Not quite coffee but cricket
If there is one longstanding rivalry between England and Australia, it is the nation’s annoying habit of beating England at its own game. The Ashes has a long history, stretching back over 130 years, since its first series in 1882-83.
The test matches rarely paused during that time, except notably, during the First and Second World Wars. After both wars, Donald Bradman led the Australians to victory and carried the Ashes triumphantly home. Then in 1948, the Australian team, known as “The Invincibles”, set sail for England once more. It was Bradman’s last Ashes Test series and he meant to retire on a high note.
Australia held the Ashes from 1934 to 1953 (no Test cricket was played during the Second World War). @ Photo taken at The Bradman Collection, Adelaide Oval by Nicole Motteux
What are the chances of sitting on the lap of Australia’s greatest batsman of all time, aged 11 years old?
And sailing on a ship with one of the greatest cricket teams of all time?
This is the story of my mother, uncle and a chance encounter with Bradman and the Invincibles.
My mother, Helen aged 11 years old @ Family photographs
In 1948, the Australian cricket team sailed for England under Donald Bradman. The team of 17 men that became known as the Invincibles took with them the hopes of a nation.
The Ashes series between England and Australia before the second World War, 1933 @ Photo taken at The Bradman Collection, Adelaide Oval by Nicole Motteux
The team set sail from Fremantle in Western Australia on Friday, 19th March 1948 on the RMS Strathaird for England, via Colombo and Bombay. They stopped in Colombo, Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) for a one-day single-innings match that drew a large crowd before a monsoon downpour ended the game.
Then the ship moved on to Bombay (now Mumbai, India).
It was at this time that my uncle, Miles (4-years old), and my mother, Helen (11-years old), together with my grandmother, left their house in Madras (now Chennai, in the southern state of Tamil Nadu) leaving their father who was a banker. It was a beautiful building built by the Dutch with high ceilings and solid walls. My mother recalls the coolness of the house during hot summers with large and airy rooms. It was built on the edge of a fast-flowing river that often flooded during the monsoons.
In April 1948, my mother climbed into the car wiping away floods of tears as she said goodbye to her Ayah whom she adored. She had been with my mother since she was born and filled her life with endless games and stories of Indian myths and legends. Her last memory of her home in Madras was watching the large black kites soaring high in the sky and gliding in thermals above her home. She had fed these birds throughout her childhood.
My mother’s family house in Madras built by the Dutch before the British arrived in India, 1948 © Helen Motteux
At the impressive Madras Central railway station built in the Gothic style, my mother recalls the porter loading their worldly belongings onto the train for Bombay (now Mumbai located in the state of Maharashtra) to connect with the RMS Strathaird for England.
The train journey was over 1,000km through the southern part of the Deccan Plateau. They passed the Krishna River and its tributary, the Bhima River, with majestic views of the Western Ghats. The train tracks weaved its way through cities and agricultural land of cereals, oilseeds, cotton, and pulses.
Twenty-four hours later, they arrived in Bombay.
The family travelled just months after India’s bloody partition that had divided the British colony into two independent states in August 1947. The partition caused riots and large-scale violence. Two million people died, and fifteen million were uprooted, creating an overwhelming refugee crisis.
Nilgiri Hills form part of the Western Ghats, 1948 © Helen Motteux
Trains were a precarious means of travel, highly vulnerable to attacks targeting displaced refugee people, from one ethnic group by another. Just seven months earlier, one of India’s worst train massacres had occurred at Amritsar, Punjab, near the Pakistani border.
My mother recalls her mother, Margaret (always called Peggy), as a strong capable woman and felt safe with her. Helen looked out the train window saying goodbye to everything she knew.
The train passed through Coimbatore Junction station where my mother had for the last five years caught the Nilgiri Express (known as the Blue Mountain Express) with other children to the hill station school. Nazareth Convent school was just outside Ooty hill station, sitting amongst tea plantations and thickly forested hills with a vista of stunning scenery.
Helen still has fond memories of the train that has now gained World Heritage status, as it puffed out black smoke groaning up the steep mountains with the children singing and swinging their legs in time, “Will she do it? Will the little train make it? Here we go. No, we don’t, yes, we do, now we go, yes, we do!” in tune with grinding of the wheels. Singing overcame their fears of the huge drops, steep narrow ravines as the Blue Mountain Express chugged its way through tunnels and bridges.
But this time, it was her last ever train journey in India. The unrest made it unsafe to stay and like most British children they were taken back to England for schooling.
My grandmother, Margaret married in Colombo 1936 @Family photographs
Their train journey to Bombay was just the start of an exciting adventure.
Onboard the RMS Strathaird
When the RMS Strathaird with the Australian cricketers on board docked at Bombay briefly, they took onboard more passengers. Among them was my grandmother, mother, her little brother. Most of the Australian team were former servicemen and they brought life to the ship with games of quoits and deck tennis, as they sailed over 7,000 nautical miles to an England emerging from a long, cold winter.
Four days before docking at Tilbury in England, my grandmother carefully took out two sheets of paper from her autograph book and pushed my mother forward with her brother in hand to go and ask The Invincibles for their signatures.
Signatures of Australian cricket team, The Invincibles, 1948 © Helen Motteux
When the children approached the team, Donald Bradman lifted my uncle and mother onto his lap and asked, “Do you like cricket?” My mother answered truthfully, “No” and all the cricketers laughed.
The team signed their autographs: Donald Bradman the captain, Lindsay Hassett the vice-captain, Sydney Barnes, Arthur Morris, Keith Miller, Sam Loxton, Ian Johnson, Bill Johnston, Neil Harvey, Bill Brown, Doug Ring, Ron Hamence, Coline McCool, Ernie Toshack the spinner, Don Tallon and Ron Saggers the wicket keepers, Ray Lindwall the fast bowler, and Keith Johnson the manager.
71 years later and those signatures haven’t faded from memory or paper.
Sir Donald George Bradman is regarded as the greatest batsman of all time @ Photo taken at The Bradman Collection, Adelaide Oval by Nicole Motteux
At that time radios were not widely owned. News of the Australian cricket team’s 1948 tour reached some household by Amateur radio, also known as ham radio. The six-month cricket tour brought optimism and cheer to post-war Britain and the Australian team remained undefeated through the whole summer.
Australia continued to dominate the Ashes test matches in the post-war period. After my mother’s early experience meeting the Australian team, she always enjoyed watching cricket on a summer’s day and listening to the sound of the cheers on the radio.
Another great cricketing nation - South Africa
It seems like Helen was destined to have cricket in her life when she next left England – heading to another great cricketing nation - South Africa - in 1962
South Africa in Australia Test Series (1931/32) @ Photo taken at The Bradman Collection, Adelaide Oval by Nicole Motteux
My mother talks of how cricket brought hope after the war. In playing international games, cricket has helped to heal barriers in India and Pakistan, as well as in South Africa. There is even a Freedom Trophy between India and South Africa. It is dictated to Mahatma Ghandhi and Nelson Mandela who both dedicated their lives for their nations to achieve freedom from oppression.
And as for my intrepid mother, her days of adventure in faraway places were by no means over. In 1960, she married a coffee farmer in Africa. But that, as we say, is a story for another time.
Helen Motteux later in Africa, Zimbabwe, 1985 © Nicole Motteux
Written by Nicole Motteux with input from Helen Motteux & family, edited by Lilani Goonesena
About the author: Nicole Motteux is a sustainable coffee advocate based in Adelaide, Australia. She works with businesses, NGOs and government agencies to develop sustainable linkages across the coffee supply chain and support equality in the industry. Nicole regularly publishes coffee articles, is a keynote speaker, photographer and development specialist. Learn more about Nicole or get in touch - she’d love to have a coffee.