Norman Callaway, the prodigy with a better first-class average than Bradman

Norman Callaway - “the best Hay has ever produced”

Norman Frank Callaway (born April 5 1896, died May 3, 1917) was an Australian first class cricketer and soldier with the Australian Imperial Force (AIF) during World War 1.

Born in Hay, NSW to parents Thomas and Emily, Calloway moved to Sydney to pursue his cricketing career with city clubs Paddinton and Waverley, scoring a double century in his one and only first-class match in 1915.

Callaway was killed in action on the Western Front Bullecourt in May 1917. He had just turned 21.

Hay’s forgotten champion

by Ross McMullin

 Over a century ago, before World War I, this paper was praising a young local in the most glowing terms. The Riverine Grazier was predicting that “big things may be expected” from the town’s “boy champion”, who “promises to be … the best Hay has ever produced”. The Grazier also reported the assessment of an admired local teacher, who described the youngster as “a coming champion”.

The Hay schoolboy attracting such lavish compliments was 14-year-old Norman Callaway, who was a highly talented cricketer. His parents, Tom and Emily, had resided at Hay for over thirty years, and Norman had grown up in the family home at Hatty Street.

The Callaways were enmeshed in Hay’s social fabric and the town’s sporting activities. Tom, who worked at the soapworks west of Hay, was a capable batsman in local cricket, and his astute coaching had guided his son’s arresting progress in the game.      

Young Norm and his sister Jessie were students at the Hay Public School. They had grown up with the birds and the flies and the rabbits, with all the typical sights, sounds and smells of rural life, together with some features that were particularly pronounced at Hay — the fierce oaths of bullockies, the clop and clank of Cobb & Co, and the chug and peep of paddle-steamers. 

There was also the deceptive tranquillity of the ancient, adjacent Murrumbidgee. It was a tempting cooling option during the baking summer heat, but drownings occurred disturbingly often. These fatalities included, in the Callaways’ time there, one of Norman’s cousins, one of his teachers, and a nephew of a future Victorian premier. Tom and Emily were relieved when Norm became a capable swimmer.

But it was his prowess as a cricketer that was attracting accolades. The Riverine Grazier was describing him as the “Trumper of the school” and a “knickerbocker champion”. His exploits in senior cricket at Hay were so impressive that the Callaways decided to leave the familiarity of their home town and move to Sydney to see how far Norm’s talent could take him.

They resided initially in Paddington, where two of Tom’s siblings were living. Norman’s progress in the metropolis was rapid. He made his first-grade debut at the age of 17, and top-scored for Paddington against opponents who included the legendary Victor Trumper.

A fortnight later Norm made an unbeaten century of high quality that attracted rave reviews. It was “a superb piece of batting throughout”, The Sunday Times enthused.

The Daily Telegraph marvelled that the “youngster” had “climbed so high, so brilliantly, and in so short a time”. The Sun sensed a “born cricketer”, agreeing with The Sydney Morning Herald’s assessment that Norman’s sublime innings foreshadowed “the greatest promise for the future”.

As always, The Riverine Grazier kept Norm’s home-town admirers informed about his development. “All the metropolitan cricket writers speak enthusiastically of young Norman Callaway’s great batting performance”, Hay’s paper assured its readers proudly.

A later Australian cricketer, one of the nation’s greatest, had much in common with Callaway at the same age. He was shortish and slim, yet sturdy for his age and build; he was a natural cricketer with an assured manner; he emerged from a non-affluent background with a polished batting style that purists savoured; he saw the ball early, and was quickly into position to respond; he drove with unexpected power due to excellent timing; and savvy senior coaches enthused about his immense potential. All this was true of Norman Callaway, and decades later it was all equally true of a 17-year-old tyro named Ricky Ponting.

Norm followed his breakthrough century with a series of cameos. Each time he started well, underlining his conspicuous talent, before an ambitious stroke led to a premature end.  

Nevertheless his potential was obvious, and he was included in the New South Wales colts side that opposed their Victorian equivalents at the SCG. He began well again before inside-edging a wide delivery onto his stumps, and regretted his misfortune and lost opportunity all the more when the partnership following his dismissal rapidly added no fewer than 339 runs.

He had better fortune in the return colts clash at the MCG when he was dropped twice on his way to an eye-catching century. The Referee, Sydney’s weekly sporting paper, reported that Callaway’s innings “evoked high praise from old cricketers present”.  

His rapid rise was underlined a week later when New South Wales hosted Tasmania at the SCG. This was not a colts match, but a senior fixture with first-class status, and Callaway received a late call-up to be 12th man. He was still just 17, and had left Hay only 15 months earlier.

Norm’s emergence was hailed as one of the highlights of the season. In fact, Australia’s leading cricket journalist of the era, Jack Davis of The Referee, claimed that Callaway’s run-scoring for Paddington constituted “a record by a colt in his first season in the first grade”, better than Trumper and other champions had initially accomplished.

Hay’s budding champion had to change clubs before the following season. Tom and Emily had moved the family to Bondi Junction, and the strict competition rules concerning residential eligibility ensured that Norm now had to play for Waverley.  

Norman started the 1914–15 season scratchily at his new club. He did not make a decent score until December, when The Referee praised his chanceless 60 as a “rattling good innings”.

Too often, though, he was not converting good starts into substantial scores. There were too many breezy but unfulfilling thirties. It was not a case of the “second-year blues” (bowlers detecting weaknesses and exploiting them) so much as Callaway finding soft ways to get himself out.

After Christmas, however, he prospered. In bowler-friendly conditions his brilliant 73 in only 75 minutes was the highest score throughout the first-grade competition. The upshot was a pleasant surprise — selection for New South Wales against Queensland.

No one was in any doubt about his quality, and his superb 73 confirmed that he was in form, so it was a good time to choose him. Norman Callaway, the prodigy from Hay, would be making his first-class debut at the age of 18.  

Norman’s selection for New South Wales at the age of 18 was a thrill for all the Callaways. The family’s move from Hay to Sydney to see how far Norm’s cricket talent could take him had been spectacularly vindicated.

On 19 February 1915, with conditions at the SCG perfect, Queensland batted first and were dismissed for 137. Norman, who had contributed two smart catches, was listed to bat at number five, so he anticipated a stint of leisurely spectating from the sidelines.

But cricket is renowned for its uncertainty, and Norman’s expectations were confounded. The home side lost three quick wickets, and he found himself preparing in a rush for the most important innings he had ever played.

He left the dressing-room and its aroma of tobacco smoke, linseed oil and preserved sweat, and joined Frank Farrar in the middle. It was only the fifth over of the innings, the bowlers were still fresh, and New South Wales was in trouble at 3 for 17.

Callaway was appropriately careful initially, and had accumulated 15 runs in measured fashion when Farrar was dismissed. With the home side vulnerable again at 4 for 58, Norm was joined by the belligerent virtuoso Charlie Macartney, who was dropped first ball.

Macartney was unusually sedate following this reprieve, and Callaway felt similarly chastened after he launched into a cover drive and survived a difficult chance. The last thing Norm wanted was another soft dismissal, another tease of an innings, another unfulfilling thirty-odd.

A phase of consolidation developed. The partnership was gradually orchestrating a recovery. Then the tempo suddenly altered.    

Callaway hit a four to reach his fifty, and gave the next delivery the same treatment. The shackles were broken. He felt in command, and sensed a momentum lifting him to a higher gear. Macartney gave his blessing: “You go right ahead, I’ll keep my end up”, he assented.

The upshot was a brilliant flurry that lived long in the memory of those fortunate enough to see it. Callaway proceeded to unleash a barrage of dashing strokes. His driving was captivating — on-drives, off-drives, and through or over cover. If the bowlers dropped short in response, he rocked back and square-cut past point.

His acceleration was so swift that he raced from 48 to 85 in only six overs while Macartney scored three singles. Another productive over propelled him into the nineties, and they ran two to bring him to 97. He then unfurled a lofted straight drive that smashed into the pickets. Macartney came down the pitch, grinning, to shake his hand.

It was a remarkable feat. He had become the youngest batsman to score a debut hundred for New South Wales (a record he retained for almost a century).

Norm had never batted better. His first fifty had taken about 67 minutes, which was good going, especially considering his side’s poor start. The second fifty had come in less than half that time — only 27 minutes.

Such rapid run-making was extraordinary, but onlookers were even more enthralled by the way he made them. It was thrilling to watch him thrive with a series of authentic, breathtaking, glorious strokes, as distinct from agricultural slogging aided by plentiful luck. His high grip of the bat enabled him to drive with a full, free swing and an expansive follow-through that was exhilarating.

Macartney routinely scored more rapidly than his batting partners, but his fifty took longer than Callaway’s century. At stumps New South Wales had recovered to 4 for 228, with Norman on 125 and Macartney 57.

The plaudits for Norm were glowing. The Sydney Morning Herald eulogised his “magnificent” performance as “one of the finest ever seen from a colt ... making his first appearance in first-class cricket”.

Callaway and Macartney extended their partnership on the second day. Macartney emulated the debutant in reaching his century, but was out soon afterwards. The liaison had added 256, which remained a record for the fifth wicket against Queensland at the SCG until the 21st century.  

Norm kept going. He reached his double-century just before lunch, before being caught soon afterwards. It was an astounding accomplishment — the 18-year-old had made 207 in remarkably dashing fashion in his debut first-class innings after coming in at 3 for 17.

No one had previously made a double-century in his initial appearance in first-class cricket, so this “remarkably brilliant” display was a “WORLD’S RECORD”, The Sydney Morning Herald proclaimed.  

The prodigy from Hay had emerged as a coming Test champion. Callaway’s “masterful and brilliant batting against Queensland caused more talk and excited more outside interest than anything that has happened in cricket for some time”, the Sydney Sportsman declared.

As usual, The Riverine Grazier kept Hay readers informed of the praise Norm received in the metropolis. The Callaways’ move had proved more successful than they could have dared to hope.

However, this state of affairs was transformed shortly afterwards by the Gallipoli landings. The New South Wales cricket authorities responded to the rising casualties by abruptly cancelling first-class matches and making it abundantly clear that cricketers should be in khaki. Players like Callaway were under immense pressure.

Norman played the 1915–16 season for Waverley, but missed a game in December when he returned to Hay to participate in a match arranged as a patriotic fund-raiser. “Come and see Norman Callaway bat”, urged The Grazier.

Those who complied, curious to reacquaint themselves with Hay’s “world record holder”, found a more sturdy, mature and assured version of the slim, youthful tyro they had farewelled three years earlier.

They saw him make 99 and take 7 for 61 with his spinners. The match “proved very enjoyable from every standpoint”, The Grazier concluded.  

At season’s end Norm enlisted in the AIF. Arriving in France during its worst winter for decades, he endured a ghastly ordeal at the Western Front, and was killed at Bullecourt in May 1917. He had just turned 21.

Norm’s parents and sister never recovered. There were also plenty of devastated Callaway fans, especially at Hay, as The Grazier confirmed:

“His many friends, and the admirers of an exceptionally gifted young cricketer, will hear of his death with deep regret, for there were many who had pictured Norman Callaway as figuring prominently in the Australian Eleven in the years to come.”

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