“If I had to pick a team from all the players I saw, my openers would be Hutton and Sutcliffe, and I don’t mean Herbert.”
Team-mate Martin Donnelly
For the first time since 1949, Sutcliffe would return from an overseas tour with a spring in his step and an optimistic outlook. He might have enjoyed more prolific times abroad but his final return for the overall excursion, 707 runs at 32.13, left him fourth on the squad averages, and third, if tail-ender Frank Cameron’s effort of remaining not out in 14 of 18 innings is to be discounted. The only batsmen above Sutcliffe on the table would be Barry Sinclair (35.23) and John Reid (34.94). Not that it would be the numbers buoying Sutcliffe. The new job with Rothmans had provided stability for his family while overseas, and would capture his enthusiasm when he returned. He was, and had always been, a teacher first and foremost, and his coaching position would allow him to express himself, and contribute towards something he was interested in. Beyond all that, he was looking forward to working with young folk again; he’d always enjoyed their energy and enthusiasm.
Sutcliffe would play one more season of first-class cricket, as captain of Northern Districts following the unavailability of Bruce Pairaudeau. Ironically, given the general assessment of his captaincy abilities in earlier years, it would be his leadership that would stand out most in a disappointing swansong. In the worst Shield return of his career, Sutcliffe would total just 177 runs while his team collapsed all around him. But it would say something that, as the skipper of the weakest side in the competition, he would embrace such an enterprising approach that Northern Districts might have snatched a win on three occasions. His last match would be against Wellington at Hamilton; his farewell innings a patient 56 as he set Wellington a sporting target of 170 for victory in about two hours. Wellington captain and cricket historian Don Neely would steer his side to a tense, two-wicket win with an unbeaten 35.
In contrast to 1959, when Sutcliffe left Eden Park with mixed feelings after announcing his premature retirement from the Test scene, this time he would depart the first-class arena with no regrets. He had given his all. Since his debut 24 summers earlier, he had played in 233 first-class matches, scored 17,447 runs at 47.41 and posted 44 centuries, including six double and two triple hundreds. His 385 against Canterbury and 355 against Auckland remain the highest individual totals in New Zealand first-class cricket. On four occasions he’d scored a century in each innings of a match. On 69 occasions he’d top-scored in a completed innings. Of the 58 century partnerships in which he was involved, 10 were of 200 or more. Three times he’d scored a century before lunch: against Essex at Southend in 1949, against Central Districts at Carisbrook in 1959–60 and against Northern Districts at Hamilton in 1960–61. The last of his 86 first-class victims was Noel McGregor, at Carisbrook during Sutcliffe’s final season.
‘When you think he made his first-class debut in 1941–42, it was a quite amazing career,’ said McGregor. ‘But Bert was ready to go at that stage. Most of his peers, his contemporaries had retired and, in a way, it might have felt a bit strange for him. I know when I was still playing for Otago in 1969 it was a bit like that. Having said that, Bert was revered up and down the country for what he’d achieved, and especially by the young players who were emerging on the first-class scene as he bowed out. He was made to feel welcome everywhere he went and I doubt he would have thought about retiring for any reason other than it felt the right time for him. He was pretty happy when that coaching job came along; I remember that. It was familiar territory for him. It was something he could feel confident about; this time he had all his ducks in a row. I think he was actually looking forward to the change.’
Sutcliffe would certainly enjoy his new brief and, while still based in Hamilton, would cover vast tracts of the North Island while participating in coaching seminars, coaching clinics, courses and conferences. A significant priority in his job description would be teaching coaches to coach, a development he said was critical not only for the future of cricket in New Zealand but for the future of coaching in New Zealand. Technology would also demand close attention, and much would be made of Sutcliffe’s modis operandi in the early seventies, when he was reported to be using a portable ‘video-taping machine’ as a coaching aid. In 1966, Worcestershire and England Test batsman Martin Horton was named as cricket’s national coaching director and Sutcliffe would find himself working closely alongside the new appointee, and enjoying his company.
‘Bert couldn’t have been a better friend and help to me,’ said Horton. ‘Our families got on extremely well. Bert was on the coaching committee from its inception and was later to become its secretary. I remember once when we were coaching at a school in Bethlehem, near Tauranga. We had one net, hundreds of young boys and the most uneven pitch you’ve ever seen. The headmaster told me the school would like to see one of us bat. I took one look at the surface and walked over to Bert. “Bert”, I said. “The headmaster would like to see you bat.” This was in the seventies and Bert was over 50. He went white for a moment but then padded up and proceeded to bat as if he was on an Eden Park belter. It was quite remarkable; you could still see the pure class even then.
‘The first day Margaret and I and our nine-year-old daughter Shelley arrived in New Zealand, we were driven from Wellington to Taupo where Bert picked us up. We arrived at a motel in Auckland where various people including the press were waiting to meet us. Margaret was a bit overcome by the occasion and was having a little tear. Bert spotted this and immediately took her under his wing, and with the help of a large whisky talked her through it all. I’ll never forget that; how considerate and sensitive he was. This continued for the next 17 years. He, Norma and the children couldn’t have been better friends. We spent many Christmases together and enjoyed each other’s company immensely. Bert was a highly energetic and enthusiastic coach and carried incredible respect on the cricketing circuit. He was an instructor at all the advanced coaches’ courses that I ran.’
For all that, Sutcliffe would be determined to keep a balance about his life. The children were rapidly growing up. Gary was nearing the completion of his secondary school education at Hamilton Boys, Christine was at Hamilton Girls and Lynn at Peach Grove Intermediate. Social evenings would often be shared with Norma’s family, in particular, and at these times Bert would seldom be found far from a piano. Apart from playing the occasional game of cricket he would help keep himself fit by returning to the tennis court, organising regular visits to the local squash courts and playing as much golf as possible. His handicap would hover around nine for the next decade. In 1969 he would be honoured with a MCC life membership, sparking a minor celebration at his Hamilton home, and a couple of years later, at the age of 48, he would join Horton in an Auckland eleven that played a New Zealand Invitation team in a 40-over match at Eden Park.
Brought into the side after Australian Test batsman Keith Stackpole was forced to withdraw, Sutcliffe would make the transition from social cricket to an Eden Park representative outing on the back of a couple of nets with some local players. Then, after the New Zealand eleven rattled up 222 courtesy of half-centuries from Graham Newdick, Mike Shrimpton and Barry Hadlee, he and his team-mates would be confronted by an attack spearheaded by a long-haired 20-year-old by the name of Richard Hadlee. Batting at No.5 Sutcliffe would be happy to watch from the boundary as Rodney Redmond and Horton scored the bulk of the runs early-on, and later as John Carson and John McIntyre brought the team home with five wickets in hand. His contribution would be 18, and while a couple of signature cover drives would draw sighs of pleasure from the stands, the most memorable moment would be the hero’s welcome he received while walking to the crease.
By the mid-1970s, Sutcliffe had become the director of coaching for the sports foundation and had transferred back to Auckland’s North Shore. In 1974, he and Norma would drive up to the far north town of Kaikohe for the wedding of Gary and Janelle, and a few months later he would be sitting behind an NZBC television microphone with co-commentator Richie Benaud, describing events as New Zealand squared off against Mike Denness’ England tourists. It was in the closing stages of the first Test at Eden Park, after England had taken a stranglehold of the game through the batting of Denness (181) and Keith Fletcher (216), that paceman Peter Lever struck New Zealand No.11 Ewen Chatfield in the temple with a bouncer, causing the batsman to fall to the ground unconscious, swallow his tongue and suffer a cardiac arrest. Only the quick-thinking actions of England physio Bernard Thomas, who cleared Chatfield’s airway and began CPR, would save his life.
‘It was just frustration,’ said Sutcliffe. ‘It should never have happened. Chatfield was the best-qualified No.11 in the world; if there had been twelve players per team he would have been the No.12. To have to resort to bowling bouncers at him was a pretty clear sign of impatience, I thought. England were about to win by an innings but were being held up by Ewen and Geoff Howarth. It was fair enough that the quicks bowled a few bouncers at Howarth as he was a top-order batsman. But to dig them in against a tail-ender like Ewen; well, I thought that was wrong, and said so at the time. I remember there was a lot of frustration amongst the English players because they couldn’t seem to get Ewen out; he stuck around for about three-quarters of an hour. It doesn’t matter now because everyone wears helmets and lots of other protective gear besides, but in those days people took a pretty dim view of a rank tail-ender being bounced.’
A few months later Sutcliffe would lead a tour party to England to watch New Zealand contest the inaugural World Cup, at that stage a 60-over competition called the Prudential Series. Norma would travel with him on what would be her first overseas trip, the excursion made even sweeter by the knowledge that waiting for them in London were daughters Christine and Lynn, each about a year into their OEs. It would be a wonderful trip, Sutcliffe said, made particularly enjoyable by Norma’s presence. They were on hand at Edgbaston as the New Zealanders beat East Africa, at Trent Bridge as they lost to England and then at Old Trafford as they beat India with seven balls to spare, setting up a semi-final against the West Indies at the Oval. New Zealand would lose by five wickets, and Sutcliffe would then move across town for the final at Lord’s, where he would watch enthralled as the West Indies prevailed over Australia by 17 runs, in a match that ended just before 8.45 pm.
‘They were the most exciting days of cricket I’ve ever seen,’ he told reporters upon his return. ‘The £3 match tickets were sold out before the final began and, on the day of the game, the touts were selling them at £20 each. As a spectacle, for sheer animation, tension, colour and exuberance, it was an unforgettable experience. The general atmosphere of the crowd is much more noisy these days. They bang cans together, wave banners and wear colourful hats. The final could have been a soccer match at Wembley or even a rugby Test at Eden Park. But that isn’t a bad thing, so long as the crowd shows reasonable control and doesn’t abuse the players. Having been made a life member of the MCC I was also able to enjoy all the facilities at Lord’s, including a tour of the pavilion library, the museum and the first tennis court. It was very special.’
The advent of the limited-overs game was revolutionising cricket and would soon rise to such prominence that commentators would often ponder how the nation’s first post-war great might have fared in a similar environment. Often overlooked in the discussion was the fact that Sutcliffe played a great deal of one-day cricket in his early-twenties, initially for Parnell in Auckland knockout and ‘equal batting time’ competitions, and later for the Digla Zone team in Egypt, where many of the inter-service contests were one-day affairs, working on a formula of three hours’ batting time for each team. It was in this competition that he smashed Dudley Nourse’s Alamein ground record with a chanceless and unbeaten 159 against a South African eleven. Sutcliffe arrived at the crease after 10 minutes had elapsed and, unaided by fielding restrictions or power-play overs, batted for the remainder of the innings, striking 12 fours and four sixes.
Frank Cameron: ‘He could play all the shots, and he had an attacking instinct. His off-driving was just wonderful. I remember as a boy watching him make those two hundreds against Wally Hammond’s MCC team at Carisbrook. He just lent on his drives and they simply raced away; I’d never seen anything like that before. In club cricket I can remember him facing a leg-spinner, a guy who bowled those exotic wrist-spinners in the old style. Everyone was down at Logan Park watching Bert and he was just racing down the track and creaming it. The footwork was staggering. And later, when I bowled against him, it was the ease with which he played through mid-wicket that struck me. A lot of fellows like to work the ball through mid-wicket but Bert just pinged it through there for four. He timed the ball wide of mid-on beautifully.’
Noel McGregor: ‘He would have been brilliant in today’s 50-over format. Bert was the sort of batsman who would have opened in an ODI and got everyone off to a good start. With the fielding restrictions that they use now, he would have made mince meat of some attacks because his placement was outstanding. He could play off the back foot as well as the front foot. He learnt his cricket on the low bouncing wickets in Auckland and, as a result, was very good at forcing the ball straight off the back foot. He could also hook and pull with the best of them; he was lightning between the wickets, a brilliant fieldsman and could offer his captain a part-time option at the bowling crease. In terms of one-day players he was the complete package. John Reid was another who would’ve been a brilliant ODI player, and later on, Bruce Taylor.’
The 1975 visit to England would again include a comprehensive itinerary, and particularly once the World Cup was completed and Sutcliffe’s tour party had disbanded. Apart from attending the Epsom Derby, where he caught up with old rivals Trevor Bailey and Denis Atkinson, he and Norma would also find time to take in some tennis during the Wimbledon championships, the gallops at Ascot, the Henley Regatta and the British Open golf tournament. There would be another chance to meet up with some of the ever-expanding Sutcliffe clan in Lancashire and to visit Scotland. Then it would be over to the continent, where the couple would explore the sights of Belgium, Luxembourg, Austria, the French and Italian Rivieras, Monte Carlo and Paris.
Sutcliffe would remember the period from the late 1970s to the mid-1980s as one of the most rewarding of his life. First Christine and then Lynn would be married; four grandchildren would arrive between 1979 and 1982, and three years later Gary would buy a sports goods shop in Huapai, just west of Auckland city. Sutcliffe would spend much of his time out the back of the store, helping his son make the operation work and learning to understand him better than ever before. Gary said it was an opportunity to really get to know his father and, by definition, to learn much more about some of the events that had shaped his past. Given the nature of the new venture, the reasons behind the failure of Sutcliffe and Cederwall would be a well-discussed topic and would impress on Gary the sense of honour and duty his father felt at the time. Leaving anyone out of pocket was simply not an option for him.
‘He told me he was advised to file for bankruptcy but flatly refused,’ said Gary Sutcliffe. ‘His only option was to sell the family home and use the equity they had in that to pay off the debts. And that’s what he did. He and Mum arrived up in Hamilton with basically the money that had been raised from the Testimonial match at Carisbrook. It was pretty sobering, when you think about it. The stress and anxiety at the time must have made life as difficult as hell for them. But as kids, we never detected a thing; they kept all that from us. Here they were having to sell their home and move out of town, and yet all the while they kept their concerns to themselves and protected us from any stress. Dad said later that they just didn’t want to worry us, which is understandable. But it must have been a tough experience for them, all the same.’
In 1981, Sutcliffe would venture overseas again, this time in tandem with Graham Dowling as they attended the Bengal Cricket Association’s jubilee celebrations in Calcutta as part of an Overseas Veterans’ eleven. The team would feature the only two bowlers to have, at that stage, taken 300 Test wickets: Fred Trueman and West Indian off-spinner Lance Gibbs, along with others such as Godfrey Evans, Neil Harvey, Hanif Mohammad and Johnny Gleeson. In the Indian Veterans’ eleven were former stars Polly Umrigar, Pankaj Roy, Vijay Hazare and Mushtaq Ali. At 57 years of age, Sutcliffe would prepare for the trip by playing a few innings for the Takapuna President’s grade team, in one outing scoring 56. He opened the batting for the overseas side and made 20 before being bowled. He’d later enthuse about how enjoyable the trip had been, especially the chance to catch up with old pals such as Harvey, Evans and Trueman. Not becoming ill had also been a bonus.
It was a time when some firms enforced mandatory retirement policies at the age of 60. Even then, many would be taken by surprise when, in late 1983, Sutcliffe would reach that threshold and bow out of his job as secretary of the sports foundation. It was not long afterwards that he turned out for the Auckland Cricket Society’s eleven against Bill Frindall’s ‘Malta Maniacs eleven’ on Eden Park’s outer oval, and astounded everyone in attendance by making a rapid 61. Sutcliffe’s former Test team-mate John Sparling remembered being at the wicket on about 40 when the great left-hander arrived, and watching astonished from the other end as his partner turned on such a masterclass of batting that he was the first to bring up his half-century. Sparling, at that stage the outgoing ACS president, said it was while watching his former team-mate in action that he realised how perfect he would be for the incoming president’s role.
‘Bert succeeded me and was a much-loved and respected ACS president,’ said Sparling. ‘My stint had lasted nine years and when I was considering my likely successor it came to me quite clearly, as I watched Bert supporting the cricket society social team at Eden Park; taking out drinks to the players and encouraging them. He would make an ideal president. He did a wonderful job in that capacity; his modesty was quite amazing when you think of his status in the game. He was always warm and kindly when welcoming guests of the Society; he always had words of encouragement for the younger players, and he was always happy to work behind the bar after matches at Eden Park and offer his wholehearted support to, not only the Society, but the game in general. He was a highly-respected opponent, an inspirational team-mate and a true friend. He was quite a magical fellow; so skilful and talented, yet so humble and fair-minded.’
Sutcliffe’s retirement years would be happy ones, packed with regular family gatherings and the occasional suit and tie affair, such as the reception for his MBE in 1984, and the unofficial ‘This Is Your Life’ function that the Auckland Cricket Society staged for him in 1985. It would not be long until he and Norma shifted from their Glenfield home to a new place at Bucklands Beach, on Auckland’s east coast, and it would be there that the regular Tuesday afternoon card sessions would flourish. Lynn would call in from where she lived at the neighbouring beach, Christine and Gary would try to arrange their weeks to suit, and Norma’s brother John would always be on time; the Farrells, in particular, loved their cards. A slate would be kept, initially by Bert and later by Lynn, tallying the scores over the course of each year. A pattern would eventually emerge: Lynn would almost always win and Bert would almost always lose.
‘Bert was an oh-so typical Kiwi,’ said English-born David Philippe, Christine’s husband and Sutcliffe’s son-in-law. ‘He mowed the lawns, washed the car to perfection and dug the vegetable garden. Anyone who was lucky enough to sit down to one of Norma’s roast dinners, with seven veges, would soon learn the potatoes, the carrots, the parsnip, peas and beans were all from the family garden. He had everything, all the salad veges such as lettuce, beetroot, radishes, spring onions and tomatoes. If anything around the home needed to be made or fixed then Bert was your man; he was as good a do-it-yourselfer as any Kiwi. And not just a temporary fix with No.8 wire; it would be a properly-done job, and finished superbly. His philosophy was, if it was worth doing, it was worth doing properly. He helped all of us, whether it was shifting house, painting and decorating, laying concrete paths or playing with the grandchildren.
‘I recall my second summer in New Zealand when we were in Whangamata for a long weekend and Bert took Lynn and myself off fishing in a small boat. It was a little bit choppy going out over the bar but Bert, with a little glint in his eye, said, ‘Don’t worry David, you’ll be all right when we get to shelter around the back of Brown’s Island.’ Well, we dropped anchor and the boat gently rocked. The lines were thrown over the side with little success for several minutes until, feeling pretty seedy, I started, as they say, to “feed the fish”. Shortly after that Lynn and Bert began reeling them in, all the time laughing and saying, “David, you’re doing a great job.” An hour or two later a very green land-lubber was delivered back to shore.’
It was in the early 1990s that Sutcliffe would be diagnosed with emphysema, an irreversible, degenerative lung condition. By the summer of 1995–96, when he journeyed south to Dunedin to help celebrate the North East Valley club’s seventy-fifth Jubilee, he had difficulty in walking from the boundary edge of Logan Park to the pitch block in the middle of the field. He remained upbeat throughout, attending all of the functions over a busy weekend, but it was noticeable to those in attendance that the then 72-year-old was starting to tire. The great stamina that underpinned not only feats such as the 230 not out at Delhi and the 385 at Christchurch but also the piano playing well into the small hours, was starting to fade. But there would still be some highlights to come, such as being named the Sportsman of the Decade (for the 1940s) at a ceremony in 2000, and, the same year, being retrospectively presented with his New Zealand Black Cap (No.44) by his friend, and then New Zealand Cricket president, Iain Gallaway.
By the new year of 2001, however, Old Father Time was catching up with New Zealand’s most famous player. Knowing he had not long left, he would treasure his final months, weeks and days with his family around him. Shortly before his death would come a period of heightened clarity and lucidity, at which point Sutcliffe would confess to feeling ‘a bit of a fraud’, so well was he feeling. During what would seem like a two-week blessing, he would plan his own funeral, teach Norma everything about the family finances, and organise for all his affairs to be changed into her name. He would relapse so fast that his notes virtually trailed off. On Wednesday, 18 April, things became so bad that he and Norma went to hospital. The registrar, after some tests, sat down with Sutcliffe and explained he could be admitted to the radiotherapy ward, or he could opt for the Hospice; it was his choice. The reply? ‘The Hospice sounds good to me.’
About 48 hours later, early on Friday morning, April 20, 2001, and not long after being visited by his old friend and team-mate, Sparling, Bert Sutcliffe passed away. With him at the time were Gary and Christine, who were taking turns at a bedside vigil with Norma and Lynn. Gary said his father’s breathing would become more and more shallow, until eventually there was ‘simply nothing’. According to Sutcliffe’s own arrangements, a non-religious funeral service conducted by celebrant and neighbour Max Blackburn would be held, and the Auckland Cricket Association would invite the family to use the Eden Park amenities. There, a stream of tearful farewells from friends and family would be offered, including one from Sutcliffe himself, in a message split up into what he called his last few overs. The fourth-to-last over was dedicated to some of his lifelong friends, June and Alan Smith, the Greers and Rigbys. The third-and second-to-last were to his family; the last a heartfelt expression of love for Norma.
‘Norma, I place you on the highest pedestal,’ he wrote. ‘You are the most loving and sincere person; a great lady. People like you are rare and precious. You have been the only love of my life. You gave me 53 years of your life, utterly, unselfishly. You really are an angel, and I love you for that.’
His message and the service would end with the words, ‘over, and time’.
Sutcliffe’s ashes were scattered in three locations. First, the family would have a small gathering off Sugar Loaf Island in the Hauraki Gulf, where Sutcliffe loved to go fishing. Then it would be off to the northern end of Long Bay Beach, where as a child, he and his mother would launch a small rowing dinghy and go fishing together. The third venue would take a little more organisation, before eventuating later in the year. In October, Gary and Janelle and Christine and Lynn would travel south to Dunedin, where they would stay with Rod and Vivienne Nye at Gowrie House, and with Nell Haig. On the morning of the 5th, the small party, accompanied by Gallaway, would make their way into Carisbrook and, after a small and tearful ceremony, would bury the urn in precisely the spot Sutcliffe so magnificently caught Bill Edrich in the match against the MCC in 1946–47. It was 10.45 am. Gallaway would recite a verse of an Eleanor and Herbert Farjeon poem as the top-soil was replaced.
Soft, soft the sunset falls upon the pitch,
The game is over and the stumps are drawn,
The willow sleeps in its appointed niche,
The heavy roller waits another dawn —
Bowled is the final ball again
Hushed is the umpire’s call again,
The fielders and the batsmen cease to run —
But the memory will play again
Many and many a day again
The game that’s done, the game that’s never done