Batting statistics, as readers of Wisden know only too well, put Sir Donald Bradman in a league of his own. Yet, his records, his scoring speed, and even his double and triple Test scores do not alone explain his special relationship with the British public. Runs were a necessary, but not sufficient, condition of Bradman’s heroic status in Britain. His batting explains the awe and admiration in which he was held. But it does not explain the remarkable affection of the British public for a man who, as the Daily Mail observed in 1930, “was a menace to English cricket”.
The death of Don Bradman in 2001 brought some brilliant examinations of his career and cultural impact in the 2002 Wisden Cricketers’ Almanack, including this look at his close connections with Britain
Why did the British public come to like Bradman so much? Being an Australian of English descent was, of course, an advantage. Bradman’s career, however, also happened to coincide with the inter-war boom in radio broadcasting and the rise of the cinema newsreel. The press, especially mass circulation “Sundays”, such as The People and the News of the World, whose joint circulation reached 30 million by the time Bradman retired, gave extensive coverage to Test cricket, especially the Australian tours. His first autobiography, My Cricketing Life, was serialised in the News of the World in 1938. Never had so much been known by so many about so few, as Churchill might have said when he bumped into Bradman at Victoria station in 1934 and had the Daily Mail photograph the two of them shaking hands.For all its subsequent warmth, the British relationship with Bradman got off to a cool start. His assault on England and the English counties in 1930 left the public awestruck and a little resentful. This was not just a matter of his treatment of the local bowlers. His natural reticence and puritan instincts irritated his own team and the English public after his record Test innings of 334. Twenty years later, he was still wondering if he was expected to parade through the streets of Leeds. The press had mistaken his youthful shyness for petulance. It took time for him to realise that he needed, and lacked, the common touch.
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