From Macksville to Adelaide Oval: falling in love with a cricketing nation in mourning

Tributes left to Phillip Hughes at the Adelaide Oval before the first Test between Australia and India in December 2014.

“Plees plees don’t be sad. Plees, Plees don’t feel bad.”

I still tear up when I recall the little birthday greeting card with the scratchy handwriting placed outside the SCG on November 30, 2014. I do always wonder to what extent little Mia and Zack, the authors of the card, really understood the gravity of the situation or the gravitas of their sweet message. And also, what they think of it now.

For, a decade after the horrific passing of Phillip Hughes, it is still very difficult to not be sad or to feel bad whenever you think about the affable cricketer whose life was cut short so brutally at the prime of his youth on the cricket field. Sorry Mia and Zack.

It was my first visit to Australia. And I’d boarded the flight in Mumbai with the same stereotypical expectations from this incredible country. Never-ending sun, soft sand, chilled beer, and a bunch of boisterous and happy go lucky people. But what I encountered was a nation besieged by a pall of gloom. A people in mourning, where it felt like every household in Australia had lost a dear one — a baby brother, a much-loved son, and a cricketer that everyone adored.

So rather than follow my usual routine of taking in the sights of a new country, I spent my first day visiting the many impromptu shrines that had propped up for Phillip, on what should have been his 26th birthday, around Sydney. Each site had cricket bats parked by the wall next to it, amidst hordes of bouquets and birthday cards, including the one from Mia and Zack.

When you grow up in a big family in a city like Mumbai, you sort of get desensitised to death from a young age. You still experience grief, but it doesn’t always seem as overwhelming and debilitating unless of course it’s someone within your own household. But in those first two days of being in Sydney, 10 years back, even I couldn’t help but get swept by the overriding sense of bereavement that Australia was experiencing collectively, even if my interactions with Phillip were limited to having covered a bit of his cricket. It was the same for the Indian cricketers, some of whom like Virat Kohli had known the New South Welshman since their junior cricket days, who had by then arrived in Australia for the Test series.

I then decided on a journalistic whim to visit Macksville a few days before the funeral. Probably to get a headstart on the others, but most importantly to capture Phillip’s hometown in its natural form before it was taken over by thousands of mourners.

The first thing I remember was the board on the outskirts, welcoming you to Macksville and informing you that the population of the banana plantation town was 7000. And immediately being struck by how that no longer included their most famous son, who’d been snatched away from them.

The pilgrimage included walking past the Hughes household on East Street, and Macksville Public School on Boundary Street where I met up with one of Phillip’s old teachers. I then drove up to Farm 408, the 90-hectare cattle farm that the young man, who loved his Angus cows as much as he did scoring runs in the Baggy Green, had bought once his cricket career had taken of and named after his Test cap number. Though life went on in the sleepy farming station, the deep sorrow that had engulfed the close-knit community was heartbreaking.

Phillip Hughes celebrates his century for Australia against South Africa at Durban in 2009.

I then ventured to Star Hotel, the watering hole and major meeting point for the townsfolk, on the Nambucca riverfront. On the biggest table by the far window sat Australia’s then Test captain, Michael Clarke, holding court with former leg-spinner Stuart MacGill and Phillip’s dad, Greg. As the sun set, the rest of the pub began filling up with locals, stories and memories of their lost brother, son and mate, on everyone’s lips. Laughter interspersed with moments of deep reflection.

In a few days’ time, Clarke would take centre stage again, this time in front of a much bigger crowd as he reminisced about his “little brother” and how he’d always remain with him and the rest of Australia in spirit.

I watched Phillip’s funeral on the big screen from the Chappell Stand at the Adelaide Oval. At either end in the middle of what was the left-hander’s final home-ground, were placed a cricket bat and a soft-toy cow. The Oval was packed as was every venue around Australia, where the funeral was being broadcast live.

This was supposed to be the opening day of the series. Phillip should have been in the middle, proudly sporting his green Australian Test helmet, and talking tactics and cows while laughing with his batting partner. Instead, he was in a casket with his teammates dressed in black and wiping away their tears.

It was a surreal experience listening to his family, and I admit having reached out to my own elder brother, who I wasn’t on talking terms with, once Jason read out his letter to Phillip. Everything felt personal. As I looked around me, this was very different to the way I’d imagined Australia and Australians. Nobody was saying “aww, get on with it, mate”. They were instead holding each other and crying.

The outpouring of emotion continued on as Australia held their first public practice session at Park 25 in Adelaide. I remember standing behind the net, watching David Warner breaking down as he tried to get his head back in the game. He wasn’t the only one who needed to be consoled. You had to forget being a cricket journalist on tour and instead focus on chronicling a tragedy and a country’s reaction to it.

The Australian team gather around the number 408, in memory of Phillip Hughes, on the Adelaide Oval outfield to celebrate their victory against India.

It’s the scenes at the Adelaide Oval once the Test began that still give me goosebumps. From Greta Bradman’s rendition of Advance Australia Fair to Richie Benaud’s voice hauntingly echoing around the Adelaide Oval saying, “Rest well son” before Warner spanked half-a-dozen boundaries in the opening overs.

Then watching Clarke making one of the most emotional Test centuries I’ve covered, while battling the most amount of pain I’ve experienced a batter go through, hearing him groaning in pain through the stump mic. Not to forget Mitchell Johnson looking absolutely shattered on the boundary after striking Kohli on the helmet with the first ball the Indian captain faced in the series.

That is before the perfect culmination of Australia pulling off a dramatic win on the final day and the players involuntarily finding themselves right on top of the part of the outfield with 408 etched on it.

A memory that will stay with me forever. Just like the birthday card outside the SCG that read, “Plees Plees don’t be sad. Plees, Plees don’t feel bad.” Even if none of us will ever be able to not be sad or feel bad when we think about Phillip. Sorry again, Mia and Zack.