Young Bradman

72 New South Wales pair of centuries; a cricket bag, that they said they hoped he would take to England. The time when New South Wales mattered most to Bradman was swiftly passing, almost before it began. He made his name in the Third Test in the first week of January, with 79 and 112; would beat Kippax’s record at the SCG with his 340 not out for New South Wales against Victoria; and then in the Fourth and Fifth Test matches would total 258 runs, second only to Jackson. He would end the first-class season with 1690 runs, averaging 93.88. And we know that was only the start. It’s tempting to lay out one innings after another, like columns of the Parthenon. It pays, as so often, to look at the detail. That 340 not out, for instance, out of 713 for six declared. The Sydney Morning Herald called it ‘an amazing innings, in which his stroke play improved as the hours wore on, but in which his judgement between wickets actually deteriorated’. On the first day, when New South Wales closed on 358 for three, the Herald said all the first three batsmen, the openers Jackson and Fairfax, and Bradman, showed ‘complete ignorance’ of calling and running; they lost runs and were only not run out ‘by atrocious blunders of the Victorians’. When on 69, Bradman drove a ball straight to a fielder, made a ‘ridiculous call’ and ran nearly to Fairfax’s end; Bradman made it back as the throw went over Jack Ellis the wicket-keeper’s head. At 76, Bradman hit the ball to backward point, Tommy Andrews called a run, while Bradman kept his eyes on the ball; Hans Ebeling the fielder threw to Herbert Gamble the bowler in front of his stumps who missed when Bradman was yards short. Fairfax had a habit of not grounding his bat when running; at lunch on the second day, the umpires took a run off Bradman because he had run short. On 310, Bradman had ‘another ludicrous escape’. Jack Fingleton, coming out to bat on debut at 602 for six, glanced a ball to Ironmonger at short fine leg and had his back to Bradman who ran without calling. Ironmonger, who had bowled more than a third of the overs, fluffed the return, ‘as was expected’, and Bradman regained his ground. Did Bradman make those lapses as he tired? Except that the Herald saw Bradman bat as soundly as ever, and even take more of the bowling; Fingleton made only 25 of that unbroken seventh-wicket stand of 111. Bradman, who still had to master running between the wickets, found himself already one of the more experienced New South Wales players; of the first six batsmen, only the captain Tommy Andrews was older than 22. Victoria were, as the Herald put it, ‘woefully weak’. Ironmonger was their main bowler, as Victoria did not pick Blackie and A’Beckett, who played in the Fourth Test the week after. Bradman would never have lasted against a modern set of fielders. The pitch, besides, was evidently good for batting; New South Wales could only draw, as Victoria only lost 17 wickets in 231 overs. Did Bradman make the record only because he batted steadily, whereas Fairfax was bowled on 104 by Gamble, ‘in a reckless effort to force the pace’? Yet like composing modern music or art, if it were so easy to bat eight hours, why didn’t everyone do it?! Bradman admitted in his 1930 serial that he had been ‘not especially keen to take part’; he felt like relaxing, but took an unnamed friend’s advice to