“He was an exciting, daring, left-hander of the highest order.”
New Zealand Test team-mate Ian Colquhoun
Sutcliffe would hit the ground running in the 1954–55 summer, posting a half-century during Otago’s win over Canterbury on the first innings, and a century in a 10-wicket triumph over Auckland at Eden Park. His acid test, however, would arrive much later in the season, in the shape of Len Hutton’s MCC side, made formidable by the pace duo of Frank Tyson and Brian Statham. Tyson was genuinely fast; many claim the fastest of them all. Statham was not quite as rapid but still sharp, and would arrive with a reputation for being able to bowl for long periods. On their own, each was a handful; together they could be murderous, as the Australians would discover at Sydney and Melbourne. There, Tyson would terrorise the hosts as Statham applied suffocating pressure at the other end. The pair would continue on to play a major role in the MCC’s first series win in Australia for 22 years.
As the English gathered themselves for the short visit to New Zealand, including tour matches against Canterbury and Wellington, and Tests at Dunedin and Auckland, Sutcliffe would have plenty to occupy his thoughts. His last four Plunket Shield innings had produced nothing in excess of 25 and, to make matters worse, he would not play in a first-class match between Otago’s final Shield game, on 15 January, and the start of the opening Test on 11 March. His only outings in this period would be in Dunedin club cricket; his sole preparation for facing the most feared paceman in the world would be a diet of Saturday afternoon club bowlers. Remarkably, in the circumstances, he would string together Test scores of 74, 35, 49 and 11 for a series average of 42.25. He’d later nominate the 74, scored in the first official Test at Carisbrook, as one of the best Test innings he’d played. It was because of the conditions. The pitch was soft and sticky; the outfield heavy.
‘I remember watching that innings as a schoolboy,’ recalled former Otago team-mate Russell Hendry. ‘He made it look so easy. Everyone was jumping about against Tyson and Statham but Bert was in no trouble at all, and scored the lion’s share of the runs. The English fast-bowlers were just too quick for most of our guys. The stumps were flying out of the ground as they were still bringing their bats down. Seven of them were bowled. Les Watt was cleaned out by a full-toss that hit about nine inches up from the base of the stumps. It was astonishing, really, but Bert was singularly untroubled. All this carnage was going on and he seemed to have all the time in the world. Of all the New Zealand batsmen I’ve seen, Bert Sutcliffe and Martin Crowe were, technically, the best. They saw the ball early, were never hurried, and they seemed to hit everything in the middle of the bat. And the thing about Bert was that he was so unassuming and self-effacing. He never regarded himself as a star; he was just one of the boys.’
Before the first Test began, the MCC would first beat Canterbury at Lancaster Park in a match that would again highlight the folly of the previous season’s selection policies. Gordon Leggat would be run out for 99 after blunting the visitors’ Tyson-led attack for several hours, demonstrating once more what might have been had common sense prevailed. And Tom Burtt would announce his retirement from the first-class scene, but not before blitzing a stirring unbeaten 30 in his final innings, including 24 off an over from his left-arm counterpart, Johnny Wardle. In 10 Tests Burtt had taken 33 wickets; in first-class cricket he’d picked up 408, a record at the time, at just 22.19. Sutcliffe knew both players should have been in South Africa and was unhappy that he’d not tried harder to argue their case, along with that of his leg-spinning Otago team-mate, Alex Moir.
Despite the purple patch in Australia the previous summer and the 99 against Tyson and company, Leggat would still not earn a recall for the Carisbrook Test. A lean Shield trot would persuade the selectors to persevere with Murray Chapple and to offer a one and only Test cap to Otago batsman Les Watt. Both would be discarded afterwards and replaced by Leggat and Matt Poore, in another sign of the confusion within the ranks. Other features of the first Test line-up would include the recall of Moir and pace bowler Harry Cave, and a first cap for wicket-keeper Ian Colquhoun, who was preferred to both Frank Mooney and Eric Petrie. Sutcliffe would admit to having mixed feelings about this Test: pleased with his grit and fight, but dismayed to be run-out on the fifth day, setting in process a collapse that would allow England to win by eight wickets.
‘Scheduling Test cricket for Dunedin in mid-March was always a bit of a gamble,’ said Sutcliffe. ‘It was pretty difficult going into the first innings but even then we were terribly slow. I took about 270 minutes over my 74, even though I hit three sixes during the innings. Geoff Rabone was being rubbished by the crowd for his lack of scoring, and it was a big crowd too; a ground record of 16,000, I recall. Geoff scored 18 in three hours, and simply refused to take any sort of risk. I think he ended up with a line in Wisden for his trouble. We were bowled out for 125 and they were 209 for eight at the end of the second day. Rain washed out the next two days’ play, prompting Hutton to declare before the start of the fifth, 80-odd ahead. We were 67 for one at lunch. It seemed almost impossible to lose, but we managed it. I was run out immediately after the resumption; we were skittled for 132 and in the end the MCC won comfortably by eight wickets.’
The collapse might have been a harbinger for the anguish that would follow in Auckland but, if it was, no-one would see it coming. Certainly not the Christchurch gentleman who became so excited about New Zealand’s performance midway through the Eden Park Test that he climbed aboard a DC3 and flew north in the hope of witnessing a historic win. Sutcliffe would proceed through to 49 in the first innings but lose his wicket just before lunch, hooking Statham down Trevor Bailey’s throat. New Zealand’s total of 200 would be bettered by just 46 when the MCC batted, raising hopes that a decent target on a wearing, fifth-day wicket might prove a bridge too far for the tourists. Instead the hosts were rolled for a world record low of 26, in just 27 overs. Sutcliffe top-scored with 11 before being the fifth out at 14, swinging at Wardle’s chinaman. By the time he’d exited the showers upon his return to the dressing room, the match was over.
The fateful Test had begun on Friday; continued on Saturday in front of 30,000 patrons, paused for a day of worship on Sunday, and was all wrapped up on the Monday. Geoff Rabone put the capitulation down to a number of factors, the most influential being the calibre of the opposition, the standard of some of the New Zealand batting, and the state of the Eden Park pitch. The night before the ignominious showing, vandals had taken the covers off the block, leaving it exposed to the autumnal conditions. Reports at the time suggested that, because there was no rain overnight, the surface was unaffected, an assessment that Rabone vigorously disputed. In a New Zealand Herald interview ahead of the 50-year anniversary of the debacle, he claimed the incident had a ‘hell of an effect’ on the pitch, saying there might not have been any overnight rain but there had been a heavy dew. The surface had been considerably dampened and was ‘just dreadful’ to bat on.
To make matters worse for New Zealand, England off-spinner Bob Appleyard was almost tailor-made for the conditions; his brisk off-spin preventing the batsmen from using their feet, while still gaining alarming purchase. It was Appleyard who tore the middle out of the New Zealand innings, taking four for seven off six overs as he and his close-in catchers built on a spectacular opening from Tyson. Rabone said Tyson might have had the pace and Statham the line-and-length, but Appleyard was the biggest threat in the conditions. ‘Bob was a tall Yorkshireman, and used to bowl these quick cutters, quicker than Underwood,’ he said. ‘He was very awkward and often had the ball going over our shoulders as we played forward. It was very difficult. They had these blokes like Colin Cowdrey and Peter May catching around the bat, and they were very sharp at their work.’
Rabone said there were some intangible consequences from the humiliation, such as the players having to cope with the subsequent lampooning and wise-cracking, and the inevitable comparisons with the high-flying All Blacks, who a year later would host the Springboks in the most anticipated Kiwi sporting event of the decade. His role at the time was batting at No.6 and trying to hold together the tail, but he eventually became the ninth wicket to fall after being adjudged leg-before to Statham. The dismissal followed a desperate attempt to prolong the inevitable when, at 22 for eight, he appealed against the light. Rabone remembered that his appeal had been greeted with boos from the crowd, something he’d also experienced in South Africa. He’d later appreciate the humour in the situation.
‘Why not?’ he chuckled. ‘It was mid-afternoon, a gloomy day and, as it turned out, it was to get a lot gloomier. I think I asked [umpire] Clyde Harris, and he gently responded that the light was fine. To make matters worse, I inside-edged the next ball from Statham on to my pad, but was still given leg-before by Harris. I was on seven at the time and who knows, I might have made 12. It didn’t matter a hell of a lot, although Clyde later described it as one of the worst moments of his career, mistakenly giving me out leg-before. It was just one of those things. One thing I did object to, however, was when people used the word “disgraceful” to describe our performance. It was many things, that batting effort, but it was never disgraceful. Everyone gave their all, and we were out-gunned on the day. Everyone tried as hard as they could; how could that be seen as disgraceful? The public reaction really knocked us around, when I think back.’
Sutcliffe’s contribution over the dual Tests had been impressive, although compared to the public expectation that surrounded him at the time, more tantalising than meaningful. It would be the story of his career. Without any substantial or consistent support within the New Zealand batting line-up, the side’s fortunes would more or less swing on his own individual performance. John Reid would have some very successful campaigns, notably his two tours of the subcontinent and the 1961–62 series in South Africa but it would be his all-round value as much as his run-scoring that would impress. Since the end of the 1949 tour and the farewell of Martin Donnelly, no player had come close to emulating Sutcliffe’s batting achievements for New Zealand, and none would until Glenn Turner arrived on the scene in 1968–69. As MCC sailed for home in 1955, Sutcliffe could look back on a Test record that comprised 18 caps, 1355 runs at an average of 45.16, including two centuries and 10 other scores in excess of 50.
With that success story, however, would come increased pressure to extract the maximum possible advantage from his bat, and heightened criticism when he fell short of meeting expectations. As Iain Gallaway said, there was an anticipation that Sutcliffe would score centuries. Not just occasionally, or when he was in the best of form, but always. Following a brief lean spell with Otago in 1951–52, Sutcliffe remembered being cajoled at the Dunedin Railway Station by a clerk who was clearly less than impressed with his returns. It was the same during the Tests against the MCC. While no batsman scored more runs over the course of the two matches, Sutcliffe would be roundly criticised for not doing better. Critics would bemoan the method of his dismissals: caught in the covers and run-out at Dunedin; caught hooking off Statham and bowled after having a flay at Wardle at Auckland. Noel McGregor, however, said the reaction was terribly unfair.
‘The thing I remembered most about that series was Bert,’ said McGregor. ‘I was on debut in Dunedin and could hardly see Tyson; in fact I could hardly see Statham. The pair of them were quicker than most and it was a bit of a culture shock for me and, I’m sure, for Les Watt as well. But Bert’s 70-odd at Carisbrook was just in another league. At one end we were being blasted all over the shop but at the other, it was as if Bert was facing completely different bowlers. It was similar in the first innings at Auckland, really. Bert and John Reid apart, the rest of us were trying to play at a different level and struggling. If it wasn’t the fast-bowlers it was the spinners and, to be fair, Bob Appleyard couldn’t have wished for a more helpful surface on which to operate. Once the covers were pulled off in the middle of the night our fate was sealed, really. He was near enough to unplayable.
‘But Bert, he was the exception. He made the game look so easy. It was like putting two bob in a dispensing machine and just waiting for it to operate automatically. We would be trying to thrash the bloody ball to the boundary; Bert’s defensive shots would often go to the boundary. His timing was exquisite. His technique; his body and feet were always in the right position. He made a mockery of the game and particularly at club level. It’s true that, as his batting partner, you felt emboldened just because he was out there with you. And he was always so generous with his comments. You’d walk up to him between overs and say, “Christ, why can’t I play a shot like that.” And he’d reply, “Of course you can. Just trust yourself, watch the ball closely and let it come to you. Don’t go searching for it.” I mean, it was good advice but Bert was simply so much better than us, he sometimes made things sound easier than they were. Let it come to me? As I said, I couldn’t even see Tyson.’
New Zealand’s new wicket-keeper at the time, Colquhoun, first met Sutcliffe in 1947 when the pair attended the third year physical education course in Dunedin. Colquhoun, who was terrified ahead of his debut against the MCC at Carisbrook on account of having dreamt of dropping Hutton four times, saw a lot of Sutcliffe during his 11-year stint at Central Districts. He regarded him as one of the few batsmen who could be genuinely placed in the ‘masterclass’ category. Colquhoun’s story against the MCC that year was one of mixed fortunes. He caught Hutton in both innings at Carisbrook, dispelling his worst fears. But then he was dismissed for a king pair at Auckland, falling in identical fashion on both occasions: caught close-in off the bowling of Appleyard. Typically, given the selection philosophies of the day, he was summarily axed and wouldn’t play another Test. Trevor McMahon and Petrie would be called up instead.
‘Wicket-keeping against Bert was always an interesting experience,’ said Colquhoun. ‘He always positioned himself beautifully in line and with his head very still. His reflexes and reaction times must have been exceptional because he always seemed to be waiting on the ball when it arrived. He had a lovely, relaxed stance, soft hands and his footwork ensured perfect balance, whether going forward or back. He must have been able to see the ball very early, and he had a very exact back-lift; nothing ever seemed forced, all the shots just flowed, whether they were drives or hooks or cuts. When Bert was batting you always found the fieldsmen on either side of the wicket scrambling sideways in an effort to cut off the ball, which was a sure sign of his class. He was always exploring gaps in the field and his placement was, more often than not, unerring. He would toy with our bowlers at times, placing the ball exactly in the spot a fieldsman had just vacated.
‘He wasn’t easy to wicket-keep against. Maybe shorter ’keepers found it easier, I’m not sure. He was very compact in his technique and, because his bat on the vertical shots was so closely aligned to the movement of his feet, body and head, vision for a ’keeper standing up was poor. I found it necessary to get my outside foot as close as possible to the return crease. Only then did I have a decent view of the bowler’s line. My recollection is that Bert seldom lost his wicket to a catch by the ’keeper in matches against Central Districts, at least the ones I was involved in. In fact, I can’t remember it ever happening. I’m sure he probably did but it gives you an idea of the class of the batsman. It was a rarity for a bowler to get Bert out; more often than not he’d get himself out by playing a rash shot or becoming too adventurous. But to be fair to him, that’s the style of batsman that Bert was.’
All the more remarkable, then, that such a prominent international sportsman would be forced to eke out a meagre existence through the juggling of at least three part-time jobs in Dunedin. There was the coaching role with the OCA, during which time Sutcliffe would have to present himself at the end of the week, literally cap in hand, to request his wages; there would be a part-time teaching job in winter and he would often be seen at the wheel of commercial vans and trucks. He wasn’t interested in following Reid into the Lancashire league, and county sides at that time had tight restrictions regarding overseas players. Quite apart from all that, Sutcliffe enjoyed the familiarity of New Zealand, treasured being surrounded by his friends and family and had no desire to uproot his wife and children and drag them around the world. From what he’d been led to understand, the life of a non-English cricketing professional was a harried one.
For all that, he was becoming a little overwhelmed by his responsibilities at the OCA. The professional coaching position would prove demanding enough and require him to travel all over the region, but the added task of overseeing the Colts eleven in the senior club competition was beginning to become too much of a burden. Sutcliffe would often be dealing with dozens upon dozens of different players each week and knew he could only offer the most basic of assistance. The strain was beginning to show and he would soon take up his concerns at the executive level. But for everyone else involved, there was never any sign of discontent.
‘I suppose having me as coach was a bit of a PR exercise in a way,’ said Sutcliffe. ‘They gave me hordes of kids and that started to become a bit of a problem. I was a trained teacher, with a qualification in physical education, remember, so I had the right credentials for the job. I knew how to keep everyone busy. But it was just numbers, numbers and more numbers; every week it would be like that. You couldn’t get your teeth into anything; you couldn’t help anyone on a specific level, really. If you were hoping to trouble-shoot someone’s technical game or iron out a particular fault, you’d need to spend some quality one-on-one sessions with them over an extended period of time. That simply couldn’t happen with the volume of young players I was dealing with, so it became very much a general, help clinic. I used to say the same things, countless times, all over Otago and Southland. In hindsight, it would have been more effective if I’d worked with a smaller, elite group.’
Before long, Sutcliffe would step down from his coaching roles and realign himself with his original Dunedin club, North East Valley. He would drive trucks for his old Kaikorai club-mate Ces Welham and work part-time at the Otago Sports Depot. Relief teaching would help keep the wolves from the door, and his friends Ken and Phyllis Rigby would continue to assist with childcare arrangements. The prince of left-handers may not have possessed much in terms of material wealth, but he, Norma, Gary and Christine were living the high life in every other sense. The family would take every opportunity to explore the Otago province, primarily the Maniototo region, where Bert would extend his goodwill and become a favourite of the locals, particularly Patearoa farmers Bruce and Evelyn Greer, who owned a mud-brick homestead named ‘Crieve’.
‘Bert and I often spent a few days at the Greers’ farm; Bert just loved the Otago countryside,’ said former North East Valley club-mate Ewen Ansell. ‘During one evening’s entertainment Bruce suddenly remembered a cow that was due to calve and asked us both if we wanted to help. Bert and I looked at each other; it was well outside our sphere of experience but we decided to go along anyway. Off we went in this Landrover until we came to a barn and located the mother just in time. It wasn’t a good birth. The calf’s legs were visible but nothing much else. Bruce quickly took control. Bert, because he was a left-hander, was to take the left legs and I was to grab the others. I remember watching Bert’s face as we extricated this new-born and I can tell you that he was in unfamiliar territory. His eyes were as wide as saucers but he followed all the instructions and was delighted when everything worked out. But it’s fair to say he was never going to be a veterinary surgeon after that.’
Iain Gallaway was involved in, and later led, an invitation side into the Maniototo each Easter, featuring former Test players such as Gordon Leggat, Tom Burtt, Matt Poore, Zin Harris, Walter Hadlee and, in time, Walter’s sons Barry, Dayle and Richard. The balance of the team would be made up of some young, promising Otago players and a few locals, such as the ‘Podge’ Stevensons and the ‘Spot’ Wilsons of that time. There, the visiting combination would play a range of country opponents, including a Patearoa side so strong that it boasted not just one eleven, but also a ‘B’ team. Sutcliffe was never invited to play for the invitation eleven, Gallaway said, simply because he was so good there was a fear that he would dominate proceedings. But he would always make the trip regardless, staying at ‘Crieve’ and becoming quite the favourite of the local community. Gallaway said it was all a bit embarrassing, until the day Sutcliffe walked on to the field as one of the opposition, the local captain having first sought permission to include him.
‘Patearoa did the dirty on us and picked Bert for themselves,’ chuckled Gallaway. ‘I think they may have been one short so they roped him in as an eleventh hour replacement. And of course he made a hundred against us in a very short space of time and they won the match. Bert had taken his revenge. I have to say, I think we were a bit miffed, although he almost had the keys to the town after that. But to be fair, he loved Patearoa and it’s true that it played an important part in his life. He would be at all the parties of course; we’d see him all over the place during our trips. Usually, though, he’d stay with the Greers. Bruce and Evelyn were lovely people. They used to quite often host John and Norli Reid as well, when John was playing for Otago. I think Bert loved those Easter trips, they were something he really looked forward to.’
Otago team-mate Ivan Walsh tells the story of a trip when the invitation side included a match against Ranfurly in their Easter outing, and spirits were running so high that a few of the players went up the road and ‘borrowed’ a couple of sheep, returned to the pub and set them loose inside the public bar, to the sound of general mayhem. He believed it was Sutcliffe’s idea, spawned after a few of the farming opposition had ransacked the city players’ rooms and turned their beds upside down. On another occasion during some lively times at the hall beside the Becks pub, one of the farming community joined the dance late in the piece, on horseback. For all that, whether sleep-deprived and ill-prepared at country club level, or outrageously over-qualified for the Dunedin club competition, Sutcliffe was never anything less than an elegant batsman, and his style was impressed on the minds of all who watched him.
‘I’ll say this about Bert, I never saw him play an ugly shot,’ said Walsh. ‘Even when he got out he seemed to get out gracefully, if such a thing is possible. As soon as people heard he was ‘in’, they’d come and watch. You could be guaranteed that if Bert was playing on the Moon there’d be a decent turn-out. His reputation was that big. They were tough times in those days and people knew what real value was, so the chance to watch something as classical as a Sutcliffe batting exhibition for free wasn’t easily passed up. And Bert seldom disappointed. Whether he was playing for New Zealand, Otago, Valley or a pick-up eleven he never let his standards slip. His cover drive was just beautiful, for the simple reason it was so effortless and there seemed to be a complete lack of power. But the ball would streak to the boundary; his timing was that good. The secret was his positioning. He was in the right position so quickly; he almost seemed to be standing on the ball when he was off-driving.’
Sutcliffe, though starved of the sort of international programme typical of the modern game, continued to savour his cricketing opportunities at all levels. His days of leading Test teams might have been in the past, but he enjoyed immensely his experiences at the helm of the Valley team. And his club team-mates loved playing under him, even if his methods were sometimes shown to be alarmingly unorthodox. Ansell remembers an occasion when Sutcliffe, after helping to push Valley out to an outstanding first-innings lead against High School Old Boys, decided to reverse his team’s second-innings batting order so that some of his top-order batsmen could enjoy a more lengthy lunch break. In a story that was to become a notorious part of the Valley club’s folklore, an exhausted player eventually sprinted into the nearby local with the news that the side was five down and there was no-one left to pad up. By the time Sutcliffe went in it was too late. Valley lost the match outright.
Ansell’s brother, Keith has a more respectable tale: ‘The first time I played under Bert I was just out of high school and fielding at second slip. After a few overs Bert asked me to move to leg-slip, a position not frequently employed and one with which I wasn’t overly familiar. The very next ball was glanced directly to me and I duly obliged by catching it. I couldn’t believe it and, at that point, really thought Bert was God. Another time I was opening the innings against competition leaders, Albion. It was the first day of the game and Bert wasn’t available for the second because he would be playing for New Zealand in Christchurch. Unfortunately, we lost the toss and weren’t able to start our innings until 5.45 pm, giving us only 15 minutes batting time. My brief was to back up and run hard for every single. I can still see Bert playing the ball all around the clock, quite majestically. At stumps, after 15 minutes, Valley’s scoreboard read: 49 without loss. Sutcliffe 48, Ansell 1.’
Bill Haig’s wife Nell was the sister that Norma never had, and vice-versa. When their husbands were playing cricket, Norma and Nell and their respective children would spend a lot of time together, sometimes heading down to the ground to watch the game, but just as often organising their days to keep the young ones occupied and happy. Norma would usually stay abreast of the various developments in the cricket but Nell would always feign ignorance unless her husband failed to score, in which case she was not above greeting him at home with a loud quacking noise. Nell was always teasing her husband, often to Norma’s mock horror. On one occasion, after Haig walked from the middle following a large century, Nell looked up as he strode past and asked, ‘How did you get on?’ It always made Norma laugh: ‘Oh Nell, you’re so mean.’
But Nell said the cricket life wasn’t all beer and skittles, particularly for those players with young families. Husbands and fathers would farewell their loved ones at the railway station before embarking on ‘away’ trips to Canterbury, Nelson and any number of North Island venues. Christmas was particularly difficult as Plunket Shield matches were played on Christmas Day every year from 1945 to 1962, apart from on those occasions when it would fall on a Sunday. It wasn’t Norma or Nell’s most favourite time of the year as the shops were closed for the entire week. Even if it was a home game, the children were usually bored stiff, she said. If you took them down to the ground you daren’t let them make any noise. It was an era when children were to be seen but not heard, and it could be a lonely existence for young mums. But Nell said it was nothing like what Norma had to put up with when Bert was touring overseas, sometimes for six-month-long periods.
‘Even when he wasn’t touring it was difficult at times for Norma; I felt a bit sorry for her,’ said Nell. ‘Bert treated her like a princess and loved her dearly but he was simply so well-known and famous, and in such great demand, that it was easy for people to forget about Norma. We used to go to a few cricket ‘do’s’ together and it was almost the same every time. Everyone would push Bert towards a piano, where they’d have a beer poured and waiting for him, and there he would stay for pretty much the rest of the night. Norma wouldn’t have a partner; you know what I mean? Bert would be the life of the party, and honestly, he could make a piano talk. But Norma would be sort of left by herself. It was like that all the time. Once, when Bert and Norma were staying at our place, we needed to get an electrician over to fix the freezer. Well, when he discovered who was here there was no problem. Only trouble was he spent all his time talking to Bert.’
