Redcap's BRL

On the road to Brisbane: The saga of ‘Smacker’ Blair, ‘Junker’ Robinson and their mad dash to the Ashes

Have you ever had one of those dreams? You know the one: an important event in your life looms large, nervous energy and anxiety abound, and your unconscious hours become a Kafkaesque nightmare of inexplicable barriers and complications.

Many cricketers have reported them. The biggest innings of their career beckons, a wicket falls and suddenly their bat and pads and gloves are missing. Time is running out, everybody’s looking at them, and they’re bereft, unable to find so much as a box.

The mighty Football Club Barcelona once had such a nightmare in real life. Led to believe their game away to Osasuna had been postponed, Barça were suddenly informed it was back on, 500 kilometres away, with just a few hours to spare and with Spain’s airports closed by industrial action.

It even became something of a media circus, as Lionel Messi and company hurtled frantically along the motorway toward Pamplona, “tracked every step of the way, breathlessly reported on, like OJ on Interstate 405”.

Rugby league has a story like this, just without the real-time media circus, and this version of it has been pieced together from contemporary accounts, historical recollections and research into the road between Sydney and Brisbane in 1920, with some details embellished to fill gaps and smooth inconsistencies.

It is the saga of Alf ‘Smacker’ Blair, Jack ‘Junker’ Robinson and their mad dash to the Ashes.

Brisbane Exhibition Ground No.2, 10:30am Thursday June 24, 1920

Jersey Flegg and Harry Sunderland exchanged worried glances. The Kangaroos were training ahead of the first Ashes Test and things were not going well. Balmain’s Paddy Conaghan had already limped off the paddock, his Test debut in jeopardy, and it was increasingly evident something was wrong with five-eighth Stan Ryan of Brisbane Wests.

A short time later, coach Alec Burdon confirmed the selectors’ worst fears. Conaghan had done his hamstring, while Ryan had inflamed boils and needed further medical attention.

“Worry not, Jersey,” said Sunderland brightly. “Nev Broadfoot’s the best three-quarter in the country and young Harry Fewin is a fine fullback – Chook Fraser can play standoff.”

“Fewin can’t kick, and I heard Broadfoot has no ticker,” replied Flegg, testily.

Spending enough time around Sunderland, the brilliant but notoriously absent-minded QRL Secretary, was enough to make anybody belligerent, though it was true that Broadfoot had been turned away by the Army due to a heart condition, while Fewin’s selection for Queensland, never mind Australia, in 1920 was curious.

“Be that as it may, Harry” offered Flegg, “but with Paddy and Stan out, we’ve no reserve backs, and if your boy Thorogood’s injured, who else is there?”

“Charlie’s no good,” confirmed Sunderland. “What do you propose, Jersey?”

The team selected by Flegg and Sunderland already had a new look, with Ryan, Conaghan, Queensland forwards Norm Potter and Bill Richards, and Glebe prop Bert Gray all uncapped. With two of the new boys out, the selectors resolved to recall some old favourites.

Philip Street, Sydney, 12pm Thursday

Horrie Miller was in his late thirties, slightly built, with blonde hair and a baby face. While he didn’t look the stereotypical rugby league supremo, his reputation as Secretary of Easts and then head of the NSWRL was a man who got things done.

A telegram had just landed in his office, and it would prove his equal: CONAGHAN AND RYAN UNAVAILABLE STOP SEND HERB GILBERT OR JACK ROBINSON TO BRISBANE IMMEDIATELY STOP H FLEGG, CHAIR STOP

Bursting through his office door, Miller instructed his secretary to get Charlie Elliott and Bob Craig on the phone. “Herb Gilbert has to catch the three-thirty train to Brisbane. I know where he works – tell Charlie I’m going there now,” said Miller. “Tell Bob to find Jack Robinson.”

Miller had no trouble tracking down Gilbert, but the Wests centre was compelled to work.

The search for ‘Junker’ Robinson thus commenced in earnest. He wasn’t at work. He wasn’t at home. Miller, Craig and sundry officials searched bars in the Balmain area, left slides in city theatres and sent notices to the papers for their late editions.

The last of these efforts finally yielded Robinson, with the Balmain centre arriving on Philip Street just after 5pm. While Robinson had finally been found, he’d missed the mail train and there was no prospect of overtaking it. There was no suitable flight to Brisbane and the steamer would take too long.

The only option was the road, but it was a long, risky and expensive road. Robinson would need a car and a driver. The road to Newcastle was hard enough. Could they even make it all the way to Brisbane, never mind make it there on time?

Miller knew only one man who could arrange all this at short notice: James Joynton Smith.

“Sit tight, Junker,” said Miller. “I need to talk to JJ and the Committee.”

Moore Park, Sydney, 9pm Thursday

“Is that Horrie Miller?” asked Clarrie Horder of nobody in particular.

The South Sydney Rabbitohs were training on the Showground as Miller urgently bestrode the turf. Given the arduous journey ahead, the committee had decided another player should accompany Robinson. Miller had already approached Ray Norman of Easts who was training next door, but like Gilbert, Norman couldn’t go.

“I heard they’re looking for a centre to play the Poms,” remarked Alf Blair. “He’s probably here for you, Clarrie.”

“Good evening, gentlemen,” said Miller as he arrived at an expectant throng of players. “Alf, can I have a word?”

The Rabbitohs players cheered as Miller announced ‘Smacker’ Blair had been called up for the Ashes. As the two walked away, Blair asked, “How are we going to get there, Mr Miller?”

“I’m looking forward to finding out myself,” replied Miller.

Walsh Bay wharves, Sydney, 10:50pm Thursday

In 1890, James Joynton Smith arrived in Australia, penniless. Just over ten years later he owned several hotels and had sold what would become the Harold Park racecourse for a profit of almost $3 million in today’s money.

Smith would go on to become the godfather of Australian rugby league after he saved the fledgling code from financial ruin and financed the wildly controversial raid of Australia’s top rugby union players in 1909. He was President and chief problem-solver of the NSRWL.

As Miller, Robinson and Blair stepped off Towns Place and onto the wharf, they saw three shadowy figures observing a team of wharfies, who were working remarkably late, loading a car onto the waiting steamer.

“Welcome, gentlemen,” said Smith. “Mr Robinson, Mr Blair, you’re sailing to Newcastle tonight, and then Moriarty and McCarthy here will drive you to Tweed Heads.

“There’s plenty of food and water in the car. There’s fuel and benzine too. Rest as much as you can,” advised Smith. “If you get to Casino tomorrow night, we might be able to make the journey quicker.”

As he turned on his heel, Smith added, “Whatever happens, aim to catch the six o’clock train from Tweed Heads on Saturday morning. Good luck, gentlemen.”

Perkins Street, Newcastle, 4:30am Friday

As the miners and tradies of the Hunter Valley stirred in their beds, the four intrepid travellers left Perkins Street wharf and headed into the wild.

Blair had certainly been to Brisbane before, and the others may have too, but in 1920 few attempted the drive up what would become the Pacific Highway.

Many years later, when the NSW Roads and Traffic Authority compiled an oral history of the road, a respondent described those who attempted long-distance journeys along it in the 1930s as having “a screw loose”.

If it wasn’t loose before, it would be after enduring several “tortuous hours over rough, undulating, unsealed, corrugated and badly potholed ‘goat tracks’ with tree roots growing through”, ferries that were “always breaking down” and ferry drivers who often “fell asleep while on duty at night”.

“Strap yourself in, lads,” suggested Moriarty.

“It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

Post and Telegraph Office, Barker Street, Casino, 9:05am Friday

“Anything for me?” asked Wilfred Boot, popping his head inside the post office door.

Boot was a correspondent for one of the Sydney papers, and while he was perfectly happy in the journalistic obscurity of the Northern Rivers, he was about to get a scoop.

“Yes, Mr Boot,” replied the clerk. “From the President of the Sydney Rugby League.”

FOOTBALLERS J ROBINSON AND A BLAIR DRIVING TO BRISBANE VIA CASINO STOP DUE CASINO LATE AFTERNOON IN RED SIX CAR 42054 STOP PLEASE MONITOR AND CONTACT LYNN BROTHERS STOP JJ SMITH, PRESIDENT STOP

Boot knew exactly what this meant and excitedly muttered to himself, “Oh, this is splendid!”

James and Walter Lynn had spent years trying to convince the Postmaster-General in Sydney to support an airmail service between Lismore, Casino and Tenterfield. Barely two weeks before Blair and Robinson set sail from Sydney, the Lynn brothers undertook a trial airmail run at their own expense.

Despite strong local support and the prospect of dramatically speeding up the painfully slow mail service in northern NSW, there was scant interest in Sydney. If the Lynn brothers’ Avro could get Blair and Robinson to Brisbane with time to spare, it would garner invaluable publicity and political capital.

Boot started getting the word out far and wide – “look out for Six car 42-054!” – and the Lynn brothers readily agreed to convey the two footballers to Brisbane.

Boot and the locals just had to find them. Even more was now riding on it.

Philip Street, Sydney, 12:15pm Friday

“Mr Miller, Mr Miller,” chittered a gaggle of reporters as Horrie Miller stepped onto the street. “What do you estimate the trip will cost?” asked one of them.

“We haven’t considered that,” replied Miller, defiantly. “All we want is to win the championship. The selectors in Brisbane have been notified that Blair and Robinson are on their way.”

North Coast Highway, South Grafton, 4:30pm Friday

“We’re nearly in Grafton, lads,” said Moriarty. “I dunno about you, but I could murder a hot meal. My mate comes from up this way and reckons Walker’s Hotel does a beauty.”

One thing almost every teller of this saga agrees on is that our intrepid travellers made it to Grafton sometime late Friday afternoon, though hardly any agree about what happened next.

Some claim floodwater delayed their progress. Brisbane’s Daily Mail claimed flooding stopped them at Grafton. Blair and Robinson reportedly said they hit dense fog north of the city, and while their progress slowed to a crawl, they continued pushing north.

The inconsistencies between these accounts, especially the details reported and misreported by the Daily Mail, point to the most likely explanation.

Centre Street, Casino, 9pm Friday

As James Lyall approached Wilfred Boot, he urgently asked: “Any sign of them, Wilf?”

“Nothing,” replied Boot. “They should be here by now. Perhaps they went the other way?”

Woodburn-Coraki Road, West Coraki, 1am Saturday

“I can’t see a damn thing,” barked McCarthy. “Somebody get out and wipe the glass before I drive into the river.”

The Summerland Way between Grafton and Casino was built during World War II with a dual purpose: for military vehicles to rise above the flood plain which hosted the old oxcart track; and avoid the labyrinth of ferry crossings between Harwood and Woombah on the lower Clarence.

This is another way of saying that one road had flood – the multitude of creeks intersecting the old low-lying track – and the other had fog – the vast expanse and energy of the Richmond River spilling ashore through the cold evening air.

The intrepid travellers crossed the Clarence at Grafton and pushed north toward Casino, only to find their way blocked by a flooded creek. They then turned around, went back over the Clarence and headed east toward Maclean, found their way through the labyrinth of ferries before their progress slowed to a crawl in dense fog somewhere around Coraki. Nobody was going to find them.

As the morning sun rose and passengers converged on the morning train at Tweed Heads station, the intrepid travellers were still deep in the wild of the northern rivers.

South Brisbane Railway Station, 10am Saturday

The stream of passengers passing Flegg and Sunderland from the early south coast train slowed to a trickle, then a dribble, then to nothing.

“Where are they?” growled Flegg.

“It was always a long shot,” said Sunderland, breezily. “Don’t worry, Jersey, we’ll be fine.”

Brisbane Exhibition Ground, 3pm Saturday

Oh yes, the game. The Kangaroos won an “ugly, brawling affair” 8-4 thanks to a late Frank Burge try to give themselves “splendid prospects of regaining the coveted Ashes lost to England in 1914″.

The papers were convinced Blair and Robinson would have started had they made it. In their absence, Broadfoot and Fewin won their first and only Test caps.

Robinson would make a substitute appearance in the final game of the series, his fourth and final Test, while Blair would have to wait until England’s visit in 1924 for his debut.

Herb Gilbert who declined a place on the mail train north was selected as captain for the second Test in Sydney and ended up the series-winning skipper. Neither Paddy Conaghan nor Stan Ryan was ever selected again.

Robinson, Blair and Moriarty caught the train back to Sydney on Monday morning, while McCarthy and the Six car followed on a steamer.

A regular airmail service was eventually established in the northern rivers in the early 1930s.

Hotel Carlton, Queen Street, Brisbane, 1pm Sunday

Kangaroos captain ‘Ricketty’ Johnston reclined in the lobby of Hotel Carlton and reflected on his return to Brisbane – it had gone quite well, he thought. At that moment, Smacker Blair sidled through the doors, closely followed by Junker Robinson.

“Well, blow me down, look who’s here, boys,” exclaimed Johnston. “Where the bloody hell have you two been?”

“It’s quite a story,” replied Robinson with a sheepish grin.

This article is original work by Redcap. An earlier version appeared on the ‘Play Up’ gambling website, also known as ‘The Roar’.