This is a piece John wrote in 1995 at the request of his son. It appeared on CricInfo and is still on-line in various places. It was quoted in a couple of Bradman's obituaries as being by "English cricket essayist John Liverman". Dave found a reference to it in an on-line cricket blog and received this from its author.
"Hello Dave,
I completely agree with you that it is indeed sad that your father did not write more often on Cricket. I am quite positive though that the connection to that glorious May morning has not gone, the connection now lives in you and in me as well despite the fact that I was never lucky enough to meet your father. That connection is immortal Dave, and it will live with anyone who reads the piece with even a tiny portion of the sensitivity with which it is written. I had stumbled upon it more than a decade ago and when I heard the Tendulkar quote, I tried to look for the piece again and found it with great difficulty; maybe due to bad search keywords. So I used a smaller version in my blog that has led to many people searching for the original and they did thank me because despite being cricket writers they had never come across this fabulous piece. The great thing about this simple piece is that it takes the reader to that May evening when Bradman walks to take strike; it is almost a visual experience. Your father must have lived a very good life.
Many Thanks
Deepan Joshi "
It is a very evocative piece, and illustrates how well John could write.
Here's the piece in full
In 1934, Bradman scored a century at Lords. There was nothing unusual about that. It was not even in a Test Match, but against Middlesex who were to finish tenth in the County Championship. But that century, on 26th May 1934, still lives in the memory of all who were privileged to witness it. For perfection of technique, for dazzling artistry, it can rarely have been equaled in the history of cricket.
Don Bradman had burst onto the English scene like a meteor in 1930 when he was 21, and sent toppling one Test Match record after another. The body-line style of bowling of Larwood and Voce in Australia in 1932-3 had been devised by Jardine largely to contain Bradman's phenomenal run-getting and had succeeded up to a point. Bradman had his denigrators: some thought his technique unsound, others described him as a run-getting machine. In fact, in 1934, in his twenty-sixth year, he was at the height of his powers and unquestionably the world's finest batsman. Whether he was the greatest batsman the world has ever seen will continue to be debated: Grace and Hobbs among others have their supporters. But those gathered at Lords on that memorable day in May 1934 will find it difficult to believe that there was ever a greater batsman.
In 1934, Bradman began the tour with a double century at Worcester, a performance that became a regular habit. In the following match, against Leicestershire, he scored 65. Next, against Cambridge University, Bradman was bowled for a duck, the first time he had failed to score in England. More low scores followed, 5 against the MCC, 37 against Oxford, 0 again in the Hampshire match. With only three games before the First Test it seemed that Bradman was going through a bad patch.
Saturday, May 26th was a fine spring day and Lords was nearly full when Middlesex won the toss and began their innings. After the loss of two early wickets, applause greeted the crowd's favourite, Patsy Hendren, now over 45 but sprightly as ever. His short and tubby figure, familiar at Lords for over a quarter of a century, was to fill the stage for the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon. Eager to reach the crease, quick to take guard, scampering an immediate short single to leg to get him off the mark, he did not let us down. There was never a dull moment in his stand of 142 with RWV Robins. They treated O'Reilly and Grimmett, one of the great Australian bowling partnerships of all time, with scant respect. Eventually Hendren was bowled for 115 by Wall, the fast bowler with the longest run-up to the wicket ever seen at that time (though there have been some competitors since). The Middlesex innings closed with a respectable total of 258, and the Australians were left just over an hour and a quarter to bat before Saturday's close of play.
We had already enjoyed a good day's cricket entertainment. What was to follow was high drama. The hero of the opening scene was big Jim Smith, the Wiltshire giant, playing his first season for Middlesex and soon to become another favourite with the Lords crowd, both for his determined fast bowling and for what Wisden politely described as "his firm-footed driving, often with a cross bat. " In 1934 his powerful hitting destroyed a committee room window at Lords and punched a hole in the sight screen at the Nursery End. But on this May evening he wrought destruction as a bowler. With no score on the board, Woodfull played back to a fast good-length ball that came back sharply from the off, and was lbw. At quarter past five, with Australia 0 for 1, the pavilion already in shadow, Bradman walked slowly to the crease. The small, neat figure, the measured approach (calculated to allow the eyes to become adjusted to the light), the air of total absorption, drew the crowd's attention like a magnet. Almost at once there was a gasp as Bradman appeared to play at a ball from Smith outside the off stump and to miss. In fact, he drew back his bat at the last moment. If it was a near thing, it was the only semblance of fallibility that we were to see that evening.
Jim Smith struck again when Australia had nine runs on the board, all scored by Bradman. Ponsford played back as Woodfull had done and was out in precisely the same way. The left-handed Darling replaced him with Australia 9 for 2.
It was now that Bradman took charge with complete mastery, and unleashed the most devastating attack on the Middlesex bowling. In the next hour we were treated to a dazzling array of brilliant stroke-play. The speed of Smith and Judge, the medium-paced accuracy of Enthoven, the spin of Robins and Peebles, all served only to illustrate a display of consummate artistry and technique. The cut, the hook, the forcing stroke off the back foot, each was demonstrated to perfection. But above all Bradman's driving, particularly a series of thrilling off-drives, celebrated classical batsmanship in its full glory. His footwork when he came down the pitch to the slow bowlers was too swift for the eyes to follow. The power of his hitting was immense, and his timing perfect. Unless a fielder was in the direct line of fire, he could barely move a yard before the ball sped over the boundary behind him.
As the shadows lengthened and the hands of the clock moved towards half past six, we realized that Bradman might reach his century before stumps were drawn. For a time the prospect receded as he lost the strike. Unselfishly Darling refused to run a single at the end of an over. Bradman faced the bowling. With watchful defence he played out the over until the last ball when he completed his hundred and turned to the pavilion as the crowd rose. Close of play, Australia 135 for 2, Bradman not out 100, including nineteen boundaries.
Hundreds of small boys and many older spectators ran onto the field and made a cheering corridor for Bradman as he walked back to the pavilion gate. It was an unusual spectacle for those days, and my neighbour shook his head in sad disapproval of such demonstrative behaviour.
On the Monday, Bradman raised his score to 160 and was then caught by Joe Hulme in front of the pavilion rails. By then I was back at my school desk, but the innings I had seen on the Saturday was with me still and the memory has remained with me vividly for over sixty years.
John Liverman
September, 1995