Among the rabble on “the hill” was the place to be, the Herald concluded, when NSW played England at the SCG – they wailed “like a threnody” as Bradman “limped off for a mere 18”.
By Staff reporter
First published in The Sydney Morning Herald on November 26, 1932
If one is prepared to suffer the discomforts of a blazing sun, assuming the sun is shining with more than ordinary warmth, as was the case yesterday; of sitting amid such evidences of a gastronomic orgy as peanut shells, orange peel, banana skins and the remnants of prawns, and of being incommoded by youthful collectors of empty bottles and vendors of liquid and other refreshments, then there is only one spot on the Sydney Cricket Ground from which to view a big cricket match there, with real enjoyment. It is “the hill”.
A view of “the hill” at the Sydney Cricket Ground during the fifth Test series between Australia and England, 1932/33.
Those on “the hill” feel that the occupants of the other enclosures view cricket far too gravely; have too much regard for the proprieties of speech, and are far too decorous thoroughly to enjoy the spirit of the game.
Yesterday, at the England v New South Wales match, those on “the hill” not only took off their coats, but hundreds ignored the sartorial proprieties by taking off their shoes and boots for added comfort. Some of the males even took off their socks. It was a great day. All classes were among the vast mass there. It takes big cricket as well as indigestion to level all ranks.
For an off-day, It was an extraordinary scene. From an early hour, the ground had been the confluence of vast human tides from all quarters. When the coin was tossed, and even before it, one looked over a vast sea of people. There was little room anywhere for late-comers.
Thunderous applause swept the ground when, shortly before the luncheon adjournment, Bradman came blithely on the scene, following Bill’s comparatively brief career at the wicket.
A youthful queue outside the Sydney Cricket Ground in November 1932 during NSW’s match against the visiting English cricketers. Credit:Staff
It was not long before there was a wail like a threnody as for some lost soul. Bradman limped off back into the dressing room for a mere 18. The crowd on “the hill” turned mournfully to its light luncheon of peanuts and lemonade.
Later, to add to its gloom, came the early downfall of the captain of the home team, Kippax. Voce was not at all popular with “the hill,” especially after Fingleton had been rendered temporarily hors de combat.
PIGEON DEFIES THEM
Throughout practically the whole of the day, a pigeon, regardless of the game, and of England’s fast bowlers, picked quietly at the grass not far from the wickets. It was still there, picking away, towards the close of the innings. Someone saw its presence a favourable omen for New South Wales – until the home side’s batsmen began to retire with almost monotonous regularity.
The bird was not far from the wicket when. In the early stages of the play, Voce was pegging away without success, amid the cynical banter of the crowd.
“See if you can hit that pigeon,” yelled someone. It was suggested by someone else towards the close of the day that the pigeon must have had nine lives, and eaten enough to satisfy the appetite of an elephant. If the pigeon temporarily left the field, it was quickly back again.
Fingleton, playing under obvious physical difficulties as a result of the ball’s contact with him at various stages – finally he had to be provided with a substitute runner – had by this reached the half century, amid storms of cheers. He saw wicket after wicket fall as he stood before the onslaught of England’s bowling.
It was shortly after Fingleton had reached the half century that there appeared on the scoring board the notice – “Wanted at members’ stand”.
“I hope it’s not me they want,” cried half-a-dozen voices on the hill. The crowd was keyed up, and was in a merry mood; there was the lurking fear among them that it was a call back to town. Then, in a blank space, appeared a doctor’s name.
“All classes were among the vast mass there.” Another view of “the hill” from November 24, 1936.Credit:Staff photographer
All was well – at least on “the hill”.
“The hill” was airing freely its omniscience in matters cricket. England was ringing the changes on its bowlers, but it had not yet tried the Yorkshireman, Verity.
“Give ‘Variety’ a go,” came a voice that could be heard all over the ground. It is not suggested that Jardine was prepared to place his trust in the judgment of “the hill,” but within a second or two of the stentorian command from that quarter, Verity had the ball in his hand. McCabe, far more sparkling than Fingleton, was still helping to hold the fort for New South Wales.
There was a wild cheer when McCabe reached 50; and when three balls were flashed to the fence in succession the joy of the crowd knew no bounds.
“Break their ’earts, Stan; we can do without Don Bradman,” roared a voice from the crowded citadel of Demos.
The next ball, McCabe played very carefully. All eyes were glued on him. His caution was comforting to those who feared he might make a false move.
“That’s the boy, Stan,” he was informed loudly, “Don’t do ‘yer’ nut”.
The fast medium bowler, Tate, was the idol of the crowd, even if he was taking the wickets, and the batsmen were showing him the respect due to his prowess with the ball. They appeared to like him for himself, apart from his display with the ball. This is his third visit.
“The hill” has come to feel that it knows him intimately by now, Verity was taken off. But there was another loud call for “Variety.” He was not making any impression on Fingleton and McCabe. The score was hovering near the 200 mark; the crowd wanted to see the second century posted while the “going was good”.
Australian batsman Stan McCabe doubles up after being hit by English bowler Harold Larwood on the shoulder in the fifth Test at the Sydney Cricket Ground during the 1932-33 Ashes Series (the Bodyline Series), February 1933.Credit:Staff
“TUT-TUT”
There was the sharp ping of the ball, and then, in a thunderous voice from behind the wicket, “How’s that?” It looked for the moment as though it was the end of McCabe’s innings.
“Tut-tut.” yelled the crowd on the hill, amid roars of laughter, and by way of dissent from the wicket-keeper’s appeal. The hill was once again right. The umpire had concurred in its ruling. McCabe was still safe at the wicket.
Cheers broke across the ground from all quarters when, just before the tea adjournment, McCabe left the field with a very creditable 67 to his record. Fingleton, scoring slowly, but nevertheless still gamely holding up New South Wales’ end, had seen yet another batsman out.
It was the end of a useful partnership when McCabe was forced to part company with Fingleton, and practically the end of the innings, in the eyes of the crowd. It was a memorable moment when Fingleton finally reached his century.
Slowly, but surely, he, with McCabe, had saved New South Wales’ face. The crowd cheered him again and again. In a dull moment or two that followed, a young fellow selling newspapers threaded his way through the crowd. “Latest score,” he was yelling. The crowd was unresponsive. Finally, the news vendor saw the humour of trying to carry “coals to Newcastle”. He changed his tactics. “Big society scandal at Pyrmont,” came his piercing voice. In the roars of laughter that followed, the crowd momentarily forgot to say things about Voce.
But there was another verbal assault on him when, with acrobatic agility, Fingleton “ducked” to several of his balls. Voce was informed, amid boo hoos, that they were playing cricket, not baseball.
The New South Wales tail had commenced to crumple up. Oldfield made a tremendous swipe with his first stroke, much to the distress of the crowd. “Now Bertie,” called an enthusiast, “don’t think you’re on Moore Park.”
Oldfield was soon put out of his misery. The crowd was now in jocund spirit in its attitude towards the tail-enders. It knew the game was up so far as the home team’s first innings was concerned.
“Have mercy on him,” “the hill” cried to Allen when Theak took the bat, “Give him underarms.” There was hardly room to move on “the hill.” One wonders what it will be like today.
