers on either side returned flattering figures, though Verity proved the least costly wicket-taker (19 in the series) at just over 29 apiece from 428 overs and was an unflagging model of accuracy. Farnes, with 16 wickets, was too often muzzled by the featherbed surfaces, but he roused himself magnificently in the third Test and was rewarded with match figures of seven for 109. Three of his four wickets in South Africa’s second innings of the timeless Test were obtained during another archetypal spell of fast bowling.
Perhaps the unluckiest of the 15 English cricketers was the Sussex batsman Bartlett. The journalist and author David Foot recounts a story passed onto him by Swanton that might shed some light on why he was the one member of the party to miss out on Test selection. ‘Bartlett was a magnificent player in 1938 and a very attractive chap,’ Swanton recalled. In Bloemfontein, during MCC’s game against Orange Free State, ‘he made the cardinal error of showing a great deal of interest in the girl Hammond had his eye on. It was an unwise thing to do – to cross the captain like that’. Hammond was a married man and his philandering was hardly a closely guarded secret among the players and the press. Paynter, once asked about the merits of Hammond’s captaincy, chose to ignore his more obvious qualities and responded instead with a typically blunt: ‘Wally
, well, yes – he liked a shag.’ Bartlett had made an impressive start to the tour, hitting an unbeaten 91 against Western Province and taking a lavish century off Orange Free State in the self-same match, but his chances diminished afterwards, his form faded and he appeared in only 10 of the 18 fixtures.
At least his fortunes took a turn for the better on the voyage home. He and Yardley were reduced to their last few shillings by the time the team sailed from Cape Town; like the rest of their colleagues they had lived life to the full in South Africa. In one last defiant gesture they agreed to gamble their last ten shillings on the Grand National sweepstake and split the proceeds, if any. Much to their astonishment their horse – a rank outsider – romped home, earning the pair £50. They were so grateful at not having to return home penniless that they bought the organisers of the sweep three bottles of champagne from their winnings and still pocketed £23 each.
Once again South African cricket had punched way above its weight. In six years during the 1930s, before the arrival of Hammond’s team, the Springboks participated in just two Test series: the victorious visit to England in 1935 and one against Australia shortly after, when they were found badly wanting against the twin-spin threat of Clarrie Grimmett and ‘Tiger’ O’Reilly. Cricket was almost exclusively the sport of the English stock and confined to the few English-speaking schools for recruiting purposes. As the Currie Cup went into cold storage during overseas tours, the selectors were restricted only to the provincial matches against MCC from which to gauge players’ form and shuffle their limited resources.
It was difficult for the players to get the time off work, too, and Ken Viljoen joked that employers would be even more reluctant in light of the timeless Test. There remained, Swanton remarked, ‘an inferiority complex at the heart of South African cricket that was not completely dissolved until the 1960s’. Farnes observed that their interest in the game could not compare with that of Australia: ‘Rugby Union is undoubtedly South Africa’s national game, and the Dutch element, which forms half of the white population, combines with the English in this.’ The majority of Afrikaners had little appetite for playing or watching cricket at that stage, though Viljoen and Van der Bijl were notable exceptions. However, as Swanton wrote, he was joined in the box by an Afrikaans-speaking commentator for the latter part of the series. The word was spreading.
Despite its inherent problems, Duffus described the summer of 1938–39 as one of the most successful and productive in South African cricket. Melville had much to do with that, proving an astute and popular captain who grew in stature both as a batsman and a leader as the series progressed; he scored 286 runs – 248 of them in the last two Tests after wisely promoting himself to the top of the order. ‘The virility of South African teams has always been refreshing,’ Robertson-Glasgow noted in Wisden. And, as ever, they made full use of what talent there was at their disposal.
The advent of Norman Gordon as a Test bowler continued apace during the series and he finished as the leading wicket-taker on either side with 20 at 40.35. ‘Without Gordon the attack might have fallen to a low level,’ Duffus added. ‘As it was, the bowlers did considerably better than was expected. However, South Africa lacks a fast bowler, a left-arm spinner and a slow bowler.’ The single-minded Van der Bijl, another newcomer, played with a relentlessly straight bat to collect 460 runs at 51.11, while Mitchell (466 at 58.25) and Nourse (422 at 60.28) were nothing if not high-class. Dalton (220 runs and nine wickets with his leg-spin) was an enterprising all-rounder, and Langton rarely wasted the new ball, picking up 13 wickets with his variety of styles; Farnes considered him ‘a trifle unlucky’ as a bowler. His ability to chip in with useful runs down the order also served the Springboks well.
In addition, the financial returns from MCC’s visit were prodigious and the overall effects were reported to have provided a ‘wholesome and widespread stimulus’ to the development of South African cricket. Yet it was not the only injection of cash the game received that summer. An unexpected windfall came about after a chance meeting between Swanton and the British car manufacturer and philanthropist, Lord Nuffield, who asked the journalist if there was any chance of a ticket for the third Test at Kingsmead. Swanton duly arranged it for Nuffield to watch the match from the players’ balcony and he responded with an impromptu gesture, promising a donation of £10,000 to South African cricket on the proviso that a suitable project could be submitted before he sailed in two days’ time.
Hammond was invited to chair an ad hoc meeting with the South African Board of Control and the plan for an annual schoolboys’ tournament – the Nuffield Schools Week, where many a future Springbok first came to prominence – was born4. One member of the board trumpeted it as ‘the greatest thing to have ever been done for South African cricket’. Nuffield, in fact, liked the idea so much that he threw in another £500 for good measure before he went on his way. ‘It was sad,’ Swanton commented later, ‘that no far-sighted person thought of bringing non-Europeans into the scheme. The fact is in the climate of that time it would not have occurred to anyone; but equally if it had done so there would have been no government objection.’
The fact of the matter was that racial segregation in South Africa, far from being relaxed during the 1920s and 1930s, had been hardened and consolidated, in sport as in all other areas of life. Swanton maintained, however, that he could recall no impressions of stark social injustice at the time. ‘No doubt, I was young and heedless,’ he concluded. The world that he and the England cricketers inhabited – the world of the travel brochure, luxury train compartments, deluxe hotels and glamorous social functions and parties – was a privileged one, and the South Africa they encountered and lovingly described in their various accounts would have appeared ostensibly untroubled and serene. It was the South Africa their hosts wanted them to see, just as the South African XI they wanted the world to see was a white one.
Rarely, in modern parlance, did the England players step out of their comfort zone. They tried their hand at surfing in Durban, played numerous rounds of golf and were regular guests at the races. They considered Newlands to be the most beautiful cricket ground in the world and the South African safari the most exciting and romantic of all the tours. In Johannesburg alone, Jack Holmes claimed, their popularity was such that they could have gone to three entertainments a night had they wished. ‘The Australians told me that if I got the opportunity to go on the South Africa tour, I must go,’ Farnes wrote. ‘A very fine party, they said.’
Only Eddie Paynter, in his autobiography Cricket All the Way, felt the absence of the black player from the ‘cricketing fraternity of South Africa’ worthy of a mention, and his observations of the tour were written with the benefit of hindsight, 22 years later. ‘Some of them do play cricket, but no matter how exceptional they become recognition is not granted to them in their own country,’ he stated. The black South African could watch cricket from his segregated enclosure, and he might on occasion, if he was thought to be talented enough, bowl to white South Africans, Australians or Englishmen in the nets; but that was as far as it went. ‘However good any black cricketer might be, he would not find selection for South Africa or any provincial side,’ Howat recorded.
When George Mann brought the first post-war MCC side to South Africa in 1948–49, the black section of the crowd repeatedly made their voice heard by cheering every run and every wicket by the England team. The reason for this was not hard to fathom. Daniel F. Malan’s National Party had just formed the first exclusively Afrikaner government and, with the enactment of apartheid, the country’s future was taking an ominous and significantly more oppressive turn.
Eight
The Wrong End of a Telescope
‘Playing with one eye on the bowler and one on the sky for raiding German bombers was difficult’ – Bill Edrich
The Athlone Castle docked in Southampton on Friday, 31 March, after 14 leisurely days at sea. Yet again the cricketers had managed to time their arrival to coincide with the annou
ncement of more bleak tidings. That same day, in a ratcheting up of the stakes, Chamberlain pledged to defend Poland – the most vulnerable of Germany’s neighbours and therefore Hitler’s next potential target – from any act of aggression. In such an event, he stated: ‘His Majesty’s Government would feel themselves bound at once to lend the Polish Government all support in their power.’ There could be no turning back now.
The cricketers caught the boat train to Waterloo where, after some cursory words from Hammond to the press (he praised his players for making the captain’s job easy), they greeted their families, said their farewells to each other and went on their separate ways. Over the next few days they would report back to their counties for the start of the new season. No one was quite sure whether it would last two weeks or two months – all they knew was that it would be unlike any other they had played in.
On 26 April the government bowed to the inevitable and introduced conscription for men aged between 20 and 21, even though Chamberlain had vowed he would never do so in peacetime. Three days later, in the customary curtain-raiser to the season at The Parks and at Fenner’s, Oxford University entertained Gloucestershire (minus their new captain, Hammond) and Cambridge played Northamptonshire. The eight-ball over was employed for the one and only time in an English cricket season, and slipped by almost unnoticed. The first round of championship matches followed seven days later and county cricketers went about their business again, not with the bright anticipation and optimism of seasons past, but out of a prevailing sense of duty. ‘Day by day, we went out to amuse the public by our playing of a game, while loudspeaker vans toured the grounds crying for volunteers for the armed services,’ Hammond recalled. Yardley complained that ‘all first-class cricket seemed unreal and dreamlike. Such conditions made for erratic play; no one can concentrate on sport with war rumbling in the air’.
