– 7 – A GENEROUS SPIRIT

‘We never had a cross word. Richie’s word was his bond.’

— James Packer

JOHN FORDHAM

For the last 10 years of Richie Benaud’s life, John Fordham and The Fordham Company acted as his talent management team. They lined up Richie’s last work assignment and despite failing health Richie gave it everything. The result qualifies as an Australian classic.

THE FINAL YEAR OF Richie’s life was spent recovering from his October 2013 car accident, and fighting cancer. But with marvellous support and encouragement from Daphne, he stoically battled on. In late 2014, my son and business partner Nick visited Richie and Daphne at their Coogee apartment with a business proposition we felt would interest him.

It was for Richie to become the face of the 2015 Australia Day lamb campaign. The fact that it involved Australia’s national day of celebration immediately attracted his interest. The television commercial, in which Richie ‘invites’ the likes of Captain Cook, Ned Kelly, Burke and Wills and Ita Buttrose to join him for a lamb barbecue on Australia Day involved a demanding single-day shoot running close to 10 hours.

A weakened Richie amazed the production team with his professionalism and good humour. Looking back now, it was a herculean effort from the great man considering the state of his health. Then, on Australia Day 2015, true to his word, Richie attended the barbecue at a harbourside home in Sydney’s eastern suburbs.

Ned Kelly and Captain Cook turned up as well. A group of Richie Benaud look-alikes who’d been imitating the captain of the Nine Network commentary team for a few years had some private time with him they will long cherish.

Afterwards, as we assisted Richie up steep stairs to his awaiting car, he turned and enquired, ‘How did we do?’

The answer was easy. One of your best, Rich!

I was 15 when I first saw Richie Benaud in the flesh. My father took me to the Sydney Test of the 1958–59 Ashes series against Peter May’s team … Richie’s first as captain. From the old Sheridan Stand, we watched every ball bowled as Australia worked towards a 4–0 series win.

I met Richie for the first time six years later, when I was a journalist working in the Fairfax interstate bureau in Sydney. Richie had retired from first-class cricket the previous year and was a writer on The Sun newspaper, preparing to cover the forthcoming Australian tour of the West Indies under new skipper Bob Simpson.

Seizing an opportunity to shake his hand and request an interview for a preview story on that tour, I strolled across the corridor to Richie’s desk to ask if he would help me. As one who always impeccably observed the correct process, he suggested I run the request by his editor Jack Tier, and if he gave me the go-ahead everything would be fine. With Tier’s green light, the next day I spent an hour with Richie picking his brain about the West Indies tour.

Fast forward 40 years to 2005 and Richie is sitting in my Sydney office, having agreed to become a client of our talent management agency a few days earlier. That the deal was sealed with a good old-fashioned handshake reminded me we were dealing with a pretty special individual.

At that meeting in our office, I produced the original yellowed copy of the story I’d written in 1965. He immediately sat back and read it from start to finish. Then, in trademark Benaud fashion, he remarked: ‘Absolutely, perfectly accurate.’

I can hear him saying those words so clearly as I pen these recollections.

Richie enjoyed an incredible appreciation of other sports, golf and racing holding particular appeal. He studied them closely and established many friendships far away from cricket ovals and the broadcasting box. I learned this first hand in 2009, a few days before the Ashes Test at Lord’s.

Richie and Daphne had been invited by the now defunct News of the World newspaper to dinner at a twilight race meeting at Windsor to mark his 40 years as a cricket columnist. Ian Chappell, also a client of ours, and I tagged along.

Sitting there that evening with Richie, Chappelli and other good friends, including the great England cricketer Sir Alec Bedser and legendary racecaller Sir Peter O’Sullevan, was a special privilege I will long remember.

Before the first race, a bookmaker who’d been despatched to our private room to take bets approached our table. Without any knowledge of the field for race one, I was about to place a bet when Richie tapped me on the shoulder.

‘I would only back that horse if it’s your intention to lose your money,’ he candidly offered.

‘So, what would you do, Rich?’ was my response.

‘Well, for starters,’ he offered with a wry grin, ‘you might note that Frankie Dettori only has one ride here tonight, so you might ask yourself why he’s come all this way for just one race.’

So my 20 quid went on the star Italian hoop’s mount and it rocketed home by a couple of lengths. The result gave Richie as much satisfaction as this novice punter.

In Adelaide a few years ago, a day before the Test started, I attended a lunch winemaker Grant Burge hosted for the Nine Network commentators. Benaud, Chappell, Greig, Healy, Taylor, Slater, Nicholas … they were all there. Towards the end of a very long private-room lunch, I attempted to replenish Richie’s glass with Burge’s mighty Meshach Shiraz and in so doing unfortunately directed a high proportion of the contents onto his beige jacket.

Richie was totally undeterred and continued to explain to Burge his decision to bowl around the wicket to Peter May in a 1961 Ashes Test, the move that sparked a great Australian victory.

Sheepishly, I accompanied Richie back to his hotel and offered to have the coat cleaned before play commenced the next day. Richie graciously declined my offer and retired to his room. The next morning, Richie tapped me on the shoulder and, pointing to the beige jacket he was wearing, said with a smile, ‘I want you to know that I have more than one.’1

In every way, Richie was a gentleman. He was also a worker, and right to the end. Captain Cook and Ned Kelly will testify to that.

1. One day in 1977, Kerry Packer was in his Sydney office watching a WSC match being played in Adelaide, when he had what Richie would describe as a ‘light bulb moment’. Mr Packer wanted his No. 1 commentator to stand out from the other men in the box. A light grey sports coat was organised, but the Nine boss wanted it even lighter, for maximum effect. The master tailor, John Cutler, warned against a white jacket, because white can be very harsh on TV. ‘I suggested cream and showed Richie several samples in the various ranges of cream in lovely high-quality wools,’ Cutler recalled in 2013. ‘He chose a very nice one; he had very good taste and was a very stylish man. Once we had the right fit I produced a second coat, both of which were for Richie’s sole use.’

BOB COWPER

Bob Cowper was an accomplished left-handed batsman and right-arm off-break bowler who bookended his 27 Tests with Ashes tours to England, starting and finishing his career at Headingley in 1964 and 1968 respectively. He scored 307 in one Test innings against England in 1965–66 and finished his Test career with a batting average on home soil of more than 75. Bob retired early to launch a highly successful business career, living for many years in Europe, where time spent with Richie and Daphne Benaud was one of life’s singular pleasures.

IT WAS MY LOSS that I did not have the chance to play cricket under Richie Benaud’s captaincy. My career in Test cricket started a few months after Richie retired, though I had played a little Shield cricket against him and well knew the fighting qualities with which he imbued his teams.

I did get to know Richie really well later on, when our cricket was behind us. For 30 years, I lived in Europe, in Monte Carlo, just up the road from where Richie and Daphne had a place in Beaulieu, on the southern coast of France. The Benauds spent a lot of time there in the northern summer, while Richie commuted to England for his television commitments, at first with the BBC and later with Channel 4.

Richie loved getting to the south of France, for the anonymity it brought him as much as anything else. Richie essentially was a private person and it was hard for him to escape his own celebrity. Like Sir Donald Bradman before him, he sometimes found his fame just a little suffocating. Sir Donald struggled with it through life and never quite came to grips with it. Richie had a calmness to his personality that meant he coped with it a little more easily.

Yet it was probably worse for Richie than it was for Bradman, given the exposure the television age brought him. When The Don retired from cricket, he could retreat a little. But Richie was on the ‘telly’ throughout every summer for half a century after he finished as a player, and in England and Australia his was among the most recognisable faces in the land.

It was undoubtedly a pressure for him, to be recognised and confronted wherever he went. So he loved France, where cricket remains a mystery; Richie had no television exposure there and he could move about unnoticed and unchallenged. We played a lot of golf, we dined at wonderful places, we drank lovely wines. It was an escape for Richie from the trappings of his success.

Only once did I ever see him recognised in France. We occasionally went to Paris to tour the galleries and the like, and on one occasion a fellow spotted him with a polite enquiry along the lines of: ‘Aren’t you Richie Benaud?’ The chap was from India, where cricket is an all-consuming passion, and Richie took five or 10 minutes to chat with him. This reflected not just Richie’s politeness and tolerance, but a shared passion. A sensible conversation about cricket was never a chore for Rich.

I’d first run into Richie when I was playing for Victoria as a very young man. I had perhaps three seasons with Victoria before Richie retired, so I batted against him a few times and I saw firsthand the way he led his teams. He was a tough cricketer to play against, a real competitor. It was a beautiful thing to learn from him, because he had an attitude that was irrepressible.

He played to win and never seemed to fear failure, as so many great sportsmen do. His influence then, and I suppose still, was profound. Ian Chappell, for instance, did so much for the game through his competitive attitude and the fact he was always striving to win. I’m sure he got a lot of that from Richie. For both men, chasing a result was always more important than protecting yourself.

Richie, however, was very protective of his achievements. I was a left-hand bat and I used to chide him about leg-spinners to left-handers being a waste of time. He didn’t argue. But he went in search of evidence, scoured the stats books, and came back to me armed with the evidence of left-handers he had dismissed. He took his cricket pretty seriously, and joking or not he wasn’t going to let such a statement pass unchallenged.

Richie also had a cheeky sense of humour, which like his commentary could provide maximum effect with very few words.

He and Daphne were occasional guests at our holiday home on the south coast of NSW, and sometimes we had a few English friends there as well. It was often noted by our UK guests that while Richie had never lost an Ashes series to England, and he was captain for three of them, he could claim no better than a 50 per cent record in the golfing Ashes we contested at ‘Royal’ Pambula Merimbula Golf Club.

The Merimbula layout is a typically rural Australian course, with lots of trees and native bush to attract the local fauna. Charlie, a first-time visitor from the UK, was lamenting the fact that he had never seen a kangaroo despite several trips to Australia. I suggested that Pitt Street in Sydney or Collins Street in Melbourne were not necessarily the places to find them, but that is where his business seemed to take him. Richie said nothing.

We introduced Charlie to our course, where our local knowledge was an advantage. Richie expected there would be kangaroos around, and we both knew there was a big one that always seemed to be at the final hole. As we stood on the 18th tee, the match was all square and Richie knew the kangaroo would come into play. At the crucial point, Richie quietly suggested we should be careful. And there he was, the big kangaroo, not far from where Charlie’s ball had landed.

There had been an edge to Richie’s warning that suggested impending danger. Charlie froze. He was clearly petrified, too frightened to maintain the quality of golf he had produced to that point. We won the hole and Richie was happy to take the spoils of victory.

On another occasion we had a guest, Martin, who was similarly unaccustomed to kangaroos, and was clearly disturbed when we ran into about 50 of them beside one of the fairways. His ball had landed perilously close to them, but Richie helpfully advised that they would not move if he walked towards them repeating the line: ‘One, two, kangaroo … one two, kangaroo …’

Richie had a way of getting out those ‘twos’ and ‘roos’ with a musical lilt, but our friend was much less melodic. Nevertheless, he waded in, calling out ‘One, two, kangaroo’ at the animals, over and over. We knew they wouldn’t move, but he didn’t. It was a bizarre scene. It didn’t help us though. Martin hit a pearler and we finished up coming second.

Richie loved the golf course. It was a relatively private place for him, away from the celebrity and the inevitable public attention that seemed to follow him around. It was a place, like the south of France, where Richie could be Richie.

CHARMAINE HUTTON

Charmaine Hutton’s long association with the Benauds amplified an already distinguished cricket story. Charmaine is the daughter of the late Ben Brocklehurst, who captained Somerset and later became the managing director and proprietor of The Cricketer magazine. She married Richard Hutton, who played for Yorkshire and England and is the son of Sir Leonard Hutton, one of England’s greatest batsmen and captains. Charmaine and Richard’s sons, Ben and Ollie, both played first-class cricket.

I FIRST MET RICHIE and Daphne when — following in Daph’s career footsteps into cricket — I was secretary to David Clark, manager of the MCC team that toured Australia in 1970–71.

At the end of that tour, the Benauds asked me to work for them at Coogee, which I regarded as a huge honour. I accepted happily and would go on to enjoy thoroughly the next two years in Australia. I would spend hours listening to Richie’s voice on the dictaphone, transcribing material for his many newspaper articles on cricket and golf. One of my regular tasks was to go through the Australian papers to find information that might prove helpful for his stories. I also cut out amusing cartoons that were strategically placed on his desk, generally raising a wry smile or, occasionally, a laugh. One strong memory of my time with Rich and Daph is of their beautiful but quite fierce grey cat called ‘D’Oliveira’, who was much adored by Richie.

It was characteristic of his generous spirit that in later years Richie always made a point of bowling to our boys in the garden on the occasions when he and Daph visited our home in Kent in England. There were enjoyable and busy times in London, too, where I helped them at John and Gillian Morley’s flat in Knightsbridge, their UK base for a number of years.

Gillian (who was known to all as ‘Dumpy’) and John were the greatest of fun. They were big entertainers and it was through them that Richie and Daph met some of the stars of the Royal Ballet, the start of their long love affair with ballet.

Life at Dumpy and John’s in those summers was often one big party for touring teams, but in the background you would inevitably find Richie tapping away on yet another cricket report.

He and Daphne built a wonderful partnership, working hard from the early hours of every day of the week.

JAMES ERSKINE

James Erskine has been a major player on the world sports and entertainment landscape for more than 35 years. Arriving in Australia in 1979, he pioneered sports marketing in the region as managing director of IMG’s operations in Australasia. In a fruitful career with IMG and then Sports & Entertainment Ltd, James managed many iconic global figures, including Muhammad Ali, Greg Norman, Tiger Woods, Dame Kiri Te Kanawa, Shane Warne and Sir Michael Parkinson. He remembers with affection and appreciation longstanding links with Richie and Daphne.

I HAD JUST FAILED medicine with great success, and was playing too much golf with a professional called John Cook. One night, John invited me to a dinner at Pont Street, SW1, one of London’s posher boroughs. It turned out to be the home of Daphne and Richie Benaud. It was the summer of 1975 — the year before Seve Ballesteros exploded onto the golf scene at Royal Birkdale.

I soon joined Mark McCormack’s IMG and by 1979 was sent to open an office in Sydney. Daphne and Richie invited me to their Coogee home for dinner on my first night in Oz. The other guest was Austin Robertson, who had the original idea for World Series Cricket. It was a fascinating evening. Listening to Richie, I soon came to realise the esteem in which sport was held down-under.

Richie was thoughtful and precise — not measured, just economical. He understood all the aspects of a sport: the content, the spirit, public expectations, the participants, the responsibilities and also the commercial aspects. His genius was that he could see all the moving parts required for success, but the sport itself always came first, was never compromised.

Richie and Daphne took me under their wing. Spasmodic advice was quietly given and disapproval in the same manner. We would meet — sometimes with the famous, such as Parky, the Shark or Warnie — or have a quiet chat on the practice ground at the Australian Golf Club, where Richie would continue with his methodical routine.

I tried to learn. It was hard to take in his modesty, hard to believe the understated elegance that surrounded everything Richie and Daphne did. Apart from the underarm bowling fiasco, I never heard Richie say an unkind word about anyone; he thought the best of all. The glass was always half full, never half empty.

The partnership with Daphne was something to behold. It was both magical and mystical, as though each knew what the other was going to say before it occurred. They could finish each other’s sentences, but never did.

All I know is that I was very fortunate to have been allowed into their sanctum, to get their advice and their help and to be welcomed by them to Australia.

Had Richie been a Pom he would have been Lord Benaud long ago and had a castle bestowed upon him. There won’t be another. Thank you for the memories.

ALAN CARDY

Alan Cardy played nine rugby union Tests for Australia between 1966 and 1968. Switching to rugby league — with Eastern Suburbs in 1969 — he suffered a broken leg in a pre-season game, the worst of a series of injuries that cut short his football days. Cardy’s subsequent highly successful business career was built in part on a long friendship with his near-neighbours at Coogee: the Benauds.

PHIL TRESIDDER INTRODUCED ME to Richie around 1965. I met Daphne soon after she and Rich were married in 1967, and the four of us became a group of friends who met regularly to wine and dine. On occasions we would discuss my business and personal problems, and Rich was always supportive and helpful. Indeed, for any confidential business problems that might arise, the first person I would go to was Rich, knowing he would always give me the best possible advice. He was good person to consult on just about any subject.

For my part, I was able to offer advice to Richie and Daph when they wished to talk about what they were doing in France and London. As with all of us, life wasn’t always smooth sailing for Rich.

Our friendship developed to such a stage that by the time I was married, on Rich’s birthday in 1986, Daph was ‘best man’ for me. We even delayed the start of the wedding because their flight had to turn back to Singapore because of a mechanical fault. They were my constant friends.

JACK NEWTON

A loyal son of Newcastle in NSW, Jack Newton built a highly successful golf career in the 1970s and early 1980s. In 1975, he went within an ace of winning the British Open, pipped by one stroke by the great Tom Watson in an 18‑hole playoff. A terrible accident at Sydney Airport in 1983 left him with permanent injuries that ended his golf career, but he re-emerged as an acclaimed radio and television commentator on the game.

BACK IN 1970, I played with Ian Chappell in a pro-am that preceded the South Australian Open, which led to us becoming mates. It was through Chappelli that I first met Richie. I was playing in Europe in the early 1970s and doing my best to organise my schedule around the cricket Tests in England, especially when there was an Ashes series in progress. That was a fantastic Australian team — the Chappells, Dennis Lillee, Jeff Thomson, Rod Marsh, Doug Walters and the rest — and good blokes all of them. I used to go into the dressing-room and get treated pretty well.

Richie, with Daphne, was always around the big games and I found him a very interesting man to talk to. I enjoyed his dry wit. A friendship developed and subsequently he used to watch me play quite a lot — over there and back home in Australia.

I said to him one day, ‘Richie, why the hell would you watch me with all these good players around?’

And he answered, ‘I like watching you, Jack. You’re more interesting.’

A fair paraphrase of that would be: ‘I love watching you get out of trouble!’

We spent some time together on the golf course, too. Richie was fanatical about his golf, and was always talking about how he might improve his game. In the years to come, I’d catch up with him and Daphne on the road at events such as the British Open and the Masters. Generally, there would be a glass or two of wine around. Richie liked his wine.

After I had my accident in 1983, Richie was there with valuable advice that would help shape the years ahead.

‘Jack, when you look at what I do, you might be able to work out something similar,’ he said.

Richie talked about his own schedule of summers in the different hemispheres — recurring months of TV broadcasting, some journalistic stuff and radio during cricket seasons on both sides of the world, all of them contributing to the ‘pot’. His philosophy was essentially the old one of ‘small fish are sweet’: add ’em all up and you’ve got a big fish! It was wise counsel. I was able to shape my own life in and around golf in a similar way to how he shaped his life around cricket. Over time I worked as a freelancer for all the TV channels in Australia, until Christopher Skase made me an offer I couldn’t refuse when he was in charge of Channel Seven.

When I started commentating on golf, Richie and Daphne invited me over to their place at Coogee for lunch one day and Richie produced something that would prove to be a real help and guide for my new role in the commentary box. He had gone to the trouble of converting EW Swanton’s private guide, effectively the ‘10 Commandments of TV Cricket Commentating’, to golf parlance for me. He thought I was going well in this new direction in my life and that perhaps these do’s and don’ts of sports broadcasting would be useful.

In fact, the wisdom and advice offered proved an enormous help. One of the commandments that resonated strongest with me concerned the inclination of some commentators to make a declaration and then seek support or confirmation from an associate sitting alongside. The firm message from Swanton/Benaud was if it happens you don’t agree, don’t say anything. It was a policy I adopted whenever I was working with other commentators in the broadcasting box. I was essentially just doing what I was taught by Richie.

He was, of course, a fantastic commentator, with that quirky sense of humour always lurking just beneath the surface. He could string words together, for sure — but he chose them carefully and never ‘over-talked’ what he was trying to say. In this regard, he was just adhering to a further point made in the commandments: always remember that it is not radio. The message is that with TV sending out the pictures of what is happening, to use fewer words is always better than using too many.

GRAHAM CORNES

Vietnam veteran, footballer, coach, broadcaster and businessman … Graham Cornes is a legendary figure in Adelaide life. He played 317 games for Glenelg (1967–82), briefly for North Melbourne and 47 games as captain-coach at South Adelaide (1983–84). Graham coached Glenelg for six seasons (1985–90), winning two premierships, enjoyed remarkable success as coach of South Australia, and was the Adelaide Crows foundation coach in the AFL.

WE OF THE BABY boomer generation knew Richie Benaud initially through his exploits as a Test cricketer. Then he was our Test captain and a great captain. Charismatic, handsome, articulate and most importantly competitive, he inspired successive generations of young Australians.

When he retired we got to know him better through television. He was the face of cricket, and while Australian cricket did suffer from the image of the ‘ugly Australian’ for a time, Richie was always above that. He was cultured, polite and incisive. We absorbed the integrity of the game through his refined, succinct comments. He towered above the rest who presented our cricket, even if they were also legends in their own right.

When the World Series Cricket adventure started, he recruited a South Australian, Graham Ferrett, to help with the organisation and administration. Ferrett, a gregarious and popular figure, had close ties with the Glenelg Football Club, who were a powerhouse of South Australian football in the 1970s and 1980s. A powerhouse except for one small detail. While Glenelg had a great record of reaching grand finals, the club had a shocking record of losing them.

Richie was in Adelaide in September 1982. He agreed to address the club at the post-grand final dinner. Predictably, Glenelg lost, the seventh defeat in eight grand finals dating back to 1969, so there was a very subdued audience in the room when Richie rose to speak.

He made cursory reference to the disappointment that he had just witnessed and then uttered two short sentences that were unforgettable.

‘They say that winning isn’t everything,’ he said slowly and deliberately, this paragon of propriety. ‘But it beats the fuck out of coming second.’

He almost spat the words out, then sat down in front of the stunned crowd.

Glenelg won the next two grand finals in which they played.

RON LUXTON

For many years Ron Luxton was the teaching professional at the Australian Golf Club, where Richie Benaud became one of his more dedicated pupils. These days, Ron is the professional at Royal Sydney.

THE LAST TIME I saw Richie on the golf course was a few years back at Royal Sydney, where his partner for the day was Brian Johnson, the lead singer with the iconic Australian band AC/DC. It was an unlikely partnership, but an example of just how many friends Richie had in so many areas of life.

I first met Richie some 45 years ago, and from the start he gave me great support. I had been appointed golf coach at the Rothmans National Sports Foundation, which at that time had been set up to launch coaching programs in a wide range of sports. Richie was a consultant, I was only 22, and from the start he encouraged me in so many ways.

I saw him regularly through my 15 years with the Foundation, played golf with him occasionally and got to know him for the generous man he was. When I was about 23, I met him in London, and he took me to the Connaught Hotel for lunch. It was a rich experience for a young bloke just starting out, and the beginnings of a long association through golf. I went back there 30 years later, just to relive the experience.

In 1985, I was appointed to be the professional at the Australian Golf Club. It was Richie’s club and when he saw in the club newsletter that I had been appointed he rang me from London to offer congratulations. He made me feel he was genuinely pleased I had got the job. When he was at home through Australian summers, Richie was a regular on the practice fairways and a consistent lesson-taker. He had a wonderful attitude and was an easy student. I remember him explaining to me how long it had taken him to perfect the flipper that he used so tellingly in his bowling when he was such a force in the Australian cricket team. He spent two years working on it in practice before he was confident enough to try it in a game.

His golf was much the same. He would practise interminably, out on the practice fairways on his own, working hard on a game that I felt never came naturally or easily to him. He worked meticulously on overcoming all that, and he got down to a single-figure handicap — nine, I think — which put him at A-grade level among club golfers.

He left no stone unturned. I remember after one lesson he walked to the seventh hole and paced out a particular shot that troubled him. It was something the average club golfer would never have worried about, but an example of how hard Richie would work at being better.

You couldn’t miss him on the course. When he played golf — which wasn’t that often compared to the time he spent practising — it was usually with his great friend Phil Tresidder, who had known him since they played in a Combined High Schools cricket team together. Richie carried his own clubs … I can’t remember him using a buggy … and had a pencil-thin bag that was very old-fashioned. He played for so long with old woods — genuine wooden ones. It was a long time before he was convinced modern technology had made it to golf, and didn’t purchase metal woods until one of my assistants, Gary Barter, suggested his clubs be donated as antiques. He was slow to change and liked what he liked; he wasn’t a great buyer of gear or golf ’s trimmings.

When he replaced his irons he gave me his old ones and asked me to give them away. I gave them to a member for his boys, insisting that they send Richie a thank-you letter. They duly sent the letter and sometime later received a beautifully addressed reply from England. They were thrilled that Richie had bothered enquiring about their golf and school.

One of Richie’s greatest qualities was that he cared. In 2001, it was time for my contract at the Australian to be renewed, and the negotiations were going more slowly than I would have liked. Richie sensed my concerns and offered to help. Four or five times he invited me to his Coogee home at 7am to work through the club’s offer. He had had many similar battles with cricket’s Board of Control, he said, and if he could help with words or ideas he would. He worked on my problems for an hour or so each time before he started work himself. He was an amazing help and a rich encouragement. The contract was eventually renewed on acceptable terms.

Richie’s individual quirks were part of his persona. I remember him asking for his tee time one day, and as fate would have it the starter told him it was ‘2.02’. Richie repeated that to all and sundry with the distinctive emphasis he gave to his ‘twos’, to great mirth all round.

He also loved crème brûlée. My wife Kerry makes a special crème brûlée, many of which were happily supplied to Richie over the years. In his latter days, when he was clearly quite ill, we took over 10 or so, which delighted him. It seemed such a small thing for a man who had given so much.

CATHY GAULD

Cathy Gauld has enjoyed an unmatched view of Team Benaud in action. As the Benauds’ personal assistant, she expertly ‘smoothed the path’ — mainly from the Chez Benaud office at Coogee, with its east-facing windows gazing out over Wedding Cake Island.

THE YEAR OF 1998 was a difficult and significant one for me. One month after my father passed away, I went job-hunting for part-time PA work. Soon I was working for Richie and Daphne Benaud. Seventeen years on, I am still here, now working with Daphne. I couldn’t have hoped for a better job.

Daphne and Richie welcomed me as part of their dynamic ‘team’. There was always time for a chat. Richie would ask how my weekends went and took a special interest in my golf. We spent quite a bit of time discussing putting techniques and I appreciated other tips he passed on. I remember discussing a matchplay event I had entered and telling Richie I was feeling nervous.

‘Cathy, if you are good enough to be there, you are good enough to win,’ he replied.

Suddenly, any negativity I was feeling was gone and on the day, I was the winner. He was such an inspiration to me.

Richie and Daphne never big-noted themselves. Sometimes, they would come to my place for a drink, as on the day his contract was renewed by Channel Nine. When my neighbour heard the champagne cork popping, he asked if the contract renewal was the reason for the celebration.

‘Oh no,’ I replied. ‘Daisy has just turned 21. The celebration is hers!’ Daisy was our Burmese cat, whom Richie and Daphne loved.

Our friendship extended beyond work. On a couple of occasions, I was invited to spend a week at their home in Beaulieu, in the south of France, with my family. These experiences were wonderful, not least the daily walks around Cap Ferrat and the delicious boulangerie treats. Their kindness and generosity of spirit meant so much to me.

I have been so fortunate to have worked in such a warm and happy environment, and to be able to continue assisting Daphne now that Richie is gone.

WARREN SAUNDERS

The years of Warren Saunders’ input into the premier sporting clubs of Sydney’s St George district span endless winters and summers, with his interest and involvement continuing 70 years after its beginning. The beneficiaries were St George Cricket Club, whose first-grade team he captained to five premierships, and the famed St George rugby league club, where his association began as a ball boy during the war years and where many seasons later his administrative roles were at the highest level. On the field, cricket was his game. He played 35 first-class matches for NSW between 1955 and 1964.

IN 2010, MY INSURANCE broking company celebrated the 40th anniversary of an event we conduct each year at Pennant Hills Golf Club. It is a day when we entertain existing and prospective clients and some personnel from within the industry. Richie was always a great supporter of the occasion — even when it was difficult or inconvenient for him to come along he’d still be there, and he didn’t mind one bit whom he played with.

‘If someone is important to you as a client put me with him,’ he’d say.

He fitted in so well and became an integral part of a much-anticipated day. Each year, he’d address the gathering we traditionally held after the last putt was sunk — on the subject of the progress of cricket during the season. And each year it was the same: you could hear a pin drop when Richie was speaking. He had that aura about him; he always commanded total attention.

Richie never wanted anything in return. ‘There’s no need for any of that,’ he’d say.

But in 2010, as we reached our 40-year milestone, we decided we wanted to honour Richie. He had been such a great supporter. When I got him up at that year’s function, I said to him, among other things: ‘Rich, you’re a good giver, but you’re not a very good receiver.’

And then I made a presentation to him — a fine whisky decanter — to convey our thanks.

Richie was self-effacing as usual, and protested mildly. ‘You’ve got no need to do that,’ he said. ‘I don’t expect anything. I so much enjoy coming to these days.’

He then offered a few words of appreciation …

‘When I get home,’ he told the gathering, ‘my wife Daphne will ask me, “Did you have a good day?” To which I’ll reply, “Yes, I had a lovely day.”

‘Then she’ll ask, “Did you have a hole-in-one?” And I’ll tell her, “No.”

‘And then she’ll say, “Did you win anything?” And I’ll say, “Well, have a look at this … I have a gift.”

And she’ll open it and say … “Not another fucking decanter!”’

It brought the house down! The people who were there still talk about it to this day.

Richie was a pretty good golfer who for a long time played off about 10. My wife, Clare, and I went with Richie and Daph to the Kapalua Resort in Hawaii a couple of times in the 1980s on golf trips, which led to me witnessing a funny moment involving him and Hale Irwin, the three-time US Open champion, who was the touring golf pro at Kapalua at the time …

We chanced to have just finished a round one morning as Irwin was walking out to have a game with his young son. Richie said g’day to him. Now, someone had obviously told Irwin that Richie had been a sportsman of note, or perhaps he had encountered Richie in days when he was covering some golf, because in a very American way he declared: ‘I know you! You’re that Bennett … or Burton … or Bernard guy from Australia.’ He got the ‘B’ right, but that was as close as he came to ‘Benaud’.

This could never have happened in Australia, where Richie was as well known as any prime minister or rock star. But I think he quietly enjoyed Irwin’s faux pas. He was never one to seek the limelight. I always saw him as self-effacing and quite shy, and there were occasions when I was with him and he was downright reticent — he just didn’t want to be the focus of attention. Yet on his home turf Richie always was, and as his life went on he only became more so.

TONY SHEPHERD

Tony Shepherd is chairman of the Sydney Cricket and Sports Ground Trust. Richie made his first-class debut and Test debut at the SCG, and also played his final Test at the iconic venue.

ONE OF THE MORE remarkable things about Richie Benaud’s lifelong involvement with the Sydney Cricket Ground is that after his playing career finished, he rarely set foot on the field of play. Richie would tell curator Tom Parker and others that the outfield and the pitch were for the cricketers of today, not for him.

He had more claim than most to take to the field whenever he pleased. His preference for the press box, rather than the playing field, tells much about the man.

The occasions when he broke his own enforced absence from the ground were rare — the most memorable being when he joined his fellow Channel Nine commentators to pay tribute to the late Tony Greig. Other than that, Richie restricted himself to the working-press areas of the SCG.

On arrival, he would unfailingly offer a polite welcome at the security gate, always announcing himself rather than expecting to be recognised. Richie would park his Sunbeam Alpine in the outside broadcast compound behind the MA Noble Stand. To reach the lift to the media boxes, there is a short walk alongside one of the main entries to the ground. Richie’s appearance always resulted in plenty of cheers from fans queuing to take their seats for a day’s play. Autograph requests were myriad, but Richie was always prepared — carrying a pencil case full of varied writing implements to suit whatever it was he was being asked to sign.

Richie made few demands of the SCG staff, who saw him every summer, greeting the regulars by name and happily discussing summers past and present. There was one constant though: Crunchies had to be part of the afternoon chocolate run. Any absence of the honeycomb chocolate bars was met with the same raised eyebrows that had marked Richie’s character on the field as Australian Test captain.

As cricket history was made at the SCG, Richie was either on the field taking part, or up in the stands telling the rest of the country about it. He is an SCG life member and is recognised in the Walk of Honour that is a feature of the precinct. His likeness is among the most popular features of the Basil Sellers SCG Sports Sculpture Project and he is one of 15 inaugural inductees in the SCG Media Hall of Honour.

This recognition is sure to continue as the grand old SCG continues its evolution. The SCG was Richie’s home ground and it is right that his presence remains permanent.

Richie himself once said:

Many grounds have their own built-in charm — the tradition of Lord’s, the Oval gas meters, the joy and enthusiasm of spectators from Jamaica and Barbados. All are great grounds, but it’s nice to be back here [at the SCG], where the light seems a little brighter … the ground just a little softer … and the grass just a little greener … and really feel you’re home.

MICHAEL HENNESSY

Sydney-based marathon runner and fitness expert Michael Hennessy is the founding father of ‘The Richies’, a colourful, bewigged, good-humoured group who since 2010 have dressed up and added an extra quality to day two of the Sydney Test each year.

BY THE 2009–10 AUSTRALIAN season, Richie Benaud was so widely loved and such a part of the fabric of cricket and summer that I felt as if we’d almost begun to take him for granted. Then came reports that he might be retiring from the Channel Nine commentary team. It was at that point that The Richies concept was born. There were 10 of us involved at the start; we just wanted to show Richie how much we’d appreciated him and his amazing service to cricket over the years.

We were soon joined by friends and other cricket fans keen to show that they felt the same way. In five years, the original 10 swelled to become 300, as we sought to turn the second day of the SCG Test into ‘Richie Day’. I guess the fact our small annual tribute has developed this far already, with photos and footage of us being seen around the world, is a testament to the high esteem in which Richie was and is held.

Initially, we weren’t sure how he would take us, dressed up as we were in cream jackets and silver wigs. But he always gave us a genial nod and was happy to field any cheeky questions from fellow commentators during breaks in play when they might quiz him on what the hell such a large group of grown men were doing dressing up as him. I especially remember Tony Greig’s enjoyment at giving Richie a bit of a stir whenever the cameras panned to the Richie bay.

A few of us Richies were involved in a promotion featuring the man himself on the beach at Bondi in 2012. He was engaging, happy to give us time for a chat, and had us all mesmerised with the stories he told … of his own development as a leg-spin bowler, the wise advice he had been given by Bill O’Reilly back on the 1953 Ashes tour, and how it all came together on the 1957–58 tour of South Africa. He even gave us a demonstration of how to hold the ball to bowl a flipper. He was in his early 80s by then, maybe moving a little slower, but his mind was still so sharp and so full of fascinating details from his life in cricket

We ran into him again on Australia Day 2015, when a few of us were involved in the filming of a TV commercial for Aussie lamb. It would be one of his last public appearances and he was clearly frail, but even though he had battled through a long morning of interviews and media commitments, he still generously stayed on to give our group the chance to grab a quick word and some photos.

The dry Benaud sense of humour and deprecating style were also on show. ‘You guys have more hair than me,’ he observed, looking out across our sea of cheap grey wigs. Always, there was the sense of him trying to put us at ease in his company.

NEIL HUTCHINSON

The old garage-workshop where Richie’s much-loved Sunbeam Alpine was meticulously looked after for more than 20 years stands about a nine-iron from Chez Benaud at Coogee. Richie’s garage of choice was of a similar vintage to himself, dating back into distant mists, perhaps 80 or 90 years. The current proprietors, the Hutchinsons, have been there for almost 35 years, over three generations. Norm Hutchinson, his son Neil, and Neil’s son Kim are sporting men, and Richie’s kind of people — expert at what they do, hardworking, no-nonsense. He trusted them with the car of his heart, and they worked with care and patience to keep it going smoothly. This was Richie’s second Sunbeam Alpine. Former teammates remember him in a red version back in the 1960s.

IT WAS IN THE early 1990s that Richie first brought his 1963 Sunbeam Alpine coupé to our little family business, Conella Motors, at Dudley Street, Coogee, where I was working alongside my father Norm. Little did we realise back then that it would become the most identifiable car in the district. It was beige in colour, in tune with the jackets Richie had made famous in his role as a TV commentator.

Richie came to see us on the recommendation of his then secretary, Margaret Roseland, who was one of our customers. He was seeking someone who could provide regular servicing for his car, the type of which was rarely seen on the streets of Sydney. We struck it lucky that day, as we do whenever we get great people like he and Daphne as clients. Richie was lucky, too, in that it happened that Dad had once managed a Rootes Group dealership that specialised in Humber, Hillman and Sunbeam cars. When Richie first brought his car in, Dad would have been one of the few blokes around town who had an expert working knowledge of the Sunbeam Alpine, which is a rather challenging car to maintain. It was also a hard car to drive for anyone who wasn’t familiar with it, with a strange clutch that didn’t want to be depressed too far. Richie found this out to his distress one night when, arriving in town for a cricket function, he handed the keys to the valet parking attendant. The young fella promptly flattened the clutch to the floor, and it virtually disintegrated.

The car became part of our life at Dudley Street. Summer or winter, whether Richie was in Australia or the northern hemisphere, we’d collect it from his home once a month for a service. Sometimes we’d have to scour the city for a particular part; they were never easy to get, but we had great backup from an old motoring man named Peter Rudland, who was always able to find what we needed. And so we kept it going. For years it was the oldest car we looked after at Conella Motors.

Richie loved that car. Once, when there was a minor mishap negotiating the awkward driveway down to his garage and it was noticeably scratched, he was devastated. The story goes that after each of his trips away he would unload his luggage at home and then head straight to the garage to say ‘hello’ to his car. On one occasion, someone associated with his television work provided him with a brand-new car. He never drove it; the vehicle was left sitting outside the Benaud home.

I don’t think anyone else apart from Richie ever drove the Sunbeam in recent years, except for my son Kim and me. I know that Daphne didn’t enjoy getting into it.

It was a real jolt when Richie’s friend and clubmate at the Australian, David Cox, rang one morning in late October 2013 with the news that Richie had been involved in an accident in the car and was in hospital. The Sunbeam was placed in a holding yard for some days, then brought to our workshop. It was a sorry sight, a real mess, and there was nothing we could do but organise for it to be towed to the Benauds, where we had to jack it up to get it into their garage. The car was so badly damaged we couldn’t roll it, or steer it in.

Richie was such a decent guy, an absolute gentleman. With his status, he could have been demanding, but he never was in all the years we did business with him. Every December, from the first year he linked up with us, he’d arrive down with a Christmas hamper. When he was sick, Daphne turned up with a hamper.

My lasting memory of Richie will be that of him at our garage in the afternoon, chatting with such ease and friendliness to other customers. He was the great cricketer and commentator, but on these occasions he was just a friendly, genial, genuine bloke who had popped in — as they had — to pick up a car.