Bodyline (1984–…): Season 1, Episode 1 - Episode #1.1 - full transcript

It's a time that's gone now,
fading from our memory.

But what a time it was.

A time of Empire.

A time that saw 3 million Englishmen

tumble out of their cottages and
tenements, their barracks and palaces

to colonise the world.

Not before or since has any
country embraced a craze

the way the British
embraced their empire.

Believing above all that
God was an Englishman,

they took their language,
their democracy, their law

to the very ends of the earth.

And in the service of such an empire,

there emerged men who
would become legends.

Dr Livingstone, on the
shores of Lake Tanganyika.

General Gordon, martyred
at the Khartoum.

Baden-Powell, besieged at Mafeking.

On and on they went,

deeds of valour and glory
beyond mere imagination,

and together, they helped to build the
largest empire the world has ever seen.

An empire in which 40
million Englishmen

held sway over almost one-third
of the world's population.

An empire which, at its height,

boasted more than four
dominions, eight protectorates,

40 possessions,

and in the words of
the Colonial Office,

nearly all the isolated rocks and
islands of all the oceans of the world.

Was it any wonder that
Cecil Rhodes could write,

"To be born British is to win first
prize in the lottery of life"?

Even so, in the final account,
every empire is built on force.

Every empire depends on conquest.

Every empire is retained
only by unwavering will.

This is a story of that empire.

A story of unwavering will.

The story of three men.

Harold Larwood, English -

the son of a coal miner, born into
poverty in Nuncargate, Nottinghamshire.

Donald George Bradman,

born and raised in the
Australian bush -

the man who became a
hero to his nation.

And Douglas Jardine,

a child of the British Raj -

born in India, educated in England,

surrounded all his life
by affluence and power.

As only the Empire
could conspire to do,

these men came together in January 1933

in the small Australian city of
Adelaide - that town of churches -

there to do battle.

They faced each other down 22
yards of carefully tended turf

to play cricket - the
hallowed game of Empire.

But suffer no illusion.

In the guise of the game, this
was as bitter as any war.

It was to consume honour,
tradition and friendship.

It was about a young nation
- Australia -

emerging at last from
beneath England's shadow.

It was about the Empire breaking apart.

To this day, Douglas Jardine
remains the most hated man

ever to set foot in Australia.

They said he was dangerous,
ruthless, a man obsessed.

In time, his own country
would reject him.

But the private man was far
removed from the public image.

He could be charming,
loyal, affectionate.

He knew fear and he conquered it.

He was a man who wanted to write
his will across the sky in stars.

I know because I loved him.

To understand, you have to go back...

to that shining jewel
of Empire - to India -

to his childhood.

The year is 1909.

The place, Bombay.

The occasion, a gala ball celebrating
young Douglas's birthday.

But contrary to appearances, this
is anything but a happy occasion.

For within days,
9-year-old Douglas Jardine

is going to leave home forever.

The Honourable Sir
Reevers Randall Rogers -

Registrar-General, Rajasthan.

I got you a mongoose, but Mama
said gentlemen don't keep them.

It's a boring old Carling box.

- A sad time for you, Alison?
- Yes.

And how are you bearing up?

N-not too badly. In public, anyway.

Why don't you and Rachel run along?

Rachel might like to see your presents.

I've had nine years
to prepare for this.


I don't believe any mother worthy
of the name can prepare for it.

Perhaps not.

But Malcolm says that only English
schools produce English gentlemen.

Of course. And only English
schools produce a modern scholar.

His Excellency the Lord Harris.

Thank you for coming, my lord.
Not at all. Not at all.

How good of you to come.

I'm sure it will be a
pleasure, as always.

Now, where's the guest of honour?


Lord Harris, may I
present my son, Douglas.

Douglas, I'd like you
to meet Lord Harris,

the finest governor Bombay's ever had.

And what's that you're wearing?

It's my father's, sir.
It's a harlequin cap.

You wear it when you play cricket.

Oh, do you, now?

And do you know what it means?

It means that... that you've
played cricket for Oxford, sir.

Yes. Yes, that's quite right.

But it means more than that.

It means that you're a member of the
most honoured class in England.

It means that you're a leading player
in the Empire's greatest game.

Did you have one, sir?

Were you a cricketer?

I've... played the odd social game.

Lord Harris is teasing you, Douglas.

Not only did he captain England,
he introduced cricket into India.

Well, one had to civilise
the place somehow.

Do you want a harlequin
cap for yourself one day?

Yes, sir. That's the spirit.

There, now. Happy birthday.

And don't stand on ceremony.

Go ahead and open it. Go on. Open it.

♪ Happy birthday to you

♪ Happy birthday to you

♪ Happy birthday, dear Douglas... ♪

- Oh, very good. Very good.
- Good shot, Master Douglas, sir.

Ready, ready.


What have I told you
about the late cut?

Keep the ball down.

And roll the wrists.

What was that?

Er, that, my darling, was a four.

I think it's time for stumps.

Off to bed.

Goodnight, my darling.

Goodnight, Mother.

Now, don't forget, Horris
Hill is a cricketing school.

That's one of the reasons
why we chose it, wasn't it?

Most of the fellows there
will play the game.

And a new chap can win their
respect and friendship

by his ability with the bat
- we know that, don't we?

Yes, Father.

And by the way he plays the game.

Now... once more, what did I
tell you about a late cut?

Roll your wrists and
keep the ball down.

Good boy.

And, Douglas, remember...

What, Father?


And so, like thousands
of boys before him -

the sons of those who helped
to build the Empire -

Douglas found himself
alone in an alien world.

Horris Hill, like most
English public schools,

believed that a gentleman's education
was built not only on scholarship,

but on discipline.

Housemaster. Caps.

This is Douglas Jardine.

He's from India.

Your bed's at the end there, boy.

New boy.

What's his name? Jardine.

Where's he from? India.

What's his game? Cricket.

And in the months that followed,

Douglas would learn little about
any subject except loneliness.

Even cricket, the game which he'd once
loved, held no interest for him now.

By the end of that first
term at Horris Hill,

it seemed that Douglas, far from
being one of the Empire's elite,

would be yet another of its victims.

But then, just when the night
had never seemed more lonely,

Douglas learned every
ocean has its shore,

every night its dawn.

I think I've caught you out.

Which one of you would
be Douglas Jardine?

Ah. How do you do, Douglas?
I knew your father.

His name was Andrew Lang,

and he'd been a close friend
of Douglas's grandparents.

Though he was now over 70,

he had no hesitation in
inviting the young boy

to spend the holidays
with him in Scotland.

In years to come, Douglas would say

that it was a summer
that changed his life.

Apart from a gentle sense of humour,

Andrew Lang was also blessed
with a lively mind.

He was a man whose
interests knew no bounds,

but his passion was cricket.

That's good.

You have a bowler's arm.

But knowing your father, I guess
you're even better with a bat.

Did he ever tell you
the secret of cricket?

No, sir.

Most people think it's
just batting and bowling -

you take that boy at school.

He's twice your size. He
thinks the secret is strength.

Cricket's about none of those things.

Cricket's about thinking.

You don't bowl at the
stumps or the bat.

You study the batsman and
you bowl at the man.

Not at his body. You bowl at his mind.

To his weaknesses.

You see, Douglas, you
don't bowl a man out.

You think him out.

Come on. I'll race you.

It was a lesson Douglas
would never forget.

With his spirit rekindled
by Andrew Lang,

Douglas returned to school

anxious to put into practice
the old man's advice.

He took to the field with a
new-found determination,

for the first time revealing a talent

which took both pupils and
teachers by surprise.

And as success followed success,

so with it came the respect and
friendship of his classmates.

By the end of the season, he
was the school's best batsman,

the following year, the
captain of the team -

quite an achievement at a
school renowned as a cradle

for some of England's
greatest cricketers.

By the time he left Horris Hill,

graduating to one of England's
great public schools,

his reputation with the
bat went before him.

But that carefree summer
- the summer of 1914 -

was engulfed by tragedy.

They called it "the
war to end all wars".

By 1919, the British Empire alone had
sacrificed the lives of a million men.

Nothing in the world would
ever be the same again.

And the years had wrought
their changes in other ways.

Douglas Jardine was
tall and athletic now,

almost aristocratic in appearance.

His manner, forged by public schools
and loneliness, was reserved.

But behind it, there lay
an amazing self-reliance,

a fierce determination.

By the time his parents
returned to live in England,

Douglas was being hailed as one of
the country's best college captains.

But like so many colonial
families of the time,

the Jardines met again as strangers.

You're so tall.

More handsome than your father.

I should think so.

And captain of Winchester.

Your father's so proud. Thank you.

We both are. All those years
ago, your father was right.

I so wanted to keep you.

But look at you. A gentleman.
A fine education.

From what I hear, you play
cricket the way I wanted to.

Douglas... the world is before you.

Oxford next. The law.
Partnership in a good firm.

I envy you. Well, there's
no need for that.

According to the head, if we
don't beat Eton tomorrow,

none of us will have a future.

Oh, good man. Well, we didn't
travel 8,000 miles to see you lose.

Good luck.

That's the bat you gave him in Bombay.

Good lord!

Afternoon, Percy.

My respects, my lord.

Respect is not that
young man's long suit.

Strangely dressed. Is
it just affectation?

Oh, no, no. I don't think so.

No, most people consider the
captain of Surrey to be quite mad.

Just thank God he didn't
bring his damn banjo.

Well played!



Oh, well played.

How's that?!

What on earth is going on?
Has someone won?

Mmm. No, they're just changing over.

Winchester's made a great start.
Their captain's a very fine batsman.

First man in, last man out.

Now it's Eton's turn to bat.

He's moving too far down his wicket.
I'll warn him.

Don't do that. Run him out.

But it's customary to give a warning.

We're not on the village green now.
Run him out.

How's that?

He didn't give a warning.

They should have warned the batsman

by showing him the ball
before they ran him out.

Mrs Jardine, you'll
have to speak to David.

Can't have that sort of thing.

Oh, splendid, splendid.

Douglas, you remember Lord Harris.
Well done.

And, of course, you've
heard of Plum Warner,

former captain of England

and now well known as 'the
prime minister of cricket'.

It's a great honour.

A great day for Winchester.

Yes. Very convincing win.
Thank you, my lord.

A pity about that run-out. The
bowler should have warned him.

I agree with Plum.

I think the conventions of the game
are just as important as the rules.

If I'd been captain today...
You'd have lost the match.

Ah. Mr Fender.

May I introduce my son?

Douglas, this is Mr Fender,
captain of Surrey.

How do you do? Well done.

Fine batting, good fielding
and a daring tactic.

You don't think it was wrong?

No, not at all. That was
Eton's number one bat.

If you're in town, give me a call.

They may not play that
way at Middlesex,

but we certainly do at Surrey.

I like your style.

Mrs Jardine. Mr Fender.

I must run.

You should know, Douglas, in
spite of what Mr Fender says,

your father and I have
never played that way.

For some of us, cricket
is more than just a game.

Douglas. Come in, come in. Mr Fender.

Ah. Thank you.

I was delighted to get your call.

How long have you been in town?

Uh, just two days. Oh.

Ah. Yes.

Someone once said that there are
only three rules to modern life.

Never play cards with a man call 'Doc'.

Never sleep with anyone whose
troubles are worse than your own.

And never... whatever else you may do,

drink anything unless
it's French champagne.


Well... tell me about your future.

Um... Yes?

Well... Oxford first and then...

the law.

And hopefully a chance to
play for a good county team.

And you're thinking of Surrey.
Otherwise you wouldn't be here.

Well, eventually. It has
an outstanding record.

And then what?

Play for your country?

Chance to open for England?

If I was good enough.

Top-flight cricket breaks most men.

You walk out on the field,
your name on 40,000 lips.

You take guard, your heart pounding.

Sprinting towards you is one
of the world's great bowlers.

Only one thought in his
head - to destroy you.

Skilled batsmen - in their time
the best schoolboys in the land -

have stood there paralysed.

But a few men, the elite of the game,

thrive on it.

They hunger for the risk. They can...
they can dance on the edge.

And that is the difference
between a good batsman

and a Test cricketer.

I wonder...

what do you want?

I want to play for England.

Well, don't dream about it.

Live for it!

And do well at Oxford.

Have a good career to support
your amateur status.

But play like a professional.

Find... find that state of mind.

Now, I suspect you've got
the temperament for it.

You're calm. Almost arrogant.

And it took courage to run
out that Eton batsman.

And that's what you'll need most of.


Well, good luck.

It's a great day for Australia, son!

They'll have to rewrite
the record books.

The English taught us the game

and we're beating them
five Tests straight!

You know, Dad, I'll never be
happy till I've played here.

I can see the scoreboard now.
'Don Bradman - 100 not out'!

My name's Jessie Menzies. Hello.

I'm going to be staying here.

Are you?

Only during the week.

You an orphan?

Course not. My mum's inside. Well,
what's wrong with your house?

Nothing. It's got its
own orchard and creek.

But it's at Glenquarry.
There's no school there.

Can you play cricket?

At last year's show, I got a
blue ribbon for embroidery.

Yeah, but cricket's much harder.

Can't take your eye off the ball.
Not even for a second.

Do you want to count for me?
See if I can get past 10.


He played it forward.
He should've hooked it.

Sun got in my eyes.

Did alright, George. Did alright.

Come on, Johnno. You're on.

Come on. Oh, not again. Come on.
How many runs did I make?

Get rid of this. I got a century, yeah?

Come on, mate. Come on, mate.

Come on!

What about old Al? He's got arthritis.

Excuse me, Dad. Just a minute, son.

I could play. Son,
they're full-grown men.

It's half an hour to closing time.

George, what have you got to lose?

Go on, then. Oh, thanks, Dad.
I won't let you down.

Time's up. You'll have to declare!

There you go, young fella. Thanks.

You be careful. I'll be right, Mum.

You'll wear this. Oh, Mum!

You want to play with the men,
you wear what the men wear.

- Good on you, kid.
- Good on you, Donny. Go, baby.

What am I supposed to do?
Bowl underarm?

Just bowl him out and
we can get to the pub.

Come in a bit closer.
Could be a bit risky.

Bugger that. It's only 20
minutes to closing time.

You want to have a beer or not?
Let him have it.


Hey! Hey, wait a minute!

Hey, you can't do that!

He's out.

You can't do that. Oi, turn it up!
Give him a go!

Talk to him. He's the umpire.
We're off to the pub.

Bloody hell!

Well done, Larwood.

That's another four pints you owe me.

Double or nothing? He
can't do it again.


Come on, Harold. You can do it.

And again. Double or nothing.

Where are you playing tomorrow, Harold?

At the Oval.

How much will you be getting? 7s 6d.

Then you can buy the pints tonight.


That looked fast. I wouldn't know.

I didn't see it.

Might take me a moment to settle in.

That's what Fender said.

Oh. Looks as if England's found
herself a new fast bowler.

Well bowled, Harold. Tremendous.

Congratulations, Arthur. Percy.

You said you'd win.


You said I'd be out for a duck.

£2. Thank you.

And £1 for every Larwood wicket.


Thank you. Well done, Harold.

Fastest bowler in England.
In the world.

What do I owe you, Harold?
7s 6d, skipper.

Here. Have £1. Thank you very much.

Congratulations. Very brisk.

Thanks, Mr Jardine. Not much
past a trot today, though.

What, you can bowl faster?

Oh, aye.

Well, let's wait until
we're on the same team.

- Cheers.
- Cheers.

I can't see!

Oh! No, Percy!

Oh, hello. Good evening.

Are you a friend of Percy's? Yes.

Through cricket? Oh, no.

I think cricket's a game
for overgrown schoolboys.

Well, I once heard it described

as a game in which you have two sides -

one out on the field and one in.

Each man that's on the
side that's in goes out,

and when he's out, he comes back in,

and the next man goes
in until he's out.

When they're all out, the
side that's been in goes out

and tries to get those coming in...

When both sides have been in and
out, that's including the not-outs,

well, that's the end of the game.

Exactly. It defies
intelligent analysis.

As mysterious as any ritual of
Hottentot, and just as primitive.

Except, of course, to its devotees.

I can't understand how grown
men can take it so seriously.

And what do you do, Miss...?

I work at the British Museum.

Ah. A secretary? Uh-uh.
An Egyptologist.

And you?

The law is my living.
Cricket is my life.

And for which school do you play?

Oh! Douglas!

Try and stop this thing!

Find the brakes.

Next to the throne, cricket is one
of the greatest links of empire.

I'm not talking about imperialism.
I'm talking about boredom.

Ah, but don't you see?

On the field, the batsman is never sure
what sort of ball he'll be facing.

Off-spin? Leg-spin? Full toss? Yorker?

A what? A Yorker.

Oh! A Yorker.

That's a ball bowled right
at the batsman's feet.

But whatever the ball, the
batsman only has a split second

in which to decide what
stroke he'll play.

A drive. A hook.

Defensive or offensive.
Forward or back.

He can do whatever he likes,

but he must always conduct
himself within the rules.

It's an ordered world, but there's
always the risk of the unexpected.

And that's why many people
- intelligent people -

believe that cricket is
a metaphor for life.

Oh, really?

Nobody can make a judgement
unless there's been a fair trial.

Come to a match.

I'll think about it.

You look very lovely
when you're thinking.

Oh, goodness.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Oh, when you're young
and falling in love,

you do such foolish things.

My mother followed my father from
one diplomatic post to the next.

I went to a cricket match.

- Edith Clark.
- How do you do?

The year was 1926.

Once again, England was playing
its arch rival, Australia.

That's England batting.

They wear the blue caps.

Percy George says you're one of
the finest batsmen in England.

Yes. And so he is.

Well, why isn't he out there, then?
Why, indeed?

Well, England has a
score of great batsmen.

Only five or six make the team.

Now, I have to prove
that I am outstanding.

And do you think you can?
Are you that talented?

Well, it's not just a matter of talent.

As Percy says himself,
it's more a state of mind.

Yes. Most men can't survive out there.

What about his state of mind?

Oh, I think when Douglas wants...
something, he's bloody determined.

Ah! Oh, damn.

Clean-bowled. What a ridiculous shot!

Edith could've done better.

That's very kind of you.
Thank you very much.

Well, what happens to the batsman now?

Well, he goes back to the dressing room.
Nobody says a word.

He probably places his bat
rather firmly on the floor

and then thinks and thinks about
the shot he should have played.

For the rest of the match?
Good lord, no.

No, in cricket, unlike life, the
players get a second chance.

Both sides bat twice,
and when they have...

The team with the most
number of runs...

Wins. Wins.

And now that the English have
batted, it's the Australians' turn.

And we can have our picnic.

Oh! What a shot!


If it runs into the fence, it's a four.

If it goes over the fence
on the full, it's six runs.

And when the Australians score, all
that's needed is polite applause.

I even mastered the
concept of the Ashes.

As Douglas never wearied
of pointing out,

cricket originated in England.

But in 1882, a team from
Australia toured England

and actually defeated us.

The next day, a notice
appeared in the Sporting Times

announcing the death
of English cricket.

And somebody cremated some bails,

and ever since then,
whenever the two teams meet,

there's a battle royal for
what's known as the Ashes.

Has cricket always been
part of your marriage?

All my life. My brothers and
father were mad about it.

And you? You never took an interest?

After I married Malcolm, I tried.
But with little success.

I decided then whenever
he spoke about cricket,

I'd close my eyes and think of England.

Yes. He's almost as old as I am.

You should have been there!

The look of horror on the
faces of the Australians!

Oh, it was magnificent! Larwood!

Yes, scarcely had the
ball left his hand

than yet another frightful Australian
was on his way back to the pavilion.

All out for 125. 125!

Champagne! Oh, yes. Champagne.

I should have thought black coffee.

Uh, no, no - champagne. We've
invited a couple of people back.

Yes. Just one or two.

Ha ha!

My father always used to say,

"If you're looking for a decent fast
bowler, go down the nearest coal mine."

Well, here's to Larwood.

To Larwood.

Ah, Jardine. Where's that son of yours?

Oh, he's, uh... he's there.

Ah. Ah, yes. Turned
into a fine young man.

A fine batsman too. Yes.

Oh, now, look - I don't think
I'm talking out of turn,

but there's a feeling
at Lord's that it's

about time he had a
run for his country.

That would be a great honour.

To the captain. Three
cheers for the captain.

- Hip, hip...
- Hurrah!

Hip, hip... Hurrah!

Hip, hip... Hurrah.

There must be nothing quite like it.

To strive, to seek, to
find and not to yield.

And while Douglas dreamed
of captaining England,

far away, in Australia,

there was another young man
with a dream of his own.

Don Bradman would not only
play for his country,

he would shatter the world
of English cricket forever.

Will you hurry up? It's
almost knock-off time.

Gee, I like these William Sykes.

Have you got one with a shorter handle?

I don't know who you think you are.
Victor Trumper!

His name's Don Bradman. I
suggest you remember that.

Yeah. That's what all
their mothers say.

"Don't forget Little Johnny. He's
going to play for Australia."


That's the one. Happy birthday, son.

Thanks, Mum.

Oh, I hate coming home in the dark.

Well, your father will be worried.
He'll be alright.

You know what he's like.

- Hello, Jessie.
- Hello.

- Hi, Mrs Bradman.
- Hi, Jess.

Happy birthday.


I wanted to get you a kitbag,
but I couldn't afford it.

Well, Jessie, it's, um...

just what I need.


Give it to me!

It's the last time I'm going to make
anything for you, Donald Bradman!

Jessie, wait...

Wait a minute. Wait a minute.

Jessie, it's lovely, really.

It makes the full set of a dozen, then.

Don. There's a letter here for you.
From the Cricket Association.


I've been selected to play
for New South Wales...


It's the Sheffield Shield side!

We'll be playing against
Queensland and Victoria -

all of the other States.

"The association has decided
to select you to play"!

They're Test cricketers.
It'll be great experience.

It will not! It'll be a stunning debut!

"We hope you will give this matter the
consideration its importance warrants."

The State team's only one step
away from playing for Australia.

If you get into that league,

I reckon you can make a
living out of cricket.

Those blokes get £30 a
match, plus good expenses.

That's more than 10 weeks wages.

Yeah. And there's five matches.

That's a whole year's
salary in a season.

And then if you tour overseas,
it's a lot more, they reckon.

500 quid. And then
there's endorsements.

If you're a Test cricketer, you can
put your name to bats and boots.

I might even get a
column in the newspaper.


We'll have to see how I go
with the State team, but...

I reckon I could hammer out a
bit of a future with the bat.

It wouldn't be a bad life.

It would be a great life.

Morning, all! Ah.
Morning, Percy George.

Oh! I think I'll give
up the wine business.

This, uh... this
journalism's a real lark.

Easiest money a man ever made.

Well, it would have to be
easier than conveyancing.

Yes, all you do is phone up your
friends, have a bit of a chat.

And then you phone this fellow
called the news editor -

he's a frightfully nice chap.

Is he?

When I gave him my news this morning,

he said, "Fender, you've got the
best contacts in the business."

Well, until then, I thought 'contact'

was something you made
with a young woman.

And what did he say to that?

He said, "This is a scoop."

Well! Well, I almost laughed.

I thought for a moment he was going
to say, "Hold the front page."

But he didn't. No, no.

Evidently, they only do that in the
case of a royal death. Or war.

No, my news didn't rate.

No? No.

"D.R. Jardine selected
to play for England...

"and tour Australia."



Oh, sir!

Oh, thank you, sir.

Now, you go and get some glasses,
George. You know the shape.

Yes, I know. Yes, sir.

I don't believe it. Are you sure?

Chapman's the skipper.
Sutcliffe. Hammond.

Larwood, of course. And you.
I have the whole team.

Who from? Never you mind.

And so then the news editor says to me,

"How would you like to go to
Australia and cover the tour?"

We'll be travelling together? I
told you he was a nice chap.


George, get yourself a glass.

Aha! Oh, well done, George.

How long will you be away? Six months.

When do you leave? Not
for four weeks yet.

It's a pity there are no
pyramids in Australia.

I'll miss you. I'll miss you too.

My mother gave me this
when I left India.

She said if I ever got lonely,
all I had to do was to wave,

and no matter how far, she'd see.



Oh, Don!

Oh! Oh, Don!

It's Don! Don Bradman! The cricketer!

He'll be playing for Australia!
He's been selected!

Oh, congratulations.

Congratulations. Thanks.

Thank you.

See you next time.

Porter? Would you be so kind? Our bags?

You with the English team, are you?
Yes, that's right.

Carry your own bloody bags.

Welcome to Australia.

Go on! Go home, you Pommy bastards.

Don't bite them. You
might catch something.

- Good boy!
- Good on you, Don.


Watch that arm. Watch that.

See you, Mum.

Take care, alright?

Yeah, I'll do. See you later.

Come on, Don.

- Good on you, Don.
- Good on you, mate.

Give them Poms hell, mate.
Give it to them.

Carn, the Aussies!

You remember, no matter what...
I'm very proud of you.

Now, you take good care.

Come on, mate.

Look after him!

- 'Bye, Don!
- See you, Don!

Well, it isn't exactly Lord's, is it?

Forget about where you are.

And don't worry about the
heat and those damn flies.

Well, this is Test cricket.

Now, remember what I told you.
Block out everything.

Find that state of mind.

Good luck, D.R.

That'll be Don Bradman.
Come up from the bush.

He's got quite an impressive record.

Aye. But he's never played England.

No. We'll take him, Mr Jardine.
We'll have him for dinner.

Harold Larwood was right.

In his Test debut, Don
Bradman would fail.

Good luck, son. Thanks, Dad.

But he would emerge stronger,
more determined than ever.

Within four years, Don Bradman would
be the best batsman in the world -

a sporting hero to his nation.

Morning, Mr Jardine.
Morning, Mr Bradman.

By then, Harold Larwood would be the
most feared fast bowler in the world

and Douglas Jardine would
be captain of England.

The men that made Bodyline
were on their way.