Spinner (6 page)

Jack turned to the crowd with his pound note still raised high. ‘Seems to me this kid's been taking plenty of pounds out of Northam. Just want to get a little back for my home town.'

They cheered.

Uncle Mike licked his lips, then shrugged. ‘Suits us then doesn't it, David. We'll take the great Jack Tanner's money. I'll make sure I spend it at the Colonial here in town tonight.'

Another cheer.

Jack Tanner smiled, as he handed his coat and hat and fob watch to a pretty lady in a bright yellow dress. He strode to Michael's cricket bag and took out the heaviest bat in there before taking his time to flex his shoulders again, and roll his big neck. He went to the wicket and finally took his guard. ‘Nothing personal, lad. You bowl pretty good for a nipper.'

David wasn't sure what to say. He'd heard of Jack Tanner. He was a batsman for the Western Australian combined side who played visiting teams from the other states and from overseas. He looked to his uncle, who gave the ‘dancer' signal, but he wasn't smiling his usual smile.

David took a moment to think. What would Grandad say now? Probably that this was a good thing. If David was going to learn to bowl better, he should bowl against better batsmen. Learn. The crowd started muttering a little at the delay. David decided to bowl a high bouncing leg break, to avoid the dancing down the wicket. He bowled.

Jack Tanner didn't move. He didn't raise his bat. He simply stood before the wicket and watched the ball hit the mat and spin a long way to the off side.

The crowd groaned.

‘Nice overspin there, lad,' said Tanner.

‘He's having a look at you, David,' said his uncle.

David next bowled a ball on the other side of the pitch. He gave it everything, ripping his fingers across the stitching as he let go of the ball. It sang in the air like a little car motor. It was another leggie and it pitched perfectly outside leg stump where it spun behind Jack's legs, knocking over the wickets with a lovely woody sound.

Some of the crowd cheered. Some gasped.

Jack stood smiling and nodding towards David. He still hadn't played a shot. ‘That was a beautiful ball, boy. Just about impossible, it was so good.' Jack Tanner went and retrieved the cricket ball, examining it.

‘No tricks, Jack. Just good bowling,' said his uncle.

‘I'm sure there's a trick, Michael. Just can't see it yet.' Then to David, ‘You got a googly?'

‘Don't bowl him one, David,' urged Michael, as he put the wickets back in position.

‘If you bowl me a googly next ball, I promise I won't hit it.'

‘He's going to start playing little guessing games in your head,' said Uncle Mike.

‘Unlike Michael Donald, I don't tell lies, boy. I don't know where he found you, but I hope he's paying you your bloody share in advance.'

‘Oi, no call for that in front of the ladies now, Jack.'

‘Apologies ladies. David. Uncalled for, I grant. How much money you got in the kitty there, Michael?'

‘Just try to hit the ball, Jack.'

Jack nodded. Waited. David bowled another leg break, but it never landed. Jack Tanner took a huge step down the
mat and caught the ball on the full. There was a gasp from the crowd, and maybe from David, as they ducked. They didn't need to. The cricket ball flew high and far, crashing into the tent near the central arena. There was applause.

When David looked back to the wicket, his uncle was handing Jack Tanner the pound note they'd been showing everyone as the prize. Michael applauded too. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the great Jack Tanner, famous son of Northam, takes the prize. Congratulations Jack. Now who else wants a turn? Come on folks. See, no tricks. It can be done.'

Jack shook his head. ‘By my figuring I've got twenty-seven balls left.'

A cheer. Jack grinned at the crowd.

‘Come on, Jack,' said Michael quietly. ‘You've taken me.'

‘Not yet. Not while you've got all those coins in the can there and not while you're still in Northam.'

So Jack Tanner proceeded to hit David's bowling everywhere. When David tried to land shorter, so he couldn't hit the ball on the full, the batsman let it bounce and collected it on the half-volley, before it could spin far. For the next ball he stood so far forward, David mixed up where he was going to land it. David took his wicket on the third ball but it didn't seem to matter. Tanner chuckled, and muttered, ‘Nice nut. Now that was a googly,' before blasting the next ball, which didn't spin at all, out over the big tent.

David looked from where the ball had disappeared to his fingers, which seemed to have lost all feeling. He couldn't account for why the last ball hadn't spun at all. This had never happened. The crowd were laughing and jeering. Many had moved to the side, peering round the side of the tent and from behind each other, in fear of injury. A fat man, with white whiskers and a red runny nose, yelled, ‘That one got hit to Perth.'

Jack Tanner stood over Michael, watching him count sixpences and shillings into piles, as the crowd edged closer. Finally, Michael handed Tanner the can and turned out his pockets.

‘That's it. Six quid. The lot.'

‘But you still owe me a lot of deliveries.'

‘And I can't pay you if you hit them, Jack. I'm flat.'

Jack Tanner turned to the crowd and raised the tin. They cheered.

‘That's it then,' said Jack. And it was. A man came from the Northam Show and made them pack up because it was too dangerous. One of the cricket balls had hit a prize melon and smashed it.

Uncle Mike giggled. ‘I would have liked to have seen that. Must have been pretty hairy down in the main arena with all those cricket balls raining down on the Agrarians of Northam.'

They worked quietly, putting the coconut shy back together. The one-armed man seemed pretty happy himself because he'd been paid in advance and would get a half a day of coconutting in as well.

‘Could ya spare a broke digger the price of a drink,' Uncle Mike asked him.

‘You bet big, you lose big, mate.'

‘Yep,' said Uncle Michael with a smile, ‘but it's a bigger laugh along the way.'

As they made their way out through the crowds who were all still enjoying the day, David said, ‘My fingers wouldn't do what I told them.'

His uncle walked a few more paces, nodding, before he finally said, ‘Well, that's a good thing to find out now I guess, rather than in front of the Western Australian team.'

Just after dark Uncle Michael returned to the hotel room to tell David they had a ride waiting downstairs. He pushed his own clothes into the cricket bag and grabbed up David's Gladstone.

‘I'll just toss them both over the veranda side mate. Much quicker. Meet ya down at the truck. Down the stairs and out the front. Last one there's a dead Kraut.' He was already opening the door to the veranda when he prodded David towards the hall door.

David went down the stairs and out past the rowdy bar to find a truck idling out in the street. A man with a huge beard and only one eye sat next to the wheel. Uncle Mike was already sitting next to him.

‘Come on mate,' his uncle called. ‘We can't keep the captain waiting. We got deliveries to make.'

David climbed into the back amongst lots of sacks and packages. The truck lurched with a crunch of gears as it left Northam. They stopped every now and then at towns and houses along the road and David passed parcels and boxes down for his uncle to put on verandas and in little tin sheds by the road while the captain sat rolling cigarettes in the cab, watching Michael wordlessly.

The truck finally came off the road and backed into a shed
behind a hotel, near some railway lines. Michael nodded to the driver who nodded back again wordlessly before he went into the hotel.

Michael came back to where David stood ready to jump down. ‘So how were things back here in steerage eh? Looks warm enough to me.' His uncle climbed up and arranged some empty sacks and some of their clothes into a makeshift bed.

David looked out at the hotel and back again, before he finally said, ‘We've got no money?'

‘Jack Tanner got most of it. I got a little for the old cricket balls and matting.'

David started to take his boots off.

Uncle Mike said, ‘The second Test starts soon.'

‘In Melbourne,' said David, brightening. ‘How do you think we'll go?'

‘We're gunna get killed.'

‘Grandad says they are formidable.'

‘Yep. And we don't have a spinner worth a damn.'

David smiled and looked at his uncle, but he was lying down, with his back to him. David thought of grabbing a bit of his uncle's coat over him, but the night was hot with barely a breeze.

‘Don't we just need better batsmen?'

‘The Australian team's paltry scores of a hundred and twenty-three and eighty-four contributing to your thinking there?'

‘If paltry means bad.'

‘Hmm. But what did England make in their first knock?'

‘Six hundred and twenty-three.'

‘Seems to me there are two ways of looking at that particular problem. It would be good to turn up a couple of
brilliant batsmen just lying around the country. But it would be pretty useful to the existing team to keep England from scoring such a whopping big total too.'

‘Yes.'

Up in the rafters of the shed were mice. David watched their silhouettes scamper and chase. He thought maybe city mice were the same as country mice in their habit of playing about in the dark.

In the morning, they took their bags and caught the train to the city. David looked out from the station at the crowds of people dodging cars, trucks and trams on the street in Perth. There was a man in rolled-up shirt sleeves, standing outside the station holding up a sign which said ‘Out of work.' The men in suits passed without stopping to read it. Ladies in bright dresses looked away as they pushed their wicker baby carriages. A taxicab driver was trying to crank his car engine into life, but it didn't seem to want to go. Car horns squawked, brakes squeaked, gear boxes groaned and engines coughed. Perth was noisy and smelt of petrol fumes and smoke.

‘Come on Davey,' said Uncle Mike, ‘we gotta get down to the WACA.'

‘I'm hungry.'

‘I know one or two men down at the cricket ground. They'll spot us for a feed.'

David felt jostled by yet another passenger and pushed himself back against the station wall. Other passengers coming up from the trains didn't seem to mind all the pushing and bumping.

Uncle Mike looked like he might get angry but then fished in his pocket. His hand came up with a few coins which he
looked at without much enthusiasm. ‘Let's see. Four bob, and ... not much more.' Michael looked at David a moment. ‘Well, you're right. Can't bowl on an empty stomach. Come on. We'll get breakfast here at the station. They say, in England, that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. In France they eat sweet buns and chocolate for their breakfast, which seems to go on most of the day.'

David followed his uncle back into the station.

‘You ever thought about that word? Breakfast. It breaks the fast of the night, you see. A fast is a period of non-eating. In some places around the world, they fast for days. Not cos they're poor. Believe it's good for the soul. Other places of course, they fast for longer and die. That's cos there's nothin' to eat, because the czars eat it all, but we won't go into that this morning.'

When they were seated with a pot of tea and toast and a bun at the railway station cafeteria, David asked, ‘Are you a teacher?'

‘A teacher?'

‘Sometimes you talk like a teacher.'

‘Oh dear. Sorry.' His uncle was smiling with his eyes and not sorry at all.

‘Other times you talk like a swagman, I suppose. Rough. And other times you talk like...' David struggled to place what he meant, but then found it. ‘Like someone on the wireless. A wireless person being funny.'

‘You think altogether way too much. If you think too much your head breaks in half. Did you know that?'

‘Yes, sir, I do. Then I just stop thinking and look at things.'

David saw surprise on his uncle's face. It was the first time he'd seen such an expression on Uncle Mike. Perhaps
he'd given the wrong kind of answer. He stopped looking at the man and concentrated on the good taste of the bun. A bit of jam would have been good if they'd had the money.

‘That's a good trick that,' said Michael. ‘I do the same but it takes a fair amount of grog to get there.'

David looked up, ready to smile, but his uncle was not looking at him.

They finished their breakfast in silence. David thought of his grandfather. It was easy to make him angry because he had high standards and was a hard taskmaster. But the rules were there, plain and clear. You could predict what would please and displease the old man. Every time he thought he had worked out how his uncle wanted things, it would all go sideways again. Like a leggie on a dusty pitch, thought David, smiling at his own joke.

After breakfast, they walked to the WACA ground, seeing as David ‘had eaten their tram fare.'

Just inside a back gate, Uncle Mike stopped and took a couple of cricket balls from his cricket bag. He then stowed both their bags behind the empty gatekeeper's box.

David looked around with pleasure. ‘This is where Grandad used to play.'

Michael led David past a grandstand and around the ground towards the scoreboard. The ground was green and grassy. It looked even and flat, watered and cut. David wanted to go out to the middle just to touch the turf wicket. The grass was rolled and cut and rolled again so that it was as nearly as hard as cement, but also soft enough to take spin.

David heard a bat hitting a cricket ball. Down past the scoreboard, behind some seating, there was another grassed area. Nets had been suspended from big poles, surrounding
two coir-matted pitches and two turf pitches. A bowler was bowling to a batsman, while two older men watched and talked.

Michael handed David the cricket balls. ‘Bowl these down on that spare wicket there, matey. Make sure you hit the wickets every time. All right?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘I'm just going to talk to Dunny there.'

‘Dunny?'

‘Bob Dunne. You heard of him?'

‘Yes. He's the West Australian Combined coach. Like Grandad was.'

‘Yeah, well, maybe nothing like Grandad was. He's also a bit of an unofficial national talent scout. Tells 'em who's worth a look from the bush.'

David had more questions, but his uncle was already walking on ahead to greet the older man in the loose grey suit. Bob Dunne looked to Michael in a wary kind of way, then over to David for a moment. Michael talked into his ear.

David went to the near vacant nets and started to loosen his shoulders and wrist, spinning one of the balls in nice little arcs over his little finger. The ball was torn and weathered and easy to grip.

In the next nets the bowler ran in fast and bowled. The batsman brought his bat down hard and neat on the rising ball, and hit it back down into the pitch. ‘Nice nut, Cracker.' The batsman used his bat to flick the ball back to Cracker, then caught sight of David watching, and winked.

David nodded, then turned to bowl a ball at the wickets at the other end of his nets. He bowled a bad ball. It was flat and spun uselessly away down leg side. David closed his
eyes. He hadn't thought about the delivery at all. He had not thought about what he would bowl, had not considered the pitch or imagined who he might be bowling to.

He took off his cap and pullover and made himself prepare to bowl properly. He made himself think out loud. ‘Okay, so what kind of pitch is this? The ball spun, so there's something in the wicket. Looks like there's some bounce too.'

David went to retrieve the ball he'd just bowled. He looked down at the wicket where a batsman would stand. These were nets, so there were no foot holes down this end where a bowler would run through on a real pitch. But there were worn patches where batsmen had stood, and it was greener in some places and drier in others. The grass smelled of water and good dirt.

‘Davey. David.'

David looked up. His uncle was standing at the open end of the nets with Bob Dunne and the young man who had been batting in the next net. ‘Come on. Mr Dunne wants you to bowl at young Hasluck here.'

The batsman headed down to take his guard, saying, ‘Come on chappie, can you be quick about it? I really need to practise.'

Other players had begun to arrive on the other side of the nets.

David noticed the derby hat first. It was Jack Tanner from Northam. Before David had time to think more about that his uncle touched him on the shoulder.

‘Davey, it's time to concentrate, mate.'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Now it'd be good if you could get this young bloke out. I haven't seen him bat.'

‘I have. He was batting when we got here.'

‘All right. I've used up my last favours in all of Perth for this, so we probably don't have many goes.'

David wasn't sure what his uncle meant or what the goes were for. Michael must have seen the confusion because he said, ‘Naw, just have some fun and get him out. All right?'

‘Yes sir.'

‘What's this, boss?' Jack Tanner called out. ‘Haven't we got training this morning?'

Bob Dunne held up a quieting hand.

‘David,' warned Uncle Michael, and just pointed to the batsman.

David stood at the top of his mark. Hasluck had been batting quite well against speed. He seemed to like to cut and play on the off side. David decided on off spin, but with a little flight to entice him into a shot. He stepped in and bowled.

The batsman saw the ball well in the air, but was very casual with his footwork, and merely dangled the bat outside the line. The ball spun inwards and took middle and off stumps. He looked back at his stumps, then angrily at his own feet. Some jeers came from the other men. Tanner yelled, ‘Hit him out of the park, Lucky.' Hasluck righted his wickets and tossed the ball back, scowling at his team mates. Bob Dunne and Michael said nothing.

David stood at the top of his mark watching Hasluck take guard. He was hitting the bat down on the crease, solidly and repeatedly. ‘He's angry,' said David to himself, ‘really angry, and really ready to hit me as hard as he can.' David knew exactly what to do.

David ran in and bowled a looping delivery, with some back spin. Hasluck saw it early, and hit early too. The ball
dipped in the air and then held up a little when it hit the wicket so that Hasluck was partly through his shot as the ball arrived. It took the bat high, ballooning easily back to David. He caught it with both hands against his chest.

‘Live grenade,' said David, not quite believing he'd caught the ball.

‘Good ball, David,' said Uncle Michael.

Hasluck was looking at his bat as though it had a crack in it. Dunne was scratching his chin.

‘Bowl me another one. I got it now,' yelled Hasluck.

But Dunne called out to one of the other players. ‘Derrick, would you mind having a look at this young fella here?'

Michael said, ‘Derrick Jarvis.'

David said, ‘Opening batsman for Guildford and Western Australia. Tight defence. Scores on the on side mainly.'

Michael opened his eyes, in his pleased surprise look. ‘Yes, that's the one. You sleep with a radio next to your ear or something?'

‘The newspaper,' said David. ‘Grandad and me always read the sporting results and discuss the players.'

Jarvis nodded a smile to David as he entered the nets. Other players cuffed and pushed Hasluck as he came out. An older player had moved behind the rear of the nets, directly behind the batsman, to get a better look at the bowling from there. He pulled a cigarette paper from a packet and started to sprinkle tobacco onto it as he watched.

Jack Tanner said loudly, ‘Last time I saw this kid, he was taking pennies off folk at a county fair. That was a sideshow too.'

Jarvis took his guard. ‘All right then, son.'

Michael stood with David at the top of his run. ‘He's not
the sort of player who will go after you, so don't think you have to get him out straight away.'

‘Yes, sir.' David decided on trying to set up a trap for Jarvis.