Fifth
Test
Friday, March 1, 1895. Trams and horsedrawn cabs carry their eager human cargo to the MCG. Pedestrians tread with undisguised purpose through the parks towards the centre of activity. All is buzz and chatter as finally the two captains emerge, arm in arm with Major Ben Wardill, Melbourne Cricket Club secretary and tour organiser. Two-all, and this is the decider.
‘I knew that when Stoddart and I went into the ring to toss and arrange preliminaries,’ Giffen was to write, ‘he was as white as a sheet, and I have been told that the pallor of my own countenance matched his.’
The tension was getting to everybody, even Wardill, who grew impatient with the delay as Stoddart and Giffen discussed such matters as the rolling and mowing of the pitch: ‘For Heaven’s sake, toss and get it over with!’
‘Keep cool, Major,’ soothed the England captain, as Giffen, hand shaking, spun the coin given to him by a friend. ‘Heads,’ called Stoddart. It came to rest tails up. Cheers went up as word spread, but Stoddart’s look of despair seemed to be saying ‘It’s all over’. Giffen again decided to keep the coin.
While England again remained unchanged in line-up, Australia omitted Moses and Turner, whose angry reaction was TII never play cricket again!’
England, having lost the previous two Tests, practise
hard in the hope of recapturing some of the earlier
momentum for the all-or-nothing final Test.
‘It’s no use talking like that, Charlie,’ said Jack Lyons, who was back in the side following an attacking century against Victoria. ‘You’ll have to go to England if we go next year.’ But the Terror had played his last Test. McKibbin’s 14 wickets against South Australia at Sydney had made his selection irresistible.
There had been talk of adopting national colours of olive and gold by the Australians, but for the time being they wore the dark blue of Melbourne, and with Billy Bruce having hurried across from his duties at North Melbourne police court, he and Harry Trott steadied their nerves and strode out after the England fielders. Trott felt in touch, having made 152 in 3¼ hours on this ground against South Australia a fortnight earlier.
Richardson and Peel opened the bowling for England.
Bruce, without having had a warm-up, soon settled, and revealed his mannerism of putting his left hand in his pocket as a back-cut sent the ball to the third-man boundary. Then an explosive delivery from Richardson split his bat in two, and he was caught off his replacement blade by MacLaren at the second attempt after cutting at Peel, whose length had settled: 40 for 1.
Giffen shed his multi-coloured blazer and walked to the middle, fixing on his gloves. Trott had already been missed by Ford at slip at 9 off Peel, brushing the memory aside with a robust drive for four that had one enthusiast crying out, music-hall fashion, ‘Good boy, ‘Arry!’ And Giffen was soon at ease, driving hard across Tom McCutcheon’s smooth outfield.
But there was a sense of deadly earnest about proceedings. Stoddart was seen as ‘not only a tactician but a mathematician, for he seemed to make 11 men go into 15 places and have one over to back up’. The Englishmen fielded like tigers, and when Lockwood came on to bowl he made his first real impression on the series. Australia were well satisfied to go to lunch at 76 for the loss of only Bruce.
In a subdued light and with the ground now filling up, the decisive match continued, the 100 being greeted noisily. But then Trott tried to hit to leg against Briggs and was bowled. ‘Played it on, Harry?’ someone called from the members’ area. ‘No,’ said Trott obligingly, ‘clean bowled.’
The prolific Iredale replaced him, slightly unwell but cool under his new white quilted hat, his bat black at the rear from constant patting down of wet divot-marks on pitches around Australia.
Runs were very hard to find. England’s bowling and fielding were at their best, and a classic test of wills was taking place, only 25 runs coming in three-quarters of an hour before Richardson’s fast breakback proved too much for Iredale: 126 for 3.
Gregory, the pint-size 24-year-old, made his way to the crease, the fifth of eight frontline batsmen in the side, and soon took a four to leg off Richardson.
Giffen was patient, taking a rare boundary which prompted a lad to yell out, just as the cheering subsided, ‘That’s an all-righter, ain’t it!’ A century seemed on the cards. He passed 50. Then Peel bowled a full-toss and the Australian captain, in his eagerness to make it count, brought it into his stumps. This was Australia’s lowest ebb: 142 for 4. But Gregory and Darling were to double the score and put their side notionally ahead.
Darling was chancy at first, especially in lifting his off-drives, but he gradually looked more comfortable, while ‘Tich’ Gregory went for his shots, including the nimble-footed pull. Richardson seemed to be bowling even faster later in the day, striving for the breakthrough which would set up Ashes victory, and Briggs was anything but his normal teasing self pushing the ball through with less flight—which may just have been a mistake.
Ford ought to have caught Gregory when he was 19, and the batsman gratefully took 13 off a Brockwell over; Darling too was let off, when 46, Philipson putting him down off Lockwood. By the end, Australia were 282 for 4, Gregory, up on tiptoes time and again to steer the ball away for runs, now 70 in 130 minutes, Darling, who should have been run out by Ward—his one mistake in a grand afternoon’s fielding—on 72 in just under two hours. The great contest everybody craved was taking shape.
The Saturday brought warm sun which ‘made the blood tingle nicely in the veins and the money jingle nicely in the till boxes. There never was such a day.’ Nor such an MCG crowd, for it eventually numbered close to 30,000, with much discomfort having to be endured in the shoulder-to-shoulder crush. People were hanging onto balustrades and straining for a view, the lucky ones having been there early, rushing the front seats when the turnstiles were opened at 10.30, an hour and a half before the start of play. It would have been even worse had there not been a race meeting at Flemington that afternoon.
A double breakthrough came immediately. With two runs added, Darling nicked Peel to slip, where Ford calmly held the catch one-handed. So much for Darling’s father’s incentive of a 25-guinea gold watch if he made a century—though Mr Darling relented and gave it to Joe anyway. Two more runs later, Gregory got a touch to one of Richardson’s rockets, and Philipson, the wicketkeeper, held it: 286 for 6.
Lyons and Graham made an unusually formidable seventh-wicket pair, both Test century-makers, both in form, both capable of gracing a top-order position. England had to separate them quickly.
Tom Richardson proved reliable again. Graham had played a sweet leg-glance, but now the Surrey man delivered what the locals referred to as a ‘clinker’ of a ball, finding the edge as little Graham went up on his toes, only to have his stumps smashed by a huge breakback. Honest Tom was getting some reward at last.
Albert Trott came in with every appearance of nonchalance, which 195 Test runs without dismissal could easily breed.
The 300 was up by now, and Trott presented a familiar menace to England—until, at 10, he lifted one to Lockwood at cover off Peel, and departed with a Test average at last (205). It was suggested that the young man may have learned this deviant shot from having spent so much time of late coaching the lady cricketers.
In came the broad figure of Jarvis, and with his tendency to step forward at the same time as he moved his right leg back towards the stumps, he smeared an off-side delivery round to the leg boundary, and gave his fellow South Australian, Lyons, a big knowing wink. Lyons, in turn, did Australia a favour by twice hitting Richardson for four, only MacLaren’s speed on the boundary stopping a third, the Surrey man then being given a spell. His county team-mate Lockwood came on, and soon Lyons (55) was gone, caught behind by Philipson. But McKibbin, in his first Test, stayed with Jarvis to lunch, when Australia were 385 for 9, and hoping for just a few more.
They pushed the total up to 414 before McKibbin, averaging 70 in his last three innings for his club, and now using Blackham’s bat, was lured to destruction by Briggs for 23 out of a last-wicket stand of 47 which reflected an almost routine source of frustration for England in this series.
The mammoth crowd were well pleased, with one of their number, Tom Horan (’Felix’ the journalist), who could find room only on the players’ balcony, enthusing about the visiting players again: ‘Today there is no regret, save that we are so soon to see the last of the gallant band who are fighting so hard for England, home, and beauty. I like them so well that I wish they could stay with us for ever. They are the most popular team that ever came to Australia, and as for their captain, why the reception he gets whenever he comes out to bat makes me feel proud of my countrymen.’
Stoddart decided to send Brockwell in with Ward to open, but Brockwell’s huge opening stands for Surrey with Bobby Abel were several years in the future, and the experiment failed here at Melbourne, Harry Trott bringing him forward and having him stumped for 5 with his first ball. Brockwell was heard to remark later: ‘Well, I’ve tried everything—going in late, playing steadily, hitting hard, but somehow I can’t get going.’ Most batsmen know the feeling.
The England captain was given a reception of such warmth that he might easily have been one of their own. He and Ward were restrained. Neither was ever likely to play in a more important match or before such a large crowd. All they had fought for over the past three months was at stake. Australia’s best bowler, Turner, was not playing, but Giffen, the Trotts and new boy McKibbin were, and if ever that modern word ‘pressure’ were applicable to play in the Naughty Nineties it was now.
Often Stoddart made as if to go for runs, only to slacken the wrists and back down. He moved into the twenties, then late-cut Giffen to the iron railings for his first boundary. Others followed, including a square-leg hit off his opposite number which caused Giffen to waver. McKibbin, pride of Bathurst, came on, moving the ball either way, though erratic in length, and Stoddart glanced him for runs. Albert Trott was also tried, and Albert Ward unleashed some commanding drives through the covers, celebrating a let-off to Harry Trott at point in McKibbin’s first over. When Stoddart played a maiden out with studious care, he smiled gently as he picked up the strains from the outer of ‘Well played, Bannerman!’ He had done his share of fielding out to the little Australian stonewaller.
Stoddart reached 50 and was in line for a Melbourne century to go with the one in the second Test. But at 68 Harry Trott spun one past him and Jarvis completed the stumping, the batsman shaking his head at Phillips’ confirmation from square leg not in dissent but annoyance that he should have fallen into the same trap in successive Tests. One report said the ball turned ‘abruptly to leg’, so if it was not a variation offbreak it must have been an early googly or wrong’un, nine years before the trick ball was recognised following Bosanquet’s regular and successful exploitation of it. Whatever it was, it produced a key breakthrough to leave England 110 for 2—soon to be made worse as McKibbin broke through Ward, whose 32 had taken almost two hours: 112 for 3.
MacLaren, who had made only 100 runs at 16 in the series so far, joined Brown, and both played confidently, Brown strong on the cut, MacLaren making runs stylishly on the leg side, sometimes employing the ‘Harrow leg glide’, though once almost sweeping round and hitting his wicket.
Jack Brown suddenly got out. Albert Trott flung down a breakback on a length, and the Yorkshireman was bowled for 30, leaving England 166 for 4, and causing the first fears among the locals that there might be another compulsory follow-on, strong England second innings and Australian collapse after either rain or natural deterioration of the pitch. It was these irrationalities which eventually led to the amendment in 1900 whereby the follow-on was optional for the team in control.
There were no further casualties that day as MacLaren moved to 40 and Peel to 18, relieved to have put a stop to the series of four Test ducks. The talk that Saturday night was of how poorly Giffen had bowled—blows on his right hand from Lockwood and Richardson while batting on the first day having left the bowling hand sore—and of MacLaren’s enchanting and convincing strokes, reminders of that double-century made here against Victoria when the Englishmen were fresh from their outward voyage.
The Sunday of rest brought no spoiling rain, and Monday also broke fine. It was a business day, but it was still estimated that the attendance, including members, would have touched 20,000. They had another engrossing day’s cricket. The Argus man noted that from the sea of colour all round the perimeter, ‘two spots stood out vividly—a scarlet sunshade on the other side of the ground, a bright yellow one in the reserve. They caught the eye so quickly that had either been in the line of the wickets, England or the parasols must have collapsed’.
England did not collapse. Against Albert Trott and McKibbin, Peel and MacLaren picked up runs from the start, a four-wides being a welcome present from Trott. Giffen came on, but it made little difference. Fifty runs came in 45 minutes.
Peel then had some rich fortune. Lofting Giffen, he saw the reliable Iredale toss away his hat, chase, lunge, and miss the catch: Peel had his fifty. The bowler, still troubled by his damaged hand, then missed a return catch from MacLaren when he was 69. It may have been MacLaren who went down to the railings for a quick sip, prompting a female spectator to offer him a whiff of her smelling-salts. By then, Johnny Briggs, who had coached MacLaren ever since he first appeared for Lancashire, was aglow with pride. At last the young man with the imperious manner was proving his worth in a Test match.
The strong wind blew thistledown from the plains outside across the outfield as thinkers in the audience wondered why Harry Trott’s legbreaks weren’t tried. They did not know that Giffen believed they were impotent against left-hand batting, and Peel looked in good fettle. MacLaren was clamped by three close leg-side fielders when Giffen bowled, but the pair made it safely to lunch at 295 for 4, the absence of a wicket in that session causing the crowd to modulate its reception to MacLaren (78) and Peel (66) and to show a certain impatience with the Australians, who now looked less like a collective, with McKibbin (wearing light blue) and Albert Trott (South Australian black-and-yellow sash) departing from the Melbourne dark blue, Syd Gregory going even further with the colours presented him by an English club on the 1893 tour.
Some onlookers were completely baffled by Giffen when he came out wearing a large grey felt hat which gave him the appearance of having no neck. Who was the substitute? they enquired.
The total was raised to 328, the stand worth 162, before Peel was caught at mid-off off Giffen for 73, and MacLaren affectionately escorted him back and returned to the middle with Lockwood. He lasted only a short time before propping a catch to silly mid-on, and wickets fell with regularity thereafter, the seventh, eighth and ninth while only two runs were made.
MacLaren was tired. He went down on one knee and sometimes came close to reclining full-length between overs. Ford crashed the ball back at Harry Trott, who failed to hold the catch and took the ball ruefully on the ear, the bowler also suffering when Giffen put Ford down at slip.
By now, Archie MacLaren, the lordly young Lancastrian, had his hundred, reached with an on-driven boundary off Albert Trott after 175 minutes at the crease. At 114 he was reprieved by Giffen from a caught-and-bowled, but at the same score as he lost Ford, 364, he spun into a swivelling hook at Harry Trott and accidentally nudged his stumps. His 120 had lasted 220 minutes, with 12 memorable fours.
Two runs later, Harry Trott fell and held a one-handed catch at silly mid-on to administer Briggs a duck, but Philipson and Richardson conjured up 19 for the last wicket, taking England to 385, only 29 behind Australia, before Harry Trott had Richardson lbw, only the third leg-before of the entire series (there were two important ones still to come) in an age when the ball had to pitch between wicket and wicket.
Under an overcast sky, with a thunderstorm threatening, Australia sought to build on their slender lead. Harry Trott was watchful, as was Billy Bruce, who was supposed to be leading the scoring, and after a slow-scoring start, Giffen ran out with a replacement bat for Bruce which was really a pretext for imparting a plea to him to get on with it. The people of Melbourne felt rather resentful when Bruce hit a catch back to Peel two balls later.
Trott and Giffen survived, little else, until the end of play, allowing Lockwood to bowl eight overs for a cost of only two runs, with Peel almost as economical. The hot day closed with Australia 69 for 1, 98 ahead.
The weather changed, though not to rain. A roaring wind carried red dust over everything. ‘Seen from a distance,’ wrote the reluctant Argus reporter, ‘the MCG looked anything but a picnic spot. One looked down onto a valley of dust, with just the roof of the pavilion and the tops of the elm trees peeping through.’
As spectators chased their hats, Harry Trott edged a fast four off Lockwood. The awning on the ladies’ reserve was torn away by the gale, and the rattling scoreboard had to be roped down. Charlie Turner’s girlfriend’s parasol was blown inside-out, and poor little Briggs had an attack of stringhalt and Stoddart placed his shivering player at point until the spasm had passed. It was small surprise that Trott soon missed one from Peel which was on target, giving rise to an early reference to ‘one which came with the bowler’s arm’. Trott had made 42, as in the first innings, and Australia were 75 for 2.
Iredale joined Giffen, Australia’s most secure pair, and 50 more runs came. They had less patience with the Australian captain than his home crowd at Adelaide Oval, and as the tedium mounted, a plaintive cry came from the ring: ‘George Giffen, how much longer are you going to play this game?’ The canny batsman’s response was a lovely off-drive for four off Lockwood.
The wind swung round, so Peel changed ends. So dour was the batting that Stoddart was able to close the field in, denying singles. And just before lunch, Iredale played Richardson onto his boot and thence into the wicket, giving the bowler the luck he had been missing: 125 for 3, 154 ahead.
By force of character, Giffen was endeavouring to win this inexpressibly important match off his own bat. It was his nature. He would bowl until every opponent was out, and he would bat, if he could, until enough runs had been made. It took an equally eager Richardson to stop him. The ball burst through, via the bat, into his stumps: 148 for 4. It was Giffen’s second half-century of the match, to go with his four wickets in 45 overs, but his departure permitted the English cricketers to believe once again that they could win this one. (Giffen’s personal triumph stemmed from having been dismissed just this once by Richardson in this series, having fallen to him just on a dozen times during the 1893 tour.)
It was another of Richardson’s great bowling spells, when his strength and purpose marked him as the best in the world. His captain never had need to pamper him. He would offer to bowl all day, and gave the batsmen no let-up, pounding the ball in on a difficult length, with wrist and finger working it so that it deviated malevolently from outside off stump and often went inside the insecure bat, causing the wicketkeeper to hurl himself to the left. It was such a breakback which now bowled Gregory for 30, and when Briggs spun one through Lyons, Australia were 200 for 6, some way from security.
Newspapers blew across the ground, and when one lodged in one of the trees, a shortsighted man asked, ‘What’s that white in the tree?’ ‘The ghost of the man who planted it,’ said his neighbour, ‘come back to see Richardson bowl.’
Australia’s hope now was that depth of batting would see them through. Darling (28) and Graham (10) were together at tea, the total 218 for 6, the youthful Graham having lifted spirits by the very way he had walked in to bat, swinging his bat merrily. Richardson had quickly crashed a ball into his thigh, but the ‘Little Dasher’ then swung him away for four.
After the interval, though, the red-hot Richardson hit him on the pad as he swung wildly, and the umpire’s finger was raised, casting a mournful silence over much of the gathering. It was even worse two balls later when Richardson, the strong wind behind him, took his fifth wicket by bowling Albert Trott, who had taken guard and barely observed the field around him. In that fatal flash his freak average dropped to 102.50, there to stay forever, highest still in Ashes Tests 100 years later.
This was grim for Australia: two wickets remaining, 248 ahead. Darling and Jarvis had a mid-pitch mix-up, but Philipson’s frenzied throw was to the wrong end and made the crowd scream as two overthrows were scrambled. Jarvis looked secure, even against Richardson, and Darling’s big hit against Briggs persuaded Stoddart that Peel should be brought back. Left-hander Darling went to 50 with two fours off Richardson, and the initiative was easing back to Australia—until Darling jumped out at Peel and yorked himself: 248 for 9. McKibbin made a precious 13 of 19 added for the final wicket, and then he too fell to Richardson, caught behind, giving the fast bowler 6 for 104, and nine wickets in the match, in which he had bowled 87.2 overs. Peel had wheeled down 94 overs, taking 7 for 203, and both were backed by efficient fielding.
So England’s target to win the series was 297, on a pitch which was still showing no signs of undue misbehaviour. Still, Blackham made the sensible observation that he ‘would much rather have them than have to make them.’ This seemed more so the case when Brockwell failed again that evening. Having hit dreamy-eyed Harry Trott’s first delivery of the innings for a heartening four, he top-edged an attempted pull at Giffen, who held the catch at the second attempt. In came Stoddart, to survive the session with Ward, though only just, for a snick went close to Giffen; somebody mused that a young ‘gymnast’ like Albert Trott might have thrown himself across and held the catch. Bruce stood extremely close at silly mid-on to Ward, but the batsman coolly held on, with England 28 for 1 at the close, 269 from victory. It was a very long road, but all Melbourne, all Australia, all the Empire was agog.
Sorrow was felt for England when the Wednesday dawned wet. This time the pitch would be rendered next to impossible for them, as it had for Australia at Sydney in the first Test. But the sympathy, such as it was, was premature, for the rain was shortlived and actually served to bind the cracks in the pitch. The light remained soft, ideal for batting, in contrast to the usual blinding glare which had troubled several of the visiting players.
At a court hearing in Melbourne that morning, a man was had up on an assault charge from the evening before, following a ‘discussion’ on the relative merits of Australian and English cricketers. ‘I meant no harm, Your Honour,’ pleaded the defendant. ‘Give me another innings and it won’t happen again.’ The judge gave him six months, and then joined the rush to the MCG for the big match. It was to be the day of a greater judgment.
The big attendance on the final day took the match aggregate beyond 100,000 for the first time in Australia (or perhaps anywhere), and the takings of £4004 were a record too. And the drama flared instantly. Harry Trott’s first ball passed Stoddart’s bat as he played to leg and the appeal prompted Jim Phillips’ finger to be raised. England 28 for 2, the captain gone, and around the chattering ground the feeling spread that this would be Australia’s day.
‘Stoddy’ trailed slowly off his left hand to his face all the way to the pavilion gate, latecomers wondering what the roar had signified, and word spreading across the park and into the city.
In strode JT Brown, a sturdy little figure, jaw prominent. Someone was piping out Rule Britannia on a tin whistle across in the outer, which might have inspired him, for he launched into Trott’s first ball, and edged it close to Giffen. Again, a ‘gymnast’ might have aborted this innings at the moment of its beginning. But Brown scuttled two, and slammed a cut to the boundary before making the best of Giffen’s varying length, the strong wind making it difficult for bowlers as they settled to their task. With the uncertainty about the weather, it seemed to be England’s policy to go for the runs in case it rained later, with glue-making hot sun possibly to follow. Brown made no secret of his intentions.
He was neither hesitant nor elegant. He just belted the ball through the off side and pulled it with all his might to the leg fence, and with Ward as almost dumb partner, Brown was 26 after 12 minutes in the middle, 35 after 18, with his half-century coming in the record time of 28 minutes. Most of his shots sped across the grass, but a few were airborne, two just over Bruce’s head close to the wicket, another high over cover point. Albert Trott’s superb stop at cover saved an even faster fifty for Brown, whose skill impressed everyone, including a woman who was overheard saying, ‘The Australians never field where Brown hits them!’
While Ward showed the greatest caution (five runs while his partner was scoring 5l), Brown hit Giffen seemingly at will, until the maestro decided prudently to remove himself from the attack and give Albert Trott a bowl. If only he could repeat his eight-wicket performance from Adelaide.
McKibbin was tried too, but England’s Northerners resisted the lot, darting quickly between wickets when Brown was not hitting fours, the sky beginning to darken. The musician changed his tune to Daisy Bell and then Sweet Marie.
Gregory surprised with a misfield, and it came home to many watchers that England’s field-placing over previous days had to be regarded as strategically better than Australia’s now seemed, though when somebody such as Jack Brown was on the rampage, miscuing when he wasn’t hitting powerfully and true, then any captain’s layout could be made to look naive.
The hundred came, and such was the charm of Albert Ward’s cutting that the assembly clapped as if he were one of their own. Giffen consulted with Bruce, Jarvis and the Trott brothers, and inevitably brought himself back on, but it made no difference. By lunch, after 80 minutes’ play, Brown and Ward had added 117, Brown on 80, Ward 41; 152 still needed.
Ward, on 54, might have edged a ball to Jarvis, but Phillips was unsighted and rejected the appeal, and when Brown, on 84, nicked a fast one through the slips, Giffen, possibly standing too close, could only get his fingers to it. Lunchtime hopes that Albert Trott might prosper from the Richmond end were evaporating.
Brown’s crowning moment came with a big four off Harry Trott’s legspin followed by an all-run four in the direction of the Press-box, and a square-leg hit off the same bowler to raise his century. It had come in 95 minutes, bettered only by Jessop (75 minutes) for England and Darling (91) and Trumper (94) for Australia in the 100 years which followed. And his skipper, who was sitting with Lady Hopetoun, ‘cool as a cucumber, applauding both sides impartially’, could barely conceal his delight.
Another reminder of Ward’s presence came with a straight-drive into the crowd for a ‘fiver’ off Giffen, but to suggestions later that he had, not for the first time, kept himself on rather too long, Giffen claimed that Harry Trott had told him: ‘Better stay on.’
Jarvis now put Brown down on 125, and soon the 200 partnership was posted, to be followed by a new Test record stand for any wicket as the 207 by Billy Murdoch and ‘Tup’ Scott (The Oval, 1884) was passed.
The stand was worth 210 (in only 145 minutes), and had taken England to the brink of victory, when Brown was out, steering McKibbin to slip, where Giffen was able to spare his puffed right hand by holding a left-handed catch. His 140, at practically a run a minute, included 16 fours, and closed to the sound of generous clapping not only from the vast audience but from the Australian players too. It was an inspired knock, his only Test century, and the greatest performance of his life, notwithstanding the two triple-centuries for Yorkshire which were still to come.
Now, with 59 needed and seven wickets in hand, MacLaren joined Ward, whose century was in sight. But at 93 he was yorked by Harry Trott after a beautifully-crafted 3½-hour innings, and it was said that even his opponents felt slightly sad at his missing a hundred. Apart from the big hit off Giffen, Ward had found the fence only six times; but he knew his task was to support Brown as the rugged Yorkshireman played his truly phenomenal innings.
Peel had taken the winning wicket for England in the first Test, at Sydney, and in the second, at Melbourne, and now he secured a distinguished hat-trick by hitting the winning runs in the fifth Test, whacking a Harry Trott full-toss through the off side. England by six wickets, wrapping up the first great Test series.
As the cheering receded, Giffen shook Stoddart’s hand and said, in choked voice, ‘It’s hard to have to congratulate you, Stoddy, old boy.’ He apologised for the hesitancy in his voice, but it seems he had already composed a victory speech for himself. He would have cheered up some time later when he was presented with 400 sovereigns from the public for his services to Australian cricket.
Peel gave his bat to Charlie Turner, but the greatest trophy, the ball, had been retrieved at the end by McKibbin. Stoddart had said to Blackham, ‘Do you think there is a possible chance of getting that ball? I’d give my very soul to get it, upon my word I would.’ So the grizzled Australian wicketkeeper probed the possibilities.
‘The ball’s very valuable to me,’ retorted McKibbin, the young Test debutant. ‘I prize it greatly.’ Or perhaps he was teasing. Anyway, the plaintive look in ‘Stoddy’s’ eyes persuaded him: ‘If you give me your photo,’ bargained McKibbin, ‘I’ll give you the ball.’ The dressing-room transaction complete, the England captain expressed his pleasure at the ‘nice way in which McKibbin met him’. What became of that historic ball nobody now seems to know. The Bulletin did record, however, that Stoddart held it aloft and said, ‘I’m glad Turner hadn’t the handling of it.’
In the pavilion was Lord Hopetoun, popular Governor of Victoria and soon to become Australia’s first Governor-General upon the inauguration of the Commonwealth on January 1, 1901, when Federation became a reality, Australia’s cricketers having helped inspire the dream. His Lordship presented bats to Darling and Brown for top-scoring for their respective teams then made a short speech, saying that some of the pleasantest hours of his life had been spent at the Melbourne Cricket Ground. Frank Grey Smith thanked everybody on behalf of Melbourne CC, and complimented Stoddart not only on his victory but on his ‘consummate tact and sportsmanlike conduct’. Stoddart made a typically modest, serene and yet heartfelt reply, but poor Giffen was still struggling with his emotions, and managed some generous remarks either side of his expressed disappointment. Although his players were not Englishmen, ‘they were sprouts of a magnificent old trunk’.
Meanwhile, in the city streets, so long-faced were passers-by that it was supposed by one observer that ‘a stranger would have thought that half the population had died suddenly and the other half was mourning its loss’.
More pragmatically, the Argus deduced that ‘the whole story is told in this little record as to the fall of the wickets: Two for 28; three for 238. The one satisfactory point to Australians is that they will be able to say long years hence that they were at the match and saw that partnership’.
‘Felix’ put it another way: ‘When Stoddart fell leg-before first ball, I doubt whether two batsmen ever faced the music with a heavier responsibility upon them than Albert Ward and Jack Brown. And so long as cricket flourishes their splendid performance deserves to hold a high place in the annals of the game as one of the greatest, if not the greatest, performance on record.’
From a vantage-point way in the future, it seems that AE Stoddart was born expressly to govern this fabulous series of Test matches. Nothing in his heroic sporting life before or afterwards touched this sublime peak.
No periodical captured the glory of the moment better than Melbourne Punch, one of whose versifiers came up with:
There went a tale to England,
‘Twas of the Test match won,
And nobly had her cricketers
That day their duty done.
They didn’t fail like funkers,
They kept up England’s tail,
They kept their pros from off the booze
And knew they could not fail.
Then wrote the Queen of England,
Whose hand is blessed by God,
‘I must do something handsome
For my dear victorious Stod.
Let him return without delay,
And we will dub him pat—
A baronet that he may be
Sir Andrew Stoddart, Bat (Baronet).’
Despite the cartoonists’ hints, no national honours ever did
come Stoddart’s way.
Melbourne Cricket Ground, March 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 1895
Toss: Australia
Debuts: Australia—TR McKibbin
12th Men: CTB Turner (Aust). No 12th named for Eng
Umpires: T Flynn and J Phillips
Attendances: 18,000, 29,123, 19,200, 13,500, 14,259. Total: 103,636 Receipts: £4004
Close of play: 1st day Aust 4–282 (Gregory 70, Darling 72); 2nd day Eng 4–200
(MacLaren 40, Peel 18); 3rd day Aust (2) 1-69 (GHS Trott 37, Giffen 14); 4th day
Eng (2) 1-28 (Ward 6, Stoddart 11).
ENGLAND WON BY 6 WICKETS
