The Second Eleven

Photo of Saint Joseph's College in 1904, courtesy of the College archives

A version of this piece was posted as one of my assignments in the University of Tasmania's unit in Family History Writing. The idea is to write "flash fiction", to convey an scene in less than 250 words. This is an image of my father's first day at school at Saint Joseph's College in 1923. The 1904 photo is of the main school building which was taken 19 years before Bede's time.
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Alice Smith and Bede had travelled up to Sydney the previous week, taking the bone-shaking slow train from Wagga.


Now, outside the school, Bede gazed up at the towering sandstone building that would be his home for the next five years. His new uniform, half a size too big, felt heavy on his back.


When they entered the headmaster's office, Brother O'Meara was busy signing papers but he stood up and reached over the desk to shake Bede's hand. The Brother's fingers were stained dark blue and Bede caught the faint metallic smell of ink. Brother O'Meara spoke with a lilting Irish accent and began to explain the orientation procedures.


'We're always happy to welcome the country boys, Mrs Smith. I've assigned Flanagan here to show you both around. God bless.'

'Thank you, Brother.'

The boy Flanagan took them down a dimly lit corridor that led towards the dorms. He stopped half way along, to look out across the lush green lawn.

'Do you play cricket, Smith?'

A broad smile stretched across Bede's fair face and his blue eyes lit up.

'I certainly do.'

'Batsman or bowler?' Flanagan asked.

'I'm an all rounder. My Dad's been helping me with my off-breaks, at home, in Leeton.'

'Excellent! We're preparing boys for the Second Eleven. Come on, I'll show you the playing fields.'


Through the stone archway, in the distance, there came the flash of a figure in white running in, followed by the faint pock sound of the ball.

Match of the day

Match of the day

The Sun has billed it as the match of the day – University, the underdogs, facing off against Saint George.

In my mind's eye, I catch a glimpse of my father Bede on that morning in February 1932. He is walking from Hurtsville Station, down the frangipani streets, past the new red and brick tile houses. With his canvas bag slung over his shoulder there's a spring in his step, as he makes his way towards oval.

Thousands line the streets leading up to the oval; while inside, the ground is full to bursting point. Young fans clutching autograph books hang like monkeys on the fence.

In the humid confines of the change room, Bede has started to sweat. His team mate, Tom Parsonage, paces up and down.

'How about that crowd!'

'They're not here to watch us, mate,' Bede says. 'You can be sure of that.'

Saint George wins the toss and elects to bat and are off to a rapid start. On the first fall of wicket, when the number three batsman appears, the crowd erupts. Two young boys clamber over the perimeter fence. A police officer intervenes to stop them from grabbing Bradman by the shirt.

Bede's bowling is not up to his usual standard and he doesn't manage to dislodge Bradman, who eventually falls leg-before-wicket to Parsonage for 50. By the end of the day Saint George has amassed a total of 304 and, in the dwindling light, Bede and Tom Parsonage stride to the crease, to open the batting for University. The match will continue on the following weekend, when University will try to equal Saint George's batting total.

There were 8000 people at Hurstville for that Saturday's cricket match. My father had to content himself with the hope that next season he might have another crack at taking Bradman's wicket.


Trove Reference
Corbett, C. (28 February 1932 ). Bradman's crowd, The Sun, p. 35.