Ten days ago I received a call from New Zealand Cricket asking if I could provide them with an action photograph of Bert Sutcliffe to be used in the new pavilion that bares his name at Lincoln Green, Christchurch.
The 32 photographs that I laid out covered the first-class career of perhaps the most cultured batsman in the history of New Zealand cricket. From the earliest team shot in 1947 through to the final New Zealand team that he played for in 1965 there is no escaping the warm smile and the fair, wavy hair.
I have no photographs of the young Sutcliffe when he was a precocious talent, scoring 2730 runs at an average of 71.80 for Takapuna Grammar School in his six years in the first eleven.
Nor have I photographs of his early games for Auckland, or when he played for various Service XI’s in the Middle East, Europe and England in the latter days of the Second World War.
The first photograph is of him playing in his first game for Otago against MCC, led by Waiter Hammond. Batting in his new Otago cap, he is driving straight past the bowler, foot to the ball and right elbow high. Earlier in the season he’d played for Auckland, where he batted in the middle order, but had shifted to Dunedin to take a course in Physical Education.
On a murky day, Sutcliffe was late, and reached the ground five minutes before play was to commence, only to be informed by his captain, Waiter Hadlee, “You and I will open”. It was the first time he’d opened in first-class cricket and he introduced himself to the cricketing world by scoring 197 and 128. The battle-hardened professionals praised his technique, balance and footwork.
The photos covering the remaining 18 years of his career are from all the cricketing countries at that time and show all the shots of the game. There is not one crude, badly executed or ugly shot. They remind me of the times that I saw him bat. I was only vaguely aware of his partner. I was captivated by the fact that this man of medium height and slight build could caress the ball to the boundary at the same pace as an obviously more powerful player like John Reid. His secret was sweet timing.
His footwork was a thing of beauty. He glided down adventurously to meet the ball on the full or half-volley and with grace directed it in the channels between the fieldsmen.
You could never adequately express Bert Sutcliffe’s career in figures, even though they are most impressive with 44 centuries and an average of 47.22. You were seduced by his artistry as he cut, hooked and drove with an air of gentle persuasion. He was positive in his intent to take the fight to the bowlers and he did so with good grace and manner. He made you forget the scoreboard in the contemplation of an artist enticing you to follow the exact patterns that he wanted you to see. He achieved great personal feats and yet he never played in a test side that won.
In this time of difficulty for New Zealand Cricket, Michael Watt’s philanthropic gesture of naming the imposing cricket ground at Lincoln University, the Bert Sutcliffe Oval, has sent out an invaluable message. You don’t have to have won at the highest level to be a national hero. For all artists the axiom that “the style is the man” is true of Bert Sutcliffe. Good grace and conspicuous modesty have ensured that he will never be forgotten in the hearts of those who saw him play. Michael Watt has determined that future generations will also know of him.
And the picture that epitomised all the special qualities of this lefthand batsman is of him on the tips of his toes, forcing Alec Bedser backward of point during his test century at Old Trafford in 1949, with Godfrey Evans 15 centimetres off the ground. The feet are beautifully positioned, the lithe body balanced, the bat upright and the eyes looking to the boundary. It is in two dimensions like a piece of sculpture. It is fine art.