By Allan Grant
I can’t begin to write about 1955 without starting with my Saints.
Once again I accompanied my Dad and his mates on the terraces at the Junction Oval. Former North Melbourne player Les Foote had been appointed coach in 1954 after a stint at Berrigan in the Riverina and although no success came the Saints way in 1954 there was hope that things would improve.
I have to say that even the most positive of Saints supporters were a forlorn bunch by Round 11. No wins on the board but there was some hope as we travelled down to the Junction to play the Shinboners. Dad’s bricklayer mate Bob Brooker was playing for North that day so we had more than one interest. North had been a bit better than us during the year, but only a little, so we were a chance. We managed to win that game, our only success for the year. I clearly remember the feelings of football depression that spread through our home at 45 Camden St Balaclava, the heart of the Saints supporter base. It was a dreadful year.
So this little boy in his sixth year of life found joy in so many other sports. I still had an interest in football overall so had a few favourite players outside of the Saints bubble, but I had many other sporting heroes in 1955.
Tennis was still not my favourite sport but was in the news often. It was hard to ignore the two kings of Australian tennis Lew Hoad and Ken Rosewall. It was the first time I took notice of Adelaide where the Australian tennis championship was played. I found it difficult to work out where Memorial Drive was. It took me a while to realize that was the name of the venue. Although I had become a Ken Rosewall fan of sorts, I remember my grandmother and mother being keen Lew Hoad fans. Their support for Lew was lost on me I’m afraid. Unfortunately for Lew’s fans Rosewall beat him in the Australian championships but they were a formidable duo in the Davis Cup which was only becoming a glimmer in my sporting consciousness.
I began to take more interest in the Australian cricket team probably because I got a cricket bat for Christmas. I became fascinated by English fast bowler Frank (Typhoon) Tyson. I think the nickname was of more interest to me than his bowling at the time but as news came through about his bowling success against Australia the talk between my dad and grandfather lifted his profile in the household enough for me to be aware he was significant in Australia’s Test defeats in the early part of 1955.
It was this Test series in early 1955 that I first took notice of Keith Miller, possibly because my dad had impressed upon me he had played for the Saints. Keith became an immediate hero and not to be outdone my grandfather made sure I took notice of his favourite bowler, the great Ray Lindwall.
I was still too young to understand the loss in the Ashes series as a major disappointment. I had found two new heroes in Miller and Lindwall and a formidable if not admired enemy in Typhoon Tyson. There were so many Test series ahead of me as I formed my opinions on cricket and its heroes.
It’s interesting but I have not a great deal of memory about Victorian cricket in 1955 at least not until the annual Christmas game against NSW but this was probably because my focus was more towards the Australians against England and then later in the year in the West Indies. The idea of these far away islands and exotic cricketers absolutely fascinated me.
My grandmother Dot was a keen cricket fan. I know it was her who alerted me to cricket being played in the West Indies. She talked about cricket a lot. I believe it was her more than anyone else who instilled in me a love for Australian cricket. I jump ahead a little here but still remember as clear as day her going to see the West Indies at the MCG in 1961. Accompanied by her sister in law Kath Boase they went to all days of the Test. I still laugh when I remember that Aunty Kath sent her treasured photos of the Windies to be developed only to find the film had not been wound on. The disappointment was palpable. I shouldn’t have found it funny.
The Test series in the Windies in 1955 exposed me to new heroes. I don’t remember listening to the Tests on my crystal set as I was to do in later years but I soaked up the stories in the household. This was my first ever memory of Richie Benaud who scored a memorable hundred and at the same time a Victorian who I remembered seeing at the MCG was doing well. His name was Colin McDonald who was to continue as a hero of mine for some years to come.
I have no real idea how my dad knew Arthur Morris but he did, and spoke of him often. I have a very dim memory that Arthur visited us once when he came to Melbourne. Their friendship had something to do with Bondi beach as dad had spent a lot of his childhood in Bondi and had become a better than average swimmer as a result. Perhaps they met in Bondi. They were only two years apart in age. Obviously Arthur Morris became an important hero to me. Unfortunately 1955 was to be his last year playing Test cricket but he will always be an important part of our family history, however fleeting.
Around the same time that my cricket interest was peaking my uncle Jack Kennedy was very happy that his mate Peter Thomson had won his second British Open Golf title. I remember he and another mutual mate Father Johnny Barker coming around to share a few bottles of beer with dad and my pa to celebrate the win. My pa always loved a drink and this was the first time I was to see a Catholic priest have a drink if not several. It wouldn’t be the last time.
1955 was also to be the first year I had heard of an amazing race called the Tour De France. I had become fascinated with cycling but I don’t really know why. I listened intently to radio sports news and Russell Mockridge had become a hero. The power of radio is most probably the reason for my early love of cycling.
Mockridge was racing in the Tour De France so we as a family were interested in following his progress. He finished well down the line but for him just to be there seemed an amazing accomplishment. This was a great introduction to cycling and I have maintained a keen interest ever since.
My grandmother lived with us, she had married young, had my father at a very young age and separated from my grandfather who was never seen again. My pa who lived with us was my step grandpa but not step to any of us. He filled the position of grandpa so very well. He was an important part of our sports upbringing. A proud South Australian born in Narracorte and growing up in Mt Gambier, Col (Kelly) Mansell was a character larger than life.
My grandma had lived through the late `20s and `30s as a single woman. I remember her following Fitzroy until later in the 1950s when she started following Melbourne.
She followed Fitzroy because she went out with two Fitzroy players that I know of during the 20s and 30s. She must have been selective as both her boyfriends won Brownlows. They were Chicken Smallhorn and Haydn Bunton. I remember asking her once what Chicken Smallhorn’s real Christian name was. She just laughed and said I don’t know I just called him Chick.
I don’t know in which order she went out with them or whether the friendships were of a serious nature or platonic. She loved dancing so I can still see her in my mind right at home in the era. I remember her in later years doing a fairly good job of the Charleston dance.
I remember a time midyear which I now know as July when I saw her crying in our lounge room. Haydn Bunton triple Brownlow medalist had been killed in a car crash in South Australia. A tragedy for Australian football, Australian sport, and the Bunton family. Time stood still in our house that day as the family mourned the loss of a sporting icon of Australia.
Football in Melbourne went on as usual, St Kilda was hopeless except for Neil Roberts who was gaining top hero status. Melbourne and Collingwood were Grand Finalists. Melbourne won but I can’t say this was the biggest news that day. My memory is imprinted with the horrific collision between Frank Bluey Adams of Melbourne and Des Healey of Collingwood. I was listening to the radio and the picture the commentators created was horrific. Subsequent newspaper photographs are embedded in my my mind.
I took great interest in all VFL players. My scrap book of the era has team photos of all the teams. I found the VFL competition fascinating. Frank Adams for some reason was of great interest to me. I don’t know why, perhaps it was his fiery red hair and his athleticism that attracted me to him and Des Healey was a favourite of my Pie supporter uncles. My clear memory is about being anxious about both of them.
The 1955 Brownlow was won by Fred Goldsmith the South Melbourne full back. Fred was a fireman and a friend of some neighbours down the road. I remember meeting him once or twice when the neighbours got together. Camden St, Balaclava was a wonderful community street in the early `50s. I remember Fred as being a larger than life person who often wore his fire brigade uniform. Young kids always love firemen. The next year he would be shifted to full forward. I have a memory of him having a chat over the fence with my dad and me at the Lakeside Oval. I am not sure what year but that was in the same era. As a six year old I thought Fred Goldsmith was a beauty. I certainly can’t remember any angst about Fred beating any of my Saints players for the Brownlow although Neil Roberts polling so well was a major highlight for me.
My much loved horse Rising Fast was back to compete in the Melbourne Cup. I was fascinated by everything about him. I was glued to the radio on race days and clearly remember him winning the Caulfield Cup followed by the McKinnon stakes the Saturday before the Melbourne Cup. To this day I dislike the loss of names such as this to sponsored races. I loved the feel of horse races named after people. The McKinnon Stakes and Derby Day were part of my racing life from such an early age.
On Melbourne Cup day we always went in to Aunty May and Uncle Arch’s house for the call of The Cup. They had a boarding house at 47 Camden St Balaclava. Some of the boarders were fascinating to a little boy. May and Arch’s surname was Radonich. A nephew John owned Buy-rite Electrics in later years. For years we bought our electrical appliances from him. May’s maiden name was Murphy and her brother lived in the sleep-out next to our back fence. There was a gate between our two houses near the sleep out so I spent some time speaking to this very interesting but flawed character. I don’t think my mother was that happy with me seeking out his company. Poor man was an alcoholic which was obvious to me even at such a young age but he also had a host of sporting stories which he delivered with much flair.
Other boarders included a photographer called Don who took many family photos of the era. Some of them are still in family collections. The other boarder I remember was Bob Gleeson.
He went to every race meeting city and country always by train from Balaclava station. He was friends with journalists, jockeys, trainers and owners. My love of horse racing can be traced back to Bob Gleeson and the Radonichs who were keen racing fans. There was always a sweep happening for both Cups and a few keen punters among the boarders not to mention my uncles and other extended family. Although both parents were not punters I was to have a keen interest in horse racing.
On Melbourne Cup day we gathered in the boarding house surrounded by family and boarders, all to listen to the great race. I had drawn a horse called Toparoa in the sweep. My Mum had Rising Fast. I wasn’t happy although my favourite jockey Neville Selwood was on Toparoa. I still wanted Rising Fast to win.
Rising Fast was beaten on the post by Toporoa. The race caller mentioned a likely protest but nothing was to eventuate. I was told much later that the owners decided not to protest. Whatever the outcome there was much discussion later when Neville Selwood was suspended for causing interference to Rising Fast. I don’t have a happy memory of collecting the sweep winnings just a tinge of anger towards Neville Selwood for causing my Rising Fast to lose. I switched jockey allegiances to Jack Purtell who had ridden Rising Fast to victory in 1954.
Athletics was still of great interest to me. My Dad would usually go to Stawell as Uncle Jack Boase would be running in the sprint races. It wasn’t a trip I got to go on. All the Boase cousins and my Dad together! There were many stories of bookies, plunges and failed plunges on Jack and other runners.
There was a lot of talk about the coming Melbourne Olympics. My dad who was a bricklayer got plenty of work as he got involved in a number of projects including at the future Olympic village.
Shirley Strickland broke Marjorie Jackson’s World Record for the 100 metres or yards, I don’t remember. My six year old world was confused by the mix of yards and metres when it came to Athletics. The 1500 metres and the Mile had me quite confused.
A very young man called Murray Rose had emerged in swimming. He was so young I could almost relate to him. He was just 17 and had taken the swimming world by storm. My other favourite Lorraine Crapp continued to break records. Australia was expected to do well at the coming Olympics in Melbourne.
Jack Brabham continued on his winning way and down near Luna Park all these rally cars left a garage to go on a drive round Australia. I remember going with Dad to watch them leave. I think it was called Redex or something similar. The very big personalities involved were not yet on my radar. That was to come.
As the year came to an end I remember Dad taking me to the MCG for the annual Victoria v NSW Christmas Sheffield Shield game. I remember Len Maddocks made a hundred but not much else happened as I recall. We went to the game, but I don’t remember anything after Christmas so I’m guessing the game was washed out. I loved the annual Victoria v NSW games.
Playing in that game but not so obvious to me at age six was a Victorian leg spinner called Jack Hill who played a few Tests for Australia. I was to work with Jack many years later. I played the odd work social game with him. I remember in my early twenties keeping to him. He was hampered by injury and age but when he bowled you could hear the seam fizzing as the ball came down the wicket. That was the first I experienced that degree of spin on the ball.
1955 came to an end with me dreaming of a Saints success somewhere in the distant future and some real excitement about the coming Melbourne Olympic Games.
A change as yet unknown to me was on the horizon.
I can’t begin to write about 1955 without starting with my Saints.
Once again I accompanied my Dad and his mates on the terraces at the Junction Oval. Former North Melbourne player Les Foote had been appointed coach in 1954 after a stint at Berrigan in the Riverina and although no success came the Saints way in 1954 there was hope that things would improve.
I have to say that even the most positive of Saints supporters were a forlorn bunch by Round 11. No wins on the board but there was some hope as we travelled down to the Junction to play the Shinboners. Dad’s bricklayer mate Bob Brooker was playing for North that day so we had more than one interest. North had been a bit better than us during the year, but only a little, so we were a chance. We managed to win that game, our only success for the year. I clearly remember the feelings of football depression that spread through our home at 45 Camden St Balaclava, the heart of the Saints supporter base. It was a dreadful year.
So this little boy in his sixth year of life found joy in so many other sports. I still had an interest in football overall so had a few favourite players outside of the Saints bubble, but I had many other sporting heroes in 1955.
Tennis was still not my favourite sport but was in the news often. It was hard to ignore the two kings of Australian tennis Lew Hoad and Ken Rosewall. It was the first time I took notice of Adelaide where the Australian tennis championship was played. I found it difficult to work out where Memorial Drive was. It took me a while to realize that was the name of the venue. Although I had become a Ken Rosewall fan of sorts, I remember my grandmother and mother being keen Lew Hoad fans. Their support for Lew was lost on me I’m afraid. Unfortunately for Lew’s fans Rosewall beat him in the Australian championships but they were a formidable duo in the Davis Cup which was only becoming a glimmer in my sporting consciousness.
I began to take more interest in the Australian cricket team probably because I got a cricket bat for Christmas. I became fascinated by English fast bowler Frank (Typhoon) Tyson. I think the nickname was of more interest to me than his bowling at the time but as news came through about his bowling success against Australia the talk between my dad and grandfather lifted his profile in the household enough for me to be aware he was significant in Australia’s Test defeats in the early part of 1955.
It was this Test series in early 1955 that I first took notice of Keith Miller, possibly because my dad had impressed upon me he had played for the Saints. Keith became an immediate hero and not to be outdone my grandfather made sure I took notice of his favourite bowler, the great Ray Lindwall.
I was still too young to understand the loss in the Ashes series as a major disappointment. I had found two new heroes in Miller and Lindwall and a formidable if not admired enemy in Typhoon Tyson. There were so many Test series ahead of me as I formed my opinions on cricket and its heroes.
It’s interesting but I have not a great deal of memory about Victorian cricket in 1955 at least not until the annual Christmas game against NSW but this was probably because my focus was more towards the Australians against England and then later in the year in the West Indies. The idea of these far away islands and exotic cricketers absolutely fascinated me.
My grandmother Dot was a keen cricket fan. I know it was her who alerted me to cricket being played in the West Indies. She talked about cricket a lot. I believe it was her more than anyone else who instilled in me a love for Australian cricket. I jump ahead a little here but still remember as clear as day her going to see the West Indies at the MCG in 1961. Accompanied by her sister in law Kath Boase they went to all days of the Test. I still laugh when I remember that Aunty Kath sent her treasured photos of the Windies to be developed only to find the film had not been wound on. The disappointment was palpable. I shouldn’t have found it funny.
The Test series in the Windies in 1955 exposed me to new heroes. I don’t remember listening to the Tests on my crystal set as I was to do in later years but I soaked up the stories in the household. This was my first ever memory of Richie Benaud who scored a memorable hundred and at the same time a Victorian who I remembered seeing at the MCG was doing well. His name was Colin McDonald who was to continue as a hero of mine for some years to come.
I have no real idea how my dad knew Arthur Morris but he did, and spoke of him often. I have a very dim memory that Arthur visited us once when he came to Melbourne. Their friendship had something to do with Bondi beach as dad had spent a lot of his childhood in Bondi and had become a better than average swimmer as a result. Perhaps they met in Bondi. They were only two years apart in age. Obviously Arthur Morris became an important hero to me. Unfortunately 1955 was to be his last year playing Test cricket but he will always be an important part of our family history, however fleeting.
Around the same time that my cricket interest was peaking my uncle Jack Kennedy was very happy that his mate Peter Thomson had won his second British Open Golf title. I remember he and another mutual mate Father Johnny Barker coming around to share a few bottles of beer with dad and my pa to celebrate the win. My pa always loved a drink and this was the first time I was to see a Catholic priest have a drink if not several. It wouldn’t be the last time.
1955 was also to be the first year I had heard of an amazing race called the Tour De France. I had become fascinated with cycling but I don’t really know why. I listened intently to radio sports news and Russell Mockridge had become a hero. The power of radio is most probably the reason for my early love of cycling.
Mockridge was racing in the Tour De France so we as a family were interested in following his progress. He finished well down the line but for him just to be there seemed an amazing accomplishment. This was a great introduction to cycling and I have maintained a keen interest ever since.
My grandmother lived with us, she had married young, had my father at a very young age and separated from my grandfather who was never seen again. My pa who lived with us was my step grandpa but not step to any of us. He filled the position of grandpa so very well. He was an important part of our sports upbringing. A proud South Australian born in Narracorte and growing up in Mt Gambier, Col (Kelly) Mansell was a character larger than life.
My grandma had lived through the late `20s and `30s as a single woman. I remember her following Fitzroy until later in the 1950s when she started following Melbourne.
She followed Fitzroy because she went out with two Fitzroy players that I know of during the 20s and 30s. She must have been selective as both her boyfriends won Brownlows. They were Chicken Smallhorn and Haydn Bunton. I remember asking her once what Chicken Smallhorn’s real Christian name was. She just laughed and said I don’t know I just called him Chick.
I don’t know in which order she went out with them or whether the friendships were of a serious nature or platonic. She loved dancing so I can still see her in my mind right at home in the era. I remember her in later years doing a fairly good job of the Charleston dance.
I remember a time midyear which I now know as July when I saw her crying in our lounge room. Haydn Bunton triple Brownlow medalist had been killed in a car crash in South Australia. A tragedy for Australian football, Australian sport, and the Bunton family. Time stood still in our house that day as the family mourned the loss of a sporting icon of Australia.
Football in Melbourne went on as usual, St Kilda was hopeless except for Neil Roberts who was gaining top hero status. Melbourne and Collingwood were Grand Finalists. Melbourne won but I can’t say this was the biggest news that day. My memory is imprinted with the horrific collision between Frank Bluey Adams of Melbourne and Des Healey of Collingwood. I was listening to the radio and the picture the commentators created was horrific. Subsequent newspaper photographs are embedded in my my mind.
I took great interest in all VFL players. My scrap book of the era has team photos of all the teams. I found the VFL competition fascinating. Frank Adams for some reason was of great interest to me. I don’t know why, perhaps it was his fiery red hair and his athleticism that attracted me to him and Des Healey was a favourite of my Pie supporter uncles. My clear memory is about being anxious about both of them.
The 1955 Brownlow was won by Fred Goldsmith the South Melbourne full back. Fred was a fireman and a friend of some neighbours down the road. I remember meeting him once or twice when the neighbours got together. Camden St, Balaclava was a wonderful community street in the early `50s. I remember Fred as being a larger than life person who often wore his fire brigade uniform. Young kids always love firemen. The next year he would be shifted to full forward. I have a memory of him having a chat over the fence with my dad and me at the Lakeside Oval. I am not sure what year but that was in the same era. As a six year old I thought Fred Goldsmith was a beauty. I certainly can’t remember any angst about Fred beating any of my Saints players for the Brownlow although Neil Roberts polling so well was a major highlight for me.
My much loved horse Rising Fast was back to compete in the Melbourne Cup. I was fascinated by everything about him. I was glued to the radio on race days and clearly remember him winning the Caulfield Cup followed by the McKinnon stakes the Saturday before the Melbourne Cup. To this day I dislike the loss of names such as this to sponsored races. I loved the feel of horse races named after people. The McKinnon Stakes and Derby Day were part of my racing life from such an early age.
On Melbourne Cup day we always went in to Aunty May and Uncle Arch’s house for the call of The Cup. They had a boarding house at 47 Camden St Balaclava. Some of the boarders were fascinating to a little boy. May and Arch’s surname was Radonich. A nephew John owned Buy-rite Electrics in later years. For years we bought our electrical appliances from him. May’s maiden name was Murphy and her brother lived in the sleep-out next to our back fence. There was a gate between our two houses near the sleep out so I spent some time speaking to this very interesting but flawed character. I don’t think my mother was that happy with me seeking out his company. Poor man was an alcoholic which was obvious to me even at such a young age but he also had a host of sporting stories which he delivered with much flair.
Other boarders included a photographer called Don who took many family photos of the era. Some of them are still in family collections. The other boarder I remember was Bob Gleeson.
He went to every race meeting city and country always by train from Balaclava station. He was friends with journalists, jockeys, trainers and owners. My love of horse racing can be traced back to Bob Gleeson and the Radonichs who were keen racing fans. There was always a sweep happening for both Cups and a few keen punters among the boarders not to mention my uncles and other extended family. Although both parents were not punters I was to have a keen interest in horse racing.
On Melbourne Cup day we gathered in the boarding house surrounded by family and boarders, all to listen to the great race. I had drawn a horse called Toparoa in the sweep. My Mum had Rising Fast. I wasn’t happy although my favourite jockey Neville Selwood was on Toparoa. I still wanted Rising Fast to win.
Rising Fast was beaten on the post by Toporoa. The race caller mentioned a likely protest but nothing was to eventuate. I was told much later that the owners decided not to protest. Whatever the outcome there was much discussion later when Neville Selwood was suspended for causing interference to Rising Fast. I don’t have a happy memory of collecting the sweep winnings just a tinge of anger towards Neville Selwood for causing my Rising Fast to lose. I switched jockey allegiances to Jack Purtell who had ridden Rising Fast to victory in 1954.
Athletics was still of great interest to me. My Dad would usually go to Stawell as Uncle Jack Boase would be running in the sprint races. It wasn’t a trip I got to go on. All the Boase cousins and my Dad together! There were many stories of bookies, plunges and failed plunges on Jack and other runners.
There was a lot of talk about the coming Melbourne Olympics. My dad who was a bricklayer got plenty of work as he got involved in a number of projects including at the future Olympic village.
Shirley Strickland broke Marjorie Jackson’s World Record for the 100 metres or yards, I don’t remember. My six year old world was confused by the mix of yards and metres when it came to Athletics. The 1500 metres and the Mile had me quite confused.
A very young man called Murray Rose had emerged in swimming. He was so young I could almost relate to him. He was just 17 and had taken the swimming world by storm. My other favourite Lorraine Crapp continued to break records. Australia was expected to do well at the coming Olympics in Melbourne.
Jack Brabham continued on his winning way and down near Luna Park all these rally cars left a garage to go on a drive round Australia. I remember going with Dad to watch them leave. I think it was called Redex or something similar. The very big personalities involved were not yet on my radar. That was to come.
As the year came to an end I remember Dad taking me to the MCG for the annual Victoria v NSW Christmas Sheffield Shield game. I remember Len Maddocks made a hundred but not much else happened as I recall. We went to the game, but I don’t remember anything after Christmas so I’m guessing the game was washed out. I loved the annual Victoria v NSW games.
Playing in that game but not so obvious to me at age six was a Victorian leg spinner called Jack Hill who played a few Tests for Australia. I was to work with Jack many years later. I played the odd work social game with him. I remember in my early twenties keeping to him. He was hampered by injury and age but when he bowled you could hear the seam fizzing as the ball came down the wicket. That was the first I experienced that degree of spin on the ball.
1955 came to an end with me dreaming of a Saints success somewhere in the distant future and some real excitement about the coming Melbourne Olympic Games.
A change as yet unknown to me was on the horizon.
