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After failing fourth form with ease, Steve Strevens left home two weeks after his sixteenth birthday and joined the Navy. He wandered the world for the next ten years, but returned to his home in ‘Bob Rose Country’ in the Victorian Mallee, where he now lives with his wife and son. First published in the 1970s, he has since written for major newspapers and magazines in Australia and overseas on a wide range of subjects. He is the author of two books on Australian life. He is also a Collingwood man.
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BOB ROSE A dignified life
Steve Strevens
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First published in 2003 by Allen & Unwin Copyright © Steve Strevens 2003 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act. Allen & Unwin 83 Alexander Street Crows Nest NSW 2065 Australia Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100 Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218 Email:
[email protected] Web: www.allenandunwin.com National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry: Strevens, Steve. Bob Rose : a dignified life. Includes index. ISBN 1 74114 093 5. 1. Rose, Bob. 2. Football coaches – Australia – Bibliography. 3. Australian football – Biography. I.Title. 796.336092
Set in 11.5 on 13.5 pt Bembo by Midland Typesetters, Maryborough,Victoria Printed by McPherson’s Printing Group, Maryborough,Victoria 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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For Mac channel cleaner, Mallee dirt farmer, Collingwood man
And for Zac . . . for inspiration
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‘Competitive sport keeps alive in us a spirit and vitality. It teaches the strong to know when they are weak and the brave to face themselves when they are afraid.To be proud and unbowed in defeat and yet humble and gentle in victory. And to master ourselves before we attempt to master others. And to learn to laugh, yet never forget how to weep. And to give the predominance of courage over timidity.’
General Douglas MacArthur
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CONTENTS
Foreword Prologue
xi xv
Yarraby—Nyah West 1928–1946 1 The Mallee 2 A sporting chance 3 In the ring 4 The scientific boxer 5 Running with the Pies
3 13 27 33 38
Collingwood 1946–1955 6 Leaving home 7 Growing up on the field 8 An exception to the rule 9 A leader is born 10 Mr Football
45 59 68 74 83
Wangaratta 1956–1962 11 King Bobby
105
Collingwood 1963–1971 12 Mr Football returns home 13 Tradition and innovation 14 A new Rose 15 Consolidation 16 Changing times 17 Disappointment 18 Mr Unlucky 19 The curse 20 Black-and-white blood
127 136 143 146 153 161 168 171 182
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Footscray 1972–1973 21 To the Dogs 22 A culture 23 Father and son
193 201 204
Glen Waverley 1974–1983 24 Tragedy 25 Getting on with it 26 Home life 27 The final insult 28 Devotion
211 222 227 231 234
Collingwood 1984–1990 29 Loyalty
245
Glen Waverley 1990–1999 30 Fighting to the end
257
Epilogue
267
Career Acknowledgements Index
270 271 274
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FOREWORD
14 May 1999
ob Rose must be acclaimed as one of the greatest, if not the greatest, player to ever wear the black and white uniform.’ So said Jock McHale, the most imposing coaching figure in the history of football. McHale would have known. He coached the Magpies in a record 714 matches over 38 years from 1912–49, having begun his career as a player in 1903. He also coached and played with all the greatest names of Collingwood’s first 50 years: the Colliers, Coventrys, Murphys and Richards, Dick Lee, Ron Todd, Jack Regan, Marcus Whelan, Des Fothergill and Phonse Kyne, to name a few. McHale also had good reason to think that Bob Rose was the greatest footballer. He was speaking after the 1953 premiership when an injury plagued Collingwood beat Geelong, then regarded as one of the greatest teams of all time. The all-conquering Cats had put together a winning streak of 23 games, including the 1952 grand final win over Collingwood, a record that stands to this day. But Bob Rose had inspired his team-mates to end Geelong’s winning streak by beating the Cats on their home ground, Kardinia Park, then in the semi finals, and ultimately in the grand final. That year Bob Rose won his fourth Copeland Trophy—a record at that time. He won the club goal-kicking award, was runner up in the Brownlow Medal and was named an All Australian. He was the heart and soul of the side and would continue to be so for the football club over the next 50 years.
‘B
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This book gives great insight into Bob Rose—the boxer, the footballer, the coach, the administrator, the father, the husband and the man. In writing this foreword I can only add some of my observations as a supporter, media analyst and now Collingwood Club President. In recent times there has been much furore over the naming of the new stand at Carlton after the club’s longest serving president, John Elliott.When Collingwood President Allan McAlister sought to name the Collingwood social club stand at Victoria Park after Bob Rose there was unanimous acclamation. In fact the Premier ofVictoria, John Cain, and the Prime Minister of Australia, Bob Hawke, made sure they were there for the unveiling. The Collingwood Social Club was the epicentre of life at Victoria Park and for the stand to be named after Bob shows where he sits in the hearts and minds of Collingwood’s greatest fans and harshest critics: the Social Club members. He is ‘the man’. As a boy, watching the Grand Final Footy Marathon on television before each year’s grand final, I was taken by the dignity that Bob Rose showed in defeat. In 1966 Collingwood lost the grand final by one point, just two years after losing to Melbourne by four points. Two grand finals by less than a collective kick, yet here was Bob Rose, literally fighting his way through the celebrating St Kilda throng to congratulate their coach Allan Jeans.Always the sportsman, he brought honour to himself and his club in a moment of despair. Later as a young reporter I was sent down to Waverley Park to try to get an after match interview after Collingwood had suffered a record 144 point thrashing in the preliminary final of 1984 and little did anyone know at that time how devastated the reporter was feeling. Naturally no one was lining up to speak to the cadet from Channel Ten. With deadline approaching I saw Bob Rose. He was the only person willing to talk to me.About three questions into my interview the supporter in the reporter started to come out when I put it to Bob that Collingwood looked like it hadn’t tried. Bob’s demeanour changed dramatically. Suddenly I was looking into the eyes of the man who had fought ten rounders in John Wren’s Festival Hall, who was feared on the football ground for his ferocity and respected for his forthright manner. I realised that I had asked the greatest name at Collingwood if the Magpies had ‘dogged it’. His answer was to the point. ‘No Collingwood side has ever not
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tried.’ Bob’s piercing look made it clear that young reporter or not, if I wanted to pursue that line of questioning I would be required to show some fight of my own. In a split second I knew I had made a huge mistake. I apologised and admitted I was a Collingwood man. Bob Rose looked me in the eye for a moment, smiled, shook my hand and told me he knew how I felt. I turned the camera off and we spoke as Collingwood men for ten minutes or so. Bob Rose taught me a great lesson about reporting and about football that day. It’s not always what it seems from the stands. Like so many others I was touched by Bob’s relationship with his son Robert. To see Bob and Elsie proudly wheel Robert into the President’s Room and get him a beer after a game at Victoria Park was as inspiring as anything seen on the ground. It turned a football club into a family. I interviewed Bob at the bottom of the Social Club stairs when he announced he was stepping down as coach to hand over the job to Leigh Matthews. Once again Bob acted with dignity. He moved into the role of club Vice President and supported the new coach to the hilt. There was no happier person on grand final night 1990 than Bob Rose. Later I had the honour of launching the award winning Rose Boys written by Bob and Elsie’s second son, Peter. Another Rose triumph. Most recently I saw Bob Rose pull aside his old captain, Lou Richards, at the President’s lunch and tell him he had cancer. Fifty years after they won the premiership both men’s eyes were moist and red with the news.Two great Collingwood men, two lifelong friends. That day, after it had become public that Bob had cancer, I sat behind him at the ground. Rhys Shaw, a member of another great Collingwood family, was wearing number 22, Bob’s old number. Bob’s initials were embroidered on the jersey. Rhys ran in and kicked a great goal late in the game. Bob turned to my wife Carla and I, and said, ‘I knew I’d kick one more goal’. When my wife recounted the story to Rhys he too had a tear in his eye. That is what makes Bob Rose so special. Everyone who has ever had anything to do with him wants to do right. His team-mates love him, his opponents respect him, and he is revered by the club and the game he represented. The young Collingwood players of 2003 recently requested a special meeting with him; they wanted to know what Collingwood
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was really all about.They wanted to meet Bob Rose. If I were to paint a picture of what I believe is the true heart of Collingwood it would be a player who is tough and uncompromising, yet fair and with a spirit of sportsmanship. He would be skilfully brilliant and inspire his team-mates. He would be passionate and stoical. He would put his club before himself and be a leader in the community away from the football field. He would have a ready sense of humour, a firm handshake, a steady gaze, the manners of a gentleman and the charisma that would draw both men and women to his side. He would be Bob Rose. Eddie McGuire President, Collingwood Football Club
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PROLOGUE
14 May 1999
ob Rose woke early on the day he was to bury his son................ He had known for some time that this day would come but nothing really prepared him for it. Leaving his wife Elsie to the last few moments of her fitful sleep, he made his way to the kitchen, his footsteps gently breaking the silence of the house. He ached. For Robert, for Elsie and for himself. No parent should have to endure this. Standing quietly, the Collingwood legend now in his seventies, gazed out the window across the back patio, where his quadriplegic son Robert had spent so many hours over the last 25 years, to the trees lining the banks of the small creek that meandered through the parkland. As they did most mornings, a group of magpies, sensing a kindred spirit, perched on the rails of the patio and warbled their welcome to the day. Bob ignored the birds; his thoughts were elsewhere. Bob and Robert Rose had been a familiar sight at cricket and football matches across Melbourne over the years, but when Collingwood played interstate or the Victorian cricket team was away, they stayed at home on the patio. They rugged up against the cold in winter for the football while in summer, it was cricket on the radio with a shirtless Robert, sitting in his wheelchair sunning himself. This was where they had talked, argued, sat quietly and simply been
B
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there for each other. A father and his son together while Elsie watched from where Bob now stood. But that was then. Robert would no longer sit on the back porch. There would be no more discussions. Bob turned away from the window. The last few months had been almost unbearable. Robert’s pain, the illnesses he suffered, the indignities heaped upon him and the almost unbearable awareness of the inevitable, had made Bob long for Robert to have relief from his burden. He longed for the relief of death. Two days earlier it had arrived.
Funeral arrangements had been made promptly but because of a bureaucratic blunder Robert’s body had not been released to the undertaker.The doctor who signed the death certificate had indicated the cause of death to be from Robert’s accident, not his recent illnesses. This meant the involvement of the state coroner who, Bob was informed, would have to perform an autopsy and consequently the funeral would have to be delayed. Robert’s younger brother, Peter, was aware of the effect this would have on his shattered parents, so he phoned the Coroner’s Office, demanding to know how such a thing could have happened. After a vitriolic attack on the innocent official who answered the call, Peter found out what needed to be done to remedy the situation. This involved giving a statement at a police station as to why Robert died, and the identification of his body. The statement was awkward enough to give, not only because of the questions but because of the absurd necessity.Were these the only people in Melbourne who had not heard about Bob Rose and his son? Peter, feeling more for his parents than for himself even though he felt Robert’s loss just as deeply, answered the questions as calmly and as concisely as was possible under the circumstances. At the Coroner’s Office, worse was in store. Bob, distraught and distracted, thought he was only going to an office to sign some papers but when he was ushered through a door, there in front of him was Robert, laid out on a trolley, untouched since he died, a sheet pulled up to his neck. Bob cried out involuntarily as he turned away, unsteady and trembling, from this final torment.
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But now, all that was put to one side, if not forgotten, as the mourning cars parked outside, ready to take the family to the church. Peter had since arrived at the house and, together with his parents, they prepared themselves for the hours ahead. Bob didn’t like waiting around. He was eager to get things moving, to have it all over. Elsie, though, sat quietly, her thoughts for her eldest son deep within her, personal, secret. Eventually the cars left, driving slowly so that they arrived after the mourners, who filled the church and two halls, had gathered. Even more people spilled across the footpath and nature strip. A cousin, the recently ordained Tom Rose, who had played cricket with Robert at Haileybury College, had been asked to conduct the service. He guided the family through a rear door to their places in the front pew. Bob sat silently in the church, Elsie close beside him. A few metres away the casket gleamed, covered with white f lowers and bearing a Collingwood football jumper and a Victorian cricket cap. Bob fought back tears. Bob was overwhelmed by the number of people in attendance. He glanced along the rows upon rows of footballers with whom he had played or opposed, who he had coached or who had been at Collingwood during his time as vice-president. He also saw the cricketers, the carers and nurses, some in uniform, and the friends. And he saw his family, large and loyal, all with their own thoughts. As well as the sadness he felt, Bob was proud that so many had come to pay their respects. Proud that he and his son, as well as Elsie and Peter, had touched so many people.
The service was emotional and fittingly dignified. Peter, composed and eloquent, delivered a profound, heartfelt eulogy. He spoke of his parents’ unwavering, unquestioning devotion to their son over a quarter of a century and of the physical and emotional toll they paid. He spoke of Robert’s bravery while most of the congregation dabbed at their eyes—his words a brotherly testament of love. Afterwards, outside the church, Bob and Elsie greeted the mourners with grace and charm, at times almost appearing as if
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they were doing the comforting. There was laughter as well as tears. There were those who cried with them and for them. Bob smiled at each person who approached him, thanking them quietly and humbly for their concern. There was an almost cathartic air, as though something had been lifted from them and in some ways that was true. The previous 25 years had come, as Elsie once said, with no alternative. Their lives were controlled to an extent by Robert and they would have had it no other way. Now it was over. As the hearse left for Springvale Crematorium, people drifted away. The wake was to be held, naturally, in the President’s Room at Collingwood Football Club.There, in the Bob Rose stand high above Victoria Park, Bob, Elsie and Peter accepted more condolences, while below, on the turf that Bob had graced for so many years, a football match was played.
Later that evening, a small group of family and friends decided to end the day with an intimate dinner. In the restaurant they talked, they laughed, they sang, they reminisced.They celebrated a life. Stories about Robert f lowed in equal proportion with the wine.They drank to him continually. For a while Bob felt guilty about feeling good, but he soon realised that Robert would have wanted him to be happy, to relax and purge himself of the frustrations and anxieties of the last few days. On the way home, well past midnight, a more subdued Bob thought about his own life. He thought about growing up in the Mallee, about his boxing and his football. He thought about his love for Elsie and his pride in his two sons. He thought about the journey that had brought him here.
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YARRABY — NYAH WEST 1928 – 1946
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t is hard to understand why Bob Rose’s grandfather, William, wanted to move to the Mallee in north-western Victoria. After all, his family was settled and happy in the little town of Corop, a few miles from Rushworth in one of the nicest areas of country Victoria.They didn’t have much but their future was assured with William’s steady and secure position working for the State Rivers and Water Supply Commission, which had been set up by the Victorian government after the drought of 1902.The job was nothing grand, mind you, but one that many less fortunate souls would gladly have taken. His own great-grandfather had moved from one side of the world to the other, and the same lure of the unknown and thoughts of riches saw William sell the family home and buy a block of dry, dusty land almost 200 miles away in one of the harshest climates in the country.
I
William’s great-grandfather, Thomas, was born around 1749 in Blandford, England and grew up to become a farmer near the town of Sturminster Newton in the county of Dorset. At the age of 30, he married Jane Topp. Both the bride and groom signed the official documents with an ‘x’. A simple couple, they reared four children before Thomas volunteered to be part of a scheme initiated by Captain Phillip, who brought the First Fleet to Australia.
3
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Phillip had once been a farmer in the south of England, and while he was keen to free some convicts for the task of establishing the land as he had been instructed, he wasn’t convinced they would be the answer. Rather, he wanted free settlers with the necessary skills and experience in farming. On 9 July 1788 he wrote to his superiors: ‘If fifty farmers were sent out with their families, they would do more in one year in rendering this colony independent of the mother country, as to provisions, than a thousand convicts.’ Later, he wrote again, informing the authorities in England that he had found good land that could be cleared of timber and settled quite easily:‘Farmers, if sent out, must be supported by the government for two or three years, after which they may be able to support themselves. The sending out of settlers appears to me to be absolutely necessary.’ A further letter to Lord Sydney on 28 September of the same year again requested settlers ‘to whom a certain number of convicts may be given; they, my Lord, will be interested in cultivating the lands and when a few carpenters and bricklayers are sent out who will act as overseers a great deal of labour will be done by them who are employed on public works.’
Finally, after a search all over England, the British Government sent out a group of fifteen volunteer settlers, all they could raise. The first of them was Thomas Rose who must have been attracted by the government’s offer:‘Passage to be provided by the government. Lands to be granted free of expense. To have an assortment of tools and implements out of the public stores.To have two years’ provisions. The service of convicts to be provided free of expense. Such convicts to have two years’ rations and one years’ clothing.’ On 8 August 1792, Thomas, Jane and their children, Thomas 13, Mary 11, Joshua 9 and Richard 2, sailed for Australia. A fifth child, John, was born on 4 July 1793, the first free settler’s child in the colony. When Richard grew into middle age he was aff licted by the Rose wanderlust and moved to the McIvor Goldfields in Victoria during 1852, where he worked as a puddler and a miner. He eventually found his way to Coburg in Melbourne, where he died after choking on a piece of meat.
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Richard’s son, John, was also a miner who moved to Rushworth where his son, William Rose, was born in 1873. William followed his father’s calling before obtaining the job with the State Rivers at Corop. It was there that he made his momentous decision to throw it all in and become a Mallee dirt farmer. If that was a curious move, then his next was even more so.William didn’t see the land he’d paid for until after the documents were signed. Instead he sent his sons, Bert and Ray, to inspect the place where the family would make their new home.
The Mallee in those times was a desolate place. It had endured rather than prospered since it was first settled in the mid-1800s. The large squatting runs throughout the north of the state were cut up by the Land’s Act of 1860 and selectors took up blocks of land each of about one square mile.Years later, men returning from the First World War selected land under the Soldier Settlement program and attempted to scratch out a living. As farmers, the good years were few and far between. The old diggers began their new lives with idealistic hopes but it wasn’t long before many of them left the land, bitterly disillusioned. They suffered long years of drought where the red dirt was blown around by the hot north winds and piled high into large drifts, almost covering the wire fences that marked the barren paddocks. Windows in the modest houses they built from sheets of tin or logs were closed as the dirt reached almost to the sills. Along the roads and in the paddocks, the tanks and dams dried up. Stock died, crops wouldn’t grow and there was very little of anything, especially hope. Mice plagues almost inevitably followed the occasional good year. During the worst of these the ground at night was a seething, moving mass. Houses were infested and children were often bitten. One year, over 150 000 mice were killed in one night. The pile of stinking corpses was ten feet around the base, four feet high and weighed over two tons. In those difficult years, some farmers supplemented their income by working for the more established farmers, if such work was available, or by doing Unemployment Relief work under a government program. When it all became too much, some sold their blocks for a
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pittance. Others simply walked away. This was a place for only the hardy or the foolish.
On their return to Corop, Bert and Ray explained to their father what they had seen and heard but he could not be swayed from his decision and anyway, it was too late. In the spring of 1921, the two young men and their brother, Ralph, better known as Rusty, set off with the family’s worldly goods stacked on two wagons hitched to bullock teams.Two cows traipsed along behind. The trip from Corop took more than a week. The roads were rough and as the wagons rattled slowly over the corrugations the brothers wondered what lay ahead. The place they left was mostly green and lush with a lake and creeks nearby.Water was plentiful in all but the severest droughts and the contours of the land were gentle. The Mallee, on the other hand, was arid, almost desert land with long stretches of nothing disappearing towards the horizon. Flat, dry and disheartening. But they persevered. Towards the end of their journey, near Swan Hill, the road bent toward the Murray River.The landscape around the town at least had a green tinge. Swan Hill was a town of about 3000 people and had been the hub of riverboat activity in the area. After the railway arrived in 1890, the river traffic had gradually fallen away although quite a number of boats still plied their trade. The town was by far the largest for a hundred miles in any direction. It had dirt streets with sloping verandahs in front of small wooden shops.The main street was lined with huge peppercorn trees that provided both shade for the few motor vehicles that were around, and hitching posts for horses. It also boasted three hotels and a diverse range of shops that served the people of the surrounding area. Here, the travellers stopped for a while to rest the horses before continuing to their ultimate destination further north. Nyah West was a tiny hamlet with a few stores and a blacksmith but little else. It had been gazetted as a town in 1914 when the railway line was being extended through the state, a project that attracted many families to the district.The first train arrived on 27 May 1915 on its way to the end of the line at Piangil, some 20 miles further up the track.
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When they reached Nyah West, Bert, Ray and Rusty stopped to pick up some supplies before heading off to their newly purchased block of land at Yarraby, a place that was never really much of a town, only an area.When people asked where Yarraby was, the reply usually came quickly:‘Six miles on the sunset side of Nyah West.’And if they’d never heard of Nyah West, they were told it was ‘eighteen miles northwest of Swan Hill’. It was named because it was also two miles west of Nyah, a small town on the Murray with market gardens that f lourished because of the water from the river.
Yarraby had been settled around 1894 and by 1900 the land was being cleared into blocks of around 600 acres. In 1903 the government surveyed the area and funded the building of channels.This gave many of the settlers work, which in turn gave them money and the chance to stay on their farms. There was very little of anything at Yarraby, although there was a hall, built from native pine logs, and a school that had opened in 1901. On the One Chain Road where the Roses’ new home was, there were earthen tennis courts as well as a football ground, ‘where the maroon and golds played’. The Roses’ block of land had no house, so the men stopped the horses at an old building that stood on the land opposite. The owner was a Mr Salathiel who had offered his house to the family having decided he would like to live in an old canvas tent pitched in a small copse of spindly mallee trees a few hundred yards from the house. Salathiel’s building was a small mud brick and log bungalow, comprising two tiny rooms at the front with another two behind them.The back rooms were connected to the front of the house but they were merely walls with a roof over the dirt f loors. As in nearly all of the Mallee, the land around Yarraby had been cleared by men with bullock or horse teams dragging huge metal and wooden rollers that f lattened the scrub. After the trees had been knocked over and while the settlers waited for the timber to dry so they could burn it, the teams hauled out the huge gnarled roots.These were used for many purposes: building sheds, fences and most of all, for firewood. A large one would be split by an axe or a hammer and
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wedges, and a couple of the pieces would burn all night, giving off enough heat to warm even the coldest of houses in the winter. There were piles of these near the house but Ray, Bert and Rusty knew there were plenty more.Their land consisted of acres and acres of uncleared trees with the little that had been rolled waiting to be cleaned up. Mallee roots and branches lay scattered everywhere.They had seen all this on their earlier trip but now reality was setting in and they unloaded their wagons in silence.
Meanwhile, William and his wife Elizabeth left Corop a few days behind their sons.They travelled in a horse and gig with a fresh horse trotting along behind. With one wooden seat and large wheels bumping and hopping on the road, the gig was not the most comfortable transportation for the adults over such a long journey. It was even less so for their daughter Ethel and her brother Tom, who sat behind the splashboard at their parents’ feet. The trip took five days and each evening when darkness fell, William stopped to let the horses graze and drink.Then, after a small meal, they all lay on the ground around a fire and William talked to Ethel and Tom about the night sky and its billion pricks of light. When they reached Nyah West, they met Ray, Rusty and Bert, who guided them along the dirt tracks to their land.
As it was for those before him and those who surrounded him, life in the Mallee was a constant struggle for William Rose and his family. Whatever he did seemed doomed. He worked hard enough, as did his sons, but there was never enough rain, so there was never enough crop. There was never enough food, money or anything else for that matter.They worked long, aching days clearing the land but their farm implements, which they had gone into debt to buy, were old and not much use. Then in 1924, after three years of heartache on the land, William Rose fell ill. A doctor rode his horse out from Nyah West during the night and diagnosed appendicitis, but as he was not a surgeon and had no way of transporting William to hospital he left, promising to return the next day with a car. But by then,William was much worse and as
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he staggered out the door, doubled over in agony, he ruff led the hair of 7-year-old Ethel, tried to smile and quietly said, ‘Goodbye kids’. That was the last time they saw him. His appendix had ruptured and he died later that day. Life for the Roses then became harder than they thought possible. The family left the block at Yarraby after a deal with the Debt Adjustment Board and, with what was left over, managed to secure a block of land a few miles away at Nowie North. As times became more difficult, Rusty began to blame his father for giving up his good job and moving to this awful place. But this was mainly because of frustration; Rusty was too loyal a family member to mean much by it.To help out, he moved to Melbourne to work for Elizabeth’s brother Joe, a real estate agent in Prahran.There was no money for a train ticket so he rode his pushbike the 200 miles or so to Melbourne.The bike came in handy afterwards, as his job was to ride around the suburbs collecting rent from properties that his Uncle Joe owned. Bert and Ray ran the farm but the Depression had hit hard in the Mallee.The price of the meagre amount of wheat they managed to grow plummeted from five shillings and sixpence a bushel to about one and seven pence.Wool prices for those lucky enough to afford sheep dropped from 20 pence a pound to eight pence. Even those farmers who had something in reserve were having severe problems, let alone people like the Roses who had nothing. At different times both Ray and Bert received a little money working on the government’s Unemployment Relief program, constructing roads in the district, but the hardship and the lifestyle proved too much for their mother. She had moved willingly with William and she was no stranger to hard work, but this was different and she had no answers. One day Elizabeth came home and announced to her daughter Ethel that she was leaving. Uncle Joe’s wife had recently died and she was going to Melbourne to be his housekeeper. Ethel, who was only fourteen, felt devastated by her mother’s news, not to mention deserted. What was she to do? How would she cope with her transition to womanhood? But she managed. Her two elder sisters and her brothers saw to that. In fact they all managed because they had each other. When his mother went to Melbourne, Rusty
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came home and worked the farm with Ray and Bert. And, even though they despaired at times, life was not always impossible.
If there was one good thing that happened to the Roses during those difficult years, it was getting to know the family from the farm a couple of miles further west—the Borchards, Jack and Amy. Born in Lobethal, South Australia in 1874, Jack was of German origin, his correct name being Johannes Heinrich. After leaving school, he worked for a while on the railway line that was being built from Adelaide to Broken Hill, before moving to Gerang-Gerung, a dot on the map near Dimboola in the Victorian Wimmera. There he rented some land and turned his hand to farming. He met another farming family, the Poultons, who had a daughter, Amy, with whom he formed a relationship. Amy’s grandparents, Thomas and Anne, arrived in Australia on board the Omega on 23 August 1852.Thomas was a farm labourer and worked around the Ovens district, some 90 miles from Adelaide. In 1889 his sons, John, Charlie and Ted decided to try the new land in the Victorian Mallee that was being advertised.They set off with their wagons and a cow, with little fodder or water and were often bogged in the sand drifts along the tracks. Eventually they arrived in the Hopetoun district where John married Dorothea Dohse and raised a family of three boys and three girls, one of whom was Amy. Jack and Amy were married in 1900 after which they moved to Pineview, a 640-acre property Jack had selected at Yarraby in 1896. It was nearly all virgin land and in the first year Jack cleared most of it with an axe. He spent his days from dawn to dusk cutting down and burning trees. Soon he had 40 acres ready for planting. Later, he used one of the first rollers in the district to knock down the scrub. Jack’s first crops were not very successful, yielding about two bags to the acre. What wheat he did grow had to be carted to Nyah by horse and wagon before being loaded onto a riverboat for the journey to the f lourmill at Swan Hill. Like their neighbours, Jack and his family battled ceaselessly through the difficult times.When there was rain, the grasses grew for the emus and kangaroos to feast on. If the crops did by some chance become established, rabbits and galahs would eat off the small shoots.
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Added to that were the problems created by dingos feasting on newborn calves and lambs.The Mallee was so harsh, so demanding, so unforgiving, but every now and then, when the rains came and the seasons were good, it was also rewarding. The poet John Shaw Neilson once lived in the Mallee and could see it held its own riches: ‘Oh ’twas a poor country, in autumn it was bare, The only green was the cutting grass and the sheep found little there. The thin wheat and the brown oats were never two foot high, But down in the poor country no pauper was I. My riches all went into dreams that never yet came home, They touched upon the wild cherries and slabs of honeycomb. They were not of the desolate brood that men can sell or buy, Down in that poor country, no pauper was I.’ Bert had taken a shine to Jack and Amy’s daughter, Mildred when they met at a party at the Maple family’s nearby farm. Millie and Bert would often be seen together and they soon became engaged. However, there was no money for a wedding and nowhere for them to live, so their engagement was to be prolonged. Like most families in the Mallee, the Borchards and the Roses made do with what they had. Amy, in particular, was a woman of considerable resourcefulness and could often be seen marching purposefully beneath the gum trees around the farmhouse with a shotgun, hunting for galahs.There was nothing quite as tasty as galah pie cooked well in an open fireplace, especially if there was nothing else to eat. In the evenings there was always music. Jack Borchard was an accomplished accordion player and he would often play at dances in the Yarraby hall, sometimes accompanied by William Rose on the violin. Jack was also a very strong man. One evening, when Millie was a young girl, he picked her up with one arm and danced around the hall, still playing his instrument just as well as ever. Millie helped around the farm and when her father was working in what was known as the ‘top block’ some eight miles away, she often
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rode up with her mother to cook and clean the drop log cabin they had built. It was always late when they finished and they would have to drive the horse and gig home again, often in the dark and with the constant threat of dingos that would run alongside the gig, howling and nipping at the horses’ legs all the way home. Millie’s job was to jump down and open gates as they went, which made her very wary. One day when she’d ridden her horse up to the block, she was too afraid to dismount so she struggled with the gates, not getting off the horse until she was inside the stables at home and sure the dingos had gone. Eventually, after their two-year engagement, Bert and Millie were married. They made their vows to each other on 1 February 1928. The wedding was held in the shearing shed on the Borchard’s farm with the reception in the Yarraby Hall. Horses and gigs from around the district were lined up outside the hall and the music from Jack’s accordion sounded long into the night. On 7 August that year their first child, Robert Arthur Rose, was born.
Bert and Millie lived for some time with Elizabeth at Nowie North while Bert worked for the road construction gang. Millie and Bob sometimes went with him, the three of them staying together in a tent along the roadside. However, it wasn’t long before Elizabeth made her move to Melbourne and, as the rest of the family struggled to make anything from the farm, Bert and Millie needed to find somewhere to live. William’s vision of creating a landowner’s life for his family was not to be. Ethel had gone to Melbourne to work as a waitress and her sisters had left home after they were married. Rusty stayed on and sharefarmed the block. He was also labouring around the area wherever he could, while Ray and Bert both gained jobs with their father’s old employer, the State Rivers and Water Supply Commission. Bert must have thought it ironic that, after all they had been through and all their father had dreamed of, that was where they ended up. He once mused on how the wheel of life constantly turns.
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wo years after they were married Bert, Millie and Bob moved from the farm into Nyah West.The centre of the town was on a small hill that sloped away to the west, at the bottom of which was an area the locals called Blowf ly Flat. If there was a lower end of town in a place the size of Nyah West then Elizabeth Street was it. And the last building in the street, before the wheat fields that stretched endlessly towards the horizon, was the four-roomed cement sheet and fibro house of the Rose family. Rusty lived there as well, travelling out to the farm daily, occasionally taking Bob with him to spend some time with Ray and Ethel who had returned home. Bob loved everything about the farm, especially the huge, plodding draught horses that were an essential part of everyday life. Nothing could happen without them.There was no money for a tractor so the horses would be yoked up for ploughing, for putting the crop in and taking it off, and for dragging tanks to cart water from the river when there was no rain. If there was no money for a tractor there was even less for a car, so there were other horses as well—those that pulled the buggies and those that were ridden. Bob liked these as much as the draught horses. The family always had good horses and there was healthy competition between Bob’s aunts and uncles as to who owned the best horse and who was the better rider. Even though it was treated light-heartedly,
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the rivalry was intense. Rusty and Bob watched one day as Ethel attempted to mount her spirited brown gelding, Bluey. The horse turned away at every attempt. ‘Give it away, Eth,’ called Rusty. ‘Let me have a go.’ Ethel wasn’t keen but stood back as Rusty grabbed the reins. ‘Nuthin’ to it,’ he yelled as he swung his foot into the stirrup. But Bluey was having none of it and Bob and Ethel laughed uproariously as Rusty was pitched off into the dirt. After Ethel stopped laughing she grabbed Bluey, jumped on with one swing of her leg, and galloped away with a satisfied smile on her face.
While Bob grew so did his family, with a sister Alma arriving after eighteen months and a brother Bill, named after his grandfather, sixteen months after that. By the time Bob was eight there were two more mouths to feed: Lorna, born in 1933, and Colin born in 1936. As the children arrived Bert, helped by Jack, added two more rooms to the tiny house as well as a sleep-out for all the children. Life was not becoming any better for Bert and Millie.As the eldest son, Bert was still responsible for some of his father’s debts and the Depression was hitting hard everywhere. But they struggled on and were blessed with another son, Kevin, born in 1939. The children that were old enough attended the Nyah West State School where Bob and his mate, next-door neighbour George ‘Jitter’ Sneddon, were inseparable. When he was ten, Jitter had been hit in the groin with a cricket ball, breaking bones and causing a rare aff liction called Purthe’s Disease. Suffering the same effects as infantile paralysis, Jitter couldn’t walk for over three years and spent most of his time either in bed or in a long cane pram. But that didn’t stop Bob. Jitter was his mate and he had to look after him. He wasn’t worried about the fact that his friend couldn’t walk. He pushed Jitter around the town in the pram and the two young boys became a familiar sight around the streets of Nyah West. They would do most things together and when Jitter regained the use of his legs, they joined the Boy Scouts, they played in the school football and cricket teams and they kept the local council busy replacing light globes in the streetlights. Nyah West had had street lighting installed a few years earlier and
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while it was a boon to the locals walking the streets at night, it was a temptation too hard to resist for 10-year-old boys. Bob and Jitter honed their cricket skills by hurling rocks at the lights to see if they could break them.They could—quite easily—and as long as the council kept replacing them, the boys kept breaking them. These nocturnal activities meant that Bob was sometimes late home, missing the jobs he was supposed to do.That usually resulted in Bert’s wide belt being unhitched from around his waist and the threat, more than anything else, was enough to make Bob rush to complete his tasks. One of Bob’s main jobs was to cut the firewood for the kitchen stove, which not only cooked the meals but also heated the pipes that circled through the back of it, providing hot water for the house. His other job was to milk the family’s two cows. The Elizabeth Street house had a backyard that was home to Bob’s vegetable garden and, as there was not enough room for livestock, the cows just roamed through the town. Every now and then they could be found in a paddock across from the house but more often than not they meandered through the streets until Bob or his young sister Alma tried to round them up. Most of the townsfolk didn’t care all that much about the cows wandering through their gardens, as there was seldom much that could be damaged. But one citizen was constantly on the warpath. He put a lot of effort into his vegetable garden and didn’t appreciate the cows tramping over it. At the end of the street was the local pound, a wooden corral into which strays were herded while waiting for their owners to come and retrieve them after first paying a fine to the local council.This wouldbe cow sheriff tried many times to put the Rose cows in the pound but always failed.The cows were too smart and, while he ran around waving his arms madly, one cow would take off in the opposite direction to the other.The cow sheriff would eventually give up and the animals were left in peace until the young Roses collected them, took them home, relieved them of their milky burden and released them again. And there was always sport, a heritage handed down through the generations. William had been a handy tennis player, as were Bert and Rusty, who both played football for Yarraby. Jack Borchard was a good tennis
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player as well, and built a court so that young people around the area could come to his place and learn the rudiments of the game. He was also the timekeeper for the Yarraby Football Club for many years. Bob lived for sport, especially football. Although he played tennis and was an excellent cricketer, he dreamed of playing football in the big time, for Collingwood, the team that all his family barracked for. They coundn’t afford a real football so Bob reckoned that an empty jam tin was the next best thing. He spent hours kicking his tin around the streets of Nyah West, pretending to be Harry Collier or Ron Todd, sometimes with his younger brothers but mostly by himself. He’d set up a football ground complete with goalposts and conduct his own match, and when the tin became too damaged and out of shape, he would run home and scoff jam until another one was empty, before resuming the game. At home in the evenings, Bob would constantly be found tossing a pair of socks into the air and leaping after them to practise his marking, and when his father and Uncle Rusty went to the footy at Yarraby he went with them. Always. Bob loved the sound of the men changing before the game in the tin shed that was open to the elements on one side. He loved the Sunday morning training sessions when they would all run around the paddock beside his mother’s family home, dodging the cow dung and the deep cow and horse hoof marks as they went. They called it training but that may have been too grand a term for the men getting together and kicking a decrepit ball around. Sunday, the day after a match, was not the ideal time to train but there was no other—the players all had farms to run during the week and that took up every daylight hour. Most of all, Bob loved watching the occasional fight behind the hall after home games when someone had decided to finish an on-field altercation. Each Saturday during the season, Bob’s Uncle Ray Borchard would pick up a few players in his car and drive them out to Yarraby for the match. After the games, which finished in the middle of the afternoon, they all returned to the Grand Hotel in Nyah West to spend a few hours celebrating or commiserating. By the laws of both the state and his parents, Bob was not allowed in the pub so he went home while the men slaked their thirsts. But when Ray left to take the players home, Bob would jump in the car so he could go out to the farm.There was always plenty of song and chatter in the car and
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the most usual comment, long after the sun had dropped behind the horizon, was ‘Turn the lights on, Ray!’ ‘Oh, yeah,’ Ray would say, suddenly remembering. Then he would turn to Bob who would be alongside him, jammed between two men on the front seat, saying, ‘Switch ’em on young fella.’ On these trips Bob sat frozen to the seat, torn between having a great time and being scared stiff of what could happen, but content to be with the men.
The way football was organised around the area during the 1930s changed quite regularly as some towns either formed a team when new people came to the district or couldn’t field one when people left. Teams were created, moved, disappeared and reformed quite often. And they were all within thirty miles of each other. It didn’t take much to gather a team together as there were often only a handful of families needed. Quite a few had five or six sons who played the game and whether they were any good wasn’t the point— it was a social gathering as well. Yarraby was one of the oldest and most successful sides around. They were formed on 8 May 1896 at a meeting in the Woods’ family home and a resolution was made to call them the Yarraby Rovers. Over the years they had many good players: the Currans, Mahers, Shermans and Cummings were all held in high regard in local football circles. The Rose family also contributed. Bert Rose was a courageous fullback until a knee injury forced his early retirement, while Rusty was a champion wingman, a local star. He had played for archenemy Nyah for one season in 1929 but resumed his career at Yarraby in 1930. He left again to play at nearby Chillingollah in 1935 and was playing for another small town, Pira, when Bob Rose first graced a senior football ground. That was in 1939 when many of the local men had answered the call to arms and were off fighting the escalating war in Europe, so 11-year-old Bob took his chance. Yarraby was to play against Nyah West on the grassless oval that Bob could almost see from the sleepout window.There was only room for one reserve in the team and it was
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a battle between Bob and the gentle giant, Jack Mettleman, to see who would play.That day Jack was late so Bob was in. It seemed strange to him to be playing against the team from the place where he lived but the excitement of any game at all soon overcame that. Late in the last quarter he took the field.The scores were close and when he marked a short distance out from goal he had the chance to fulfil all his dreams by winning the match off his own boot. He carefully lined up his kick and proceeded to thump the ball straight into the man on the mark. In tears and with his dreams shattered, Bob vowed there and then never to make that mistake again.That was his first lesson in how cruel football could be. That was to be his last match for quite a while. Indeed, it was the last match for nearly all of them because football in the district had become a disjointed affair with more and more men leaving to join up for the war.
Bert, Ray and Rusty all volunteered for the war but only Ray served. Rusty was deemed to be in an essential service as a farmer while Bert had been refused because he had six children. Bob was quite pleased that his father didn’t have to join up—he didn’t like the thought of him being shot. And the rejection turned out to be fortunate in more ways than one, as a year or so later Bert became quite ill with rheumatoid arthritis. The disease first came to light when he went to Melbourne with friends to watch a football match.When he tried to stand up at the end of the game he couldn’t move and was carried to the place where they were staying. Rusty then borrowed a ute and drove to Melbourne to collect him. Bert travelled home in the back, lying on the metal f loor. As time went on, his condition was not helped by his capacity for hard work. Bert worked in Nyah at the pumping station that supplied water from the river to the farms along the Murray, as well as to the houses in the town. His body was gradually worn down by carrying huge logs of wood that were thrown into the boiler’s furnace. As well as the ten-hour days, there was the pushbike ride each morning and evening from Nyah West come rain, hail or shine.There wasn’t much rain and even less hail but there was plenty of shine.
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During summer the temperature would often reach well over the century mark, sometimes as high as 120 degrees, but that didn’t deter Bert. His job was that distance away and, apart from walking, the bike was the only way of getting there. As his ability to work deteriorated and his aff liction became worse, so did the family’s financial state. Debts were mounting around town. Occasionally Bob listened to the discussions his mother and father had about their parlous situation and how they would try to overcome it. His sadness was countered by his pride in the sacrifices they made in the continuing battle with adversity. One such discussion would happen on Fridays when Millie tried to persuade Bert to continue going for a few beers with his mates at the pub. But Bert wouldn’t go—he considered it an unnecessary extravagance. By 1943 there were eleven of them in the house. Eleven breakfasts every day for Millie to prepare, eleven meals in the evening. As Ray Borchard had married and was to run their farm, Millie’s mother had come to live with them, Rusty was still there and Millie had given birth to another son, Ralph. Bert’s condition worsened, causing him to be off work for over twelve months. It was then that Bob volunteered to help Rusty on the farm after school and on weekends.
The days on the farm with Rusty were an education for the impressionable young Bob. They taught him more about life than school ever could. Once, in the middle of a paddock on a day when the sun burned down at 110 degrees in the shade, they discovered that the contents of their hessian water bag had drained out, leaving it bone dry. There were two alternatives. The first was a three-mile walk to the nearest farm while the second was to drink from the nearby dam. ‘The dam it is,’ said Rusty, to which Bob readily agreed. When they climbed the dam bank and looked down at the small amount of water in the bottom they also saw three dead sheep. ‘Well,’ Rusty enquired of Bob, ‘What’d’ya reckon?’ Bob wasn’t sure but as the three-mile walk was not very appealing, they headed for the water’s edge as far away from the sheep as they could, drank their fill and got on with their job.
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Rusty taught Bob how to trap rabbits as well as catch them by hand. Trapping was quite easy but catching them was more fun. As Rusty circled the animals from one direction and Bob from the other, the rabbits would sit quietly in a small clump of native grass believing they were safe. Not so. A sudden dive and Bob would come up clutching them in his hands, after which Rusty showed him how to dispatch the luckless animal with a quick blow to the neck. Bob also spent time at the Borchard’s farm where there were plenty of rabbits as well as goannas, snakes and lizards, which were often tossed up to Bob as he stood on the top of haystacks they were building. These were made of sheaves, and while wide at the base, they narrowed at the top to prevent them from falling over.The sheaves were f licked up from the end of pitchforks and were caught by the man at the top in the same manner. This required a large degree of dexterity and balance, and when a reptile was f lying through the air as you stood precariously on top of a haystack with only a couple of feet of room, it could cause a problem. Les and Ray Borchard were generally below in the wagon. They always thought it a huge joke. Bob was not so impressed.
To help out at home as well as to make some money for himself, Bob could often be seen riding his bike around the town, towing a small cart full of vegetables from his garden as well as rabbits that he and Rusty had caught. Selling them door to door helped the bank account his parents insisted he start. Occasionally he worked for the grocery store in town, owned by the Pick family. Bob rode his bike around the district collecting orders that the Picks would fill and deliver in their van. Sometimes the bike journey would be around ten or fifteen miles but work was work and money was money. Bob had another connection with the Pick family. Mary, their daughter, would call for Bob each Sunday and walk with him to the small Presbyterian church for Sunday school. Bert and Millie impressed on their family the need for worship and, until he was fifteen, Bob hardly missed a Sunday. As the family’s financial position worsened, Bob’s admiration for his mother became greater. Every evening he would stand by the kitchen table grinding wheat for the next morning’s porridge while
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the two of them talked. There was a strong bond between Bob and Millie. He marvelled at her strength of character and the way she worked. During the grape harvest she would not only fulfil her obligations to the huge household but also travel to the vineyards around Nyah and pick 240 buckets of grapes a day before returning and seeing to the needs of her family in the evening. But it wasn’t only Bob who helped out. As her parents could not afford to keep her at school, Alma had left when she was thirteen to become her mother’s right-hand girl. She would have liked to further her education but it was an unwritten rule amongst the poorer families that boys would be educated and girls would leave school. Bob and Alma were old enough to understand the family’s position and Alma, especially, was concerned that the more well-to-do families in the town were looking down on them. She was embarrassed by being poor and felt the eyes of certain sections of the town on her, felt their pity and their disdain. But she was never embarrassed by her family, just by their situation. Embarrassed by living in Blowf ly Flat. Embarrassed, like Bob, at having to slip pieces of cardboard into her shoes to cover the holes. Every now and again, with her wages from her job as a receptionist for the local medico, Doctor Jones,Alma went to Pick’s Store and paid a bit off the family bill. One day her mother was checking the account and saw what she had done. ‘I suppose you’ll go around the town and tell everyone,’ she said to Alma. ‘Mum,’ replied Alma softly, ‘No-one will ever know but me.’ Her younger sister Lorna once looked at Alma and said that she was never going to be a fool like her and leave school. Alma, busy in the kitchen, heard her but said nothing. She just keep working.
The war years saw the Mallee suffer a horrendous drought that appeared as if it would never end. Winters were dry and summer’s dust storms turned day into night with great tidal waves of dirt rolling across the land. Even horses and gigs travelling on the tracks could not see where they were going and in nearly every house kerosene lamps were alight all day.When the storms had passed, sometimes a day later, dirt covered everything in a thick layer and was in every
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crevice and every orifice of every body. Everyone expected the drought would end after the first year, but they were wrong. Instead, if anything, it became worse. There was only two or three inches of rain a year, just enough to grow seed for the following year’s crop, if they were lucky.When the farmhouses ran out of water, which they did constantly, horses were hitched up and a tank dragged twelve miles or more to the river where it would be filled and dragged back home again. Around this time, in 1941, Bob’s Aunty Ethel had married Les Gadsden, a farmer from nearby Chillingollah, which brought another dimension to Bob’s life. Now, as well as Rusty, he had another man to be with and another farm to go to. But the drought years and the Gadsdens also brought Bob an experience that would stay with him all his life. Two years later, when conditions were at their worst and the expectations of prosperity even lower than ever before, Les made a trip to Nyah West on his bike.After finishing the few jobs he had around town, he called in to see Bert and Millie before he started the journey home. There he found Bob who, thinking there may be something going on, quickly volunteered to keep him company. The two of them set off along the dirt tracks for the farm at Chillingollah East, some eight miles away. At times the going was so tough they could not pedal the bikes through the sand drifts that covered the road; instead they dismounted and pushed them. Then, when they could ride, the wheels wobbled fiercely because they could not travel quickly enough. It took some time but they struggled along, eventually arriving at the farm in the late afternoon. After they rode through the gate, Les propped his bike against the shed wall and disappeared into the house while Bob stood outside, waiting for him. Les emerged a few minutes later carrying a rif le in the crook of his arm. ‘Come with me, mate,’ he told Bob. Bob followed as Les walked down to the stables where he placed a halter on one of his draught horses. ‘Hold these will you?’ he asked Bob, handing him the lead as he repeated the task on a second horse. By this time Bob began to understand what was happening. The horses were scrawny and sick. In the paddocks they had eaten dirt as they buried their noses in the ground searching for the last bits of green.There had been nothing for them
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there and feed was too scarce and too expensive to buy, so there was only one alternative. Bob held the horses as Les led them away one by one. The sound of the rif le echoed through the evening’s silence before Les reappeared and led another away. ‘Bring that one will you?’ asked Les as he pointed to yet another sickly beast. Bob obeyed but his heart wasn’t in it. He knew there was no alternative but the look of the horses saddened him and the sound of the gun made him f linch.There were eight horses in all and when it was over Les thanked him for his help. ‘You’d better get off now,’ he said quietly. In the gathering darkness, Bob set off for home, back along the sandy, corrugated tracks where, at times, he once more had to push his bike. The night breeze rustling the mallee trees along the side of the road was disconcerting, as if something was out there. Rabbits darted across in front of him, appearing from nowhere out of the blackness, startling Bob and making his heart race.As the moon f lickered and threw crazy patterns across the tracks, the distance home seemed even greater than on the way over. Bob’s mind was jumbled. What if I have a puncture? What if something happens to me? Eventually he arrived home close to midnight. No-one was awake when he crept into the house. He made his way to his bed where the sounds of gunshots and the thump as the horses hit the ground rolled around his head as he tried in vain to sleep.
When school finished for the year at the end of 1944, Bob’s priority, as it was every year, was with the harvest, such as it was. Harvest days were long and arduous.While one of the men continued with the stripping, the other would leave the farm before dawn bound for the Nyah West Railway Station with a wagonload of wheat bags.When they returned at dusk they had to load again for the next day’s trip. It was draining work for both humans and horses and the day usually finished with a swim in the muddy water at the bottom of the dam.The horses were always keen and had to be held back so the men could get there first. Most nights it was all in together. In the New Year, after the harvest had finished, Bob went back to
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school and life went on much as it always did, with a bit of sport, a lot of work and still more heartache. With the end of the war in sight, men were returning to the district and sport once again became a huge part of their lives. Bert had recovered somewhat by the middle of 1945 and returned to work. He was forced to temporarily retire from the State Rivers but gained a job driving a school bus—not a fancy modern vehicle but an old battered contraption that had seen better days. Each morning he would crank up the old girl and make his way from Nyah West to Swan Hill, picking up children at most of the small towns along the route. He would stay in Swan Hill till school finished and then drive them home. Once again he had a reasonably steady income and although it wasn’t huge, it relieved some of the pressures on his family. His eldest son travelled on the bus, but school was something Bob was not all that fussed about. However, it did have one thing in its favour—sport. Even though there was no local Saturday sport during the war years, there was some at school: cricket and tennis in the summer and football in the winter. Bob captained both the cricket and football sides. That was much better than studying. Bob never thought of himself as a brilliant scholar and, although he excelled at maths, he was hopeless at the sciences and his attitude frustrated his teacher no end. On one occasion, the teacher became so annoyed he told him in an exasperated tone, ‘Rose, sport will never get you anywhere!’ His reports at the time were to the effect that he needed to show as much interest in class as he did on the sporting fields—a forlorn hope indeed.
At the end of the school year Bob went to work with his Uncle Les Gadsden, who had just been granted a contract for cleaning the channels in the district. This was another government initiative. During the drought, dust storms had filled the channels in places and stopped the f low of what little water there was. Men such as Les cleaned them out at the rate of about a mile a day, working two big draught horses hitched to a metal scoop that stood almost four feet high and three feet wide.The horses trudged along the channel
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banks dragging the scoop until they were motioned to lift it out. Then a large metal lever was pulled which tipped the scoop and dropped the sand back where it belonged. This was hard enough work for a strong, grown man like Les, let alone someone as small and lean as Bob. Each morning they would yoke up their own teams. While Les managed this with ease, Bob staggered around under the weight of the enormous horse collars and usually had trouble convincing the horses to drop their heads so he could lift it on. When they eventually did, he then had to dance around to keep them from stepping on his toes. But he was tough and nimble, wiry and determined. The men lived in a small tent along the roadside and went home once a week.Their food was kept in a small f lywire covered meat safe that hung from a nearby tree with damp towels over it. Each night Les would carve from the leg of mutton he’d brought along. One night Bob had tucked into his hungrily, devouring the lot before Les had even tasted his. Bob wondered why he was so slow but then watched as Les poked and picked, occasionally f licking his knife towards the f loor. ‘What are you doing?’ enquired the youngster. ‘Just picking these out,’ was the reply. When Bob leaned over he saw that the meat was f lyblown and Les was depositing maggots onto the ground. Bob dashed outside the tent, his appetite suddenly diminished. But the next day he was back again for more. After all, he didn’t want to go hungry and there seemed to be no alternative. The work on the channels was backbreaking, and every now and again heartbreaking. Once, after a few particularly long hot summer days cleaning out a stretch of channel, the two workers went home for the weekend.When they returned, they found the wind had switched from the south to the north in their absence and had blown all the sand back in. They had to start the section again and there was no extra pay. And it was not only the channels that needed work. Sand drifts often blocked the roads and piled high against the fences to within a few inches of the top. Cattle and sheep could literally walk out of the paddocks. But mile-by-mile the teams of men worked their way along the channels. Some had their contracts renewed while others, Les included, didn’t take up the option.
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At Christmas, when the contract finished, the two of them went home.
During the weekends of those summer months in 1944–45, Bob captained the Nyah West cricket team. He was only sixteen but his youthfulness didn’t stop him becoming a forthright leader as well as one of the side’s better players. The team comprised mainly men in their early twenties but there were a couple who were older. One of Bob’s first tasks was to instil in his men a desire to play the game well without the aid of a visit to Nyah West’s Grand Hotel first. This was brought on after a match in which the team’s wicketkeeper, Wally Jolley, had his face rearranged courtesy of a ball from a tall fast bowler, Lance ‘Nipper’ Regnier.Wally was in no condition to bat and the bouncer hit him after pitching in the gap where the matting failed to meet. Bob knew the Grand Hotel well. Not because of any illicit activities but because it had played a large part in changing and shaping his life.
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In the ring
n 1939 a man named Harry Shaw, a stunt-car driver and amateur boxer from Tasmania, came to a sports carnival at Nyah to give an exhibition of driving in his midget cars. Harry was actually an Australian champion driver and made a bit of extra money driving these exhibitions. The New Year’s Day sports carnival was one of the biggest sporting gatherings in Victoria. Indeed, an athlete by the name of Ronald Ryan, who was later to find fame in a much different arena, had won the major cycling title there a few years before. Harry’s driving enthralled the crowd. Bob watched him in disbelief as he circled the arena and drove up a ramp, through a wall of fire, and back down again. The crowd cheered wildly while Harry circled the track once more at the end of his exhibition, this time waving to the crowd as he drove past. The next day Harry hooked up his trailer, loaded his cars and left town, but fate would soon see him return. In 1942 Harry’s son Terry developed a serious chest infection that could only be controlled by living in a dry climate. By coincidence, Harry’s family knew the Presbyterian minister in Nyah West who agreed to help out. Two months later, Terry came to live there. Not long after, Harry decided that his whole family would be better off if they all moved to the country, and when he found it was for sale, he bought the pub.
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Harry Shaw was an adventurer. Born in Hobart in 1906, he had been placed in a children’s home early in his life after his parents’ marriage broke up.When he was just eleven years of age, he made enquiries about his father, who was then persuaded to sign papers allowing Harry to go to sea as a cabin boy on a steamer that plied its trade between Sydney and Seattle. That career lasted until he was about seventeen when he jumped ship in Sydney and made his way to Wollongong where he began training as an engineer. When he was nineteen he returned to Hobart for a while to race motorbikes and sidecars. While driving at speed during one race, he f lipped his bike and sidecar over, breaking his back in the crash. It was almost a year before he could walk again, although, in his true adventurous style, he had his crew lift him onto his bike when he thought he was fit enough to race again. Soon he graduated to cars where his engineering skills helped him with design and repairs. A few years later, in the early part of the Second World War, he owned a factory in Latrobe Street Melbourne, making parts for aircrafts. But with Terry’s illness, that all went by the wayside and Nyah West became their home. While in Wollongong Harry had trained as a boxer, becoming proficient enough to win the amateur welterweight crown of New South Wales. So when he decided to do something for the young kids of Nyah West he decided on boxing. One evening in 1943, Harry was talking to one of his regulars and suggested that he’d like to start a gymnasium for the youngsters around the town, maybe teach them a thing or two about fitness and self-defence. ‘Good idea,’ said Roy Hogan, the regular who also just happened to be the Rose’s neighbour. ‘I reckon I’ve got a couple of starters.’ The next time Roy saw Bob he convinced him to visit Harry for a chat. Jitter Sneddon and Buck Walker, another local lad, joined Bob and went to see Harry. This was an exciting time for the youngsters. Nothing like this had ever happened before in Nyah West and they were more than a little curious. For the first few months, every evening after the pub closed at six o’clock and Harry had cleared out the drinkers, he and the boys would push back the tables and chairs in the dining room so they had room for a few exercises followed by some sparring. The boys loved it even
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though there were occasions when the sparring became so competitive that, before the boys went home, they were required to wipe the blood from the tables so diners would not be put off their meals the next day. Six months later, Harry could see the interest in his project remained strong, so he opened a proper gymnasium in the main street. In these surrounds, the training and sparring became more serious. Soon there were about ten other youngsters who turned up from time to time, but Harry could see that the three regulars were keen and developing quite well. As a teenager, Bob was very shy and it took him a while to warm to Harry and the fighting. But it wasn’t long before he became fascinated by his own ability. He loved the training and could feel himself becoming fitter and fitter. For Bob and the other young men of Nyah West, Harry Shaw was the greatest thing that ever happened to them. Sure, they had their football and other sports, but boxing was something different, taught by someone different and fascinating. Here was a man with knowledge of the world at large, a man who had travelled the seas and who knew amazing routines and fitness techniques, skipping workouts and weight training. And the boys knew he cared about them. Perhaps it was his own background that made Harry Shaw take to the kids but, whatever it was, he found at least three firm allies and students.And they could see that Harry knew what he was doing. His sessions were all well-controlled and apart from the odd blood nose no-one was hurt.There was no knocking one another out or anything else overly dramatic. ‘I’ll teach you to be boxers,’ he told them, ‘not fighters.’ Bob liked that. He knew he didn’t want to be a fighter and hated the term. But he knew he could be a boxer. Harry had purchased all the equipment they needed. There were punching bags and a speedball, skipping-ropes and a few weights.And it wasn’t just fitness Harry taught them, it was also technique. He showed Bob how to turn his hand into a fist and how to turn that fist when he punched. He showed him how to throw a punch from the shoulder, how to move quickly and purposefully around the ring, how to throw left rip, left hook, right cross and back off. Bob was a quick and willing learner. A year later, in the middle part of 1944, Harry turned up one night at the gym, towel thrown over his shoulder as usual.
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‘How would you boys like to fight in Melbourne?’ he asked Bob while Jitter and Buck stood close by. At first Bob and the other boys were taken aback but after discussing it for a short time they said, ‘Yeah, OK, why not?’ Through his contacts in the boxing world, Harry had tentatively organised a few match-ups that he confirmed once he had the boys’ agreement. At training a week or so later, and after talking brief ly to the parents, Harry made an announcement:‘Next week, boys,’ he told his excited charges. ‘We’re on next week.’
Before dawn on the morning of 25 August 1944, Harry Shaw drove out of Nyah West in his big, shiny black Chevrolet, bound for Melbourne.As night turned into day, Bob sat in the front seat peering through the windscreen, while Jitter and Buck shared the back. Harry’s history as a racing driver had Bob worried for a while. He threw the Chevy around the road as though he was racing again. It was only a single-lane road and Harry lined up the corners up like he would on the track—straight through, cutting down the amount he had to turn the wheel while the car swayed as he powered out of them. Even with Harry’s driving the trip still took some six hours, and at the end of it, Bob and the others were happy to see the city. Nearing their destination, Harry stopped and bought some bananas for them to eat. He knew all about their nutritious value and the boys tucked in heartily. ‘Don’t get many bananas in Nyah West,’ laughed Bob as he chucked a skin onto the street. As the skin disappeared through the window, a policeman’s face took its place and Bob was made to get out and pick it up.The policeman began a lecture, but when Harry explained what they were doing the copper seemed happy enough to continue on his way. It was late afternoon by now but their day was only beginning. Harry eased the Chevy through the traffic, around a couple of corners and down a small hill, before pulling up outside the cold, bare walls of the West Melbourne Stadium, later known as Festival Hall. Bob stepped onto the footpath and stared at the brick facade.A bit further down the street a few posters f lapped against the walls, and while the wind whipped around their legs as the traffic hurried by,
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Bob wondered why he was there. As well as a feeling of excitement, he also had a feeling of trepidation.What was in store for him? How good was his opponent? And anyway, what was his name? ‘Come on,’ called Harry to his charges as a man came out to direct them inside. ‘Let’s go.’ A huge wooden door then swung open and Harry Shaw, followed by three young men who had no idea what was to come, stepped through into a dimly lit tunnel. As they walked along the echoing hallway towards the dressing rooms, Bob Rose looked exactly what he was: a fair-headed, wellbuilt schoolboy who had turned sixteen just three weeks previously and was a long way from home.
In the dressing rooms, Harry methodically wrapped crepe bandages around the boys’ hands, making sure each one was properly protected. He talked to each of them in turn about what was to come before they all headed towards the ring. Bob was up first. His opponent for the three-round lightweight bout was George Rash, a seasoned pug who could dish out punishment as well as take it.Which was just as well because Bob gave him plenty. The knowledgeable punters around the ring had Rash as a two-to-one on favourite but they soon realised their mistake. Balanced nicely on the balls of his feet, Bob danced around the ring, f licking out his straight left and picking off his opponent at will. He didn’t want to stand and fight, rather he needed to settle down and find his way around the ring. Being younger than Rash as well as being the outsider didn’t seem to bother Bob at all. He threw his straight left and backed off. At times he thumped a short right into his opponent’s face or midriff, before slipping away again. Fairly soon, Rash’s face became red and swollen and he was taking such a beating that in the fourth and last round the referee stopped the contest. After the fight Bob had changed. Although others saw him as a natural leader and a mate they all looked up to, until now Bob had been shy, quiet and not very confident. But in the ring he had found something in himself and back in the changing rooms he felt as though he had grown up.
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After a few minutes he came back to the ringside to watch his mates. Jitter Sneddon was in against Bob Flannery,Australian champion Fred Flannery’s brother. Jitter, as a result of his sickness, was very thin and weedy looking, weighing in at around six stone, but that didn’t prevent him from giving Flannery a pounding. Jitter was also very nervous and at the end of each round didn’t seem to know where his corner was. But while the action was on, he was in complete control, so much so that the referee stopped the fight in the third round. Next came Buck Walker who was unlucky to be faced with a twofisted puncher by the name of Norm Peers. Buck tried to give as good as he got and matched Peers punch for punch, even though he was mostly on the receiving end, his courage was to no avail and he lost a close points decision. The crowd loved the way the boys fought and when it came time to give out the nightly awards the three youngsters from Nyah West were right amongst them. There was two pounds for Buck Walker who was voted the best loser for the night; Jitter Sneddon didn’t receive any money but was acclaimed by the crowd when reintroduced and Bob was everyone’s favourite, being awarded three pounds for being the ‘best boy of the night’. Merv Williams, the ringside announcer, wanted Bob to return to the ring to receive his money but Bob didn’t quite know how to get there. They urged him to come back quickly so he decided that the straightest and quickest route was over the press gallery’s table. So up he jumped, sending papers and pens f lying everywhere.There were a few stares but nobody was going to begrudge this young man his moment of triumph. An hour later a proud Harry Shaw ushered his charges into the black Chevy and drove the six hours home to Nyah West. The boys were too excited to rest but the monotony of the road and the lateness of the hour soon relaxed them and they slept contentedly while Harry drove on. It was almost three o’clock in the morning when they arrived home where a crowd of 200 or so lined the main street to cheer and clap. Someone had rung to tell the town of the boys’ triumphs and how they had put Nyah West well and truly on the map. Harry Shaw smiled to himself as Bob and Jitter and Buck looked out of the car windows, surprised, content and proud.
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The scientific boxer
fter that first trip, Bob’s enthusiasm for boxing increased. Harry arranged more fights for him and it wasn’t long before he was well-known in pugilistic circles around the state. He won nine out of his first ten bouts that were a mixture of four and six round contests. The bank account his parents made him open was also becoming larger and soon it contained the princely sum of 28 pounds. But not all of that hard-earned money stayed there.With Bob’s blessing, Millie used some of it when the family’s finances were at their worst. She took it reluctantly but pragmatically, telling Bob that it would buy shoes for the other children.
A
Harry drove the Chevrolet back to Melbourne for a number of bouts during the last few months of 1944, but there were also plenty of tournaments in Bendigo and occasionally in Nyah West and Lake Boga. The Catalina air force base at Lake Boga was full of men from all walks of life, many of whom fancied themselves as boxers. Every few weeks a fight night was held, either in the Lake Boga hall or in Arnett’s Garage in Swan Hill where a ring was erected when the cars and equipment were cleared away. Ringside seats cost one shilling and sixpence while standing room at the back was considerably cheaper. Each fight night was crowded, with the air full of smoke and enthusiasm.
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In October 1944 Bob was involved in his first and only boxing controversy when he fought over six rounds against Brian Hecker. An undefeated lightweight like Bob, Hecker weighed in slightly heavier at nine stone eight pounds. Each of them had a reputation: Bob, the scientific boxer, against the brawling fighter, Hecker. Their meeting was eagerly anticipated and the crowd crammed into the drill hall in Mollison Street, Bendigo. Bob scored freely in the early rounds but Hecker stung him with some telling blows later in the fight. Hecker continually forced Bob into clinches to prevent him moving and punching, and in the last round the two stood toe-to-toe exchanging fearsome blows.The referee’s announcement of a draw caused a demonstration amongst the crowd who considered that Bob should have been given the decision. Indeed, Harry Shaw suggested that the two should fight again. He also put up a 50-pound side wager but only on the stipulation that another referee be obtained.The offer was never taken up. One of Bob’s best victories during this time was when he beat Ron Eames of Bendigo to claim the lightweight title of Bendigo and Northern Victoria. Newspaper reports referred to ‘the thriller of the night’, ‘a stirring bout’ and ‘this popular and scientific fighter’. One spoke of ‘a new Rose’ being discovered in Harry Shaw’s garden:‘Bobby Rose was altogether different to anything he had been to fight fans before. All agreed that previously he was a keen, fastmoving, elusive boxer, but against Ron Eames he bloomed as a better boxer and a fighter too. Grim and fast, he exchanged punches with a vigour that amazed even his camp followers, and after four rounds of such hectic battling Ron Eames’ seconds had to cry “enough” and in came the towel.’ Bob’s only defeat came at the end of the year when he was matched over six rounds at the Melbourne Stadium against George Pitt, an older, more experienced pug who was a class or two higher. He was only beaten on points and some observers said that he wasn’t boxing at his best against his more experienced opponent. But then, the vast majority of his opponents were much older and more experienced than Bob. That didn’t deter him, though and in some ways it might have given him an advantage since his opponents didn’t know how to treat a young boy. All that changed as his reputation spread.
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In the early months of 1945, Bob’s thoughts turned to football. He was still training with Harry and mixing it in the ring but the new season was drawing closer. Football in the district had changed forever as the end of the war neared. Some men had returned from the war, others hadn’t. Some came back to work while others stayed in the cities. Yarraby couldn’t raise a team, nor could several others, so the Nyah and Piangil competition was disbanded. In April, the MidMurray Football League was formed, made up of clubs from a wide area around Swan Hill. Most of the Yarraby players went to Nyah West and Bob Rose finally got his chance to play senior football. At sixteen, he was the youngest member of the team, with his Uncle Rusty, the elder statesman of the side, coached by local man Laurie ‘Buck’ Rhode.A local fruit grower, Rhode was the first official coach Bob had played under.At school, the sports teacher had been in charge of the team but had never really acted as a proper coach.With Rhode things were different. Not that he was a brilliant tactician or motivator, but he led the team by example and impressed Bob as a leader. Training days were few and far between because as farmers, most of the players had plenty of work to keep them occupied. But Rohde organised them whenever he could and moulded what appeared to be a good side. The season began badly with Nyah West losing to fierce rivals Nyah, but the team soon found form and usually won easily—except for games against the RAAF. There were always air force personnel transferring in and out of Lake Boga, some of whom were very good footballers, which made them more than a match for most of the other teams. In fact, the RAAF had 1100 men from which to pick their team while the Nyah West ‘Two Blues’ had 23—and that was only if they all turned up. But Nyah West was at least their equal, and better than all the others. The football in the new league was hard and tough, as were the grounds, most of which were not watered and were just dry, barren expanses of dirt, gravel and browned-off vegetation that had once grown there. Nyah West’s ground was among the worst. The grounds were so hard that normal boot stops were of no use. Most of the men, Bob included, had no proper football boots anyway. Instead, they nailed strips of leather across the soles of their everyday boots before each game.While this was not a perfect solution, at least
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it helped to give a sure footing during the match and the strips were easily removed afterwards. Although he didn’t mind where or when he played, Bob especially liked to play at home. It was then the locals could watch him play and he could add to his bank account by working after the game. There were no showers at the footy ground so after quickly changing and still smelling from the rigours of the game, the men slaked their thirst at the pub while Bob headed off to work at the town’s only eating establishment, the invitingly named Linger Longer Café. After the pub closed at six o’clock, the men headed down the street to the cafe for a meal. Bob was the waiter and as most of the customers were farmers, his job was made easier by the fact that, invariably, they all ordered steak, eggs, onions and chips. He rarely made a mistake when giving orders to Wally Isles, the owner and cook. On some Saturdays, relations would call into Elizabeth Street where Millie, even with the family’s financial troubles, would prepare food as if by magic. Millie was a magnificent cook who could have a batch of scones and a cup of tea on the table before the visitors had a chance to make themselves comfortable. Her sponge cakes were the talk of the district. Sometimes there were three sittings for Sunday roast and people were in and out all day.A big pot of saveloys that had been brought home on the school bus on Friday night bubbled away on the open fire, and later in the afternoon, the Rose children watched through the window as their Uncle Les attempted to pole vault the clothes line with the prop. On Thursday nights, team officials gathered there to pick the side and Bob listened to the men’s stories of war, football and farming. Football was a family affair and at every opportunity Millie and Bert took the children to watch their Uncle Rusty and their brother Bob. The other children were very proud of their brother. He was their hero.
Nyah West won all but one of the first nine games with Bob consistently amongst the team’s better players. Each week his reputation grew. Bert had regained his health by now and was working once again in the State Rivers and Water Supply Commission. Not only that,
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he umpired a few games, some of which Bob played in. During one game at Tooleybuc, he witnessed a rather large, rough ruckman, Bert Butcher, beating up his son.Twice he warned him for over aggressive play.Then on the third occasion, after the bloke had taken no notice, Bert was moved to exclaim,‘Hit him again and I’ll thump you myself!’ By the middle of the season, Bob was regarded as one of the best footballers around the north of the state and he attracted interest from the big clubs in Melbourne. An ex-Swan Hill player, Fred Flanagan, was playing with Geelong and advised them to try and secure Bob’s services. They sent a letter asking him to train with the club and hoped he would respond kindly. But Bob wasn’t interested. There was other interest as well. Bert’s boss at the State Rivers was a man by the name of Bill Bentley, brother of the Carlton official, Percy. Bill told his brother about the young footballer’s ability and after further investigation, a letter from the Navy Blues soon found its way to Nyah West. But Bob was having none of it. His thoughts lay elsewhere. Bert had a distant cousin in Melbourne and it was through him that the Rose family gained their passionate support of the Collingwood Football Club. Sherrin was a famous name at Collingwood. Tom Sherrin senior, who owned the famous Sherrin sporting goods business, had been an enthusiastic and generous supporter of the Brittania Football Club that eventually became Collingwood. His son, Tom junior, took over the family business in 1942 and like his father, was elected to the club’s committee. Syd Sherrin,Tom senior’s nephew, was a club stalwart and administrator, prominent in boxing circles in Melbourne, where he came to hear of the exploits of the young Bob Rose. So when the other clubs decided to try and recruit Bob, Collingwood did the same. A letter duly arrived in the middle of the 1945 season and while Bob thought it was wonderful, he did nothing about it. He couldn’t really. He discussed it with his father but they didn’t think they could afford the trip to Melbourne and so the invitation was put aside. For the time being, that was that.
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Running with the Pies
ob was boxing quite regularly during the 1945 football season, and towards the end of the year, Harry Shaw had arranged a six-rounder in Melbourne against a local pug, Mickey Walker. While discussing transport arrangements, Harry and Bert thought it would be an opportune time for Bob to throw in his footy gear and accept the invitation to train with the Magpies.The fight was scheduled for Saturday night but instead of going down and back in a day, this time the stay in the city was to be a little longer. Bert had scraped together the train fare so on Thursday Bert and Bob boarded the train from Swan Hill to Melbourne while Harry drove his big Chevy down the following day. To Bert Rose and his son, emerging from Spencer Street station was like entering another world. Through the billowing smoke being disgorged by the trains, and amidst the rush of non-smiling commuters hurrying along, father and son scampered across the street, dodging the clattering trams and noisy cars, and entered the hotel opposite.After booking in, they walked up the wooden stairs and stowed their small case in a tiny room that boasted two wire-frame beds, a sink, a cracked mirror, a wardrobe whose doors did not shut and a light that swung gently from the ceiling.An hour or so later,Tom Sherrin turned up and while Bert rested, Bob headed off to Victoria Park. The trip across town in the car took half an hour, mainly because they had to wait in line at intersections while other cars crossed and
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they followed trams that stopped every few hundred yards to let passengers on and off. In Nyah West you could, more often than not, travel where and when you liked without seeing another vehicle on the road, let alone having to give way to it. Driving down Lulie Street in Collingwood was a daunting experience for Bob. Even to be in the vicinity of Victoria Park and his heroes was enough. But when he walked through the gates and was then ushered into the changing rooms and introduced to legendary coach Jock McHale, he was almost speechless. Inside, changing into their training gear, were all the great footballing names of the day: Phonse Kyne, Jack Regan, Gordon Hocking, Des Fothergill and the impish Lou Richards. These were the players that Bob had imagined himself being as he kicked the jam tins around. They welcomed him warmly and tried to make him feel comfortable but Bob felt embarrassed about being there. He thought he didn’t fit in and was nervous and withdrawn—even more so when he changed into his footy gear. He wore Rusty’s moth-eaten jumper from the defunct Pira Football Club—green and white and full of holes. He had socks that were equally as bad and, as he did at home, he had simply tacked the strips of leather to his boots. Lou Richards, the Magpies’ first rover, wondered what he had struck. ‘Crikey, where did you get those from?’ he asked in his inimitable style as his eyes scanned the new player’s gear. Bob was silent, not knowing when, or even if, he should speak. A few minutes later, on the oval with the footballs f lying around, he was more comfortable. With the ball on his feet and in his hands he was oblivious to the world around him. Once the action started, his nerves were forgotten and that night he kicked truly and handled the ball surely. Training was for less than an hour as McHale didn’t believe in running his players for too long on Thursdays before a game. When he called a halt to proceedings the coach came over.‘You’ll be alright, Rose,’ he said to the f lushed young footballer. Before returning to the hotel Bob signed a form tying him to the Magpies. On Friday, after coming back to earth, father and son took delivery of some new boxing gloves and boots from the Sherrin factory, after which they wandered the streets of Melbourne for a couple of hours before holing up in the hotel. On Saturday afternoon Collingwood
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was playing Melbourne at the Punt Road oval as the Melbourne Cricket Ground was still being used as a camp for servicemen.There was no official invitation from the Magpies to attend, but they decided to go and watch anyway. Bert was, if anything, more nervous than Bob about the city and didn’t trust himself to get on the right tram, so they walked the few miles to Richmond. They stood in the outer for the first half then walked back to the hotel so they wouldn’t be late for the fight. There they had dinner before walking to the stadium and meeting Harry. It hadn’t been the ideal preparation, but Bob could hardly wait to enter the ring. The fight against Walker was one of his best. Once again his dancing footwork and his f lashing left hand brought the crowd to their feet.Walker was not only outclassed, he was knocked out in the fourth and, again, Bob was awarded the ‘Best Boy of the Week’. By now, word had spread and the boxing world knew that Bob had signed with the Woods. Newspapers the next day gleefully reported his victory as ‘signed with Collingwood and then wins his fight.A big day for the 16-year-old Rose.’ Later that night, with his heart still racing and with the proud Bert and Harry in the front of the Chevy, it was back to Nyah West and the rest of the football season. Bob was now completely focused on football and the success of the team, although later in the season he went to Melbourne once more and, after an invitation, stayed with his grandmother, Elizabeth, at her small home in Prahran where she lived with Uncle Joe, the real estate agent. One of the leading boxing identities in Melbourne, Jack McLeod, had approached Harry to let Bob train at his gymnasium in Footscray for a week.This was an offer too good to turn down, even if Bob’s first thoughts were of football. McLeod’s gym was small but neat and tidy. Eight or ten boxers trained there including four Australian champions of the time, Al Basten, Mickey Carr, Jack Daniels and Frank Flannery, so Bob was in the best of company. He travelled out to Footscray each day and after the week was over he had learned more about footwork and fitness than he thought possible.
When he returned to Nyah West there was pronounced activity around the football club.At a meeting earlier in the year, a ladies social
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committee had been formed with the object of raising funds to put the club on a sound financial basis. To make sure the women were kept happy and to show them how important their contributions were, at the end of the meeting the gentlemen members of the committee served supper to all the ladies present. By mid-season the committee had organised several functions including a footballers’ ball and several pie nights. The town was right behind the club, especially as they were becoming more and more successful. The season continued to go well for Nyah West and they finished the year second on the ladder. But, playing in the second semifinal against the RAAF, they were brought down to earth with a thud. Although there was only one point between the teams at threequarter time, the RAAF kicked nine goals to one in the last quarter to move easily into the grand final. Even though he was named as the team’s best player, Bob was tired. This should hardly have been surprising. In addition to boxing training each night during the week and a fight in Bendigo on Tuesday night, he had competed in the high school sports on Wednesday before the game.And, in what could be termed a very busy day’s work, he was placed second in the senior high jump, second in the broad jump and second in the senior hurdles. He was first in the senior 440 and 880 yards. Bob harboured thoughts of becoming a runner as well. He wanted to win a race at the Nyah Sports Carnival first, and then afterwards who knew? Stawell? The Olympics? The world was at his feet and Bob Rose was nothing if not ambitious.
After accounting for Woorinen in the preliminary final, Nyah West faced up again to the air force team to decide who would be the football league’s first premier team. Rumours abounded that a mysterious champion centreman was about to be conveniently transferred to the air force base and made eligible for the grand final. As Nyah West’s top player and centreman, Bob was concerned. But the rumours were unfounded and Nyah West, after appearing to be overawed at the first bounce, quickly gathered themselves to have eight scoring shots to three during the first quarter. After that they were never really troubled, finally winning by over five goals with Bob playing one of his best games across the middle of the ground. After
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the match the team returned to the Grand Hotel where the club president Mr William Crawford gave a dinner for the players. Bob had been judged as the competition’s best and fairest player, and received his trophy at half-time in the grand final. The presentation occupied the whole of the break as the donor, a Mr Watson, quickly congratulated Bob, then spent the rest of the fifteen minutes discussing his breeding of horses and cattle. Then, at the special premiership dinner on the Monday following the match, Bob was awarded a club trophy for his play in the finals series.The premiership was such a momentous occasion for the town that the club decided to celebrate once more, with a premiership ball being held on 31 October where the club’s annual awards were made. Bert and Millie took Alma and Bill to the ball with them and, late that night, they all looked on proudly as Bob received the acclamation of the gathering when he was awarded Nyah West’s best and fairest trophy. A few days later, after the celebrations finished, the older members of the team decided they would have a trip away. But the big question was, where would they go and how would they get there? None of them had too much money so Bert provided the answer: a trip to Boort in the school bus. Boort, some 60 miles south, was a town of similar size to Nyah West.There was not much to attract anyone to Boort but a trip there seemed like a good idea but they organised a match against the locals so at least there was an excuse. Nyah West, with Bob starring once more, won the game, and as they started out on the trip back, Bert decided that he would like to have a drink with the rest of the boys so he left the bus in the capable hands of his eldest son.With no driving experience apart from a couple of hours on a neighbour’s tractor, Bob’s skills behind the wheel were rudimentary to say the least. But he safely negotiated the trip home with the men in the bus full of song and good cheer. Millie never found out.
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COLLINGWOOD 1946 – 1955
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ollingwood had written to Bob advising him that they required him for pre-season training that was to start early in the New Year. Bert thought that it would be a good idea for Bob to settle in earlier so the move was made after Christmas. The days and weeks before the move were full of anticipation.Alma and the other children were almost as excited as Bob; this was their big brother going away to the big city to become a famous footballer. Millie was afraid of that. Bob, as the eldest, was her favourite—not deliberately so, but as her first-born he was special. She and Bert had no real experience of the city and Millie didn’t know how Bob would fare. But she needn’t have worried. Her son was no fool— he would be alright.When Bob was preparing to leave, Bert, who was strict about standards of behaviour, told his son how to conduct himself in the world. There was plenty of advice all round, as well as plenty of tears. Although it was all very exciting, Bob was still a very young man, younger, perhaps, than his years. In some ways he was so mature, yet in others so youthful. He had a sense of responsibility borne of being the eldest child and he excelled at most things he attempted. He was fearless in the boxing ring and on the football ground, but sometimes he was scared of the world and all its implications. When he was in action in the sporting arena everything came naturally—his fiercely competitive nature and his attack on the ball
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without regard for his own safety, his lightness on his feet and his ability to mesmerise other boxers with his swift punches. But when it came to leaving his family he was a different person, even though he knew he had to go. He knew he would be terribly homesick. So in February 1946 Bob Rose went to board with Pop and Jess Regnier, the family of one of his old adversaries—the fast bowler who knocked out Wally Jolley. The Regnier family had lived at Wood Wood, five miles north of Nyah, for years and had played a big part in the sporting life around the district. Their son Lance, or ‘Nipper’ as he was more commonly called, was not only a demon bowler, but a very talented footballer who had been recruited by St Kilda. When he joined the Saints, the family moved to Melbourne and purchased a fruit shop in Hoddle Street, opposite the Collingwood Town Hall. Bert and Millie were good friends of Pop and Jess, and were happy and grateful when they suggested that Bob should board with them. The Regnier family lived above their shop and occasionally Bob would spend some time downstairs selling the merchandise. It taught him a little about business and a lot about the people of Collingwood. Pop and Jess were like a second mother and father to Bob. Both gentle people, they knew what he was going through as Nipper had done it all before.They advised him about life in the city and helped him with his homesickness by providing the feeling that only a home and a family can have. This was an ideal situation all round. Not only were the Regniers people Bob knew, their home was close to the football ground. That suited Bob but even though the walk to Victoria Park took only a few minutes, there were still hazards. Hoddle Street was a busy two-lane major road that linked Collingwood and Richmond, and the cars were bumper-to-bumper all day. And there were trams and trucks.The noise was like nothing Bob had ever heard and crossing the road was decidedly more dangerous than walking down the streets of Nyah West. The buildings around the suburb fascinated Bob and he studied them on his walks to training.Tall, two storeys, sometimes higher, with ornate concrete workings around the narrow windows and doors that opened straight onto the footpath. These were far removed from the cement sheet, weatherboard and fibro houses at home where you
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could walk through gardens, parched though they may be, before exiting the property through a wire gate. There were no gates here, just buildings jammed side by side and connected like rows of concrete Siamese twins. The people of Collingwood was also somewhat different to those he’d known. Some would talk, especially those in the shops who knew Pop and Jess, but others just looked at you or bustled past as though they were in a hurry. To a young man from the country the pace of life seemed strange. There were 34 pubs in Collingwood, Bob was told, and six were within a few blocks of the fruit shop. Usually built on street corners, they were about the only thing that he could relate to, not because he frequented them but because pubs were similar no matter where they were. As he walked past, Bob would stop and look through the windows that bore stained glass pictures of either sporting figures or advertisements for beer or cigarettes, and through the doors he listened to the sounds of men talking about work, women and football. Owners of the businesses more often than not lived above their shops, their meagre backyards lining the bluestone laneways hiding behind fences made of rusty iron and rotting wood. If there was one thing Bob felt more acutely than anything else it was the lack of space. Here there was very little room for anything. Two steps out of the front door and you were on the road with cars dangerously close. It was daunting and it was exciting—it was a whole new world.
A week or so after he arrived in Melbourne, Collingwood organised a job for Bob in a wood yard on the corner of Williams and Toorak Roads, about half an hour away. Bert, who had come to Melbourne to make sure his son was settled, told the owner of the business to make sure the lad worked hard. Not that there was any doubt about that happening but just to make sure, Bert suggested that the boss give Bob a ‘kick in the backside’ if he was found to be misbehaving or slacking. Bob, carrying a small bag containing his lunch provided by Jess, caught a bus and then a tram to work each morning where he began the task of cutting up the wood with an axe and piling it up for the
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other men who then loaded their trucks and delivered it around the city. Hard physical work it might have been but it was as good for him as a work-out in a gymnasium and he was getting paid as well. Bob stuck at it until six months later when Tom Sherrin offered him a position in his factory, an opportunity that he gratefully accepted. Here Bob learned how to stitch footballs by hand, an art in itself. The seams on both sides of the lace had to be stitched completely straight or there was a chance the balls wouldn’t f ly through the air properly. It didn’t take many lessons before Bob had it right. He sat at the end of a battered bench wearing a leather apron and with a table lamp illuminating his dingy corner of the factory, Bob created footballs day after day for the princely reward of two pounds a week. Occasionally he used the stitching machine but even though it was easier on his hands, it was never as satisfying. There was a certain feeling about taking a few pieces of leather and shaping them into something that would bring so many people pleasure. Sherrin’s factory, located in Wellington Street since the 1870s, advertised themselves as the ‘Largest Manufacturer and Exporter of High Class Athletic Goods in the Commonwealth’.They sold boxing speed balls recommended by world champion Jack Johnson and their footballs were used exclusively for all Victorian Football League games. Bob always made sure that Collingwood got the best of them. He also made sure that he had a dozen kicks before the balls went down to the ground just in case he didn’t see much of it on Saturday, although that was something he didn’t have to worry about too much.
After the war Collingwood Football Club, like society, was rebuilding. The heady pre-war years when the Pies won f lag after f lag were well and truly over. They had won four successive premierships between 1927 and 1930, but before hostilities commenced, they had managed to lose grand finals in 1937, 1938 and 1939, and had not reached the finals since. During the war there was a dearth of football players around the suburb. Indeed, large numbers of Collingwood men went off to war as they were less likely to be classified as essential service workers or to be in protected industries. The local women gained employment even though the conditions they worked under—conditions the men
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had accepted—were often crude and unsanitary. They spent long, exhausting days in the leather factories and the woollen mills making army boots and blankets. But the women couldn’t help the football team, and in 1942 Collingwood was unable to field a reserves side. In 1941 two Collingwood stars had left to take the financial inducements on offer in the VFA—Ron Todd their champion full-forward and Des Fothergill the Brownlow Medallist of the year before.Todd, one of the greatest aerialists of any era and still only 22, was a severe loss, but Fothergill’s loss was even more crucial. He had just turned 20 and had already won three Copeland Trophies for Collingwood’s best and fairest as well as the 1940 Brownlow Medal.
Collingwood Football Club suffered in another way during that period. Apart from a distinct lack of success on the ground, it also lost a large part of its membership base, due in part to the occupation of Victoria Park by the military. In 1942 members of the Army Provost Corps took over the ground with the soldiers living in tents on the oval and the officers living in the training rooms. A number of the club’s offices were used for their headquarters. But it wasn’t all bad news. The club had been granted a liquor licence in 1940, the first given to a football club in Australia, and with their contacts in the industry the club never ran out, even if alcohol was in short supply at the time. Hotels were forced to close temporarily towards the end of 1943 but not the club and, since the soldiers liked a drink, the financial benefits were significant. In 1945 the world was still short of everything after the war effort and in Australia there were severe restrictions. Rationing was in force and a black market operated on most things. Motorists were allowed coupons for the equivalent amount of petrol needed to travel twelve miles. Coupons were also required for clothing and footwear. Drycleaning was prohibited. One ounce of tea per person per week was allowed, and a pound and a half of meat. But all this didn’t stop the Collingwood Football Club from becoming more optimistic about the future. The league had granted an appeal to permit Fothergill and Todd to return and although Fothergill came back,Todd decided, after a standoff with Collingwood over money, to stay at Williamstown.
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After an excellent year, and for the first time since 1939, the Magpies contested the finals but were quickly eliminated after losing the second semifinal to South Melbourne and being beaten by Carlton in the preliminary final. With the end of the war, the feeling around Victoria Park changed and once again membership grew. The consensus was that 1946 was to be the start of something and, now that he was there, Bob Rose was determined to be part of it. He had no knowledge of the club’s troubles and he didn’t much care whether they were down or up. They were Collingwood and he was going to play for them. Simple as that, he thought. That attitude endeared him to many, not the least of which was the person known sometimes as the ‘Man on the Hill’, John Wren.
Wren was a mythical figure. A small, bandy-legged man who wore a black Homburg hat and a black overcoat with a velvet collar, he ran an illegal bookmaking practice in Johnston Street where he made not only his reputation but also large amounts of money. Wren was also something of a philanthropist. People whom he considered to be needy were often the recipients of handouts. In the Depression years, long queues formed outside Maynard’s Bakery in Johnston Street where loaves of bread made from f lour purchased by Wren were handed out, and, at the Town Hall, the Collingwood Unemployment Committee often distributed fruit and vegetables sent over by Wren. Then, during the season, many Collingwood footballers who played well on Saturday received a handshake with a ten- or 20-pound note inside.Wren loved Collingwood and loved helping out. In turn, the players loved him. It was rumoured that he also backed the football club financially but that was never the case. Certainly he gave the club significant amounts of money from time to time but they were always to be handed over to the players. Other rumours were that he bribed players, umpires and officials. In fact, if Wren had done everything attributed to him, then he and his cohorts would have been very busy indeed. Wren owned the West Melbourne stadium and took a keen interest in the young country boxer, Bob Rose. He was always friendly towards the lad and encouraged him a lot, especially after he’d signed
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with Collingwood. He particularly wanted Bob to continue in the ring and at one time suggested that an Australian title was a possibility. No doubt he could see his stadium being packed each time Bob was on the card because the crowds loved the way he handled himself and Wren knew he was good for business. But boxing was only a means to an end for Bob. Football, now that he’d joined the Magpies, was his first and foremost thought. Boxing and training with Harry Shaw had made him superbly fit and taught him how to take a belt across the mouth without f linching, but football was what he lived and breathed for.
Pre-season training under Jock McHale consisted of a small amount of running but plenty of match practice and ball work. Bob impressed all at the club so that a month after he arrived he was selected to play in the senior practice matches and found himself opposed to Lou Richards. That was a tough initiation. Bob was being touted as a rover, which could have meant he was after Lou’s spot in the team, so Lou made him earn every kick. Bob learned plenty from Richards, not only about roving, but about the game in general, about teamwork and the mental, as well as the physical side of the game. Football was now a huge challenge for the young man. A few months previously he had been playing for Nyah West in a nondescript league in the middle of nowhere and now here he was on the ground with some of the biggest names in the history of the game. And they were tough men. They made sure that Bob knew how physical the game could be, not maliciously, but because they wanted him to learn about football in the big time.They knew that this young man from the bush was going to be a very good player one day so a quick education was more than warranted. Bob considered that to be a compliment. He knew that if they were looking out for him like that then they must have thought he could play.
When the season began Bob had to play in the Collingwood Juniors, an associated club, a sort of third eighteen made up of players that Collingwood had tied up or were looking at signing.
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Bob was there because Nyah West had not cleared him.There were letters back and forth between the clubs but answers were hard to find. No-one could tell Bob what was happening. It was a worrying situation for Bob and one that disappointed him very much. He could have played without a clearance but that wasn’t his style, nor was it the club’s. Although they stretched them at times and were quite often at loggerheads with the league, they were bound by the rules of the VFL and Bob did not want to be suspended, which is what would have happened had he played. It was eight weeks before the necessary paperwork was lodged and Bob Rose became a fullyf ledged Collingwood player. He started his career in the reserves, coached by Bervyn Woods, and he soon made an impression. His skills were obvious and his attack on the ball was ferocious, but he left himself open to all manner of opponents who were not backward in coming forward to fix up small, young, new players from the country—or anywhere else for that matter. In the fifth game of the season, the Magpies played Richmond and Bob met up with Alby Pannam.
A member of the famous Pannam family that included the Richards brothers, Alby was in the twilight of a great career that included 193 games for Collingwood and the Copeland Trophy in 1942. Pannam transferred to Richmond as captain and coach of the reserves at the start of the 1946 season so he didn’t know Bob. But he had heard about him. An extremely physical as well as skilful player, Pannam was noted for his toughness. He whacked Bob in the stomach, stood on his toes, kicked him in the shins and generally made his life a misery every time the ball came close, and sometimes even when it did not. Bob didn’t know what had hit him.This was not footy as he knew it; this was something else entirely. He had no idea what to do, but he persevered and continued going hard for the ball while suffering whatever was handed out. That day, he learned the hard way how tough league football could be. In the following weeks he continued his impressive form and was being looked at for senior selection when, due to his style, he was shirtfronted during a match against Fitzroy.
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Jock McHale wanted him to play in the seniors the next week but Bervyn Woods argued, successfully, that it would do him more harm than good if he was to be hit again, which was quite likely in his first league match.That was not an easy argument to win against McHale, but Woods was highly respected around the club and his advice was eventually heeded. So a few more weeks elapsed until, finally, with only three games left in the season, Bob Rose made his first appearance as number 22 for the Collingwood Football Club first eighteen. It was 17 August, two weeks after his eighteenth birthday, and the game was at home against Footscray, which was equal top on the ladder. There was no fanfare announcing his selection; Bob found out when he read the paper on Friday morning at breakfast with the Regniers. A few lines in the corner of a sports page simply stated, ‘in keeping with their youth policy Collingwood selected Bob Rose, of whom much is expected’. The paper also noted that he was ‘a boxer of more than average ability’. Even though Bob was congratulated at work, Friday dragged, but then on Saturday he felt as though he was walking on air as he reached Victoria Park and made his way through the throng of well-wishing supporters. As he changed, the other players in the team wished him luck, but he was nervous and wary as the players filed into the trainer’s room and sat on the slatted wooden seats. In a style more in keeping with Nyah West than with one of the biggest and best football clubs, spectators also jammed into the room as Jock McHale stood on another bench in front of the gathering and began to speak. McHale had been coach since 1913 and was held in awe by the players. He was not really a teacher of the game and did not spend a great deal of time on tactics except for ‘doing it for The Club’. This day it was no different.While McHale spoke, Bob heard the voice as it swirled around in his head but he wasn’t really listening. His mind was elsewhere.Then it was time to go. Bob played on the half-forward f lank and hardly got a touch all day. His opponent was Marty McDonnell, an interstate player and a very tough man. He watched Bob closely but it wasn’t really necessary. Bob could not find the ball. Everywhere he went, it went the other way or he was there too late.The step-up in class was more than he expected and out on the f lank was a difficult spot to play.
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Halfway through the third quarter Bob got his first kick, quickly throwing the ball on his boot without any great thought as to its direction. As the ball f loated away a voice boomed out: ‘Why don’t you look where you’re kicking it, Rose!’ Bob looked up to see Des Fothergill alone in the goal square waiting for the ball to be passed to him.The game ended with a reasonable last quarter and Collingwood won by over ten goals, rising to second place on the ladder. After the game Bob went to a function in the social room and, again, felt strange mixing with all the well-known faces. Here he was, just eighteen, talking with some of the most famous footballers in the land. While he was focused on the football, in a match or at training, Bob Rose was committed. However, in the big world of league football he was still a self-conscious young country lad, not sure about what he should say or how he should act in the presence of others. But that was part of the reason others took to him. He was different, not brash and outspoken like some. He didn’t say much but his actions spoke volumes.
Competition for places in the Collingwood team was fierce and Bob was worried that he wouldn’t get a game the next week against Geelong, but the selectors persevered with him. He repaid their faith by being among the team’s best players and kicking three goals in the easy win. He had only played two games but already he was being noticed. Described as ‘nippy, accurate and cool’ the match report also alluded to his boxing.‘He boxed as a lightweight but now looks more like a middleweight with the extra poundage doing him good.’ The last game of the season was against Carlton and Bob felt, quite reasonably, more confident. But then a certain Carlton tough man by the name of Bob Chitty, who had a well-earned reputation as one of the most rugged players around, came on the scene. Early in the game, while Bob was chasing the ball through a congested pack, Chitty was on the other side thinking that he could throw a right hook as well as the young boxer. So he did. It was something of an honour for a youngster to be cleaned up by Bob Chitty as it meant he thought something of you. It took a
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minute but Bob regained his composure and played on, although he stayed clear of Chitty until the final siren.The Magpies won the game by five points, finishing second on the ladder by percentage. Then it was the finals. On 14 September, almost twelve months after playing in a grand final at Nyah in front of a few hundred people, Bob Rose ran onto the world-famous MCG to play Essendon in the second semifinal in front of a crowd nearing 80 000.The roar of the crowd and the atmosphere were daunting and, as he ran around the ground to warm up, Bob’s feet didn’t feel as though they were touching the grass. The blood was pounding in his head and he could hardly hear what his team-mates were saying. Until the ball was bounced, Bob wondered what he was doing there. Once the game got under way, so did his uncanny ability to shut himself off from everything else except the football. That was all he could see and all he wanted to see. Beneath his quiet exterior Bob Rose was an entirely different person—single-minded and strong in his belief in himself. He played mainly in the forward pocket with an occasional run on the ball, changing with Lou Richards. Collingwood led comfortably until the last few minutes when Essendon kicked two successive points and the game ended in a draw.
Both sides had an even chance in the replay, according to The Sporting Globe. On the back page of their early Saturday edition of 21 September, underneath a banner headline that, strangely for a sports paper, proclaimed, ‘Executioner Took Own Life After Hanging Woman’, appeared a small story about the finals history of the two clubs and their prospects in the match. Collingwood lost the game in muddy, rainy conditions and for the second time in two weeks Bob played on Essendon’s rugged half-back f lanker, Harold Lambert. Lou Richards had warned Bob about Lambert, saying that he was one of the best half a dozen players he’d played against. Lambert was quiet and methodical, and Bob knew that if he was to make a name for himself in the big time then Harold Lambert and his ilk would have to be overcome. But Bob kicked a goal in the first of the semifinals and was named in Collingwood’s best players in the
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replay so his elevation to the seniors at such a tender age was worthwhile. The match report mentioned him as being, ‘clever, tough, rugged and straight through’—descriptions that were to follow him during his whole career. The next week the leg-weary Magpies faced Melbourne in the preliminary final for the right to challenge the Bombers again but they came up short. Bob’s first season had ended—or so he thought. It had been full of incident and a tough initiation, but it wasn’t quite over. Just as league football was a huge leap and just as the crowd at the MCG was a different world to home, so was the after-season trip. It wasn’t a bus trip this time. Instead, two weeks later, the players boarded the train at Spencer Street Station for a trip to Western Australia. On the way they stopped at Kalgoorlie for a game against the locals. The game was played in oppressive heat on a ground that was rock hard and hadn’t been watered or seen rain for what appeared to be a long, long time. Bob was about the only player who could relate to the ground and he was the team’s best player. Despite the fact that they were on a trip, the Pies won reasonably easily and afterwards were guests of honour at a banquet held in the Kalgoorlie Town Hall.They were feted throughout the town. From there it was off to Perth where they played and beat East Fremantle who had just won 31 matches in succession. On the trip over, Lou Richards took Bob under his wing. He was, after all, five years his senior even though he was still young himself at 23. In the evening of the East Fremantle game, the team attended an official function after which the two footballers went looking for whatever it was that Perth offered. They soon came across them. Two lovely young ladies who found themselves attracted to the irresistible Letharios.The four of them talked for a while then walked along the street in the perfect evening warmth. When they neared the team’s hotel one of the ladies quietly asked Lou if they could discuss the financial arrangements. ‘What do you mean?’ said an astounded Lou as Bob nearly fainted. Bob had no idea what was happening although he suspected Lou might have.The ladies, quickly realising there was no money to be made, strutted off in one direction while the young men bolted in another.
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The next scheduled match was against Bunbury, but Bob was not destined to make it. Somehow he had contracted pneumonia and spent two weeks in hospital while his team played and then went home without him. It was an unusual problem for a healthy young man to have in such a warm climate but Bob was very sick. During his stay in hospital he wrote often to his mother who was very worried about him. He felt alone but was helped by entertainer Max Reddy and his wife who were in the west with a play. Their daughter, later to be known as Toni Lamond, accompanied him to one of the shows and helped him cope with being so far away from home and family. After he recovered, Bob f lew back to Melbourne on the midnight f light. He had never been in a plane before and he decided to pass the time away by sleeping.When he awoke a couple of hours later, the first thing he saw when he looked out the window was sparks coming from around the engine. His heart leapt and he had visions of crashing and dying but the passenger next to him explained about static electricity and the like while the plane droned on.
It had been a huge year for Bob. But now that he was fit again and back in Melbourne it was back to work for a short time and then to Nyah West for Christmas. His homecoming was quite something for the small town. The family was together again and the house was full of people coming to see Bob and talk to him, offering congratulations and finding out what was happening at Collingwood and the city. And, of course, there was the social side of things as well. Local girl,Valda Eskrick, lived and worked in Melbourne and had come home for a holiday. She brought with her a friend, Elsie Rowlands, a petite, elegant young woman whose eyes were as dark and shiny as her hair.A dance was held in Nyah West Hall on Saturday night and Bob spent much of the time either dancing with Elsie or sitting talking to her. When she was on the f loor with another, he could not keep his eyes off her. He had never seen anyone like her before. He was quite smitten. After the band had packed up Bob, Valda, Elsie and a group of others began the walk home.
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Once outside the hall, Elsie started shivering in the cool night air so Bob, hovering at her side, volunteered his coat. As he placed it around her shoulders he smiled. ‘The age of chivalry is not dead in Nyah West,’ he said quietly.
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fter Christmas Bob went back to Melbourne to the Regniers and Sherrin’s factory. He also went back to Elsie who had returned to the city before him. While they had been separated Bob could not quite work out why, but he missed her.They had not spent much time together but he felt something he’d never known when he was around her, and felt something equally as mysterious when they were apart. Before leaving Nyah West, they had promised to keep in touch, and as soon as he could, Bob kept his promise. They saw in the New Year together but it wasn’t long before a new football season crept up and with it came some changes. There was a lot of demolition work being carried out in Collingwood at the time, some of it close to the factory. The condition of houses around the area had worsened and confirmed what most thought—that Collingwood was a slum area. The Housing Commission was busy tearing down houses and rebuilding them but they were hampered by the rising inf lation that was causing materials to quickly become more expensive. Although Bob noticed the work going on, he was more likely to talk to the builders about football than to spend much time on philosophy or economics. He was looking forward to a good year, especially after his start in league ranks. He’d finished second in the reserves’ best and fairest award, despite missing the last few games when he’d been promoted, and he could only improve on that. But in 1947 Bob played just eleven games of the nineteen scheduled.
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In an early season match against St Kilda at the Junction Oval, he dived to take a mark, fracturing his collarbone in the process. He missed four weeks and came back mid-season when perhaps the injury had not healed properly. An interstate carnival was being held in Hobart that year and while the state team travelled there, Collingwood sent a team to Adelaide to play a combined South Australian league side. Bob desperately wanted to play, but Jock McHale didn’t agree.The coach may not have been much of a tactician but he was a very good judge of fitness. He knew that Bob wasn’t right but somehow he was convinced that his young player wouldn’t get hurt, so he relented. Bob played in the match and, after a heavy collision, fractured his collarbone once again. No-one —not Bob, not the club and more particularly, not the coach—was very impressed.
Jock McHale was not an easy person to get to know. He was rigid and taciturn, not tolerating any deviation from his own strict rules. Any player who came up with a suggestion or an idea about playing differently was brave indeed. After all, Jock had been in charge of the side since 1913—as playing coach until 1918, then as an offfield leader. But now, over 30 years later, the consensus was that he was not the coach he had once been.The press noted that Collingwood was losing most of the close games it had once won and they tended to fade out after establishing early leads. Indeed, Lou Richards, Mac Holten and Jack Burns tried to organise a players’ meeting to gather some thoughts on what was happening, but Jock found out about it and he rounded on Lou and the others. ‘We don’t have players’ meetings!’ he thundered. ‘What are you, Commos or something!’ The meeting never eventuated. Mac Holten was involved in another altercation with McHale later that season when he stayed on the track after training had finished to practise his leading and kicking with Bob and Lou Richards. When they’d finished and returned to the rooms McHale vented his spleen.
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‘I know when you’ve had enough,’ he roared.‘You do as I tell you.’ When the team won McHale congratulated his players quietly but when they lost he stood near the top of the entrance to the dressing rooms and stared icily at each of them as they walked past. It was said that when Jack Regan, playing in the forward line early in his career, had apologised for missing an easy shot at goal, McHale replied, ‘Go and jump in the bloody river!’ Everyone called him Mr McHale. So when Bob met up with him near Victoria Park railway station while walking to the ground one day during the year, he was pleasantly surprised when the coach started a conversation. Not that it was earth shattering in its complexity but at least it was some sort of communication about matters other than football. He asked what Bob had for breakfast on game days. ‘It varies, Mr McHale,’ replied Bob, ‘mostly steak and eggs.’ ‘You should have tripe,’ the coach advised. ‘Good for you, keeps you healthy.’ He then asked if he had a scrapbook. Bob said that his mother had one of sorts. ‘Keep one,’ said McHale. ‘You’ll know why one day.’ Bob tried to eat tripe once and once only, he couldn’t stomach it. But he started a scrapbook. He wondered why the coach had offered the advice. Perhaps he could see the boy being around for a while and being written about. Whatever the reason for the chat, it helped Bob’s confidence. McHale always inspired Bob and now even more so. Every week he’d go out on to the ground ready to play well, knowing that he was fit and that his coach wanted him to do what came naturally to him. Bob heard the talk that McHale was not a tactician and even though he wouldn’t dare offer an opinion, he partly agreed. McHale couldn’t have been too bad though, after all his coaching record spoke for itself. Bob also considered that if preparing players properly was a tactic then McHale was a master at it. And he was. Preparing players was something that was vitally important and Bob knew that he never went into a match feeling down or that he wasn’t ready to play his best.And as for how they were going to play, well, Bob sorted that out with Lou Richards on the ground.
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Bob’s shoulder mended in time for him to play the last few games of the year and, with the team third on the ladder with only two games to go, he looked forward to playing in the finals again. But, in what had become typical of Collingwood, they lost those last two matches, missing the final four by just two points.
Bob mainly spent the summer waiting for the footy season to come around again. But, as usual, he went home for Christmas and when he came back he played some social tennis at Clifton Hill. And, of course, there was Elsie. Elsie Rowlands had been brought up at Tongala in the Goulburn Valley but had moved to Melbourne with her mother, Daisy, two brothers and a sister, when her parents’ marriage broke up. Her father was a cartage contractor who, at one stage, employed a certain young Douglas Nichols who would later, as Pastor Sir Douglas Nichols, become more well-known in the political, rather than trucking, scene. They lived in Brunswick where Daisy ran a boarding house. In later years, when she moved to Clifton Hill, she had young Collingwood footballers as residents. Elsie was a wonderful singer and in 1940 she joined an army revue company that toured the camps entertaining the troops around Melbourne. She was just sixteen years of age when she began and for three years she captivated all who saw her. After the war she began performing on leading Melbourne radio stations where her reputation and following grew. There were many glowing reports in the entertainment sections of the papers and tributes f lowed into the radio guides. ‘Melbourne’s answer to Judy Garland’ was one. In her own field she was as admired as her footballer boyfriend. She even performed regularly at Melbourne’s legendary restaurant, Marios. It was there that a member of a touring Italian Opera Company advised her to stop singing numbers like ‘Pennies from heaven’ and ‘Embraceable you’, and concentrate on opera. Although she loved opera, Elsie never heeded the advice.
In 1947, the year before Don Bradman was to take perhaps the bestever cricket team to England, Australia’s new cars, the first Holdens,
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were rolling off the assembly lines, and people were celebrating the end of rationing. At the same time, Bob Rose was thinking about the new football season. After the disappointing previous year, he was determined to get himself right for the 1948 season, so he took up boxing again. When he had trained at Jack McLeod’s gymnasium three years earlier, one of the boxers working under McLeod’s guidance was Al Basten. Now Basten was a trainer and promoter, and when Bob returned to the gym, he encouraged Bob to fight again. Bob wanted nothing more than to be fully fit and boxing would certainly give a good indication as to whether his shoulder was completely healed. During the summer months, under Basten’s guidance, Bob regained his fitness and early in the year was booked to fight an American Negro, Al Rodriquez, over six rounds at the stadium. It was his first fight for three years and he was extremely nervous. For Bob this was unusual but it had been such a long time and Rodriquez was so big and black. After feeling apprehensive in the changing room, Bob stood in his corner waiting to be called to centre ring for instructions. While he waited, he studied his opponent and suggested that Basten throw in the towel there and then. But when the fight began, and even though he back-pedalled around the ring for most of the first round, Bob soon showed he had lost nothing.The American was not in the same class. After dropping him to the canvas for an eight count late in the first, Bob stayed on the offensive and the fight was stopped halfway through the second. Although his handlers were buoyed by his successful comeback and wanted to him to have a few more fights during the football season Bob knew better. He retired straightaway. The training had done wonders for Bob. He started the year in good form and continued the same way, although at one stage early in the season, it seemed the boxing had worked a bit too well.Against North Melbourne at Arden Street he was involved in a collision with the Shinboners champion, Les Foote. Lou Richards said later that Bob had thrown the ‘sweetest right hand ever, it only travelled about six inches’. But Bob didn’t hit Foote.They had both been going for the ball and their heads clashed. Bob walked away with a lump rising under his eye while Les Foote
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went down for the count. Players ran in from everywhere and the resultant fight was something that hadn’t been seen for years. Bottles f lew onto the ground from angry spectators and Bob’s popularity ranked somewhere alongside the Devil. Foote was not just another footballer, he was a North Melbourne champion. A mercurial player, he was not in any way physical. Bob of course, was the exact opposite, just as skilful but extremely physical. When the clash happened no-one believed it was an accident. Umpire Harry Beitzel gave a free kick but nothing more. The hoots and the howls from the North supporters continued all game. At the end of the game mounted police, their horses dwarfing him, escorted Bob from the field. The dressing room was a sanctuary of sorts, although it was in danger of being invaded by those who were looking for revenge, so Bob stayed in the rooms until almost dark. Bill Tebble, a team-mate, stayed with him but decided to leave when he considered it safe. As he left the rooms a group of North supporters stormed forward. ‘We’ll get you, Rose!’ was the cry, to which came the urgent reply,‘I’m William John Tebble, don’t hit me!’ The crowd lost interest soon after but when Bob finally emerged he looked around carefully to make sure it was safe for him to venture out. But that wasn’t the end of it. On Monday an old boxer named Bobby Clarke walked into the offices of The Sporting Globe and said that a North Melbourne supporter had pledged 25 pounds for him to fight Bob. ‘That should suit Rose, who fought in my class at The Stadium,’ said Clarke. The paper put the offer to Bob but he declined. He knew that he had not done anything wrong, it was only his style of play that had put him in the position. He considered the matter finished. The incident didn’t seem to affect his form at all and he continued to play in the same manner. But it was to be the same old story for the Pies. After appearing to be set for the double chance, they lost the last game of the year to Melbourne, finishing in third position on percentage and having to face Footscray in the first semifinal. Early in the game Bob had plenty of the ball but couldn’t kick straight, at one stage having five points to go with his single goal. Some thought it could have been the attention he was getting from Footscray’s Charlie Sutton.
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There were some tough men around the game in the late forties and Charlie Sutton was at the top of the list. But then, every time Bob ran onto the ground it seemed that this sort of player would be looking for him. Perhaps it was the white ankle bandages he wore and his high-stepping action that made him a target. Perhaps the opposition grew more agitated because they knew they couldn’t get to him. More than likely it was simply because they knew he was good. Not that Bob minded the attention. Far from it, he thought it meant they were worried about him. And, anyway, with his style of play it wouldn’t matter who was around, he only had eyes for the ball and didn’t see the elbows and the like until it was too late. Consequently, he never fought back. He didn’t think it was required and it wasn’t the way footy should be played. One thing Bob knew about Charlie Sutton was that he was almost fair, which was subtly different to some of the others who would ferociously kick and punch behind the play. Bob had played on Sutton quite a bit over his first three years and never retaliated to anything he dished out. In the semifinal he was stuck in the forward pocket because Lou Richards, so Bob reckoned, didn’t want to have to face up to the rugged Bulldog. Bob had given himself a good talking to during the week and was determined that if Sutton was going to belt him, he would belt him back. At the start of the game the two shook hands, whereupon Bob received a knee in the thigh. Bob thought to himself, it’s early—I’ll give him another chance. Fifteen minutes later it was a whack in the stomach. Just one more chance, thought Bob, trying desperately to control his anger.Then, in the second quarter, when he copped another one, Bob threw a backhander as hard as he could which landed on Sutton’s chest. Bob wheeled around and took up a boxing stance to see if matters would progress. But Sutton simply grinned at him and said, ‘Oh, grown up, have you?’ Indeed, Bob had grown up. Even though he was twenty years of age he still lived with the Regniers and was a bit reserved, but he was learning more about the world and was adapting to it, making sure his place in it was secure. Collingwood trailed at half-time but McHale moved the injured Bill Twomey to the forward line where he kicked eight goals in the
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six-goal victory. Despite Charlie Sutton, Bob was named best afield. In the preliminary final, Bob was again a significant player and finished with four goals, but Melbourne gave the Magpies a ten-goal thumping. Once again the season was over.
Although Bob played cricket with the Collingwood district side, his main activity during the off-season was spending time with Elsie.The couple, who were now very much in love, shared weekends going to the pictures, dancing, listening to music and generally planning their future. Elsie had grown accustomed to being part of the football scene, and although it probably wasn’t her favourite pastime, she loved being there with Bob and the other wives and girlfriends. This was also the time that Bob Rose made his one and only appearance on the stage. As he did on a number of occasions, he’d accompanied Elsie and the troupe to a concert on the Mornington Peninsula.They all travelled together on a bus filled with laughter and song but when they arrived one of their number was indisposed. That meant they were short of men, so Bob was suggested as an alternative. ‘Not really sure about that,’ was Bob’s reaction, but with Elsie and the rest willing him on he reluctantly agreed. One of the troupe, Billie O’Neill, was, according to Bob, a dancer and a very glamorous and beautifully built young lady who was also quite scantily clad. Bob’s job, along with two other men, was to hold a strategically placed balloon as Billie danced past. The object was to make sure the balloon did not burst. Sadly, Bob’s exploded every time she wriggled beside him and he was not sure what caused it. This was a wonderful time for the young couple. There was the excitement of football for Bob, and for Elsie there was the joy of being able to express herself in her own way. And, of course, they had the simple pleasure of being together. Elsie worked in the office of an automotive dealer during the day and sang at night. Bob went to watch her at restaurants as well as at the army shows. One of his great joys was hearing the sound of her voice. He listened to the applause at the end of her performances and knew what she was feeling as she smiled out at the appreciative crowd. He was so very proud of this dark-eyed, raven-haired beauty.
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He spent every hour he could with Elsie during the summer months because he knew that the winters could be long for those who were not football people.
As he did each year, Bob went home for Christmas, and as usual the townsfolk surrounded him. He loved being back in Nyah West, even though his family, still in Blowf ly Flat, continued to struggle.The familiar feelings of home, the discussions in the street and at the dance in the hall were like old clothes.They fitted and felt safe. He kicked the red dirt as he walked the streets and the tracks around the town. The sounds of the bush and the smell of the trees triggered memories of a childhood that was gone forever. He took a footy home as he did on most occasions when he returned; one that he had been able to secrete away from the prying eyes of the property stewards. His younger brother, Ralph, idolised Bob and, even though he was only five years old, Bob loved to kick the footy around with him. As they were exchanging drop kicks out in the dusty street one afternoon, a quizzical Ralph turned to Bob. ‘Did you used to live here once?’ he asked. Bob laughed. But it reminded him of how long it was since he had left home and how young he was at the time. It also reminded him— not that he needed it—of the importance of his family.
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he summer passed quickly and it wasn’t long before pre-season training started again, which meant separation for Bob and Elsie on Saturday afternoons, with one exception. When they first met Elsie thought Bob was ‘a nice young boy’, but was concerned that he was a footballer and more particularly, a Collingwood footballer. She barracked for Carlton. When Bob was out with his broken collarbone, and in what he considered to be a magnanimous gesture, he went with Elsie to watch the Blues play Richmond. As they stood in the outer Bob closely watched the scores being posted on the scoreboard that showed that Collingwood was being thumped. Others had noticed as well. A voice f loated down through the crowd.‘Things aren’t looking too good out there, Bob!’ Bob was shocked. All he’d done was go with his girlfriend to see her footy side and this was happening. It brought him back to reality. ‘What on earth am I doing here?’ he thought. Even though the banter was friendly, he was still worried that he might be open to criticism for not fully supporting his team. But those thoughts were quickly forgotten when training started and his brother Bill came to Melbourne. Collingwood had been keeping an eye on Nyah West, knowing that Bob had four brothers. In 1949 they sent a letter home, inviting the second of the Rose brothers to train.
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Bill Rose came to Melbourne, was signed up and before the season began, moved down to lodgings that Collingwood had arranged for him.Towards the end of the year he moved to Pop and Jess Regniers’ and shared a room with his elder brother. Bill was a very young seventeen year old, and Bert and Millie were happy that if he was to leave home then at least he was going to have his brother around as well as the Regniers. Collingwood had hoped Bill was going to turn out like his brother but they were wrong. Bill himself knew as much. He started his career battling along in the reserves and never appeared destined for greatness, which prompted Jock McHale to approach him one night at training. ‘Why aren’t you as good as your brother?’ he asked. It was a surprising comment, not only because of the almost accusatory note but because Jock had never previously spoken to Bill at all.‘I don’t know,’ replied Bill, casually. ‘I’m just not.’ Although they lived together, they had separate jobs, so it was only after training and in the early mornings that the two brothers saw each other. They were always good mates, but when Bob would head to the dances at the Collingwood Town Hall with the Richards brothers, Bill would stay at home. Bob kept an eye on his brother and helped with advice when he needed to but Bill mainly fended for himself. They knew they had each other if necessary but Bob had his own agenda already set. He was not satisfied with his first three years at Collingwood and knew that he could do better. He wanted more from his career and 1949 was to prove that he could get it. The season began with a story in the papers about Collingwood having eight sets of brothers in the club. There were the Twomey, Richards, Hams, Smith, Cummins, Chard, Neeson and now the Rose brothers. Unusual, to say the least, but it did prove that the Magpies looked at the families of all their players, just in case. Bob started with a best-on-ground performance against North Melbourne with five goals and followed it with another best afield against Melbourne. From then on it was one good performance after another. Collingwood’s small trio of Bob and the two Richards brothers, Lou and Ron, were called ‘the Woodpeckers’ and the opinion was that with them the Pies could win the f lag. There was one criticism
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however. The pundits thought that the small men needed some protection and that Bob, especially, was being knocked around with very little retribution extracted by the bigger players in the side. It didn’t matter to Bob and he continued his good form against Essendon and kicked one of the goals of the year in the last few seconds enabling his side to win the game by a point. This game was the first time the Magpies were able to see the new Bomber star, John Coleman, in action. This young man, who could rise into the air without any effort and kick goals from any angle and from any distance, amazed Bob, who thought that he was simply the best player he’d ever seen. The game was quite unusual in that Essendon appeared to be in control, apart from when Collingwood kicked six goals in the last few minutes before half-time and again when they added four more before time-on in the last quarter. And when Bob kicked the sealer just before the siren, they stole what was a most improbable victory. Most teams by now were on the lookout for Bob Rose, especially Essendon. They not only had Harold Lambert who gave Bob a hard time, they also had a bloke by the name of Fred Gallagher. On one visit to Victoria Park, Gallagher was making Bob’s life particularly difficult.The crowd was giving it to Bob as well, something he’d never suffered before. ‘Why don’t you bring on Horwood,’ came the shouts from the outer. Ray Horwood was one of those players who would never be a champion but who would always be a club favourite. He was the smallest player at Collingwood and spent a lot of time on the reserves’ bench but the supporters loved him. Now they wanted to see him in action. All this was completely foreign to Bob. ‘I can’t get a kick,’ he complained to Lou Richards at half-time. ‘Don’t you worry about that,’ replied Lou. ‘Just leave it to me.’ Halfway through the third quarter Bob raced past Lou with Gallagher in hot pursuit. Bob got past but Gallagher didn’t. He hit the deck and when he staggered to his feet he wasn’t bent on retribution as Bob thought he might be, he was too busy looking for his teeth. The goal umpire rushed out and admonished Richards.‘If you do that again I’ll have to report you.’ But nothing was ever going to come of it.The umpire was a bloke called Mick Rooney, the cousin of Richards’s mother.
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The incident inspired Bob. No longer harried by the close attention, he kicked six goals in the second half as Collingwood charged to victory and the barrackers changed quickly from booing him to shouting his name for the rest of the day. The game marked the start of six successive victories for the Magpies.They were second, heading into the last round and appeared set for the second semifinal. All they had to do was win and they would finish on top but again, they faltered. St Kilda, who was to finish second last, defeated them by nine points and they dropped, as they had the previous year, to third place on percentage.
Since he’d moved to the city the years had passed quickly for Bob and, when his 21st birthday came around just before the finals, he considered himself a city boy rather than one from the country, although he did retain his love of the bush. The club held a small gathering in his honour after training, where a huge birthday cake made a brief appearance and lasted as long as it took the team and the officials to sing the birthday song. This was an important time also for another reason. It was after reaching his majority that Bob had asked Elsie to marry him. After he proposed to Elsie, he visited Daisy at the Clifton Hill boarding house, asking her permission, which she gave gladly. Bob and Elsie were from different backgrounds and their interests were somewhat at odds, but the love they shared would overcome anything that was put in their way. Both were strong-willed, loyal and determined that no matter what happened in the years ahead they could, and would, lean on each other.
In the first semifinal of 1949 Collingwood suffered another disappointing end to a season when Essendon walloped them by almost sixteen goals, with Coleman kicking a bag full. However, Bob’s reputation was only enhanced during the year. Players such as Charlie Sutton admired him and he was known and respected as a very tough player. But during that period, the VFL was full of tough men. Most of them were average or ordinary players but Bob was different, an exception to the rule.As well as being tough, he
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was also skilful, fast, went hard at the ball and was not a ‘behind-theplay hitter’ like some. He was becoming the complete footballer and those in power at Collingwood knew it. At the end of the season he was awarded the Copeland Trophy for Collingwood’s best and fairest player. This was one of the most coveted trophies in football and signified the recipient as being among the game’s elite.When the award was announced Bob thought about his first game, then his first final when he played in front of those huge crowds. He remembered the times when the game was at its toughest and the injuries he’d suffered. He thought about Nyah West and the men who played with him there. It all seemed like nothing compared to this. If he dreamed about it when he was a boy kicking the jam tins around, then it was just that—a dream. Now it was real. He was here and club president Syd Coventry was handing him the trophy and speaking glowingly about him. It was hard to come to terms with. Although Bob was always inwardly confident, he didn’t know others thought about him the way they did.That would have been presumptuous and Bob Rose was not that. He was honoured, obviously, but also humbled.This was much more than he ever imagined possible. But, as good as it was for Bob, the ending to the season had left a large number of Collingwood’s members bitterly disappointed and they made their feelings known to the committee. The players were also angry that no official end-of-season function had been arranged, so they held their own in the backyard of a boot manufacturer in Fitzroy.This only added to the problems between members and committee and the issue was to be brought up again the following year. The members were important to Bob. After all, it was their club as much as anyone’s. In his second year at the club Bob had arrived early to watch the reserves, and as he walked into the ground, he noticed that every seat was taken, every bit of grass occupied and it was pouring rain.These people had braved the rain and arrived early to support their club. Bob gazed around the ground and knew then that he would never take the field without giving everything he had for the people who came to watch. These were men and women who worked in the factories around the suburb, one of which was the knitting mills whose bleak brick walls towered behind the Yarra Falls end of the ground. Each afternoon when the players trained, they heard the knock-off whistle
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sound and thousands of grey-coloured figures spilled out of the factory gates and strode in snaking lines along the streets towards the railway station. On Saturday afternoons when the Pies played at home, a significant number of workers would not catch the train but instead would line up waiting for the Victoria Park gates to open before they rushed to the best spot on the grassy hill that overlooked the southern side of the ground. Others, who were club members, went to the social club at one end of the Ryder Stand before they emptied out onto what was known as ‘One-Eye Hill’. Here they could vent their spleen on opposition players, rival supporters and, most importantly, umpires, safe in the knowledge that everyone within earshot agreed with them. A day watching their team beat any one of the other inner suburban rivals was something that made the week complete for these men and women.This was their life—working in the factories, trying to make their family life better and watching their football team. These were the people that Bob knew were important, the faithful who made the club what it was.
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A leader is born
ock McHale had indicated he would retire at the end of the 1949 season but he was persuaded to stay on until his successor could be named. Bervyn Woods, coach of the seconds, had been promised the job, but when Phonse Kyne indicated that he may have to leave Collingwood to fulfil his ambition of becoming a coach, there was an uproar. Kyne was a legend around Victoria Park. A champion player, the winner of three successive Copeland Trophies, an interstate representative and team captain for the previous four years, he was the choice of the people. If he left Collingwood there would be a riot. When McHale eventually announced his retirement during the pre-season practice matches of 1950, the committee called for applications, stating that a non-playing coach would fill the position. Kyne retired from football and applied, but the committee voted in favour of Woods, much to the chagrin of the members. And so began the first of many upheavals that would mark the years Bob Rose spent at Collingwood. Petitions were drawn up, special meetings were held and accusations f lew thick and fast around the club—all just before the season started. It was too much for Bervyn Woods who resigned, hoping to stop Collingwood from self-destructing. He had been coach for just five days.
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The committee then appointed Kyne but the members wanted more. They wanted the heads of some of the executives, which, after a specially convened meeting, they duly received. Eventually the season began but it was not to be a good one for either Bob or Collingwood. They won only half their games and finished well down the ladder. Bob was not happy with his performance during the 1950 season. At the end of the year he thought he had wasted it, even though he had knee and groin injuries as an excuse for his poor form. He considered he had become big-headed. He thought he had got ahead of himself and had started to believe all the publicity. His poor form, he knew, was a result of not doing the things necessary to perform at his best. If anyone else had been criticised as Bob criticised himself, they would have crumbled. But Bob Rose was not your average, ordinary man. He marked himself very harshly. But not everyone agreed with him. In 1950 Collingwood’s recruiting had landed a young man named Thorold Merrett from Cobden in Victoria’s Western District. The skinny but skilful sixteen year old had been placed on the supplementary list but he soon made his presence felt. There were two people he admired more than any others. One was Bervyn Woods, who continued to coach the reserves despite the handling he received from the club, and the other was Bob Rose. Merrett saw the effort Bob put into his football and, being a country person, he gravitated to him. Bob didn’t have to say anything; just being in his presence was enough for Merrett. There was a lot to learn about footy and Merrett learned a lot of it from Bob.When he eventually played in the seniors, there were many times he heard the crash of bodies behind him as he sped along the wing with Bob protecting him from would-be assailants. ‘You keep going for the ball, Thorold, you’ll be right,’ was the advice. Typically, Bob didn’t thrust himself in front of anyone; he quietly stayed in the background and offered advice when he thought the young players needed it. That was a rather strange position to find himself in. Here he was, not yet 22, offering advice to other players. But Bob had changed. He had become a leader, someone who others would follow without
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really knowing why. He possessed intangible qualities that attracted others to his side. Perhaps it was his uncomplicated view of life. Perhaps it was his inherent fairness. Bob thought that passing on information was the way it should be—he had received help when he needed it so he needed to give it when he could. One Tuesday night at training Bob approached Merrett. ‘I’ve been watching you in the games and I reckon you’re running to the wrong spots.We can have a chat if you want.’ Merrett was only too keen and his game improved dramatically afterwards. At the end of the year the club recognised that while Bob wasn’t the best player that year, there were other ways he contributed. Ways that made players like Merrett more comfortable when he was around. But no matter how bad he thought he was during the season and no matter how depressed he was because of it, everything changed when the year finished. On 4 November 1950, Bob and Elsie married. The wedding was a typical family affair with parents, brothers, sisters, uncles and aunts from both families gathering to celebrate. Bert and Millie, with their finances more settled now that Bert was recovered and back at work, spent the weekend in the city. The bride, resplendent and obviously euphoric, was given away by her brother Len, a rat of Tobruk. It was a joyous occasion. One of Elsie’s aunts made what was described in a report of the wedding day as ‘a magnificent wedding cake’. The only downside appeared to be a piece of confetti that lodged in Elsie’s eye. One of the guests at the wedding was a man who had joined Collingwood about the same time as Bob. In 1946 long-time secretary Frank Wraith had indicated his intention to resign and the committee decided to interview over 30 men who could possibly do the job. One of those invited to apply for the position was the young Gordon Carlyon, who had returned from the war and was a Collingwood man through and through. After his interview, Carlyon was advised that no decision would be made for three weeks but to his surprise the next morning the papers announced him as the new Collingwood assistant secretary, a position he was to hold for six months, after which, all being well, he would be made the full-time secretary.
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Bob had played two reserves games when Carlyon joined the club and the two men soon struck up a firm friendship. Carlyon also had a friendship with John Wren and acted as a go-between for him and the players. Wren often rang Carlyon on Sunday morning for a match report. If he had been at the game he would discuss the best players but if he hadn’t been there he wanted a kick-by-kick description. Carlyon would oblige and he knew that his advice sometimes helped a player receive the handshake that contained the much-wanted tenor even 20-pound note. In 1950 Carlyon purchased the Collingwood Sports Depot at 223 Johnston Street from Collingwood supporter Bob Arrowsmith, but he realised that he could not run it as well as be the full-time secretary of the club. Shortly before that, Bob had approached Carlyon for some help finding somewhere appropriate to live after he was married. ‘You can live above the shop if you want to come into business with me,’ suggested Carlyon. Bob quickly accepted the offer.The two men came to an arrangement that divided everything down the middle and Bob became the owner–manager of Bob Rose’s Collingwood Sports Store. From then on life became hectic for Bob and Elsie. The couple spent many hours preparing their new home. Layer upon layer of wallpaper was removed, paint was splashed around, f loors were scrubbed and the little furniture they possessed was scattered through the rooms on the ground f loor or hauled up the narrow, curving stairways. But some of it was enjoyable—it was the start of a big adventure. Finally, two weeks before they were married, one of the buildings he had studied on his walks around Collingwood became Bob and Elsie’s new home. One of the first pieces of furniture to arrive after the wedding was a pianola. It stayed in the big family room downstairs and it wasn’t long before many a party full of song and laughter was held for the Collingwood footballers. It had been agreed that Bob Arrowsmith was to run the store while the newlyweds were away on their honeymoon in Adelaide. But before the honeymoon there was the wedding night and, being Melbourne Cup weekend, there was nowhere to stay. Eventually the couple found a room at the Ritz Hotel in St Kilda—not the most salubrious of places but at least they could be alone.
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As Bob and Elsie were settling into their new life, Tom Sherrin was berating Gordon Carlyon for pinching his valuable staff member. But Bob had been looking around for some time. He had been working at the factory for over four years and he knew he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life stitching footballs. He was grateful for the time and consideration the Sherrins had given to him, but he needed to move on. It wasn’t only the Sherrins who had lost Bob. He had been with Pop and Jess Regnier for the same time and while they were happy for him, they were also sad to see him go. The sports store was a huge step forward for Bob. His business knowledge only extended as far as selling his rabbits and vegies back in Nyah West, so he was on a very steep learning curve. But there was help. Bob Arrowsmith stayed on for a month after the couple returned from the honeymoon, and helped out with Bob’s business education. Then there was Bill Jacobs, a representative from the Melbourne Sports Depot, who spent time explaining the pitfalls of buying stock. Bob was grateful to Jacobs for his guidance because there could have been an opening for someone less scrupulous to take advantage of an unsuspecting young man in a new business venture he did not understand. He was also helped by Lou Richards who owned a pub and who was now a businessman in his own right. Buying may have been a bit difficult at first but selling was no problem. Even though it wasn’t football season, people were queuing up to buy their sports gear from one of the Collingwood football heroes. Coming to Melbourne from Nyah West to the Regniers’ house had been a big change for Bob.The first few months in the shop were different again. There was only a tiny backyard which the sun hardly reached, no garden to speak of, an outdoor toilet which was sometimes difficult to reach after negotiating the narrow stairs, a back lane that was a sliver of cobblestone between the brick walls of the buildings and the company of rodents both large and small. Bob opened the shop each day and, apart from training nights, closed it at around 5.30 p.m. On Saturday mornings the shop opened until noon when Bob would head off with his Gladstone bag, either catching a tram to away games or walking down to Victoria Park.
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When Bob went to training early and Elsie was left to mind the store, she was amused by some of the antics of the customers. By her reckoning she sold more football boot stops than any other outlet in Melbourne. Strapping young men would come into the store. ‘Oh,’ they’d murmur, ‘oh, is Bob here?’ ‘No, sorry,’ Elsie would reply. ‘He’s gone to training.’ ‘Oh, oh, well, I’ll have a dozen footy stops please.’ She knew full well they were after an athletic support, a jockstrap.
In the early summer of 1951, after a few months of living together, Bob and Elsie became more accustomed to their surrounds.They had created a home for themselves and while it wasn’t all they wanted in life, they were reasonably content with their lot. Shortly after their marriage Elsie gave up her job to help out in the shop. She also told Bob she was giving up singing. Bob couldn’t hide his disappointment. He tried, but nothing he could do or say would change her mind. He was disheartened that someone he loved so much was giving up something she loved, for him. At the peak of her career, a family member had informed her that as a married woman she now had other responsibilities and she should look to those. Elsie told Bob that she was now a wife and would one day be a mother, and that was what she had to concentrate on. He attempted for quite some time to talk her out of her decision but that was that as far as Elsie was concerned. Bob was left with a feeling of guilt he would always carry.
With the disappointment of the previous season behind him, Bob set out to return to his best now that he was settled and happy. During the 1951 season Bob played mainly in the centre, as Bill Twomey, the player who usually filled that position, was either injured or filling in around the ground.Thorold Merrett and Des Healey were the wingmen. Healey had been another of Bob’s admirers since he joined the club in 1948. An exceptional player, he was also one of Bob’s closest friends. He was a groomsman at Bob and Elsie’s wedding and Bob was his best man a few weeks later—Healey had delayed his own wedding until the newlyweds had returned from their honeymoon.
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Early in the season Bob was as dominant as ever but the other two were not far behind. The word was out. Stop the Collingwood centre line and you’re on the way to victory. Or, more particularly, stop Bob Rose. In the fourth game of the year the Pies played Essendon. Windy Hill was always a tough place to visit and Essendon, as with most teams, liked nothing better than beating Collingwood. And they had a score to settle, or so they thought. Bill Hutchinson was a champion rover for the Bombers and was, according to the Essendon fans, untouchable. In an earlier match between the sides, Bob had been running at the ball in a different direction to Hutchinson. Both arrived at the same time and Hutchinson was felled. Bob was adamant he had not thrown any punches, that it was his shoulder that caught Hutchinson and knocked him out. It was a common theme with Bob. The way he went for the ball meant that every now and again there would be casualties—not because of any untoward tactics but because when bodies clashed the way they did when Bob was around, occasionally someone would be hurt. Bob tried to explain that he had the utmost respect for Hutchinson, both as a player and a man, and would never resort to punching him. He’d played interstate football with him and thought they were mates. But Hutchinson didn’t believe him and whatever friendship they had was lost. Now Essendon wanted to even the score. As the ball was about to be bounced, the Bombers’ centreman, Alan Dale, called out, ‘So you’re the shining Magpie star! Well, you’re not going to shine today.’ Umpire Jack McMurray heard the remark and looked around to find Bob f lat on his back. He couldn’t do anything because he hadn’t seen it happen and even though he kept an eye out during the game, there were quite a few other incidents he didn’t see. Actually it wasn’t Dale who did the thumping; one of the ruckmen attended to the job. He did it a couple more times during the game too. But Bob didn’t think anything of it and besides, he was becoming used to it.There was always someone looking to add the scalp of Bob Rose to his belt, either in retribution or because they thought they were tough. None really succeeded.
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Even though the Pies were well-beaten by the Bombers, Bob still starred, as he did for most of that year. It wasn’t only his tackling and his bumping. It wasn’t only his pace and cleverness. Or his ability to pass the ball unerringly by hand and foot.Added to all those traits was his ability to kick the ball long distances.A Rose dropkick or torpedo punt from 70 yards or more marked many a match. Lou Richards often told him to kick for goal when Bob was considering where he should pass the ball.
At the end of the home-and-away games Collingwood was in second place on the ladder, equal on points with Geelong but with a lower percentage. They were a game clear of Essendon in third place. Bob, completely recovered from his bad previous year, played in scintillating fashion during the season. His reputation was becoming even greater, although his tear-through style gave him problems with soreness and injury. In most games he was included in the best players and was nearly always amongst the team’s goal-kickers. In the second semifinal Collingwood was f logged by Geelong, after having beaten them in both matches during the season. They then faced Essendon in the preliminary final, winners of the previous two f lags and participants in six successive grand finals.The Pies were reasonably confident as the Bombers had lost their trump card when, in one of football’s most celebrated tribunal hearings, John Coleman was suspended for striking Harry Casper of Carlton during the last of the home-and-away games. There had been a rumour that John Wren had bribed Caspar with a couple of racehorses to thump Coleman so as to get him reported and rubbed out for the finals. That was fine in theory, but in reality it would be an extraordinarily hard thing to do, even for Wren, who could organise most things. It was a rugged game with tempers f laring and physical attention handed out constantly. Bob was in the thick of it. After being comfortably ahead for most of the day, the dreaded preliminary final troubles came back again to Collingwood.They were five goals up ten minutes into the last quarter, when Lou Richards was knocked out and had to leave the ground.Then Bob went down with cramp and a late burst by Essendon brought them to within four
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points with a minute to go. A last, surging Bomber attack resulted in a goal just before the siren sounded. This was a huge disappointment to the Magpies who were becoming increasingly frustrated at their lack of success. Sure, they were up there most years but they were used to premierships and their last grand final appearance was in 1939. But there was some hope. Their team was the youngest of any finalists so they could be expected to improve considerably in the following years. Whether or not they could overcome their finals hoodoo was another matter entirely.
At the presentation dinner Bob proved his pre-season determination to improve his game when he won the Copeland Trophy for a second time, and with it another 200 pounds courtesy of John Wren. But in the off-season Bob was looking forward to having something much more precious than anything football could offer him. Elsie was expecting their first child. Christmas came and went and the couple prepared for the arrival of their baby. Bob played the occasional game of cricket with Collingwood as well as tennis at Clifton Hill but most of his time was spent in the store.Then on 6 February 1952, the day that King George VI departed the world, Robert Peter Rose entered it. Bob was a proud man. Proud and excited.The birth had been relatively easy and Elsie and the baby were both well. Robert’s arrival meant that Bob had someone else to spend time with and he felt confident in his new role—he’d been through some of it before. Being the eldest child he had looked after his younger siblings, changing nappies and feeding them. It was not generally considered to be a man’s role in those years but when Bob had to get up in the middle of the night, he didn’t consider it strange or unusual.To him it was natural. In the weeks after the birth Bob and Elsie showed off their new son to anyone who was around. Elsie was proud that she had produced a son and heir and Bob was looking forward to kicking the footy and playing cricket with him.
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n 1952, while Great Britain was busy preparing to detonate its first nuclear bombs on an island just off the coast of Western Australia, Melbourne was preparing for a new football season with the explosive Bob Rose at the forefront. By this time Bob Rose was a household name. He embodied all that was good about football and was recognised as being a good human being as well. His robust playing style was well-known, but it was his self-effacing, dignified manner that endeared him. With someone else it could have been construed as false but somehow everyone knew that Bob Rose was a good bloke. Other clubs and their supporters admired him, begrudgingly or otherwise. Even opposition players who had felt his fury seemed to like him off the field. Bob had learned about the truths of the game. He knew Vince Lombardi, the revered American Football coach, was right when he spoke about ‘conditioning, spartanism, defence, and violence as distinct from brutality’. He understood that there was an inherent degree of violence in the game. There had to be, merely because of the way the game was structured and played. But Bob was never brutal. It wasn’t in his nature and, importantly, he knew the difference. The Collingwood team at that time was passionate about wanting to win and the players would do almost anything to that end, but some were prepared to go further than others. If they were getting beaten then someone would start a fight or take out one of the opposition’s better players.
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But that was not the way of Bob Rose.Yes, he was tough, but he was also fair. He went for the ball unf linchingly and woe betide anyone in his way. This caused him to suffer with injuries but never once during his career did he intentionally raise the fists that he’d been trained to use so well. At Victoria Park they were almost unbeatable.The supporters were loathed by the opposition and, almost without exception, if you didn’t barrack for Collingwood you hated them.
The 1952 season was an improvement for the Magpies. They had a new captain in Lou Richards and their small players in Healey, Merrett, the Richards brothers and Bob created more than a few headaches for the opposition. But, like all the other teams that year, they were still no match for Geelong. Collingwood was a game clear in second place when the finals started, but in reality they were a long way behind the Cats, who were the team of the year without question. In the second semifinal the Cats won by nine goals, relegating Collingwood once again to the preliminary final. However, this time there was a better result with the Pies beating Fitzroy.The game was marked by heavy clashes with the more physical Fitzroy side throwing everything at their smaller opponents. This was not the way Collingwood was used to playing—most of the time it was them dishing out the punishment. On the Monday after the game The Argus reported that ‘the Lions struck hard and often with their main weapons—weight and force’. But the Magpies stood firm, and when the match was in the balance Bob dominated for at least fifteen minutes, kicking three goals and helping out with another two. At one stage he seemed to be playing Fitzroy by himself. By sheer will he made sure his team got over the line. Even in the spiteful closing minutes he kept the Pies attacking. While others concentrated on the fights, he was still looking for the ball. But the win came at a cost—there were only sixteen players in black and white still fit and standing at the end. The grand final was an anticlimax with the Pies struggling with the class, speed and all-round capabilities of the Geelong side.They were game though, none more so than Bob, who struggled in vain to
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inspire his side. At one stage he was in the hands of the trainers when the ball came close by. He jumped to his feet, collected the ball and slammed through a goal before returning to receive more treatment. The Magpies were well-beaten. At season’s end Bob won his third Copeland and another sum of money from John Wren who had a habit of giving money to the star. More often than not, on a Monday morning during the football season an expensive chauffeur-driven black car would drive down Johnston Street and pull up outside Bob Rose’s Sports Store. Wren would then get out, stroll into the store and chat for a minute or so before handing Bob a sum of money. It was certainly a handy addition to the meagre amount of money Bob was receiving from football and the small profits that came from the store. But the store was progressing well and Bob was learning more about business. He was also learning quickly about being a father.
Geelong was, once again, the team to beat in 1953. They started off the way they finished the previous year—as winners. But this was to be the year of Collingwood and Bob Rose. Perhaps it was the settling effect his wife and son had on him. Perhaps it was because he was free of injury.Whatever the reason, he began the year playing the sort of football that only he could play. After a match against South Melbourne, Hec de Lacy wrote in The Sporting Globe that ‘South was not butchered by Collingwood, they were taken apart by football’s master surgeon, Bob Rose’. By round fourteen Geelong had been unbeaten for 26 games and were four games clear on top of the ladder.Then Collingwood visited Kardinia Park and gradually wore the Cats down in a very physical encounter. At half-time Geelong was looking as though they may continue on their winning way but Bob stalked around the rooms, yelling at the rest of the players as they went out for the second half. ‘We’re only two goals down, let’s get stuck into them!’ Two weeks earlier Fitzroy had beaten Collingwood by a point and coach Phonse Kyne had asked for a special effort for the rest of the season. He was now getting it. After Bob’s outburst the Pies rallied. They still trailed by two points at three-quarter time but they booted four goals to one in the last term to end the Cats’ streak.The Geelong
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game marked the beginning of a run of victories for the Magpies and although the Cats still finished the year on top, the Pies could see they were not invincible. The finals were eagerly anticipated. All the talk in football circles was of how Geelong was expected to win straight through to the premiership. But they had reckoned without Collingwood. And without Bob Rose. The win over Geelong during the year had proved to be a turning point for the Magpies who believed that they had the Cats’ measure. In the second semifinal Geelong allowed Collingwood to draw them in close and play a hard slogging game. This was where Bob was at his best.The Cats either tried to knock him around with unfair tackles or they gave him too much latitude. Both these tactics were unwise. Bob played his usual game.Wherever the ball was he was sure to follow and if he had to knock people over to get it or to protect a team-mate who was after it, then he would do so. The first to fall was Bernie Smith who was poleaxed by a typical piece of Rose attention. Smith jumped up and showed his displeasure and, while he and Bob had a fierce altercation, the umpire awarded Smith a free kick, much to Bob’s frustation as he thought the bump was quite legal.After that Bob received a few free kicks himself as Geelong went after him. Some commentators and most Cats fans thought that Bob should have been reported, but anyone who’d examined the photograph of the incident would have seen quite clearly Bob’s elbow tucked into his side. It was another case of presumed guilt. Halfway through the second quarter Geelong had a handy lead but Collingwood struck back just before half-time. Then with the Cats kicking seven straight behinds to start the third term, Collingwood was in with a great chance as they had last use of the breeze. At the last change Bob was exhausted and sore but delivered three of the six goals in the last quarter, his efforts seeing the Pies get home easily to secure a berth in the grand final.
Grand final week was a slow one for Bob. Saturday couldn’t come quickly enough. There was a constant stream of well-wishers visiting the store and the crowds at training were huge.
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There were wild scenes at the MCG before the start of the match. Almost 90 000 fans had jammed into the ground—500 more than the Health Department thought safe—while thousands more tried to get in. The gates were closed at 12.30 p.m. after which time some fans tried to scale the concrete wall around the ground. While they were trying to get in, hundreds of others were trying to get out, demanding their money back because they couldn’t even get a glimpse of the ground. Police were under strict orders not to let anyone invade the playing arena but when thousands did so they were powerless to stop them. Instead, they patrolled in front of them, much of the time on the ground itself. The space between the boundary line and the fence was crammed with spectators and players cannoned into them quite often during the game. When the ball neared the boundary line, the players fought amongst cups, paper and other rubbish, and the boundary umpires hardly ever threw the ball back into play from the correct position. The Pies, badly weakened by injuries, were the underdogs but they played with the spirit that was expected of a Collingwood team. Peter Lucas, Frank Tuck and Jack Hamilton, three key defenders, missed the game with injury and Jock McHale, now a selector, put another, George Hams, through a fitness test of sorts. Everyone thought Hams was fit to play but McHale grabbed his hand at training and shook it vigorously. ‘Not right, is it George?’ he said. It wasn’t, but Hams was chosen as nineteenth man anyway, spending nearly all the game on the bench. One of the moves that did pay off was that of Ron Richards from half-forward and roving to a wing. McHale may not have been coach but he still had enormous power as a selector and the move was his suggestion. This was one time that his tactical acumen, which was doubted in some quarters, came to the fore as Richards played the game of his life. Unbalanced and patched up in places, Collingwood held Geelong early before a torrid third quarter gave them a five-goal lead which Geelong could not overcome. Even though Geelong kicked badly and Collingwood stopped to almost a walk towards the end, most pundits acclaimed it as a deserved victory. Ron Richards and the Pies champion
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wingman Des Healey were equal best on the ground, closely followed by Bob Rose. The emotion that followed the siren was obvious as the players charged around congratulating each other.This was their just reward for all the years of heartache when the team had made the finals but had gone without the ultimate success.Thousands of supporters tried to storm the rooms and a few succeeded. Much later, when the crowds eventually departed, the players were taken away for a formal dinner. In an interview a few days after the game Syd Coventry, Gordon Carlyon and Phonse Kyne said they were not sure just how good the Magpies really were.They believed that the next year would be even better because they had so many reserves who had played well during the year. One or two writers suggested that Collingwood had about ten class players with a bunch of ordinary ones who had the will-towin syndrome down pat. But the three men simply replied that the team had beaten Geelong three times in succession this year and the Cats were supposed to be the best team of all time. Bob had played his best football ever during the year. Some critics described him as the best player in Australia; others suggested he was the greatest small player to have played the game; some simply said he was the greatest ever. After the grand final, Jock McHale was moved to announce, ‘Bob Rose must be acclaimed as one of the greatest, if not the greatest, player to ever wear the black and white uniform.’ And the praise went on. Hec de Lacy writing in The Sporting Globe, said that Collingwood won the premiership because they had, ‘the greatest team builder in Australian football—Bobby Rose. Rose has the happy knack of making Muldoons play like champions. He vitalises defences, rucks or attacks as occasion demands.’ He went on to say that ‘Rose intelligently links rovers, centres and forwards. He can be likened to a man who posts letters and then races ahead to accept delivery.’ De Lacy pointed to the Geelong game earlier in the year. ‘Players were given the ball by Rose and had to do no more than swivel and pass it back as he raced past.’ It had been seventeen years since Collingwood’s last premiership but it came at a cost. Jock McHale suffered a heart attack the day after the grand final and died a week later. John Wren’s heart gave out a day
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later although he managed to survive for another month. The loss of two of their most prominent personalities was a huge blow to Collingwood and the club was in mourning for weeks. At the end of the year Bob joined the immortals at Collingwood when he won his third consecutive Copeland Trophy. It was his fourth win in all and he became the first player to achieve that milestone. But trophies were just about all he got. Even though he was unequalled as a player, Bob still only received five pounds a week.And while he undoubtedly deserved a raise, Collingwood was not willing to pay one player any more than another, which resulted in the loss of many good players over the years. The Coulter Law was in force at the time, a sort of early salary cap, whereby clubs were not allowed to pay a player more than five pounds a match. But there were ways and means, mostly underhanded and undisclosed. Other clubs used them but Collingwood didn’t. Or rather, when it suited them, they didn’t. Gordon Carlyon was authorised by the club to offer 1000 pounds to John Coleman to sign on when he was making his mind up where to go. Coleman eventually decided against it but it showed that Collingwood occasionally shunned their own standards and made up their own rules. Bob Rose never asked for any more money, nor did he consider himself overly hard done by. Indeed, he had been handsomely rewarded for his efforts. Not only did he share in the generous bonuses for the premiership from supporters such as the Wren family, he won 200 pounds for the Copeland win and shared 100 pounds in The Sporting Globe award for the year’s best player. Yet none of the money came from the club. He never said anything to anyone but he was becoming a bit disillusioned. Nonetheless, the year couldn’t have been much better for him— the premiership, another Copeland and in the first week of the finals he had finished second in the Brownlow Medal. To be recognised by the umpires as a fair player was of utmost importance to Bob. Some followers of the game thought his tough approach trod the fine line between football and thuggery. But to have the officials condone his actions meant that not only was he one of the best players running around, he was also one of the fairest. Brownlow Medal night was a big deal that year in Nyah West. Bob was the favourite so a gathering of football lovers was held in
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the small Rose home, where a large radio stood imperiously at the junction of the two main rooms.The usual pot of saveloys boiled away on the stove at one end while a glowing fire of mallee roots warmed the rooms at the other.The crackling voice on the radio was cheered every time a vote was read out for Bob Rose, and although they were disappointed with the result, they drank to his health anyway. And so a perfect year ended. Bob put aside any mercenary thoughts and chided himself for entertaining them.
Robert and Elsie now occupied Bob’s time. Robert was eighteen months old and already Bob was concerned about the lack of space. Their small backyard had little room for father and son to kick the footy and even though Robert was too young yet, Bob could see the problems that would arise. He was very aware of his commitments to his family. But football-club culture appealed to Bob. It was something he was used to. He enjoyed being around his mates even though he now had other responsibilities. He wanted the best for Elsie but there was nothing he could do when it came to Saturday afternoons. Collingwood, in much the same way as all the other VFL clubs at the time, was not a place for women. Not that they had anything against them but it was a predominantly male atmosphere.Women sat on the old slatted wooden seats of the grandstands in the cold and dark, waiting patiently and dutifully until the men appeared after the game. If they were lucky they would be invited back to the rooms later on, but never straight afterwards. At one time the ladies were not even allocated a seat and had to arrive early if they wanted a good view. In later years, the club did allocate a small area for them, and Elsie and the other ladies, although not completely happy with the situation, accepted it and enjoyed each other’s company. During the season, Bob had sportsmen’s nights and club functions to attend as well as all the everyday happenings at the club, but his strong family background ensured that he became more of a homebody than ever before. In the off-season Bob spent as much time with Elsie and Robert as possible.The shop took most of Bob’s waking hours but there was
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still time for the occasional trip to Nyah West, a game of tennis, an outing to the park or just a quiet weekend at home.
1954 was a season of missed opportunity and bad luck for both Bob and Collingwood. The fight for finals places was the fiercest it had been for years. With only four games remaining the Pies were on top of the ladder, but proceeded to lose all four to finish eighth on percentage. In fact, they were never lower than second before being struck by the injuries that played a big part in their downfall. Eight of their top players missed those last games, five of those with broken bones. It was an eventful year for Bob. Early in the year he twisted his knee, which not only left the team despondent, it also had the football writers wondering if Collingwood could be any good without him.Then later a severe groin injury, sustained in the interstate match in Perth and aggravated in Adelaide on the return journey, kept him out for over a month and restricted him when he did come back. Those were the first games Bob had missed for a long time. He had played 117 consecutive games and was annoyed that he couldn’t continue.
Interstate trips had caused problems for Bob right from the time of that first one to Kalgoorlie in 1946. But playing for Victoria was the ultimate. To play alongside other champions and be coached by ‘Checker’ Hughes, the master tactician and coach of the Melbourne Football Club, was something he looked forward to each year. The selectors liked to have him in the team because he added a dimension no-one else could. His skills were second to none, his style of play was suited to interstate rivalry and his long kicking made him a hard man to stop. Every once in a while the other states won a game but mostly it was Victoria that prevailed.They had by far the best team even though they were not all home grown. Victoria picked players who were playing in the VFL no matter where they had been recruited from. Almost invariably,Victoria won. Even though they didn’t like getting
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a beating, the other states accepted it because it gave their football followers a chance to see Australia’s best players. Bob played his first match for Victoria in 1949 in their huge victory over Western Australia at the MCG. He was named among the best and after that he was usually one of the first picked. It was during these games that he learned about tactics. ‘Checker’ Hughes would tell him where to stand, where to run, and why. Hughes conducted meetings with the players where strategies were discussed and set plays put into place for how to handle opponents and how to react in certain situations.These were revelations to Bob who suspected that his football knowledge was no longer being advanced under the coaching of either Jock McHale or, when he took over, Phonse Kyne. Not that he was ever disloyal to them. To the contrary, he was loyal to a fault, but his active mind needed feeding. Bob Rose was not an ordinary foot soldier, he was a general. The lessons he learned were stored away for future reference. Some players fade on the big stage while others simply move up.With Bob, the bigger the stage, the better he played. In 1951 the VFL were to play two games against Western Australia at Subiaco. Selection policy at the time dictated that there were two representatives from each of the clubs. This meant that some good players missed out on their just reward. It also meant that if a player from one club wasn’t playing as well as might be expected, then not only could they be dropped from the state team but it also meant that others could miss out because of the two-player rule. In the first of the games, to avoid any of those problems, players such as Richmond’s Bill Morris and Don ‘Mopsy’ Fraser, and Fitzroy’s Alan ‘Baron’ Ruthven combined with Bob to make sure they all played well and stayed together as a group. In the second game Bob was best afield and was rewarded for his efforts by being presented with a huge box of chocolates. Even allowing for the paltry pay that was the order of the day, this was a shock. But they were duly passed around and consumed amid much mirth. The players looked forward to the trips away. Matches at the MCG were good but trips across the continent were better socially. Some of the players played as hard off the ground as on it. Even Bob.This quiet, unassuming young man soon found his place amongst the older, more worldly types. With his ever-present grin and twinkling eyes, he was
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one of the first football pin-up boys. His photograph, with hair smoothed by Vaseline Hair Tonic, appeared in many a publication’s advertising. In all he played seventeen times for his state and was amongst the best players on most occasions. The 1954 trip, however, came at a cost. During one passage of play in Adelaide he had been confronted by three players when they were all pursuing the ball. The first and second were dispatched with no problems but the third was a huge ruckman who stood his ground when the two bodies clashed. When they returned to Melbourne, doctors officially described Bob’s problem as torn fibres of the pelvic muscle that would be cured mainly by rest. He returned to training before a match against Essendon and moved well while running but when he attempted to kick the pain caused him to leave the track and once again he was sidelined for a further three weeks. He was under constant medical treatment, both from the club doctor and a Collins Street specialist, but nothing worked. Jack Dyer, legendary Richmond strong man who had become a writer on the game, suggested that without their ‘pin-up boy’ the Pies could have problems. ‘Rose is the player who pulls the side together when it is failing . . . his absence could mean the difference between success and victory.’ And so it was. Whenever the Pies played with him they were a different side. Without Bob, their spirit, their attitude and, of course, their skill and toughness, were diminished.Without him they were still not to be taken lightly, it was just that Bob added so much more to the team.
While Bob was out injured he had time to think about Collingwood and where it was headed. Thoughts from the previous year returned. Even though he had departed, Jock McHale was still casting a big shadow over the football club and Bob thought one legacy from McHale was that Collingwood didn’t keep up with the times. Not that he thought that McHale was at fault. He admired the man enormously. He respected him for what he had done but he also knew that the club needed to change with the times.A new committee had been
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elected after the upheaval of 1950 but nothing had changed—they still did the same things the same way. Recruiting was still a problem. Even though they had won the f lag, Bob could see problems ahead. Other clubs were investing in their future by spending money on recruits but Collingwood would have none of it. Being allowed to don the black and white jumper, not money, was thought to be incentive enough for anyone. Gordon Carlyon, who did most of the recruiting, had his hands tied to an extent unless the committee decided, without anyone else’s knowledge, that they would pay some money. Carlyon was one of the first recruiters in the league to actually go and meet the player he was trying to recruit when previously a written letter had done it all. He was a man ahead of the times but even he was restricted by the club’s policies. But club politics never affected Bob’s play. When he was on the ground nothing entered his mind except the game. This was just as well for the Pies as they had come to rely heavily on him. In the home game against Carlton on 5 July, Bob showed just how much he meant to them. Games between the two inner-city rivals were, more often than not, violent affairs. It was almost guaranteed that fights would erupt during the game and accusations of stomping and kicking f lew back and forth.This game was one of the worst. Collingwood’s centre half-back, Neville Waller, was keeping his opponent, Max Wenn, quiet. Consequently Carlton were becoming increasingly frustrated at their lack of attacking power. Carlton captain, Ken Hands, decided he needed to take action, which he did by knocking Waller out when he arrived late at a marking contest, after which Wenn came into the game a bit more. The umpire was Bill Barbour who, even allowing for his relative inexperience, was making a lot of mistakes.This was one more. He let the incident go without a warning or a free kick. Frustrated at the lack of action, Bob turned to him and said, ‘Well, Bill, I reckon anything goes from now on.’ It wasn’t long before an opportunity presented itself. Bob ran through Wenn, fairly, and carted him, as Lou Richards suggested later, about ten yards along the grass. Then it was on. One of the biggest all-in brawls that anyone could remember. Players rushed in from
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everywhere and while Wenn was sprawled on the ground, Bob had to protect himself from all angles. Barbour lost control and started to walk off the ground with the intention of abandoning the game. But Richards, thinking quickly, grabbed the ball and told him to give a free kick to Collingwood and get the game going again. Which he did. Taking their example from Bob, the Magpies steamrolled home and won by over nine goals. But then at training, Bob’s injury recurred and he missed the last six games. His season and Collingwood’s ended miserably in seventh position on the ladder, a far cry from what so many had predicted. But the disappointment of football gave way to the elation of family when Elsie told him that he and Robert were soon to have company. As wonderful as the news was to Bob, it also made him think more about where they lived and how he could make his family more comfortable.
In 1955 Bob was one of the old timers in the Collingwood team, one of the veterans even though he was still short of his 27th birthday. A fit and firing Bob Rose was one of the reasons the early choice for premiers that year was between Collingwood, who had regained all their best players after the summer’s rest, and Melbourne. The previous year had seen the start of a new era of domination. Even though Footscray had beaten them to win their first premiership, Melbourne had played in the first of what was to be seven straight grand finals.Their intense rivalry with Collingwood had begun. Bob had been receiving treatment all summer on the groin injury. He tried to play cricket on one occasion but the pain the next day was too great to continue. A course of tablets was prescribed which helped to build up strength in the muscles, and by Christmas, when he returned to Nyah West, he played tennis and the pain had gone. A few more games were played over the ensuing days and there was still no pain. Bob was now confident that he’d soon be fit again. At one stage it was thought that he may have to retire but an X-ray showed that the condition was improving and that he would probably take his place in the side for the season opener against Footscray.
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In the pre-season practice matches and on the training track he moved freely and showed all his old pace and vigour. But Collingwood was concerned about their dependence on him. It seemed that every week he was their best player, or at least close to it. The team functioned better with him and whenever Bob was missing the tipsters picked the opposition. Even though he was still young, he was wearing out. He used his body as a battering ram. His biggest strength—his bravery—was also his vulnerability because he would automatically go where very few others had ever gone. He’d put his body into situations where others may have backed off, all the while suffering the beltings from those less brave souls who preyed upon the ball player. He had never conserved his energy, which was fine in the early years, but now the constant pounding was taking its toll. Crashing through packs and through the opposition like a ruckman when he had the build of a rover was going to cause problems sooner or later. He even tried to rough up big men, although he rarely succeeded. In one match against Fitzroy he had kicked a goal when Butch Gale, the Fitzroy tough man collected him with an elbow. Although Bob received another kick, thus becoming one of the few players ever to score two goals from the one incident, he was a mess when he went in at half-time.Trainers were not inclined to let him return to the field but Bob insisted, tearing himself away from their grip and storming back into the fray. Soon after he charged into Gale, who brushed him off. Then he tried again but had no more success. Gale simply whacked him again, whereupon Bob saw the error of his ways and gave up on seeking revenge.
Early in 1955 there was one match in particular that signified Bob’s importance to the side—the day he was captain of Collingwood for the one and only time.That he was never elected captain or even vicecaptain is one of those imponderable Collingwood things. Not that the man himself thought anything of it or coveted the position at all. Besides, according to Bob, there was already a queue of well-qualified players for the position. Bob’s injury hadn’t healed as well as he’d hoped and he missed the opening game of the year when Footscray thumped Collingwood. Then in the second round, captain Lou Richards and vice-captain
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Neil Mann were missing due to injury when the Pies travelled across town to Arden Street to confront North Melbourne. Much to his delight Bob was installed as acting captain for the day and proceeded to show all and sundry how he led from the front. Rarely has a footballer dominated a half of football so completely. In a devastating first quarter, he booted five goals—one a torpedo from about 70 yards out and another a drop-kick from the same distance. Much later Thorold Merrett remembered standing behind him as he lined up the kick and listened as Bob cajoled himself into success. ‘Bob,’ Merrett heard him say, ‘You’re captain, you’ve got to kick this.’ Even though Merrett admired him immensely, this was something else again. It showed him the lengths Bob Rose would go to for the good of his team. In the second quarter he kicked another two goals and the game was over by half-time. His inspirational play slowed towards the end of the match, a legacy of missing early training because of his groin injury. Late in the game he fumbled a few times, which was understandable as he’d played the equivalent of two games in the first half. Bob never captained the side again but in that one telling game showed what he meant to the club.
With ten successive victories to kick off the year, Melbourne was rightly considered to be f lag favourites, but at finals time, there was only one game between them and the Pies. Bob had missed the last six games of the year with a bruised knee that was constantly swollen, preventing him from training or kicking at all. The Magpies seemed to have no hope for the double chance, especially with their captain, Lou Richards, retiring on the eve of the finals. Still, they were hoping for results to fall their way. Richards had been a valiant servant of Collingwood and his retirement was handled strangely, to say the least. He had mentioned to Phonse Kyne at the start of the year that if he felt he wasn’t holding his form and was letting the side down, he’d give it away.When he’d made up his mind he approached Kyne at training and said that he had come to the conclusion that he’d retire. ‘OK, Lou,’ was all Kyne said and went about his coaching business. Before the finals started the papers discussed every star for each of the participating sides. There was one player everyone wanted to
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write about. Whether it was journalists such as Hec de Lacy, Ken Kerville, Alf Brown and Hugh Buggy, or personalities such as John Coleman, Jack Dyer or Syd Coventry who wrote occasional columns, they all agreed that Bob Rose was the best player around. And they had another name for him, the first time that it had been used: ‘Mr. Football’. With Geelong losing unexpectedly to Carlton in the last round, the Magpies managed to finish second and faced Melbourne in the second semifinal.To test his knee, Bob participated in a half-hour nonstop match practice on Thursday before the game and was selected. However, Phonse Kyne told him explicitly to stay out of trouble on the field. ‘Don’t get involved Bob, whatever they do to you, you have to cop it. Don’t retaliate.’ Kyne must have sensed what was going to happen because the game was a torrid affair played in the mud and rain. The Demons threw everything at Bob, their captain in particular. Noel McMahon was over six feet tall and weighed in at around fourteen stone, quite a bit bigger and stronger than Bob. He knew that Bob Rose was the key to Collingwood. Stop him and it would go a long way to ensuring a victory for his side. So he crunched him. As Bob hit the turf his coach’s words came back to him and when he got up, he walked away. It was a hard thing to do but he needed to stay fit. Not that he would have gone looking to square things up but there were a few opportunities during the game to dispose of McMahon legally, which Bob ignored.The wet conditions took the edge off the Magpies’ pace and the Demons won by eleven points. The preliminary final against Geelong was marked by Collingwood surging ahead and the Cats fighting back. It was also marked by a Bob Rose trademark goal in the second quarter—a huge torpedo that sailed through from 65 yards out, lifting the side as it usually did. Now fitter than he’d been for a while, Bob was in the thick of the action when he was suddenly f lattened while the ball was on its way downfield. This time it was at the start of the last quarter. Trainers rushed to his aid but by the time they arrived at the scene he was on his feet, waving them away. A few minutes later he had the ball again and threaded through a snap that meant the Pies were home.
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The 1955 grand final was memorable for a number of reasons. It was not quite as wet as the two previous weeks but it was just as fierce. For a while the Pies’ pace and clever play meant they were in with a strong chance of winning. Phonse Kyne had again told Bob to stay out of trouble.‘Don’t look for it,’ he said. ‘It’ll find you.’This was true enough. Halfway through the first quarter Noel McMahon ran 40 yards and f lattened Bob again after he’d disposed of the ball. The critics said it was a perfect shirtfront but Bob knew it wasn’t. The lump that was fast rising on the back of his head told him that. He knew that McMahon would never come at him front-on, preferring instead to be just out of vision when he made his move. But the blow had its consequences. Even though he was still one of Collingwood’s better players, Bob didn’t have his normal inf luence on the game. At three-quarter time the Pies were still in it, at least on the scoreboard, with only seven points separating the teams. But, after kicking the first goal of the last quarter, Collingwood was held scoreless for the rest of the game while Melbourne kicked another five. Ten minutes before the end, one of the worst collisions ever in football occurred when Melbourne speedster, Bluey Adams, raced onto the ground from the reserves bench. He hurtled towards Des Healey, who didn’t see him coming.Adams dropped his shoulder and crashed into the Magpie winger at a fearsome pace. Healey suffered horrendous facial injuries and both players had to be stretchered off. Adams, although knocked out, played another ten years for the Demons but Healey’s football playing days in the big league were over. But that wasn’t the end of the action. Bob decided that enough was enough and thought he’d settle a few debts. He clashed with McMahon in the centre of the ground and, for the first time in his career was about to unleash his other sporting talents when umpire Harry Beitzel stepped in. ‘Do you want to play the first game next year?’ he asked as Bob had his fists cocked. Whether it was that question or whether it was Bob’s inherent decency that stopped him from thumping McMahon was unclear, but the Demons’ skipper escaped his full fury. A few minutes later, when
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the final siren sounded, Collingwood had lost by nearly five goals. The 1955 grand final was Bob Rose’s last VFL match.
Even though the business was going well, Bob knew that he wanted more. Not more money, although that was a concern, but more family life, more space, and more for Elsie, Robert and his new son, Peter, born during the 1955 football season on 8 June. Peter’s birth was different from Robert’s, and more difficult. He weighed in at eleven pounds two ounces and was 23 inches long. Elsie had a hard time during the birth and there were complications, but eventually Peter emerged fit and healthy. Now the proud parents had double the reason to be concerned about their home. They had two fine sons but no space. Bob was tired of living in Collingwood. Tired of listening to the trains that rumbled incessantly across the bridge a few doors down. Tired of having a backyard so small that his young son could kick a football from one end to the other.Tired of climbing stairs every night and day. Elsie felt the same. She watched her eldest son as he stood in the shop and named all the cars as they trundled along Johnston Street. Remarkably for one so young, Robert knew the different makes of car by sound and appearance when he was just three years old. Peter was too young to be inf luenced by his environment but both his parents knew the time would come soon enough.Bob and Elsie yearned for some openness, a bit of peace and tranquility. They discussed their situation at length. Then, to hopefully relieve their discontent, Bob approached the club for some help in finding a house for them. He thought it would be simple. They would keep the shop, have space elsewhere for the family and Bob would keep playing with Collingwood. Even though he was having trouble with injuries, he was still regarded as the best player in the game and he was still young. He considered that he had at least another six or seven seasons of good football ahead. Bob’s concerns were not only about money, although he considered that the club should change their attitude and reward their better players. He was torn between loyalty to the club that had given him so much and being what he considered to be a proper provider for his family.
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When he spoke to the club, Collingwood would have none of it. They stuck to the policy that they could not do more for one player than another. Bob couldn’t understand them. He was receiving the same remuneration as a first-year player who had played only one game. It wasn’t that he wanted the earth, simply a bit of help. And it wasn’t as if he didn’t deserve it. As well as his actions and ability on the field, he set a good example off the field. During the year he had been rewarded with an extra two guineas for not missing a night’s training. But no matter what he said and regardless of his value to Collingwood, the club held firm. It was to prove a costly decision.
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WANGARATTA 1956 – 1962
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t the end of 1955 Collingwood travelled to the west once more to play two exhibition matches. The first was against a combined South Australian team in which they were crushed by eight goals. During the game, several of the Magpies came to blows with their opponents who were roused by the rough tactics and kicked nine goals five to three points in the last quarter. Then, before the second fixture against Perth, coach Phonse Kyne told the players they had disgraced themselves and their club and that they needed to redeem themselves.Although they won the game, the press were scathing in their criticism.‘The exhibition of football provided by Perth and Collingwood at Subiaco Oval on Saturday was so dismal it is unlikely the WAFL will sponsor any more end of the season appearances by Victorian teams.’ But Bob Rose impressed the critics. By far the best on the ground in both games, Bob continued the form he always showed when playing interstate football on the hard and fast grounds. And it was not only the critics who liked what they saw.A delegation from the East Perth Club contacted him before the team returned to Melbourne and offered him 40 pounds a week to move to the west and coach them. They also offered to help him set up a delicatessen shop in Perth. The deal would have made him probably the highest paid footballer in Australia.
A
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Even though the offer was tempting, Bob considered that to move his family so far away was too big a step to take. Besides, another offer, closer to home, had been put to him.
The Wangaratta Rovers Football Club was officially formed in 1945 as a means of providing football for the young men who were not already associated with the town’s main club, the Wangaratta Magpies. The Rovers, also known as the Hawks, played in the nearby Ovens and King League until 1950 when they were admitted to the expanding Ovens and Murray League, one of the strongest in country football. At the time there was considerable ill feeling between the town’s two clubs, especially when it came to signing players. Accusations of underhanded tactics f lew thick and fast, but in the end, most of the better players would head to the Magpies, who were a force in the league having won a string of premierships. The Rovers were the poor cousins when it came to attracting players. The club struggled in the early years but they were well-run by men such as Frank Hayes, Len Hill and Jack Maroney, and at the end of 1955, they decided that they would have one grand attempt to try and progress up the ladder. The first item on their list was to secure a big-name playing coach, so the men decided that they would go right to the top and work their way down. And right at the top was Bob Rose. Even though they thought there wouldn’t be much chance of luring Bob to Wangaratta, they kept the promise they had made to themselves and contacted him. They journeyed to Melbourne and presented Bob with an offer of 35 pounds a week for the role of playing coach, as well as helping to open a sports business. Now Bob had a problem. Was he going to sit in Melbourne and grizzle about things or was he going to do something about it? Then, where should he go? Which offer should he take? Indeed, should he go at all? He decided to visit Wangaratta and see what the town had to offer for his family. He set off in his old Singer but the trip was destined to fail. On the outskirts of Melbourne was a notorious mountain known as Pretty Sally. The best cars of the era had to drop back a couple of
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gears to climb the hill, but even after speeding towards the hill f lat out and dropping back to first gear, Bob found the Singer did not have the necessary power to reach the top. So he coasted back down, returned to Melbourne and organised alternative transport. Although it wasn’t uppermost in his mind, he couldn’t ignore the fact that here he was, the best player in the country, playing with the richest club in the land, driving a car that could not get up a hill. A few days later he borrowed a suitable car, made the trip and, after he and Elsie discussed their dilemma, they finally came to the conclusion that he should ask Collingwood for a clearance to the Wangaratta Rovers but also offer them a way out. Bob had made his mind up that if Collingwood didn’t make some effort to help him, if they didn’t give him a pay rise or look after him with a house, then he would leave. He knew he’d be in demand and he thought, quite reasonably, that the club he’d served with distinction would be amenable to his request. But their answer was concise. No, they wouldn’t. He then approached Gordon Carlyon and asked if he could speak to the committee. Carlyon organised for Bob to attend a meeting and, once again, Bob put his concerns to the members. He told them about the offers he’d received and how he was considering his future with the club.The committee simply replied that they would like him to stay. Bob loved Collingwood. He’d shed blood and driven himself into the ground for the club.There was no more he could give. Nothing. All he wanted was something in return. His loyalty was being sorely tried but any discussion that he had was only ever between himself and the club. No-one else—not the other players, not the media, not his closest friends—knew what he was going through. The more the club refused to budge, the more determined Bob became. His family came first. If he was appearing to be mercenary to some committee members then it was only because he wanted the best for his wife and sons, both financially and for their way of life.Wangaratta offered both. Collingwood could have offered both but chose not to. Eventually, with his mind made up, Bob asked for a clearance.
Now that the decision was made Bob was going to see it through, no matter what. When he gave his word to the Wangaratta Rovers,
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that was it. Although he eventually received a contract he didn’t really need one. When Bob Rose gave his word that was better than any contract. A few weeks later, the same delegation drove back to Melbourne from Wangaratta to meet with the Collingwood committee, who informed them that they wouldn’t clear their star. After they had departed, Bob was ushered into the room to discuss the proposal.The only forthcoming offer was that the club would appoint him captain for the next year if he stayed. That annoyed Bob even further. How could they think being captain would solve everything? It would have been an honour, of course, but it wasn’t enough and he refused. At the end of the three-hour meeting the committee was deadlocked. Gordon Carlyon announced to the press that the decision was delayed a week and that the committee could not grant a clearance until after the annual general meeting.There was amazement in some quarters that Collingwood was being so tough with their best player. ‘ “Mr. Football” should be cleared,’ said one paper. ‘Clear them,’ said another, as it wasn’t only over Bob. Des Healey, because of the horrific injuries he sustained in the grand final, had also applied for a clearance to a club in the same league,Wodonga. One report in the papers begged the club to let them both go. They had been loyal and faithful servants over many years and they deserved to be released. The following week, the committee voted to clear Healey and before they took a vote on Bob’s application, Carlyon told them that they couldn’t really clear one and not the other. Collingwood lost two of their best players in one night. The other players were astounded when they found out. Thorold Merrett thought it unbelievable that the club could let someone like Bob go.
With a three-year contract in hand, Bob’s first job was to sell the sports store, which he did by coming to terms with Gordon Carlyon and Thorold Merrett. Once that had been completed he set about the task of moving his family from the inner suburbs of Melbourne to the wide-open spaces of the country. Physically, it was easy, but emotionally and mentally, it was difficult.
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Although there were things he wanted for his family Bob was also giving up his public image. He was used to the crowds and the adulation that went with being a star. Not that he sought recognition, indeed he mostly rejected it, but it was always there, lurking in whatever he did. In Wangaratta he’d be famous, no doubt, but to only a few thousand people. But his self-imposed obligations as a provider outweighed his sense of loss. It was difficult, too, for Elsie. She was much more a city person. Everything she held dear was there and close by—the music, the buzz of the crowds, the roar of the traffic. Elsie had also known the adulation of a crowd. She knew what it was like to be cheered. But she was also tired of living in Johnston Street, and although she went to Wangaratta with some trepidation, she supported her husband and agreed that they should swap their city life for one they hoped would be easier.
True to their word, the Rovers had been busy organising a sports store for Bob. One of the more prominent helpers was Manny Cochineas, a small Greek fish-and-chip shop owner and an ardent Rovers committee man who owned a vacant shop that was to be leased for that purpose. Cochineas, however, was concerned that his premises was a bit out of the way so he helped Bob negotiate with Alex Sinclair, the owner of the local sports store in the heart of town, to purchase his business. Bob regarded that as a big step and proof that the Rovers were keen about his success. He knew that not many would sacrifice their own profit for the sake of a football club, but Cochineas did. The date for the takeover of the shop was set at 28 December 1955, but it was the middle of the month when the Rose family moved into a small house in Lamont Street, in the back blocks of the town. Known as Yarrunga, this was the housing commission area of Wangaratta and was not the most respectable of places to live. Even Johnston Street looked good in comparison. This was a place that Elsie dreaded. One of her great loves in life was listening to the radio and she spent hours in Melbourne tuned in to her favourite shows. Whether it was Graham Kennedy, a serial on
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the ABC, the news or a concert, Elsie was addicted. In Wangaratta, she soon discovered that Melbourne radio did not exist. Now there was nothing for her except her family and a life completely foreign to her. There was one thing that kept her sane, however—the Challman family. Hughie Challman was a barber and he and his wife, Mavis, known by everyone as Auntie Chall, had lived two doors down from Bob and Elsie in Johnston Street. Originally from Wangaratta, they had returned soon after the Roses moved and purchased the barber’s shop near the sports store. The families’ close friendship continued as though it was never disturbed and they spent many long hours in each other’s company.Whenever she was lonely or when Bob was attending to his football club duties, Elsie could find solace in someone of a like mind. The week the family moved to the town, the local paper ran a photograph of Bob under a headline that said, ‘Mr. Football for Wangaratta Rovers’.The last part of the story was prophetic:‘As Wangaratta Rovers’ coach he will be a great driving force for years to come.’ It also noted that ‘A reception to welcome them to the town will be held at St Patrick’s Hall next Friday night’. Christmas came and went with the Rose family not quite settled. It was a strange time, being in a different place with different people from those they were used to. Even though there was still a tree and there were presents for the boys, the safety and security of the world they had known was gone. Soon enough though, pre-season training was on the agenda. As fate would have it, one of Bob’s old adversaries, Essendon’s Alan Dale, had been coach of the Rovers the previous year and had returned to Melbourne. As an ex-league player, Dale had left behind a few of the traits that Bob wanted to instil in his players, but there was still a lot to do. There were some around the club who thought Dale’s efforts were less than impressive, but when Bob took over, the whole place changed. Supporters rallied to the cause and recruiting was never easier. Potential players came from miles around to be coached by the legendary Bob Rose, and when any player who could be on the move was heard about, Manny Cochineas and Len Hill would pick up Bob and drive hundreds of miles to sign them up. Bob knew what he wanted for the football club and set about
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getting it. Young players were needed, young men who could be trained and coached the way Bob wanted them to be, schooled in the Bob Rose way of football. Pace and skill were other prerequisites and a footy brain would help as well. Bob had seen plenty of players who could perform all the basics correctly but still couldn’t play football. The club was right behind him.They’d spent a lot of money on him and there was no point doing that if they were not going to give him the tools he needed to become a force in the league and to win a long-awaited premiership. They knew that would be a difficult task since most of the teams in the league were competent with some who were outstanding.The Ovens and Murray did not have the reputation of being the strongest league in Victoria for nothing. The archenemy was the Wangaratta Magpies.The dislike the clubs had for each other was intense. Indeed, when Bob received his contract stating he was to be paid 35 pounds a week for 24 weeks, there were other interesting stipulations. One was for him to carry out ‘at least twelve lectures in each season in the practice and theory of football and its tactics’. Point twelve stated that after the termination of his contract, for a period of five years, he was not allowed to coach or play for any team representing the Wangaratta Magpies. If he did he would be liable to pay the club, ‘the sum of five hundred pounds as and by the way of liquidated damages’.
The Rovers had shared the Wangaratta Showgrounds with the Magpies when they had been formed, but on training nights the Rovers’ players would crawl through the fence and train on the old disused council reserve next door, separated from the main arena by a row of giant pine trees and the livestock pavilions.The local council eventually gave the ground to the Rovers but only on the proviso that the football club used their own money to fix it up. The Magpies, though, had it all over the Rovers. Coached by Bob’s team-mate at Collingwood, Mac Holten, they had been runner-up the previous season and prior to that had won four f lags in a row. Holten had kept in touch and when Bob was deciding his future, and in what Bob thought was a strange move, Holten had tried to dissuade him from moving.‘Don’t come to the Wangaratta Rovers,’ was the advice he gave when Holten rang one night,‘they’re a Catholic Club.’
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What that really meant in the whole scheme of things, Bob wasn’t sure. He had been brought up to believe that people were people and their skin colour or religion were of no concern to him. Of the two clubs, Holten’s Magpies had by far the biggest supporter base, the most money and the best players. But Rose’s Rovers were catching up. They now had the best player in country football, their committee was running the club well and interest in the club was growing with Bob’s new signing. Everything was going according to plan and, in what was a radical move for the time, Bob and other leading figures at the club cultivated that interest. There was a strong ethnic community around the town and on the tobacco and dairy farms there were people who had never heard of football. Even if they had, they had no wish to be associated with it. But Bob and the others changed that. His was a recognisable name and the new Australians began to talk about the new coach. They met him and liked him and called him ‘Bobby Rossa’. After a chat with Bob, many were persuaded to join as members, citing the family atmosphere as a reason along with the feeling that they were joining a club that would soon be successful. And they were. Not only on the field but off it as well.Training was always well-attended and when the first practice match was held 1000 spectators turned up. There was a little disappointment, however.Two weeks later in the final practice match, Bob was injured and had to sit out the opening game of his new career. His first appearance came in the third round when he led the Hawks to their first victory under his leadership, and who better to beat than Wangaratta. It was a huge boost to both Bob and his charges and for the rest of the season they played inspired football. But making the finals was not easy and they had to win nine out of their last eleven games to scrape into fourth spot. Although wellbeaten by Benalla in the first semifinal, the Hawks were a vastly improved side, including the second eighteen, who had also made the four. For a few years the reserves had found it difficult to win a game, but with the recruiting plan snaring a few top senior players, they also became stronger. It was a huge boost to morale and there was tremendous enthusiasm
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around the club. When Bob was announced as the Rover’s best and fairest for the year, he knew he had gone someway to repaying the faith the club had shown in him.
At the end of 1956 the football club purchased a small but neat brick house in Swan Street, near the ground, so Bob and Elsie could leave Yarrunga.There was never a more relieved couple than the Roses on the day they moved in.The business was progressing well and by and large, life in the country, even for Elsie, was good. It became even better when a new couple moved in next door. Kevin and Shirley Campbell and their four children soon found an affinity with the Roses. Kevin, manager of the local Holden dealership, was a keen Collingwood supporter and had grown to love the Hawks because of the Bob Rose connection. Shirley soon discovered that she and Elsie had a lot in common. The two families spent many hours together, especially on Sundays. They drove up into the Warby Ranges for barbecues where they could listen to the happy sounds of their children echoing through the silence of the gum trees as they discovered exciting new worlds among the forest f loor.The trips lasted until nightfall and, after the boisterousness of the day, the drive home was usually quieter with the kids asleep in the back. They also enjoyed a place called the Willows, where the kids could swim and the adults could lay back, enjoying the sun and the peace. Kevin loved the tranquil days on the Ovens River trying to entice fish to submit to his patience and go home with him. He had to go fishing by himself though as his mate couldn’t keep still long enough. There was always something else to do, mostly football-related. The two men had many a discussion about the game and Bob often sounded Kevin out about things. Sometimes their discussions went on for a number of hours and became more liquefied the longer they went. After one finals match, the pair stayed out very late and when they still had not returned home at dawn, Elsie and Shirley drove around Wangaratta in their dressing gowns trying to locate their mischievous men. On returning home they found their respective husbands in bed. Bob said later that he’d come out of the house he had found himself in and thought the moon looked fairly bright.
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Kevin, who was swaying next to him, told him it was the sun, so they decided they should go home.
The 1957 season could be regarded as a success in one way, but in another, it was not so good.The Rovers lost only one game from their last twelve of the year but still missed the finals. Bob knew that this was a tough league. But the supporters and the club believed in their future.They knew that Bob Rose was the person who would make all their efforts worthwhile. When he won the best and fairest for the second time the club knew that what they had spent was warranted. Family life was also good. Even though the boys were still young they went with their parents to football: Peter, still very much a youngster in the care of his mother and Robert constantly by his father’s side. Elsie, although still unconvinced that Wangaratta was for her, joined the ladies’ committee, selling pies and afternoon tea from the canteen, at home matches.
In 1958, the Centenary Year of Australian Rules Football, everything came together for Bob and the Hawks strolled through the year, losing only four games by a total of just 25 points. Bob was in a class of his own on the field.‘Brilliant’,‘irrepressible’, ‘dynamic’ were all words used to describe his play during the season. Even though there were other ex-VFL players in the league, Bob was a step up even from them. They won the second semifinal against Wodonga, coached by Bob’s old mate Des Healey, by just six points—and they had kicked atrociously. Even Bob, normally so reliable, kicked six straight points before he registered a goal. In the grand final the teams were to be matched again,Wodonga having beaten Yarrawonga the week before. Bob had been quiet, by his standards, in the previous meetings of the teams, but everyone knew he was the key to the game. Most football followers in the league, especially those from Wodonga, knew as much.They realised that Bob had set himself for the match. The town of Wangaratta had done the same. During the week hundreds of the opposition Magpie supporters had visited Bob Rose’s
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Sports Store to wish Bob good luck. This was, after all, still a team from Wangaratta. On the Saturday of the game, hundreds of Hawks supporters climbed aboard a train they had hired for the day and set off for Albury. As the train made its way to the station there were brown and gold streamers hanging from every window and a huge cut-out hawk attached to the front of the engine. However, there was one sour note. At the Wodonga station a number of dead birds were hanging from a line that had been stretched along the station’s verandah—hawks. But, as distasteful as that was, it only served to harden the team’s resolve. A record crowd of some 18 000 packed into the Albury Showgrounds, almost doubling the gate takings for any previous league match. The scores were close at quarter-time and the Hawks led by a couple of goals at half-time.Then Bob Rose took hold of the game. John Rice, writing in the local paper the next day stated,‘Never have I seen a player lift a side as Rovers’ coach Bob Rose did on Saturday. Rose was an inspiration to his team and spurred his players on to heights that even the most one-eyed supporters never thought possible.’ At half-time Bob stirred his players with a rousing speech, reminding them how far they had come and how they would feel at the end of the match if they could find something extra. They responded magnificently. With their inspirational coach leading the way the Hawks stormed to victory by over eleven goals. Two towering 70-yard goals from Bob started the onslaught and the rest of the team followed. At the end of the game Bob was chaired from the field amongst thousands of supporters who had seen their club win their first ever premiership. But during the euphoria Bob displayed his usual attitude to people and spared a thought for Healey. When Healey visited the Hawks’ rooms to make the traditional speech, Bob spoke to him brief ly, assuring him that he knew how he would be feeling.The two men’s handshake was firm and friendly.
The train trip back to Wangaratta was a slow one. Banners f lew and streamers filled the air, and there was loud and sustained cheering from hundreds of fans at every station they passed.When they reached
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their home station they were met by the town’s brass band.The band struck up a tune and they were soon joined by hundreds more fans and the whole mob marched from the station to the ground where they were met by an even bigger crowd. Over 3000 people celebrated and their hero was one man, Bob Rose.The party continued for the whole weekend and was still in full swing on Monday morning. Four bullocks were killed and barbecued and many, many kegs of beer were drunk. There was one group who had to look after themselves during the weekend though.The reserves had been unbeaten all year but a draw earlier in the finals series had caused their grand final to be put back a week. This was another legacy of Bob’s coaching. Everyone counted at the club. His nurturing of young players was something that had paid off over the previous two years and a dual premiership was now quite possible. And that’s what happened when, in a hard-fought game in terrible conditions, the seconds won by just two points. The ‘Centenary Double’ was one thing but when Bob won the Morris Medal for the league’s best and fairest player, the season was complete in its glory.
Bob had watched with a degree of envy as Collingwood won the 1958 VFL premiership, but he had made his choice and was content with that. If he wasn’t before the start of 1958, Bob Rose was certainly the most talked-about footballer in the district at the start of 1959. Not only had he won the club’s best and fairest in the first two of his three years and been runner-up in the other, he had also won the local paper’s award for the player of the year in 1956 and 1958, he was the league leading goal-kicker in 1958 and had won the Morris Medal. It had been, even for Bob, a big three years. His training methods were the talk of the league and local youngsters would go to training just to see what guernsey he would be wearing. It was a thrill for the young boys to see a genuine South or Western Australian jumper that Bob had swapped for a Big V. In a two-team town it was difficult sometimes to maintain a balance between supporters, but Bob worked hard at becoming friends with all sports people, no matter who they played for and what sport they
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played. Bob Rose’s Sports Store had become the place to go for a yarn about football, or any other sport for that matter. He had gone out of his way to cultivate friendships with all sporting clubs in the area and supplied many of them with equipment. Even supporters of the Magpies frequented the business. But things were about to change. In the previous years Bob had moulded his team into a strong, tough outfit that played with passion and skill. New players, even though they took time, eventually settled into the team’s style of play and 1959 was no exception. Bob’s efforts in the first three years of his coaching career had not been lost on the opposition and tactics were devised to try and control Bob’s inf luence on the game.The Rovers had lost several players before the start of the season and did not perform too well in the early matches but ended with eleven consecutive wins to top the ladder once more. During the year in a match against the Magpies, Bob, who had worked so hard at public relations, had an altercation with Bob Constable, one of Wangaratta’s favourite sons. Constable had been known to swing his arms, as well as his weight, around a bit too freely and on this occasion he rode Bob heavily into the ground, throwing punches as he went. Bob furiously rolled him off and threw a punch—perhaps the only time in his football career where he retaliated in this way. The umpire was standing close by watching proceedings and informed the two protagonists that they were now even and to start playing football. But for one newspaper reporter, the situation did not end there. Mac Holten had now finished coaching and was writing on football for the local paper. Although he and Bob were mates, in his report he took Bob to task for his actions. Bob was infuriated at the one-sided treatment he felt he’d received and let Holten know in no uncertain terms what he thought about him and his article. He even stopped shopping at Holten’s licensed grocery store.This was fair enough, Bob thought, as half of Wangaratta stopped shopping at his sports store after the incident. Four years of hard work had been lost in one minute of one football game on one Saturday afternoon. A few weeks later Holten came round to see Bob to try and sort things out. ‘Well,’ Holten admonished him, ‘you did belt him.’
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With that Bob stood up and clenched his fist, waving it at Holten. ‘See this?’ he yelled. ‘If I’d hit him properly with that he wouldn’t have woken up for a while!’ Seeing his mistake, and feeling somewhat concerned for his safety, Holten apologised to Bob and quickly left. It took a while but eventually things returned to normal. Both Bob and Mac knew they went back too far to lose their friendship in such a manner. Bob was contrite. He didn’t condone his own actions and would have been upset with anyone else who carried on as he had done. Besides, he thought a lot of Mac Holten, not only as a footballer but as a cricketer. They played Country Week cricket together for the district with Holten, as captain, teaching Bob quite a bit about the finer points of the game. Bob regarded their clash as just one of those things that happen occasionally. It was soon forgotten by both men and soon by the rest of Wangaratta. It did teach Bob, however, that, being who he was, no matter what he did, in some quarters he would always be on fragile ground. That was certainly the case with some of the more fervent Magpies supporters. During one game between the two clubs Bob was being shadowed by a certain ‘Hopper’ McCormick who ended up on the wrong end of a Bob Rose shirt front as an inducement to stop the harassment. McCormick’s father, another ‘Hopper’, was one of the fiercest Magpie men and, from the safety of the boundary, he let Bob know his feelings in no uncertain manner, so much so that the local constabulary intervened. In Monday’s paper alongside the match report was a small item that read, ‘Wangaratta man arrested over football incident’. In another, more sinister case, Bob was sent a white feather in the mail. Attached was a note that simply said ‘a fitting trophy for a lack of guts’. It was never known who sent it but the implications were clear. It seemed that not everyone in Wangaratta was a Bob Rose fan.
The 1959 season finished on a sour note as the Rovers, in what was regarded as one of the best grand finals in league history, were beaten by the Yarrawonga team, who won their first f lag for 31 years. The game was marked by the close attention given to Bob, both by the opposition players and by the umpire, Harry Beitzel. It seemed that
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Bob couldn’t get a free kick at all and every time he went near the ball he was penalised. However, the Hawks supporters were more incensed at the way the game ended.There was only a couple of minutes to go and the Hawks were closing the gap.Then Beitzel ruled out an equalising goal, indicating the ball had been thrown rather than handballed. There were howls of derision from the Rovers barrackers but howls of delight from Yarrawonga which held on to win by eight points. Beitzel, who seemed to be umpiring when a lot of Bob’s problems occurred, was a frequent visitor to Wangaratta and had been in charge of the game during the year when Rovers beat the Magpies by a solitary point. He’d said that the match was one of the best that he’d handled and that Bob Rose was, after John Coleman, the best player he’d ever seen.
If Beitzel had seen Robert, now an eager eight year old, in action, he would have known there was more to come from the Rose family. Robert showed extraordinary skills for one so young. No matter what sort of ball he had in his hand he controlled it with ease and his actions were all naturally correct. He spent hours kicking or hitting football and cricket balls to his father, who was only too happy to kick or throw them back. During the cricket season Robert was the team’s assistant scorer and when football came around he was a familiar figure at training as well as one of the team’s mascots on Saturdays. He was always close by Bob, prompting one observer to comment that they were more like brothers than father and son. Bob knew that Robert had a special talent but he could also see something distinctive in Peter. Bob thought it may have been Elsie’s genes showing through but Peter, just five years old, was beginning to show talents of his own, more literary than sporting. Now that they were getting older, Bob became even closer to Robert and Peter. This, he considered, was a perfect world. He had a wife whom he loved dearly, football which he lived for, a thriving business, and more importantly, contentment in watching his sons grow.
It has been said over the years that the 1960 Wangaratta Rovers side was the best they ever produced.They had lost only a couple of players
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during the off-season and had recruited wisely, many of the new players wanting to come and play alongside Bob and under his tutelage. As well there were some youngsters who Bob was keen to promote. That year the Hawks won twelve games straight before they lost to Corowa by one point. They were behind for most of that match but began a late run of five goals to catch up. But then a Corowa player ran into the point post, snapping it in half.The resultant delay caused the Hawks to lose momentum and they could never quite regain it. After that slight glitch it was a clear run to the finals. Apart from an unbeaten season, it was as close to perfection as possible. The last game of the year had been against Benalla, which the Hawks won by eight points. But Benalla protested that the final siren had blown ten seconds too early and the league ordered a replay. How Benalla would have managed to kick two goals in the missing ten seconds was never really explained but that didn’t matter. A replay it was and the result was the same. The Rovers won the second semifinal against Des Healey’s Wodonga team, who then fought back in the preliminary final to challenge the Hawks again in the big one, just as they had two years before. There had been some memorable clashes between the two old friends’ teams but it was mainly the Hawks who came out on top. Healey seemed to always have tactics devised to curb Bob’s brilliance but they seldom worked. On the other hand, Bob was always on the lookout for his mate. The two men played wide of each other in most of the matches but there was one time when it looked as though there could have been a problem. Healey was over the ball and Bob was bearing down on him quickly.The clash didn’t eventuate as Bob neatly sidestepped. ‘I could see you coming at 100 mph,’ Healey told Bob after the game, ‘but I was determined to meet you.’ Bob grinned, knowing he could never have hurt him. In another game the two players actually clashed. Healey knew that, after playing for so long together, Bob was the only player in the league who could know which way he was going to turn when he had the ball. Bob was close by when Healey took possession. He turned and Bob was there.There was a clash of bodies and a clash of tempers but it was soon forgotten and the men played on.
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On the Friday before the grand final, Jim Clark, writing in the local paper, tipped Wodonga in a bold move, but with a proviso. ‘If Bob Rose has a day out, then the Hawks will win.’ Clark must have had a sense of foreboding because Bob did exactly that. Although he was having them less frequently, whenever he did have a day out there was nothing the opposition could do about it. In front of a record grand final crowd, Bob Rose once again demonstrated his full repertoire of skills. Before the game, Bob had been presented with his second Morris Medal, won by polling votes in twelve of the eighteen home-andaway games. He also won the league’s goal-kicking, sharing it with his old adversary, Bob Constable. When the game started Bob was ruthless in his chase of the premiership. He dominated all over the ground, guiding his side to a four-goal win. Bob’s season was unique in the annals of the Ovens and Murray league. The treble—winning a Morris Medal, goal-kicking and a grand final—had never been done before, and if there was any doubt about Bob Rose being regarded as the best player ever to have graced the league’s grounds, then it had certainly now disappeared. Bob had changed the culture of football in Wangaratta so much that he was known as ‘King Bobby’. Not only was he still Mr Football, he was now King of Football as well. The climax to the season came when the premier club in the VFA, Oakleigh, issued a challenge to the Rovers to see if they were really as good as they thought. Originally Wangaratta was due to play Bendigo which was coached by Noel McMahon, Bob’s old adversary from the Melbourne Football Club. Bob was looking forward to that, as it would have given him a chance to even an old score he often thought about. But the match didn’t eventuate and instead the Oakleigh challenge was taken up. Apparently Oakleigh had a number of bookmakers in their club who regarded the match as an easy way to make some money. Led by Alby Pannam, Oakleigh was confident of an easy victory. But Bob and his team had other ideas. In what turned out to be the opposite of what the Oakleigh supporters had visualised, the Hawks won by ten goals. A lot of money changed hands afterwards with most of it going the wrong way as far as Oakleigh was concerned.
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Nine players were missing from the Rovers’ side when they lined up for pre-season training in 1961 and it was obvious that the club was in for a tough year. Before the season even began, problems arose for the club and for Bob, who had a serious back injury that had been troubling him all summer. It was the result of a heavy-handed tackle that had been completed by slamming him back-first onto the hard cricket pitch area of the ground. Bob had taken a long time to regain his feet. Later it was found that a strand of nerves was the only thing holding one of the discs in his spine in place.This was not only dangerous but extremely painful. At the start of the year, on the advice of a specialist, Bob was admitted to Wangaratta Hospital for three weeks’ rest and physiotherapy.When he came out he was slightly better but he’d missed half the season.The Rovers ended the year out of the finals. Bob didn’t want to become a burden to the club. He wanted the Rovers to succeed and if he couldn’t do everything he wanted to help them, he felt it was better that they be allowed to find someone else. So before the 1962 season was too close, it was with a heavy heart that Bob felt he needed to resign from coaching and from football altogether. As they wanted a playing coach, the club then went looking for a replacement and appointed South Melbourne’s Ken Boyd, a rugged customer who was serving a ten-week suspension for striking Carlton’s John Nicholls. The Hawks thought that because Boyd was moving to the country the VFL would lift the ban, but they refused. Boyd could neither play nor coach. So the club turned once again to Bob, who, after due consideration, agreed to keep going, but only on the proviso that he could do the job for the whole year, not just for the period of Boyd’s suspension. It was a big decision for him. His health was not good and any heavy knock could have had serious repercussions. But Bob Rose, being Bob Rose, couldn’t say no. The season was a surprise with the Rovers playing better and better as the weeks went by. With injuries, age and close attention from the opposition, Bob’s form was patchy but when he was near his top he was still the Bob Rose of old—untouchable. By the time the finals came around the Rovers were at their best.
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In the first semifinal the Hawks faced up to the Magpies. It was a tough clash, even tougher than the usual Magpie–Hawk games but the Hawks got up to win by 30 points. Headlines in The Chronicle on Monday proclaimed, ‘Old Bloke Rose Was The Killer’. They were right. Bob was now 33 years old, had a heavy cold, one hand was covered with plaster and his back was playing up, but he still led from the front. In the third quarter when the game was in the balance he had an extraordinary sixteen kicks and nine marks across the half-back line. Corowa gave no real problems in the preliminary final but Benalla was a different proposition in the grand final.What a game it was with Bob in the thick of the action as usual. Before half-time, incredibly, he had amassed 28 kicks. But it was all too much for him. He, like the rest of the team, tired.With ten minutes to play the Rovers were still ten points ahead, but it was not enough. The season had worn them down and a fitter, faster Benalla ran over the top of them to win by two goals. This was to be Bob Rose’s last game of football. He had fulfilled his obligations to the Rovers and he had made his mind up. His body would no longer hold up. It was over. As he sat in the rooms and received the handshakes and well wishes that came his way, Bob Rose ref lected on the career he had now finished—from that first game for Yarraby, through the barren grounds around Swan Hill to the lush green surface of the MCG and the rainsoaked grounds in the Ovens and Murray league. Over eighteen years and more than 300 games. There were plenty who had equalled or bettered that record. Some had won as many best and fairest awards as Bob while others had played more than his seventeen state games for Victoria. Even more had never been reported, as was the case with Bob. But perhaps there was no-one who had brought to the game such a combination of qualities as Bob Rose did. He was tough beyond measure. He was a skilled as any other player. His courage knew no bounds and his leadership was always inspirational. Others would have done well to learn from his sense of responsibility, his personality and his fairness. But above all he retained his dignity and humility and kept his head when, at times, everyone else seemed to be losing theirs.
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His coaching was always about encouragement, and although he could deliver a fearsome blast when needed to, players responded to him because he led by example. And what an example he set. Some players were only spoken about well once they retired but almost everyone liked Bob. Even those who had suffered at his hands never questioned his popularity. It was a sad night in Wangaratta when Bob Rose hung up his boots.
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uring the seven years in Wangaratta Bob had been happy enough. It was a good place for the kids, they had good friends and a good football club. But there was always something else in the back of his mind—should he have stayed at Collingwood? It was something he thought about from time to time, when he knew the Magpies were enjoying good wins and when the papers talked about their prospects. He especially thought about it during 1958 when Collingwood won the f lag. Bob wasn’t the sort of man who was prone to thinking about the ifs in life, rather he got on with things as they happened. But he couldn’t help occasionally musing on what might have been if he’d stayed. More premierships perhaps, and more Copelands. Bob and Elsie always knew they would return to Melbourne one day and Bob always felt that he would return to Victoria Park. He just wasn’t quite sure when. Meanwhile, a lot was happening around the club—there was another revolution. Bob had become used to trouble at football clubs so when news reached him of the strife at Victoria Park he wasn’t surprised. He’d seen the Phonse Kyne–Bervyn Woods coaching episode in 1950, and when he’d shifted to Wangaratta, even though it was a well-run club, the president was ousted at the first meeting Bob attended. Another uprising was nothing new. This time it involved the replacement for president Syd Coventry who had decided to step down.
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The two main challengers were Jack Galbally and Tom Sherrin, both of whom were club vice-presidents. At the committee meeting where the issue was to be decided, a secret ballot was held to separate the two men and a third, J.D. (Jiggy) Harris, who had also indicated his intentions. Galbally was elected by the committee but Sherrin and his group gathered the members behind him and forced a general election. Sherrin’s advantage in the election was huge. Not only had his family been an integral part of founding the club, they were also synonymous with the sporting goods industry in the country. In fact they were so deeply entrenched in the club that when Syd Sherrin died, Tom was appointed, rather than elected, to replace him as vice-president. Another factor in their election campaign was that they had Bob Rose on their side. It was never stated, but it was assumed that Bob would support Sherrin due to his family links. To reinforce it, one of the committee men,Vic Graham, had journeyed to Wangaratta and persuaded Bob to return to Collingwood to contest one of the vacant positions created when the two vice-presidents had resigned to fight the election for the presidency. Graham and the others in Sherrin’s team considered that Bob was so important to their victory that they promised to cover any loss that Bob might incur if he sold his business and returned to Melbourne. As well, Graham offered him a position as a sales representative in his company that sold foodstuffs to pubs and clubs around the city. Graham had a number of players working for him so it would be perfect for Bob. All things considered it seemed an easy and rewarding way for him to move his family back to the city, so he accepted. But a return to Collingwood wasn’t the forgone conclusion that many observers may have thought. During the finals in Wangaratta, St Kilda scouts, who were up looking for young players, had approached Bob and offered him a position as assistant coach to Alan Killigrew and asked him to play if he was able. Bob wasn’t sure about the offer. He knew it was genuine but he doubted he’d be happy. He rang Phonse Kyne for advice who told him in no uncertain terms that if he came back and played football it would be at Collingwood.After turning the St Kilda offer down, Bob concentrated on his move back to Melbourne.
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There was no need for any financial assistance from Graham and his backers, as Bob’s business was sold quickly and for a good price but he did take up the offer of the job. The proposition from Sherrin and Graham came at exactly the right time for Bob.The family quickly settled into a new home they purchased in Glen Waverley, an outer suburb of Melbourne with plenty of room, with Robert and Peter starting at the local school. Elsie was happy to be back in the city.They had spent enough time in the country. Even though she never mentioned anything and never complained, Bob understood that Elsie wanted to move back and the best way he could show his gratitude to her for the years of loyal support was to accept Collingwood’s offer. It would be good for the boys too. Robert’s sporting skills were becoming more and more pronounced, while Peter’s academic talents would be enhanced with the opportunities available in Melbourne. The years in Wang had given the boys the freedom of a country life with plenty of fresh air and space. It had taught them a lot about life and people. Bob’s first priority had always been to make sure his family was close and happy, and he had been eminently successful in that regard during their time in the country. But he had also asked himself some tough questions. Did he possess the necessary skills to be a coach? Could he harness different personalities and have them all working together? Was he a leader of men and would they do what he asked? The answer to these and a hundred other questions was obvious—yes, he could, without any doubt.
Even though he was a part of it, Bob was reluctant to take sides in the struggle for control of Collingwood. He stayed out of the limelight as much as he could. The players were also inclined to keep out of the political workings of the club and didn’t want to appear to have any particular preference. In fact the two sides had agreed that players were not to be used for publicity purposes, nor was any leverage to be placed on them. However, everything changed the day of the election when the early morning paper hit the streets with a quote, attributed to Phonse Kyne and Neil Mann, that the players were behind Galbally. Whether the two men were misquoted or not didn’t bother the
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players, as they considered anything that was said to be against their stance of staying neutral. Bob was surprised and extremely disappointed that such a statement had been made, feeling that if Galbally was elected, any chance he had of being appointed coach would disappear, as Mann’s loyalty to the Galbally cause would secure him the job. But when the polling booths opened, a number of the players, led by captain Murray Weidemann, turned up and handed out how-tovote cards for Sherrin, who was elected easily. As far as Bob’s election to vice-president was concerned, it wouldn’t have mattered what was said or by whom, as Bob received 2146 of the 2684 votes that were cast by the members. Never had there been such a convincing victory. The result spoke for itself. The hero was home. Mr Football had returned.
Not much had changed at Collingwood Football Club while Bob had been away. In 1963, the rub-down tables in the rooms were still old, battered and wooden, the f loors were still dirty and stained from the tramp of a thousand footballers, the baths were still deep and marked, the water in the visitors rooms could still be cold when they deserved it and the committee still ruled with impunity. Collingwood the suburb, however, was changing. The streets and the buildings were still the same but the people in them were slightly different. Quite a number of the European migrants who came to Australia settled in Collingwood and the Australian-born component of the population had fallen considerably. Housing commission f lats had risen, layer upon layer, from the space where old, decrepit houses had once been. ‘Slum reclamation’ was the term the government used for the building program. Police, unsure of the new ways, chased away young men who played soccer in the parks, and Greek and Italian shops appeared in Smith Street selling coffee, olive oil and statues of David. Locals had little experience of ‘foreigners’ and resented the inability or the refusal of some of them to speak English. The population of the suburb was falling as considerable numbers left for newer suburbs, such as Glen Waverley, further out. And it wasn’t only Collingwood that was changing—the world was
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as well. Four long-haired young men from Liverpool in England had seen to that. Fashion was becoming more radical with European inf luences, and for the first time, young people had money to spend.The big corporations were on the lookout for new ways to relieve them of it. When Bob walked the streets again amongst the old buildings, still there, still looking morose, he could sense the changes but he was glad to be back.
Although Bob’s move back to Melbourne was always going to happen, there had been other discussions between him,Vic Graham and the others in the group. Collingwood had missed the finals in both 1961 and 1962, a position the club clearly was not used to, and 1963 was shaping up as a crucial time for the incumbent Phonse Kyne. Although nothing was put in writing, Bob had been assured that if and when the coaching position became available, it would be his if the Sherrin faction was successful.When the team missed the finals again that year Kyne’s position was untenable and in August he indicated that he would resign at the end of the year. But Bob’s election to replace Kyne was not as clear-cut as it seemed and the committee delayed making their decision. Meanwhile, Richmond had approached Bob with an offer to coach—one that was worth substantially more than he would receive at Collingwood. That resulted in him asking a reasonable question of the club. Do you want me or not? Make up your mind or I’ll take up the other offer. It would have broken his heart to do that but it would have at least given him the opportunity to become a VFL coach. The deciding meeting was held five weeks before the end of the season and, after more than an hour’s discussion, Bob was elected by just two votes, a surprising margin given his commitment to the Sherrin cause and the understanding he had when approached to return. Nevertheless, in 1964 at the age of 35, he became the coach of Collingwood.
Bob had seen problems in the last weeks of 1963. As well as being a vice-president he was also a selector, and being close to the action, he
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could see a distinct lack of discipline. He had come from an environment at Wangaratta where players knew what was expected of them and they delivered. But here, at what was supposedly the best club in Australia, it was different. Bob could see that players were inclined to do as they pleased during matches and did not show the necessary desire for the ball or hardness that was such a part of his game.Tactics were almost non-existent, as they had been for many years. Football was changing but Collingwood was not. Their static kick-and-mark game had been old-fashioned for some time, as their position on the ladder indicated. But things were soon to change. During the years Bob had been away the Magpies had returned to Nyah West and had come up with a few more Rose brothers to play for them. Bill had retired the year Bob left but Colin had come to the city in 1956 and was joined by Kevin in 1958.The youngest brother, Ralph, had stayed at home until he answered the call in 1962. Each of the brothers had followed the path to the Magpies via the Regniers. By now the fruit shop was no longer in existence and the family had moved into a house around the corner. Still nice and handy to Victoria Park though, and still a wonderful introduction to the big city for young men from Nyah West. When Bob was appointed he had talked to Kevin and told him about his plans. Kevin had been a valuable player for the Magpies since 1958 when he made his debut in the second semifinal and was a significant player in the premiership victory that year. He was the sort of player that every coach loves to have in the side. He could fill any number of positions and could always be relied on to do the job. He was never spectacular—he didn’t sit on opponents’ shoulders to mark or kick long torpedo punt goals from the boundary line 70 metres out, but when Kevin Rose was around you knew the job would get done. ‘It’s discipline,’ Kevin told his brother when Bob took over.‘That’s what we need. But you’ve got to be strong about it. Don’t let them get to you.’ It was advice that Bob heeded. He knew that he couldn’t favour one man over another. If there was an example to be set then there was none bigger than the previous year’s captain. Murray Weidemann had indicated his decision to retire at the end of 1963 and take up an offer to coach at Albury. The money was
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good and it appeared to be another case of Collingwood losing a top player because of their reluctance to spend. But when he found out Bob was coaching, the Weed had a change of heart. He approached Bob and the two men met about ten days before the start of the season. Bob had seen the enormous authority Weidemann exerted during 1963.The players followed his actions, whether it was in the game, on the training track or at the bar during the week. If that potential could be harnessed it would be a huge asset to the side but Bob was doubtful about whether it could be. Bob told the Weed that he’d love him to return but there were stipulations. He would need to train as he was told and because he hadn’t done any pre-season training he would need to play in the reserves for a few matches. And he wouldn’t be captain. Weidemann accepted all this graciously but there was one last condition that he baulked at. Bob had stated to the press earlier that players were not allowed in the social club bar after Monday nights, a rule that was to be strictly enforced. Weidemann loved a beer and loved mixing with the members. He looked at Bob and asked, ‘That wouldn’t apply to me would it?’ ‘You must be joking,’ came the curt reply. The discussion ended there and then.Weidemann took the money at Albury and Bob Rose had made a stand. Now everyone knew he was serious. Weidemann, naturally, had another view. He thought it was all about money. Weidemann had come to Collingwood in 1953 as a seventeen year old and, to him, Bob Rose was an image, an inspiration, a leader of men. When Bob had started his career, Weidemann and a mob of young mates would wander through the narrow streets kicking their paper footballs around before winding up at Victoria Park where he first watched Bob in the reserves.‘We didn’t have to pay to get in and could have snuck in anyway,’ Weidemann remembered, ‘but he was a hero to me even then.’ A premiership player in his first year, the Weed went on to be one of the legends of Victoria Park. Strong, tough and an extraordinarily good footballer, he also had huge inf luence around the club that was at its peak in 1963. He also became a wrestler at the stadium when that sport was at
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the peak of its popularity.This brought him in almost ten times what he was being paid for football but was not the sort of thing the club liked. Having their champion centre half-forward injured in a Mexican stepover toehold or some other weird and wonderful manoeuvre was not the sort of thing they wanted. Added to that was his role in television which was becoming a major inf luence on the game. Channel Nine offered Weidemann good money to be on their new football show which appealed to the Weed’s ego. According to Weidemann, Bob approached the committee and told them that Weidemann would play for fifteen pounds a game.That was still 10 pounds less than Channel Nine had offered.The committee refused to pay. And as far as drinking was concerned, if he had stayed, Weidemann would still have needed to have a beer or two when he felt like it, especially on Saturday nights. It didn’t matter which version of Weidemann leaving was closer to the truth, the end result was the same.Weidemann went to Albury. The parting of the ways was, if not amicable, certainly not strained. The club backed Bob. Perhaps they felt they had to, after all they had just appointed him and to the outside world it would have looked bad if Weidemann had been allowed to stay. But in another instance they let Bob down. When he returned to the fold, a group of businessmen approached Bob and told him they were prepared to give a large amount of money to the club to be used for attracting players that the club desperately needed. Bob was thankful and thought it to be a good start to his coaching career. Obviously these men knew he had what was required as a coach but that he needed good tools with which to work.When he approached the committee with this idea, Bob’s plans came to an abrupt halt. Tom Sherrin spluttered across the table. ‘You what!?’ he exploded. ‘You mean you want to pay the players?’ ‘Well, yes,’ replied Bob. With that there was much consternation around the meeting. ‘No, we can’t accept that,’ Sherrin grumbled, suspecting that the benefactors were a group looking to take over the club. Bob knew that wasn’t the case but what could he say? Any real pressure from him at any time could have meant the end of his coaching appointment as he was given the job on a yearly basis. It was doubly hard for Bob who
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was also the senior vice-president of the club. Here he was, fighting with the committee of which he was a part. It took a while but he realised that he wasn’t going to change any minds. So the offer had to be refused and Bob directed his efforts towards the new season.
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f this was to be a new era for the Magpies then changes had to be made everywhere and so Bob embarked on another (for Collingwood at least) radical move. He banned supporters from the coach’s room. In Jock McHale’s day and subsequently Phonse Kyne’s, supporters packed the rooms when the coach was about to address the players. First the president would climb onto one of the wooden benches that circled the rooms and, removing his hat with a wide sweep of the arm, proceeded to welcome the players and supporters to the game.Then, ‘I’d like to have strict silence for the coach, Mr Phonse Kyne.’ Kyne would then swap places and, after removing his hat, would talk about playing for the glory of Collingwood. The finishing statement varied between two versions: ‘Stir up the stove and bring in another glorious victory’ and ‘Stir up the stove and bring home the bacon.’ Week after week it had been the same thing but with the new coach there came new ways. He took the players into a small room away from the supporters who were left outside mumbling their discontent. That didn’t matter to Bob, he knew he was right. He explained to the players that if he had something that he needed to say then it was better done privately.The same went for any tactics that he was going to employ. The players eagerly accepted Bob’s ways because he made them
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feel special. It also kept their minds on the job at hand rather than listening to the platitudes of the barrackers. Bob’s desire was for players of intelligence and to have smart people around him, so he appointed his brother, Colin, as his runner. Colin was the third Rose brother and was ten years old when Bob left Nyah West. When his elder brother became well-known as a footballer, Colin was suitably impressed but he also liked him as a boxer, so much so that he encouraged Bert to erect a ring just outside the sleepout he shared with the other youngsters still at home. In the evenings and on weekends Colin would encourage Kevin, especially, to enter the ring with him. Colin would pretend to be the famous boxer Bobby Rose while Kevin would be the poor soul who was getting knocked out.That was fair enough, thought Colin. After all, Kevin was younger. Colin moved to Melbourne to live with the Regniers after a letter arrived from Collingwood searching for another Rose. He had a year in the thirds and then another in the seconds but he never made it to the seniors, becoming the only Rose brother not to play league football. That, understandably, hurt him, but not because he thought of himself as much of a player. In fact, he was the first to admit to being ordinary compared to the others but he felt that he could have made an impact had it not been for his chronic asthma. Over the years there had been a lot of publicity about the ‘four Rose brothers who pulled on the black and white’. Bob was the legend, Bill was reasonably successful, Kevin was still one of the first selected and Ralph had appeared in 23 games during the previous two years. But there was nothing about Colin. He would never appear in the photographs, would never be talked about in the record books. So when his big brother asked him to be a part of his coaching team he quickly accepted. For his part Bob knew that Colin had a football brain and would understand what was happening on the field. Besides, it was important he had someone he could trust.
The 1964 season began well with a victory over Fitzroy, but the Magpies were soon brought back to earth when Geelong thrashed them in the second game. As the team became more aware of what
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was expected of them and as they became fitter due to Bob’s demanding training, a run of victories saw them finish second behind Melbourne after the home-and-away matches with only four losses for the year. Bob was his own man as a coach. Even though he had learned a lot from McHale and Kyne, he had also learned a lot about himself and about how to handle men when he coached at Wangaratta. The Collingwood players responded to him. They didn’t know much about him as a man but they knew about the legend. As a selector, he had made sure that he’d kept away from the players as much as possible because he didn’t want to be seen to be getting in the way of Kyne, so when he took over it was all new to them. His was a mixture of tradition and innovation.Whereas Kyne and McHale had basically left the players to fend for themselves, Bob was more interventionist. There was more man-on-man training, more match play where he would take players aside and instruct them on the finer points of the game. He knew that playing for the club was an honour and should be used as a motivational tool. But he was also wise enough to realise that none of that was any good if the players were not fit, if they were without tactics, if their skills were lacking and if they played without determination. He demanded skill, passion and intelligence from his players. He wanted pace and smart play. He also encouraged players to use their natural f lair. Regimentation was not something he was after. It was necessary up to a point although not all-encompassing. His team used handball to create opportunities and space.They played on wherever possible and never gave in. Bob knew that he had a reasonably good, very tough side that never lost at home but that it was an entirely different proposition playing finals on the wide open spaces of the MCG. Together with the three dimensions of football that Vince Lombardi spoke of, Bob now knew that Lombardi spoke of a fourth. ‘Self less teamwork and collective pride which accumulate until they have made positive thinking and victory habitual.’ Naturally, it didn’t always work but it was something to aim for. There was something else that Bob had learned in Wangaratta—the value of togetherness. At Wang, the club had been successful because each of those involved truly supported each other—off the field as
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well as on. Bob saw no reason why he couldn’t bring that spirit to Collingwood. It worked in the country and people don’t change, he thought, only their situations differ. The club certainly had spirit but more often than not it was only the men who enjoyed it. Bob wanted the wives and girlfriends to share these times as well.The change around the club was noticeable. The social club on Saturday nights was the place where they all gathered long into the night. Music, drink and laughter f lowed in equal proportions and at Bob’s side all the time was Elsie. Football may not have been her preferred pastime but entertaining and the company of people certainly was. The family atmosphere Bob endeavoured to create had a marked effect not only on the women of the club, but also on the players who threw off their lethargy of the previous few years and played as though they were different men.
In the second semifinal, Melbourne obliterated the Magpies. After rising from the disasters of the previous three years, Collingwood had made significant improvement during the year, finishing second on the ladder. Perhaps the players thought that was good enough. Bob would have none of that. He cajoled them back into the right frame of mind and they responded. The preliminary final was played in atrocious conditions against Geelong but the Magpies, due to more accurate kicking, scraped in by four points. After the debacle of their previous game against the Demons, the critics thought that Collingwood would not cause too much trouble in the grand final. The football writers were correct. Collingwood had holes in their side.They had some good players but Melbourne’s team was studded with stars. It seemed that Collingwood would not have many tipping them, apart from those who loved the club, but there was still hope, especially with the new coach and his new way of thinking. In previous years, the Thursday night before a grand final always meant team meetings at Collingwood. Not now. Bob knew that too much tension in players was detrimental to their performance and that any instructions they were given would more than likely be forgotten over the following two days. His team meeting was on the Saturday
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morning where he stressed to the players they must believe they could win, that it was no good going into the game thinking about anything other than victory. He outlined a few tactics and then, when they arrived at the ground, left them while they prepared themselves. The game was one of the best ever played, and nothing like anyone expected. Except for Bob Rose. He knew that with hard work from both himself and the players, he had a team that would give until they had nothing left.Which is what they did. Kevin Rose was best on the ground for his negating role on Demon champion Ron Barrassi, but their lumbering ruckman and captain, Ray Gabelich, personified the determination of the team. He was another player that Bob had spoken to seriously before the season began. Gabbo was told that he had to knuckle down, get fit and, as Bob was to appoint him captain, make sure he was a leader both physically and in attitude. Gabelich did everything asked of him by his coach and in the dying moments of the game was to prove his loyalty once more. His famous run started with his team three points behind when he accepted a ball hurriedly kicked forward by Des Tuddenham, another who went all out for Bob.Tuddy played his football in a similar fashion to Bob but was never as skilful. He relished the hard contest, the bodyon-body stuff. He thrived on physical confrontation. When big Gabbo grabbed the ball just forward of the wing, Bob, with his heart jumping around his chest, watched as the huge man galloped waywardly toward goal, bouncing the ball precariously four times and retrieving it almost thankfully as it threatened to escape his grasp.Then, with one last shuddering stride, he belted the ball through the goalposts for what appeared to be the winning score.The captain sank to his knees. During it all Bob was still thinking.When it appeared the goal was inevitable he dispatched Colin, who always sat beside him on the bench, to tell the players to man up and to be careful because, although the police were circling the playing arena, the game was not over. He emphasised the need to keep attacking. Tuddenham, meanwhile, had scampered back to the centre to wait for the ball to be bounced. He went over to second ruckman,Trevor Steer. ‘We’ve got to knock some bastard out here,’ was his forthright tactical approach. Undoubtedly he was right. Knocking out some
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bastard could have started a fight that would have kept the players occupied for the remaining time. But it didn’t eventuate. There weren’t many players in the team that had Tuddy’s approach, and even fewer with the wherewithal to carry it out. While Colin Rose was thundering around the ground yelling at the players, Melbourne forced the ball forward from the restart of play to where one of their stars, Hassa Mann, kicked a point from a simple shot. Perhaps that was an omen. Maybe fate was smiling on Collingwood. Or were they being tormented? At this time Bob wanted a message taken to the full-back to kick the ball out the opposite side to the one he had been using. But the message was never delivered. Instead, the Collingwood rovers decided to change and the Demons’ Neil Crompton followed Mick Bone down the ground just as Ted Potter kicked the ball out from full-back in the same direction he had all game. From there it was a spoiling punch in the pack from Kevin Rose that made the ball spill free for Crompton to be able to kick his famous winning goal. Although Bob wasn’t about to conduct a witch-hunt he knew that Crompton should not have been left alone. It was someone’s responsibility to pick him up. He also knew that however much he analysed the last few minutes nothing was going to change the result. Years later, Colin Rose remembered standing behind Crompton as he kicked the ball. He remembered the wind dragged the ball back from outside the goalposts and he watched it f loat from side to side as it went through. He also said that he had the opportunity to kick Crompton’s leg out from under him. It would have resulted in a life suspension but it would have meant the Magpies had a premiership. It was an interesting thought as it f lashed through his mind, although not one that he really considered. Tuddenham also stood nearby as Crompton kicked towards goal. He yelled at Kevin Rose to ‘pick someone up, it’s missed.’ But it hadn’t. When the siren sounded, Bob, although exceedingly disappointed, was extremely proud of his players. Even though they had been beaten by a kick, he felt there was nothing more they could have given to him or the club. Melbourne coach Norm Smith came across afterwards and congratulated him on his efforts as a first-year coach.The players then carried him like a warrior leader, shoulder-high from the battlefield.
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This was an unusual move for a losing coach but it clearly demonstrated the players’ thoughts. It proved that he had what was needed to make the Magpies a power again. In the aftermath, in amongst all the talk and the excuses and the reasons and the plans and the dismay and the tears and the laughter, one thing stood out for Bob.That was the pride he had in his players. They couldn’t have given any more. There was one other thing that happened which, to Bob, epitomised the insular attitude of some club members. Jiggy Harris, a millionaire board member, called out to him as they were leaving, ‘There you are Bob, you don’t need to spend any money on players after all.’
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A new Rose
t had been two hectic years since Bob had returned to Melbourne. Time had sped past and while work and coaching Collingwood took a disproportionate amount of his attention, he could see that Elsie was happy with her office job at Myers, and that his sons were settled and content. Now entering his teenage years and discovering the pleasures of girls, Eric Clapton and the Rolling Stones, Robert was also learning how talented he was at sport. In the summer evenings after school and while his brother was at home studying, he made his way to the local park where a cricket enthusiast, Max Wishart, was coaching a couple of cricketers in the art of batsmanship. As the men stroked the ball around, Robert scampered around chasing and returning it. On one occasion after the men had finished he was invited to take a turn at the crease.Wishart then saw what this 12-year-old boy could become. He had enormous potential as a batsman and his bowling wasn’t far behind. Soon enough Robert was playing for the Waverley Under-16s and in one match took eight wickets at a cost of only ten runs with his leg breaks.Then a week or so later, he returned remarkably similar figures of seven for ten before making 22 runs with the bat and backing up with two for five in the opposition’s second dig. That afternoon the senior sides were short a few players so Robert was asked to play in the fourth Eleven match against Camberwell. He
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did more than simply make up the numbers. Camberwell was 80 for the loss of one wicket when Robert was given the ball. The team was dismissed for 163 with Robert taking eight for 37, including a hat-trick. Bob had always been aware of Robert’s ability and this success proved it. In the same way that he could pick a real footballer Bob knew that his son had something out of the ordinary. His sense of timing, the way he moved and the simple act of tossing a ball from hand to hand showed class. As Bob watched Robert he could see a future for his son to be played on the biggest of stages.
During the off-season Bob’s life took another turn. He had left Vic Graham’s employ after six months and worked for an acid de-scaling business, selling the company’s services to those who had problems with rust. Bob freely admitted he knew next to nothing about rust, acid and the like, so that occupation was always destined to be short-lived. Then came an offer from Jack Ryan, an inf luential Collingwood supporter who worked for two men, Ian Cameron and Geoff Burrell, who had their own business, Cambur Industries, manufacturing and importing pots and associated products for the expanding nursery industry. Being a young company they had to watch expenditure carefully. Employing another sales person had to be directly related to the money that person could bring to the firm. They employed Bob on the proviso that he obtained the business of McEwans, the retail giant. The two men had approached the company regularly but were never able to convince them that Cambur Industries could be of help. Bob changed that. He met with management on a couple of occasions and must have made an impression. They had 21 stores in the chain and within six months all were buying goods from Bob Rose and Cambur Industries. As it had in Johnston Street and in Wangaratta, the Bob Rose name worked for him. But the name alone never sold anything. Bob knew that his position as Collingwood coach would open doors for him, but if he failed his customers or his product was no good, then the fall would be swift and hard. He had to work at making sure everything he did was beyond reproach, and being the person that he was, he accomplished this with relative ease.
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On his journeys there were plenty of people around town who wanted to talk football; who wanted to criticise or ask questions. There were even some who offered advice. Bob accepted it all with grace. Laughing when he had to, being serious when it was called for, all the while listening to what people had to say. He remembered most things he was told and when he had time he thought about all of them. He never thought himself so clever that he couldn’t learn and very occasionally there were aspects of football pointed out to him that warranted consideration. ‘You never know where you’ll learn things from,’ he would say when others laughed at him. Although opposition supporters generally welcomed him to their shops, there was one occasion when he entered a store that had a few outlets around the city when he was not greeted warmly.The manager came out and, as he never presumed that everyone knew him, Bob introduced himself and asked if he would be interested in seeing the new lines he was carrying. ‘No,’ came the quick and offhand reply,‘I dislike Collingwood and I wouldn’t buy from you under any circumstances.’ Astounded that someone could forego a business opportunity for the sake of a football club, Bob left quickly and quietly. Surely an opportunity to help their business would override any misgivings about sport. He had always known how fickle people could be and the incident made him doubly aware of how things in business could change if he wasn’t careful. But this was only a small incident, and it didn’t prevent Bob taking well to his new role. He was understandably popular with businesses; he worked hard and, as a result was very successful. His job gave him a break from football and kept his mind fresh and eager for new challenges, of which there were plenty.
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n 1965 football changed forever when Ron Barassi left Melbourne and took up the coaching position at Carlton. This was seen as an incredible move in football circles. Not only was Barassi leaving a club that he’d been synonymous with since 1958, but he was also leaving Norm Smith, who had been a father figure to him all that time.The move was secured by the amount of money that Carlton was throwing around. Richmond and St Kilda were also scouting around and enticing players with monetary rewards. Not so at Magpie land. Before the 1965 season there were quite a few observers who thought the Magpies might not maintain the high standard they had set during the previous year. Bob felt the same way. He realised the team that had performed so well for him needed to change.Top of his wish list was a classy forward, something that was not easy to obtain. Bob also desperately needed rovers and some taller, quicker players. He knew that if Collingwood was to take the next step they needed to preserve the courage and the fitness they showed, but needed to improve their ability. This could only be done by recruiting. Bob wanted to mould his side around September at the MCG. As he had noted previously and would do many times afterwards, it was all very well to win home games on the smaller Victoria Park, but it wasn’t worth much if the team fell apart once the finals came around. He wanted tall, long-kicking players who could run. The committee
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backed Bob and the other members of the recruiting staff, until it came to payments.Then it was a different story. While there were players who rejected Collingwood, there were others who came. One was Len Thompson, a giant young ruckman who had spent a year in the thirds, another was a rangy 17-year-old forward named Peter McKenna. While Thompson spent the year in the reserves, McKenna went straight into the seniors for the first match, after excellent practice match form. Here, thought Bob, is a forward. The first weeks at the club were a daunting experience for McKenna. Bob Rose was a revered name throughout the football world, and now here he was, in the same dressing room as his hero and all the other great Collingwood names of the time. Bob understood how the youngster felt and remembered his own feelings at that age. Bob’s players related to the fact that he knew how they were feeling, that he wasn’t so removed from them in age that he couldn’t understand what they were going through. He could. He could also show them how it was done. Quite often he trained with them and his skills and pace were among the best at the club. Players felt that he was one of them but they also knew he was in charge. Bob made sure of that. The first few weeks of 1965 were not particularly good for the Magpies but eleven successive victories brought them the double chance when they finished second behind St Kilda. In the second semifinal, before a crowd of almost 99 000, Collingwood began their task of going one better than the year before. At half-time the Saints were five points adrift of the Maggies which became a twelve-point lead at the last break. In a thrilling final quarter Bob’s troops rallied and threw themselves into every contest. St Kilda had kicked poorly earlier in the game but now it was Collingwood’s turn to miss when it counted. Three or four times players had the chance to put the game beyond doubt but each time they missed. Colin Rose was kept busy trying to calm players down and tell them to steady when they had the ball. ‘Use your brains,’ he yelled at them. But if it wasn’t panic, it was certainly anxiety that played on their minds. At one stage Collingwood hit the lead by eight points but the Saints fought back and in the tense final minutes held on to win by a single point.
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The moment was not lost on Bob. He felt intense disappointment at his second successive finals loss by under a kick, but, as usual, he spoke calmly to his team, telling them that they had another chance and that they must forget about what was finished and concentrate on what was to come. He knew that if he was positive the team would be too. The preliminary final against Essendon was significant for a couple of reasons. The first was the introduction of Len Thompson into the senior team for his first game. Bob sent Thompson, a player of immense talent, out on Tuesday night to give Ray Gabelich some opposition in marking practice. The practice lasted about half an hour and every time the ball was kicked up towards the two,Thompson marked over Gabbo. At one stage, Bob scolded Thompson, telling him that it was Gabelich who needed the practice, not the other way around. But Thompson couldn’t help himself.What was he to do? If the ball was there and he could get to it, why shouldn’t he grab it? Then when one kick came towards them, Gabelich overbalanced in his endeavour to reach the ball and fell over, severely spraining his ankle.That created a huge hole in Bob’s plans.With the lack of fit, taller players for the side on Saturday, he knew he now needed Thompson, but there was one problem.Thompson had been reported in the reserves game the week before and was due to face the tribunal that night.‘Get off tonight and you’re in on Saturday,’ Bob told the young man as he was heading off to find out his fate. At the tribunal Thompson received a severe reprimand for his misdemeanour and was picked for the game. The second, and infinitely more serious, significant incident happened at the ten-minute mark of the first quarter. In what was one of the biggest sensations of VFL football, the Bombers’ John Somerville lay prostrate and unconscious on the MCG grass with the Magpies’ half-back f lanker, Duncan Wright, standing nonchalantly nearby with no other player within 30 yards. His isolation was short-lived. Soon a big pack of pushing and shoving men came together, some bent on revenge, others to defend their team-mate, and a few to find out what had happened. The Essendon captain and champion centre half-forward, Ken Fraser, was a lay preacher and was most disturbed at this outbreak of violence. His
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was a calming voice amongst the mayhem but he was threatened with more of the same if he didn’t watch himself. The ball had been in the Collingwood forward line when the roar of the crowd made everyone turn and look behind the play. After quickly summing up the situation, Bob dispatched Colin Rose with a message for Wright along the lines of, ‘Tell him if he wants to belt anyone, make it someone who can play footy.’ Somerville was taken from the ground on a stretcher in rather a bad way and transferred to hospital. Colin Rose was also told to impress on the players that they now had to concentrate on the football game.This was a difficult task for some. The young Peter McKenna had played well during his first year and had managed a dozen games, mainly at centre half-forward. He had been nineteenth man in the loss to St Kilda, playing only a few minutes in the last quarter but this was his first full final. His introduction to the business end of the season was to have a rampant Ian ‘Bluey’ Shelton paying him extra close attention. This was not a pleasant afternoon for the young man, especially after witnessing his team-mate being carted off. Shelton was one of the real hard men of the time. Somerville was a reasonable player but was not among the top Essendon footballers and there were a number of champions that needed to be stopped if they were to be beaten. The effect of the incident was to galvanise the Bombers into playing a much harder game than the Magpies. That, and the incessant booing every time a Collingwood player went near the ball, had a marked inf luence on them, and consequently they were well-beaten. In later years Des Tuddenham was in no doubt that the reason they lost was the inf luence the crowd had on the players.‘It was pretty bad,’ he said—an understatement. The Wright–Somerville matter didn’t end there. The police became involved and it even got to the stage of homicide detectives interviewing Wright. But as there were no substantial witnesses, nothing could be done. In the end no charges were laid but Wright’s career was virtually over.
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Wright, slightly built but with large hands, was never a great player. He was a solid contributor rather than a star. He had pace and tenacity as well as a mean streak about him, but was not a very good kick. His best contribution to a football team was the fear he instilled in opposition players. His reputation was that of someone who could lose control of his temper quite easily on occasion. Once he had a confrontation during a cricket match that resulted in him being in trouble with the game’s authorities, and he had also been involved in a huge altercation with the Lord twins, Alistair and Stewart, at Geelong. During the game Wright had taken a mark and saw that one of the twins was headed towards him so he secured the ball under his arm and threw out a right cross. Down went the first one.The second Lord then headed over so Wright simply tucked the ball under his other arm and disposed of him with his left. Duncan Wright had been at Collingwood a couple of years before Bob was appointed and, like the other players, was initially inspired by the thought of the new coach. Later on though, he admitted to thinking there was nothing about Bob that was other than ordinary. ‘Just another coach,’ he said before observing that to him,‘coaches are like a horse-drawn vehicle: not really required.’ If Bob had a game plan or was innovative in any way, Wright couldn’t see it but he did know that the players liked him. He also thought that Bob had favourites, players he’d mix with and talk to more readily than some.That didn’t worry Wright too much but there were others who were concerned. ‘They were all good blokes and it never caused any real problems, but I could see it.’ But, even with his misgivings about Bob as a coach, he admitted that the players gave everything for him and that he managed to eke out everything he could from them. ‘Nothing startling as a coach, Bob,’ said Wright, ‘but a terrific bloke.’ Almost forty years after the incident, Duncan Wright, now a greyhaired, semiretired man, sat in the front seat of a monstrous old Ford LTD car. ‘Bought this from Gabbo before he died,’ he said as he fingered the dashboard.‘He was a good bloke—top bloke actually.’ He talked about the Somerville affair. Just after the start of the preliminary final Wright said that Essendon coach John Coleman had swapped Somerville onto him
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and the Bomber forward started niggling him from the time he arrived. Wright was much smaller than Somerville who stood well over six feet tall but he was not easily intimidated. ‘He bumped me and pushed me and pulled my jumper,’ Wright remembered, ‘just trying to upset me.’ Obviously Somerville thought the tactic was beginning to work, as the next thing that happened was Wright felt a boot on his leg.‘He was back-kicking me in the shins and then he grabbed me by the nuts,’ said Wright. ‘I told him three times to stop but he wouldn’t listen.You can work out for yourself what happened next.’ What happened next has gone down in football folklore. What disturbed Wright even more than the police inquiry were the problems the incident caused for his mother. ‘She had death threats and everything,’ he recalled. ‘It was bloody terrible.’ After the game the players formed a protective shield around Wright until they reached the safety of his car, and from there they went back to Victoria Park for the season’s wake. Nothing more was said to him by the players, the coach or club officials, although plenty more was said by the press and the police. Bob Rose was not impressed by Wright’s actions in the preliminary final. Even though he was goaded into it, Bob felt that he should have showed more restraint. It was not the sort of thing he condoned and didn’t want any of the young players he was trying to nurture being affected or inf luenced by Wright’s style of play. Added to that he didn’t think Wright was good enough to play football at the top level any more, so after the practice matches had finished in 1966, football secretary Jack Burns approached Wright one Thursday at training and told him that his services were no longer required. Wright felt the decision was political. He felt that there was pressure brought to bear by the heavyweights of the league who didn’t want the game to be seen as violent. After the short discussion with Jack Burns, Wright turned and walked out of Victoria Park but he had left his own particular mark on football.
The dismal end to the 1965 season was made happier when the players embarked on a trip to Japan.The reasons for the journey were
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twofold. First there was the usual end of season revelry to be enjoyed in a country completely different to anything the players had ever known. It was hoped this might enlighten them about the world and perhaps make them better players. The second reason was cultural—playing some exhibition games to introduce the Japanese to the subtleties of Australian Rules Football. The first game was played at Yokohama and consisted of ten players a side—one team in Richmond colours playing against the traditional black and white. There was a distinct lack of volunteers to don the Tiger jumpers but the game, when it eventually got underway, was eagerly supported by the few locals who watched. Bob gave a short pre-match address to the players about what he expected during the game but no-one paid a great deal of attention. They were too busy gazing at what he was holding. A few minutes earlier, he had been officially welcomed and presented with a large bouquet of f lowers. It would have been an insult to give them away, so Bob Rose became the only Australian Football coach in history to talk to his side while holding a bouquet. A young Japanese student who once studied in Wonthaggi umpired the match but was overcome with nerves.When he eventually took control after half-time he took one look at the huge figure of Len Thompson charging at the ball and ran for his life. The game was short and resulted in a victory for the players in the Tigers’ jumpers. It seemed Collingwood could lose wherever they played. The function after the game lasted for quite a while and on the bus journey back to the hotel Bob agreed that everyone could throw their boots out of the windows for souvenirs for the locals.That also meant that no more football could be played on the trip.The players obeyed their coach gladly. In an interesting sidelight to the trip, the devotion of some Collingwood fans was demonstrated to Bob when a young Magpie follower living in Japan drove 450 miles to watch the game.
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y 1966 the sixties had really arrived in Melbourne. Up until then there was a division between those who had been affected by the images from England, America and Europe, and those who hadn’t. Hair was becoming longer, skirts shorter, and songs by Bob Dylan were understood by some and misunderstood by many. The times were changing but Bob Rose was not. He was still a young man of 38 with the hair tonic f lick of his short back and sides and his conservative views, his formative years were gone.Try as he might he couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. Victoria Park was changing as well. The constantly criticised and much-feared outer had been replaced by a new grandstand named after long-serving player and official, Bob Rush. Supporters appreciated the new stand but they wanted a whole lot more. Before the 1966 season began, Bob knew that the time had come for his team to deliver.The club had been in the finals more often than any other over the previous 30 years but had won only two premierships. In fact, they had contested finals in 53 of the 69 years since the formation of the league. They had won thirteen f lags and been runners-up eighteen times.There was a time when Collingwood had won double the amount of f lags of their nearest rival but now Melbourne and Essendon were within one. There were expectations from the club as well. Nineteen sixty-four was seen as the year when the club had risen from the doldrums
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thanks to the return of their favourite son.The year 1965 was one of consolidation and could well have gone further had it not been for the Duncan Wright episode. Now it was time for a f lag. Bob said as much in an article in the papers.‘We’ll win the f lag or bust,’ he declared. He went on to say that he’d had to plug gaps before with ordinary players but now there were no obvious weaknesses in the side. This was an unusual move for Bob. Perhaps he was misquoted, but even allowing for a certain amount of sensationalising by the reporter, it was not like him. But there was a glimmer of truth in what he said. He had recruited some young players who would add class to the side. Barry Price and Wayne Richardson were additions who sat very well alongside Peter McKenna, Colin Tully and Len Thompson, now all permanent senior players. There was one thing that concerned Bob though—who should be captain for 1966? During the pre-season of 1965, Ray Gabelich had reverted to his old ways—not training when he should and at times going missing completely. It got so bad that one evening at the club, a couple of weeks before the season, Gordon Carlyon took a phone call from the South Morang Hotel.‘If you’re looking for Gabbo,’ the voice on the other end informed him,‘he’s down here and he’s not looking too well.’ Carlyon and Bob spoke to Gabelich when he returned which resulted in his demotion from the captaincy. John Henderson was appointed in his place. The committee had wanted another man as captain—Kevin Rose—but that concerned Bob. Kevin certainly deserved the promotion as he had served the club admirably for many years. He had been an on-field leader and would have been an ideal captain. But he was the coach’s brother. If there was any foundation for the accusation that Bob played favourites this would have been the time it surfaced. But Bob need not have worried.After all, John Henderson’s sister was married to his brother, Ralph, whom he’d let go after 1963 because he knew he was not going to make the grade. In the end, Henderson was the choice for the 1965 season. Although he was a very good player and a great clubman, he did not fit the image that Bob wanted for his captain, and during the year the side suffered from a lack of fierce leadership when it would have counted.
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So, before the 1966 season, Bob approached the man he knew would be the leader he wanted—Des Tuddenham. The committee agreed and Tuddy replaced Henderson. Here, thought Bob, was a man who would inspire his team. He was a colourful character, had courage, skill and a fierce determination to give his utmost every time he hit the ground. Bob could see traces of himself in his captain. He too had an automatic response to situations where fear could have affected a less tough player.Tuddenham, like his coach, played as though he was a foot taller and four stones heavier than he actually was. If there was something that needed to be done, an inspiring act performed, or a player to be dealt with, then Tuddenham was there to do it. But Bob did have one problem with him—during his period of captaincy he was a regular at the tribunal. Tuddenham’s no-nonsense and sometimes overly physical approach saw him suspended for thirteen matches in his career. Bob quite often told him that he was no good alongside him on the bench. Eventually, Tuddenham got the message and settled down in his later playing days.
The 1966 season started with a 50-point win over Hawthorn, which was marked by the Beatle look-alike Peter McKenna kicking twelve goals. Bob had thought McKenna was something special the year before and had shifted him closer to goals. McKenna’s pace on the lead, his strong marking and his deadly accurate drop punts from all manner of distances, made him a player most other clubs would have killed for. But a month later he was out of the side.That was a disappointment not only for him but also for Bob. McKenna believed that part of the reason that Bob left him out was that he was playing for his college during the week. That, of course, left him open to injury that could have upset the team balance. Bob agreed with that assessment but added lack of form. The side that Bob had put together was young and skilful. They were full of enthusiasm and looked to their coach for guidance in matters of football and life. Bob was like that. He wanted to be someone his players could rely on. He was not averse to giving them a spray when he considered it was needed and no-one was in any doubt as to what was expected of them, but he was always approachable.
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If someone disagreed with him, he encouraged them to speak to him. He was one of them not an overlord like Kyne and McHale had been. He demonstrated that clearly in a match during the mid-season break when Collingwood journeyed up to Hamilton to play a practice match against a combined country side. One of the opposition, an exVFL player by the name of Dennis Jones, had decided that he needed to make himself a hero by damaging a league player. The target was Des Tuddenham. Not the most sensible of choices for anyone to make but coming from behind it doesn’t really matter—you can clean up anyone. As Tuddy was being carried from the field on a stretcher Bob quietly asked the trainers for a jumper.‘I think I need to even the score,’ he said, mainly to himself. It was not something he would ask anyone else to do but this bloke needed to be taught a lesson. Even though Bob was 38 years old, he was still fit and his body hadn’t changed much from his playing days. Into the fray he charged. He left the ground some ten minutes later but before he retired to the bench the offending player also had to make use of the stretcher. There was nothing illegal about the incident, it was not behind the play, but the poor soul had made the mistake of going for the ball when Bob Rose was around. The players were behind their coach all the time. After all, if they won, everyone shared in the glory, and if they were beaten, he took the blame. If they had problems that had the potential to affect their game, he wanted to know about them and would help when and where he could. Training was all about skill. That’s where games would be won, according to Bob. Don’t stop and think about things, he’d tell them. Play on instinct. Do that which comes naturally. Run, run and run. Those were all instructions.The team was clever, classy, had pace and lost only three times during the home-and-away games. All but four of the 20 players who were selected for the second semifinal against St Kilda were 23 years old or under, with Barry Price, the centreman, being just seventeen. Six of them were playing in their first final but Bob was not concerned. If they were good enough to play and had the form to match, then they were in his side. Those that did not have any form were out. And, as had always been the case, it was expected that when a boy pulled on a Collingwood jumper he became a man.
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The Magpies had beaten the Saints by 72 points in their previous meeting and went into the game full of confidence. However, not everything went according to plan.Although Collingwood kicked five goals to none in the first quarter, the Saints fought back to hold a seventeen-point lead midway through the last quarter. After the lead changed three times, it was only a captain’s performance from Tuddenham that got the Magpies home. The skipper showed everything that Bob had known he possessed. He threw himself into packs as though he was indestructible. He tackled as though he wanted to bore the opposition into the ground. He yelled encouragement at his team-mates and in the last seven minutes kicked three superb goals to snatch the game. The next week, Bob and the team, recovering from a few knocks and bruises, watched St Kilda dispose of Essendon in the preliminary final and felt confident that, with the week’s rest and their form during the year, a premiership was not far away.
Grand final day was like most others for Bob. But he was nervous, more so than normal. Something told him this was to be an extraordinary day. A huge crowd of over 100 000 had descended on the MCG where Collingwood had three teams participating. The third eighteen had been soundly beaten by the time Bob arrived at the ground and the reserves lost by just five points with a young Tiger by the name of Royce Hart kicking the winning goal with only seconds to play. It was becoming one of those days. The Collingwood senior team was a clear favourite. First there was the thrashing they’d handed out to St Kilda during the year, followed by their tenacious win two weeks before. They’d had a week off to mend any niggling injuries and although Len Clark and Barry Price were missing, the team was fit and ready.They were so good that there were no places in the starting eighteen for the 1965 captain and vicecaptain, John Henderson and Trevor Steer, both named on the bench. As sometimes happens in finals, the game was riddled with mistakes. The pressure was intense and the nerves were obvious. At three-quarter time the Saints led by four points. During the break Bob impressed upon his players the urgency that was required. Even
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though they had the advantage of whatever breeze there was, Bob stressed that they needed to use their pace, their skills. He invoked the Collingwood spirit theme as well and when he left the players he was worried but confident that his message had got through. To onlookers the tension of the last quarter was unbearable. First one team held sway and then the other.With two minutes left in the game, scores were level after Tuddenham managed a point. Scores remained that way until well over two minutes of time on had been played. Then, during a scrimmage in play in Collingwood’s back line,Ted Potter was clearly tackled too high. But no free kick was paid, much to the dismay of the Collingwood fans, bench and all. Shortly after that, the umpire bounced the ball after play became congested.Then a handball from Ted Potter went astray and found its way to the Saints’ Barry Breen who kicked the most famous point in football history. Bob sat stunned on the bench for a minute. Not again, he thought, not again. But, showing his true character, he walked swiftly towards Alan Jeans, the opposing coach, and congratulated him warmly on his victory.‘You were too good,Alan,’ he told him as he gripped his hand. At the official gathering afterwards Bob was one of the first to speak and graciously told the St Kilda supporters of his regard for them.‘I know how Alan Jeans and Daryl Baldock must be feeling but I also congratulate the St Kilda followers who have stuck to the club for many years.’
Later, Bob mused on the missed opportunities. He was bitterly disappointed, but unlike most who were looking for reasons, he didn’t believe in fate. He thought that if his side was good enough they would have won. Others had a different view. There was a school of thought that bad luck had robbed Collingwood of the result they wanted, but Bob thought differently. He understood that there was an element of luck in it.The mere fact that the ball was the shape it was meant that sometimes it would favour you and other times you’d curse it. He thought that he’d done everything he could but that there were other things over which he had no control. In the 1964 grand final, he knew he should have sent the message
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out earlier to alter the kick-in but he had relied on the rovers using their common sense not to change at the end of the game. When Crompton followed them down the ground either Bone or Norman should have picked him up. Bob couldn’t have done it for them. Then a point in 1965 stopped them reaching the grand final. If they’d won, the Duncan Wright incident might never have happened. And this year, against St Kilda, Bob was unwavering in his belief that Ted Potter should have received a free kick. Bob was not the sort of man to complain about umpires but this time he made an exception. If the kick had been paid, as it should have been, the ball would have been transferred to the safety of the other end of the ground. Bob understood that umpiring decisions were out of his team’s control but he knew what was within their control. For instance, Thompson, Gabelich and Searle had all missed goals from about ten yards out.Then, nearing the end of the game,Tuddenham received the ball near the centre and took off towards goal. After two bounces he fired off a kick towards a pack where Bob Murray, the St Kilda fullback, marked over Ray Gabelich. If Gabelich had marked, a goal would surely have resulted, and if Tuddenham, who was well clear of any opposition, had taken an extra bounce, he may well have kicked the goal himself.Then Wayne Richardson kicked out of bounds on the full just before the siren. Nothing, it appeared, had gone Bob’s way. Things that would happen to no other coach or player had happened to Bob Rose, and there was nothing he could do about it. Four points in 1964, followed by a point in 1965 and then another point this year. But Bob wasn’t concerned that people were wondering how all this could happen, time after time, to one man. He wasn’t worried about fate. If Bob was upset after the game he controlled himself well. Only those close to him would have known. Tuddenham also conducted himself admirably. He did his duty by applauding the opposing team when they were presented with the trophy but he wanted to be somewhere else. He knew he had to be a gracious loser but he had given everything to the cause and come up short.All he wanted was to get inside the rooms and be by himself for a while. He couldn’t watch the other side enjoying a victory that should have been his. His thoughts were like most of his team-mates’: ‘When will all this end?’
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Late in the evening, after the crowds had gone, Bob emerged from the bowels of the MCG. Rubbish that had not yet been cleaned up f lapped around his ankles in the breeze. A few barrackers, who didn’t want to leave, commiserated with him. With Elsie by his side, he started on the slow journey back to Victoria Park.
By most accounts Bob Rose was a successful coach. After all, he had taken his team from being also-rans to being one of the best sides in the competition, with minimal recruiting and without spending money. But by his own and Collingwood’s standards he was not successful. After the three failed finals series there was never any fireworks from the committee. Each year they congratulated him on all he’d done for the club. Each year they seemed to be happy, which was strange for a club such as Collingwood.They’d had three big chances for f lags and had delivered none. At Collingwood the only coaches regarded as successful were those who won premierships, even though there weren’t too many of them. There was, however, some criticism away from the committee room.The bar at the social club had as many supporters of Bob Rose as it had people who would gladly have had him removed. Some of them knew a little about football, some quite a lot, while others knew nothing at all. None of them worried Bob much. Some said that Bob’s teams were not ruthless enough, that they were not willing to give everything for him or the club. Bob and Des Tuddenham disagreed. They knew the players had given everything for their coach.
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f Bob Rose was making headlines about his lack of the ultimate success, then his son, Robert was the opposite. By now he was attending Haileybury College in Melbourne’s south-eastern suburbs. In the summer he had been opening the batting for his school’s first eleven during the week, and on the weekends playing for his Under16s team as well as for Waverley in the sub-district competition. He had been selected in the Victorian Under-15 side that played in the Brisbane Carnival in 1965, and received rave reviews playing for his school in the Australian Public Schools Competition. In February, just after his fifteenth birthday, he won an award for the Under-20s player of the month when he scored 190 not out in a little over two hours, belting 32 boundaries in the process. A number of invitations to train with district clubs were forthcoming. Robert chose Collingwood. He had been left to make his own decision but it was obvious where he would go. Bob was pleased but not surprised. Bob was, however, concerned with what would happen with his football side in 1967. In February, around the same time as Ronald Ryan—the winner of the bike race at Nyah all those years ago—was hanged at Pentridge prison, Collingwood began preparing for the new season. The old wooden grandstand at the city end of the ground had been demolished to make way for the new Sherrin Stand, and everyone at the club held hopes of a more successful year.
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But Bob was wary. He warned his players that problems could arise when a side has been near the top for such a period of time as they had. And he told them that if a team gets so close to the top and doesn’t win, they can fall swiftly. Nevertheless, practice match form was good, players were training well and it looked like the Magpies would be one of the teams to beat. The players understood the job in front of them, both physically and mentally. It would be difficult, Bob told them, but it would show what sort of people they were. Then at Geelong, in the first game of the year, it all fell apart. Not because they were thrashed—far from it.They were beaten by a point, and after the result of the previous year’s grand final it was all too much for Bob. No-one can be beaten two games in a row by a point, he thought, it must be some sort of record. With the Magpies leading by five points and the siren about to sound, Billy Ryan of Geelong took what was a controversial mark. He then received a fifteen-yard penalty from the umpire who indicated that Terry Waters had crept over the mark.Waters had touched the ball when Ryan kicked, that was not in dispute, but the ball had been kicked into his hand. After gaining the advantage it was a relatively easy task for Ryan to kick the goal. Perhaps it was frustration but Bob lambasted the umpire, Lance Perkins, to the press. He said that throughout the game Perkins had paid the man in front and then changed his attitude in this instance. Then he topped it off by penalising Waters for an infringement that was not there. Bob also remarked that those sorts of decisions were hard to take. ‘They happened to us in 1964, 1965 and then again last year,’ he fumed. ‘It happens to Collingwood too often.’ If Bob was shattered then the players were worse. They sat, heads bowed, slumped on the benches in the dressing rooms for some time before moving quietly to change. Bob was very concerned about where his team would head. He thought that some of the players wouldn’t be able to cope. But they stuck at it and won nine out of their next ten games, so perhaps Bob and the critics were wrong. Perhaps the players were in control all the time.
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By those who knew about such things, Bob was still highly regarded as a mentor and in July he was appointed coach of the state side.This was a huge honour and he led the team to victory over the South Australians in Adelaide. It was only a six-point win but Bob was grateful for any big match that went his way. Being able to coach players like John Nicholls, Bobby Skilton, Darryl Baldock and Royce Hart was something that he relished. To watch players of this calibre doing things that he suggested to them was an enormous thrill. But it could quite easily have become a nightmare.Towards the middle of the last quarter,Victoria was in trouble—a couple of goals behind and looking at a defeat. The other selectors were worried that Skilton couldn’t get a kick and urged the coach to take him off. Bob was dubious. He’d already taken off Baldock so to remove a player like Skilton from the action would be a monstrous step, almost a heresy. But with five minutes left he relented.As Skilton ran off, he yelled at the coach, ‘About bloody time!’ From there Victoria steadied and won by a goal. Bob was relieved to say the least. When he returned to Melbourne he was content that he’d proved himself to those who doubted him but was happy enough to now concentrate his efforts at Victoria Park. Everything was going well for Collingwood as they headed towards the end of the season but then it all changed.Three defeats in four games saw them struggle into the finals only to be beaten in the first semifinal by five goals. Newspaper headlines weren’t kind. ‘Hoodoo on Bob Rose’ was one. Another declared, ‘Magpies fail him again.’ But was it that? Had the Magpies failed him? Bob thought not, obviously. And he had a point. It wasn’t so much that Collingwood was slipping, it was that other clubs had caught up.While the Pies had been slow in their recruiting, other clubs had snatched a few players away from them.They had also lost a number of players at the end of the previous year. Ray Gabelich, John Henderson,Trevor Steer and a number of others had given the game away. Bob knew that he had to rebuild, to start again. He introduced more young players for 1968 but missed some as well. Bob, Des Tuddenham, Gordon Carlyon and Jack Burns talked to many players but they had to report back to the committee for approval on any
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offer, no matter how meagre. While they were doing that, the other clubs pounced.
Up until now most things had worked out well for Bob Rose. Despite not landing a premiership, he had been as close as possible without winning one. But in 1968 it was entirely different. Collingwood had their usual expectations before the season and all the usual guff was spoken:‘We’ll win the f lag’, and ‘This will be our year’, and ‘Good old Collingwood forever’. But nothing went right. After four rounds the Pies were bottom of the ladder without a win. It didn’t get much better and Collingwood missed the finals for the first time since Bob had been in charge. In the middle of the year they had given their supporters some hope by winning five games in a row but had then fallen away again. It was at that time there were reports of a plot to sack the coach. It was the same social club patrons who had voiced their disquiet in the past. Bob was adamant he would not be quitting and that anyone who thought he would was completely wrong. The movement was in favour of bringing back Murray Weidemann as coach. They suggested he would instil more vigour and fight into the team. These people conveniently forgot that the bloke they already had at the helm was the biggest fighter of them all. And what about the problems the Weed might have demanding that his players train hard and stay out of the pub? The feeling of some critics inside and outside the club was that Bob didn’t coach the way he played, hence the accusations about the lack of vigour. Bob couldn’t understand the argument. He had never considered himself a violent player—he had played a skilful game. He never resiled from the fact that he went hard for the ball and that occasionally opposition players were in his way. If they were hurt he felt for them but essentially that was bad luck.The game was there to be played. That was the manner in which he coached his team. In the past he thought that Collingwood had relied too much on the ‘good oldfashioned guts and determination’ aspects of the game, and that when they arrived on the MCG it was skill that let them down.Although the first part of the equation was important, the skill factor was equally so.
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He also knew that the knock-’em-down, rugged characteristics of a player were not the only qualities by which to judge their bravery. Sometimes courage was needed to stand in front of a pack when you knew you were going to be thumped—just to stay there and cop it. Sometimes you needed to be courageous just to run onto the ground. You needed to have courage to face life. Bob understood that some players were not built to shirt front the opposition or run around belting others behind the ear, so he coached them that way. He encouraged them to be the best that they could be, not to try to be like someone else. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t demand courage from his players—he did. Unquestioning courage. He may not always have received it but it wasn’t for lack of demand.
Des Tuddenham knew this. The memory remained vivid three decades later. ‘In those days we had a fairly good team,’ he remembered, ‘but no real depth.We needed to recruit properly, we needed topping up with a couple of stronger types.’ In other words, a couple more like him. And there were a couple of mad keen Collingwood barrackers who would have fitted in well. But neither Kevin Hall, who wound up at Carlton, nor Dick Clay, one of the best wingmen ever to grace the MCG and who went to Richmond, were ever approached. Des Tuddenham loved Bob Rose and the feeling was mutual. In 1966, when Bob approached him to become captain,Tuddenham was overjoyed. He wanted to be captain, he wanted the challenge, and Bob knew that Tuddy was a leader. Tuddenham dedicated himself to the task and gave everything for his coach. But it didn’t mean that the skipper was unaware of criticisms of the coach or that he agreed with everything he did. Tuddenham would do anything for the team and for Bob, but he thought there were a couple of ways Bob might have erred. His treatment of Murray Weidemann was one. ‘If Bob had been a bit easier on Murray and corrected him as he went along, rather than doing anything before the season or before a ball was bounced we’d have won the f lag, no doubt.’ Tuddenham also remembered not knowing much about the altercation before the season started, thinking, like most of the players, that
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Weidemann had just retired and gone bush because of money. It was only afterwards that he thought there might have been ways around the problem. But he also agreed that discipline was to be Bob’s way and for the most part it worked. On ref lection, he understood that Bob could not have had one set of rules for the captain and another for the rest of the players. Over the years Tuddenham could see Bob becoming frustrated with the committee and their attitude to recruiting. He worried that Bob wasn’t forthright enough when addressing them because he was a vice-president as well as the coach. ‘He was such a good bloke,’ Tuddenham said, ‘that I reckon he might not have demanded what he needed, he didn’t fight hard enough for himself.’ Bob was exceptionally loyal—to the club, to the players, to the supporters. Perhaps, thought Tuddenham, at some stage he needed to be a bit more loyal to himself. Looking back,Tuddy reckoned that Bob didn’t receive the support he should have. He thought that Gordon Carlyon was a great administrator and an astute financial person but football was not his forte. Jack Burns, on the other hand, had a football brain and knew players, as did Bob Rose. But, as far as Tuddy knew, Carlyon held the purse strings. He was the one who said who’d be paid and who wouldn’t. Tuddenham thought that Burns should have had that control.‘Bob was aware of that,’ he remembered,‘but didn’t take it strongly enough to the committee.’ Bob regarded Carlyon as a most astute recruiter and one who always placed the club’s interest first. Besides, not many were privy to the internal workings of the committee, certainly not the players, and Bob was not interested in conjecture. At times Tuddenham considered Bob didn’t train the players hard enough. ‘Hawthorn and other clubs had begun their hard training after 1966,’Tuddenham recalled, ‘and I felt we needed a bit of that.’ Bob worked on the natural talent and the skills, Tuddenham said, and didn’t give them the hard work they needed. At one stage,Tuddy even offered to take over training himself. Bob declined gracefully. He also asked in later years why Bob didn’t train or coach them as he had played. Bob had smiled at him. It seemed that some people still didn’t
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understand that Bob considered he had trained and coached the way he played—fitness, skill and toughness at the ball. But for all that,Tuddenham thought that, at the end of the day, all the recruiting and all the tough training in the world wouldn’t have changed the results. Perhaps 1967 and 1968 might have been different but not the others. When everything was added up, Bob Rose was a wonderful coach and knew what he was doing. Tuddenham remembered that after 1964, when he was over the initial disappointment, Bob was fairly content with his first year. ‘If he’d known what was coming along, though, he would have thought a bit differently.’
The year of 1968 was not without its high points. During that year Robert played his first game in the black-and-white stripes. He had made significant progress with his football and was a member of the first eighteen at Haileybury College. Ron Richards was coach of the Collingwood youngsters and asked Robert to train with the Under-19s. Richards could see a big future for the snowy-haired young bloke and when Robert made his debut mid-season, he was even surer. Robert’s football ability caused Bob both immense pride and some problems. Bob was not a name in cricket but football was different. No matter what he did, in some quarters Bob would always be criticised about Robert. So he stayed out of the way as much as he could, only giving advice when asked and never being seen anywhere near the coaches during games. Even if he’d wanted to interfere, his son would have told him to ‘nick off ’ pretty quickly, football legend or not.
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y the start of 1969, Bob had acquired another title to go with ‘Mr Football’ and ‘King Bobby’. It was ‘Mr Unlucky’—not a name he liked and he thought it inappropriate. He set out to change the misconception. Maybe the critics got to Bob, maybe it was his own initiative, but whatever it was the players underwent a demanding pre-season training schedule.The old criticism of lack of fitness surfaced again so the players worked out on the track as well as in the new gymnasium at Victoria Park. Bob worked on fitness like never before, while being mindful of their skills. He was more confident than ever before. But he knew that he needed a premiership if he was to keep the knives out of his back. His side was fit, fast, mostly young, pacy and very, very skilful. However, recruiting was still a problem for Bob, especially when he f lew to Perth in the off-season to interview a youngster named Neil Balme and his brother. Balme’s father worked for Nestlé and was to be transferred to Melbourne so Bob and club secretary, Peter Lucas, organised for Balme senior and his sons to f ly over and see what the Magpies had to offer. There were a few clubs in the running and the agreement was almost complete when along came Richmond and trumped the Magpies. Bob was dismayed.Another one lost. Perhaps he would have been somewhat heartened if he’d known that money was not the only reason the two youngsters had signed with the Tigers.Although money
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was significant, their decision was inf luenced by a place on the players’ trip to Surfers Paradise.
The season started badly with only two wins from the first five matches. But things improved, and with only two more losses, the Magpies finished the year equal with Carlton on wins but on top by percentage. Tuddenham had been his usual industrious self all year, Thompson was maturing quickly and McKenna was becoming a real problem for opposing defences, kicking sixteen goals in the game against South Melbourne. When the teams met in the second semifinal, the Blues and the Magpies had a win each from the year. Collingwood won by ten goals early in the year in a spiteful match and the Blues won by ten points five matches from the season’s end. That loss was marked by another uncharacteristic remark from Bob afterwards. ‘How we are looking forward to playing Carlton in the second semifinal,’ he told Ron Carter of The Age after the game. It was, as Carter noted, a challenging remark given that there were still five matches to go and given Collingwood’s tendency to self-destruct. But Bob was proved right. Collingwood and Carlton did meet in that match, although afterwards the coach was not quite as happy. Ron Barassi had the Blues playing excellent football and, after a close first half, raced away to win by six goals. Bob was furious. He locked the players away and when they emerged nearly an hour later, they appeared humbled and shocked. As well as being a good bloke, Bob Rose was a coach who told the truth when he had to. He was not averse to resorting to verbal intimidation when he thought it was required. Many a player had been on the end of a fearsome blast at times. After training on the Tuesday night, he did it again. He spoke his mind, full of five years of frustration. He told his players they had let Collingwood down both in name and spirit. He said that during the year they had played for each other and the club, and that they needed to decide very quickly if they wanted to do the same against Richmond on Saturday. Then the criticism was over. From that moment on everything Bob said was positive, but the players were under no illusions as to
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what was expected of them.They swore to their coach they would not let him down. In the rooms before the game they bounced around, encouraging each other and giving Bob confidence that he’d reached them.Then they promptly went out and lost. Once again it was close at half-time but Richmond ran away with it after that. Bob was a disheartened man after that game. His gamble by playing a half-fit Tuddenham had not paid off, although Tuddy had struggled valiantly. The critics said that some of his team-mates needed to show the same sort of fight. Perhaps they were a bit harsh. Certainly Collingwood at times needed a bit more steel in their game but basically they were beaten because they were just not good enough. Bob knew as much. He still had not got his wish of having a team suited to the MCG. He needed more balance in his side. He had big men, he had small men, they could win at home easily enough and on the other smaller grounds, but they didn’t have a team for the finals. They always got close but their lack of class across the ground eventually showed. And there was not much more that Bob could do about it. Certainly, he thought he had tried everything and he suspected that the players had given him everything, yet he was still heartbreakingly without a premiership.
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y the start of 1970, not only had Robert’s cricket developed, his football in the Under-19s had been noticed. His name ensured that he would be looked at closely, but there was no guarantee that anything would come of it. The Rose name had been no use to Peter in his sporting pursuits, such as they were. As a youngster, Peter was often asked by wellmeaning players if he would be playing for the Pies when he grew up, but at that stage he had shown a singular lack of ability with ball games. Even at fifteen years of age he had taken more of an interest in the quieter, more genteel pursuits available. Peter liked footy—indeed, he would never miss a match. But while his brother looked at the tactical and the purist sides of the game, Peter was more interested in the theatre and the aesthetics of the whole proceedings. He also loved the atmosphere of Collingwood and was incredibly proud of his father and brother. Even though Bob was preoccupied for most of the week, he still found time for his younger son. Every Sunday morning during the footy season Bob had to drive to Channel Seven to appear on World of Sport, discussing the day’s matches and answering questions, some serious, others less so, from the panel. Most times he would take Peter with him. Peter loved the atmosphere of the television station and was interested, not so much in the football side of things, but in the make-up,
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the sets and the way the producers went about their business. In its own way, World of Sport was theatre and Peter loved it. The journeys to and from the studio would be filled with conversation between father and son. Some of it was about sport, the rest was about everything going on in their lives, Robert included.
Robert had made the senior list in 1969 and had played for the reserves that year. Senior selection had been mooted but the coach had not been sufficiently impressed. He was also extremely wary about the thoughts of certain sections of the club. Robert’s cricket ability, though, was on another level altogether. It seemed that he would make runs or take wickets whenever he played. Waverley had also been the beneficiary of some high-class performances and the move from sub-district class to the district ranks was a formality. One season, Bob played in the same side as his son at Waverley. In one game, the two Roses’ performances won a match almost by themselves. Bob took five for fifteen and made a half-century while Rob polished off the other five batsman for 39. That was a more accomplished performance than another game the two had played earlier. On that occasion, Robert was batting and making runs easily, as was usually the case, when a wicket fell. His father was the next man in and, as the bowling was not altogether threatening, Robert told his old man to keep his head down and the two could make some easy runs.Two balls later, Bob, his usual impatient manner meaning that he didn’t want to wait around for the loose ball needing to be hit, was caught trying to belt one delivery into the adjoining suburb. As he walked off, his son simply shook his head and sighed. These two Rose men were an alliance, an affinity. Peter was totally different. He had never harboured any ambitions to be a sports star or deluded himself that he had the necessary talent. Rather, he was content with learning more about the world than his brother might wish to know. He had played the occasional game of cricket but it wasn’t in the senior school team. Instead, his stage was in the back corners of the school property, sports ground number 6 or some such distant place. Bob, though, still went to watch him. He found
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enjoyment seeing his sons perform in whatever they did. He didn’t differentiate with his love.
At the end of 1969, Gordon Carlyon had retired and Collingwood embarked on a spectacular recruiting drive for Western Australian champion, Peter Eakins. There was a perception around the club that it was not before time. Collingwood was not happy with what was being produced from their allocated recruiting zone, introduced two years earlier, and had always been against the concept of zones anyway. So they turned their attention elsewhere. The interstate market was open for everyone. It wasn’t his fault but Eakins was paid, for Collingwood, an exorbitant amount of money simply for signing on. When his contract became public knowledge the trouble started. Bob was not against recruiting Eakins. In fact, he was happy that finally he was to be given some players to work with. But he was concerned about the effect it would have on the other members of the team, especially those who were considered the top players. His fears were well-founded. In February 1970, Len Thompson and Des Tuddenham made demands on the club for contracts for similar amounts to Eakins. Earlier requests had already been refused and now the two were becoming more militant. All offers from the club, even one meeting them halfway, were rejected, with the result that Tuddy and Thommo went on strike for three weeks. During that time they didn’t attend club functions or, more importantly for Bob, pre-season training. Eventually, towards the end of March, the two returned to the club and resumed training. But all was not forgiven.A couple of hours after they returned, the club announced that they were to be replaced as captain and vice-captain by Terry Waters and Wayne Richardson. Bob was not impressed by either the two players or the club. He could not envisage his team being led by any other than Tuddenham. But he had no choice—he was one of the committee that had made the decision. At committee meetings Bob always tried to distance himself from any discussions about football, although it wasn’t always possible. He
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would stay for the administrative debates but, even though he gave a report on football and voiced an opinion, he was inclined not to argue too much when they talked about the playing side of things.This was a case in point. He was on the players’ side though. He, too, once had problems with the club as far as money was concerned. He had already been through the same experience and he thought they should be looked after by the club. Most of all, he wanted his captain on the field and happy. Bob also had other things on his mind at that time. Not only were there problems at the club, he had to spend time in hospital with another operation on his back.The operation was a success and while recuperating he had a lot of time to think. Some of those thoughts were about the family, others about the club and where it was heading. He thought about Robert, who would be up for selection that year. He also considered whether the club’s misfortune was due to him. He had said in jest after the 1966 grand final that he might have been a jinx to the side. It was only a throwaway line spoken to relieve the tension but now questions were being asked as though he had brought the bad luck with him. He tried to work out what he’d missed but he couldn’t understand what more he could do. His team had done it all. They’d had lots of victories, they’d spent many seasons on top of the ladder or at least near it, they’d played in many finals—and when it really counted they would fall in a heap. Could it be me, he wondered.
At the start of the 1970 season the press considered that Collingwood would be up there with the best of the sides because of sheer talent, but the reasonable question was posed: would they ever come to terms with the finals? There was no-one in the football world who didn’t want Collingwood to win a f lag.Well, almost no-one. Even devoted Magpie haters like Jack Dyer thought that Bob deserved a premiership. Five times he’d had his team in the finals, with the double chance in four of those appearances, and still no premiership. Maybe this year, they hoped.
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In 1970, the league played on their own ground—Waverley Park— for the first time and it was the first year that 22 rounds were contested with every team playing the others twice.This was by far the fairest way of sorting out who was the best team of the year. That turned out to be Collingwood, finishing two games and a huge percentage clear of Carlton who they had beaten in both games during the year. The Magpies’ specialty during the year was coming from behind to win—a dangerous practice but one that gave the team a real boost in confidence when successful. In June, against St Kilda at Victoria Park, Collingwood achieved what was at the time the biggest comeback in league history. They were 52 points behind at half-time and still 35 points adrift at the last change, yet stormed home to win by seven points. At half-time of that game, Bob had been at his most fearsome. He told the players in blistering terms that he would finish the game with fourteen men if he thought that was all who were committed to the cause. He accused them of not being hard enough at the ball, something that was completely foreign to him. His vitriol shamed his players who knew they had let him down—again. Yet during the break, it had seemed nothing could beat St Kilda. After all, how could a team be beaten after having an eight-goal lead at half-time?
Before the second semifinal of 1970 Bob told sports journalist Ron Carter: ‘My boys are playing better than any other Collingwood side I have seen since 1945.’ This was a bold statement and one he couldn’t prove unless they won the f lag.After all, he’d coached the Pies in ten finals for only two wins, not a very good record despite all the contingencies. Then this to another journalist, Peter Stone:‘Nothing in the wide world is going to stop us winning the premiership . . . nothing.’ Bob was not an outspoken man so maybe this was him talking about himself rather than the club. He had to be positive, and he wanted so desperately to win the f lag that perhaps he made statements that he would not normally utter. He also said that the finals losses in previous years would not be a mental block and that he and the team were fully aware of their responsibilities towards the club.
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The game was close. Collingwood led by five points at half-time but Carlton fought back to lead by one less at the last change. This was mainly due to the emergence of Carlton’s lithe blond-haired reserve, Ted Hopkins, who came onto the ground early in the third quarter, kicked two goals and set up a couple more. But in the end the Magpies were too good and won by ten points with ten more scoring shots. Carlton thrashed St Kilda the following week in the preliminary final to give themselves another chance of beating the Maggies for the only time that year.
As resilient as Bob Rose was, as much as he bore the agony of losing finals, as much as he stood by his team and believed in Collingwood and himself, if ever there was something that was to break his heart, the 1970 grand final was it. It started well. In the first half, the Magpies played the same way they had during the year—with absolute authority. However, at half-time there were two problems. McKenna—who had kicked bags of eight, nine and nine goals against Carlton in their previous three meetings—had already kicked five by the 20-minute mark of the second quarter when he was hurt in a heavy collision with Tuddenham, who was also injured. Collisions were sometimes a problem with Tuddy.As well-meaning as he was and as hard as he tried to make sure the opposition knew he was around, more than occasionally he damaged his team-mates. During the break, Bob was most concerned about the state of those two players as well as Wayne Richardson who had a badly corked thigh. Then there was the fact that Collingwood had blazed away at the goals but inaccuracy—five goals from sixteen chances up to midway through the second quarter—meant they were only eight goals in front at the long break rather than at least twelve. Straight kicking had been a concern for Bob during the year. His team had ample opportunities to destroy sides but they kicked 24 points from 37 shots against St Kilda, seventeen from 25 against Melbourne, 30 from 47 against North, 21 from 34 against Essendon and finally 23 from 36 against Carlton in the second-last game. And they were only the worst ones. Consequently, the first half score was not entirely unexpected.
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In the Carlton rooms at the same time, Ron Barassi believed his team was still a chance.They had started to get a bit of the ball in the few minutes before half-time and he didn’t expect any team he coached to give up easily. He famously told his players to handball, handball, handball after half-time while across in the Collingwood rooms Bob was a study in concentration.
There have been many stories about the Collingwood rooms during that break, most of them from people who were not there.The scene was scorched into Bob’s mind and stayed with him for a long time. Even on his 74th birthday it was still clear to him. ‘People talk about champagne f lowing and all that other rubbish,’ he remembered vehemently, ‘Can anyone really believe I’d allow that?’ Other rumours abound about huge numbers of supporters patting players on the back and everyone talking about how they would celebrate after the game. According to Bob it didn’t happen. ‘Really,’ he scoffed angrily, ‘Not only would they not fit in, my rules about supporters in the rooms were well-known. No, McKenna and Tuddenham were my concern; them and Ted Hopkins.’ As trainers worked on the injuries, Bob spent some three or four minutes talking to Colin Tully, the back pocket who would have to pick up Hopkins should he come on the ground. Tully had been the centreman for Collingwood for many years, but Bob wanted Barry Price to play there so Tully had to move. The Price–McKenna combination was the talk of the competition during the year: McKenna with his long, fast leads and accurate kicking; Price with his uncanny ability to deliver the ball, lace out, wherever he wanted. As good as Tully was, he was not in Price’s class so he was reinvented, firstly as an on-the-ball type and then in the back pocket. Bob knew that Carlton wasn’t done for and that Hopkins was an obvious choice to reinvigorate them. It was, he thought, the only thing left for the Blues to do.Tully was told that the next few minutes were crucial. That Hopkins, if and when he came on, was extremely dangerous. Then Bob warned the whole team how things stood. He warned them about over-confidence. He told them all about the injuries. He
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assured them that it didn’t matter if they were fifteen goals in front, Carlton was always going to come back.
What happened in the second half is the stuff of legend.As the football world knows, Hopkins did come on; Carlton did start to handball; and Collingwood did start to fade. Yet, asked Bob afterwards, who would have expected the Blues to kick eight straight goals? Collingwood had steadied towards the end of the third quarter and still led by seventeen points at the last change. They’d had 29 scoring shots to seventeen. At three-quarter time Bob thought that Carlton had made their run and told his players that they had to keep attacking, keep believing in themselves and they would win. He spoke the words for himself as well as for his team. Carlton threw everything at the Magpies and eventually gained the lead. In the frantic last few minutes Collingwood trailed by four points when McKenna dashed away on a lead to Price. Somehow Price delivered the ball and it appeared safe in McKenna’s hands as the Carlton defenders crashed into him. Everyone stopped, including Sergio Silvagni, who then cleared the ball anywhere. Had the mark been paid, McKenna was odds-on to kick the goal and then who knows what would have happened. But it wasn’t paid. Afterwards, Collingwood players swore that umpire Don Jolley blew his whistle and then called play-on after changing his mind. But it didn’t change anything. Silvagni’s kick found its way to Jesaulenko who gathered in between three Collingwood defenders and, with his left foot, against the direction he was running, got away an obscure, bouncing, dribbling, kick that somehow reached the goal line before Peter Eakins’s desperate lunge could stop it. Now, no matter what anyone could do, no matter what prayers were said or courageous acts performed, nothing was going to stop Carlton. It had appeared that way earlier in the quarter. It was as if it had already been written somewhere—Bob Rose shall not win a premiership. Did the players let him down? To some extent they did and they freely admit it. But what about the goal from Jezza that bounced through? What about the mark to McKenna at the death? Bob never gave up hope though. He never sat back and watched
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the game wander along. He made moves, he sent his runner out constantly. Colin Rose ran for miles and miles during the game, delivering his messages, encouraging the players and watching the unwatchable from close at hand. When the siren sounded, Bob sat bewildered, looking across the ground at nothing in particular, then walked slowly towards the centre of the ground. He had his responsibilities to attend to but wanted desperately to be alone. Des Tuddenham came across and put his arm around the coach and soon both were among the players.A rub of the head here, a pat on the back there, stopping to offer words of sympathy and encouragement at times, Bob Rose mingled with his physically exhausted and mentally drained troops. After the game, Bob’s question to the pressmen in the dressing rooms was probably really directed to the gods:‘Where did we go wrong?’ If there was conjecture about the state of the rooms at half-time there was none after the game. A few def lated balloons, black-and-white streamers that had, symbolically, almost fallen down and, for the most part, silence. Shattered dreams were everywhere, occasional f lashes of anger, and plenty of tears. Bob sat quietly, white-faced. He didn’t cry, although it was said that he did, but he admitted later that tears were not far away. It was also said that he rubbed the head of Len Thompson and told him not to worry, that there would be plenty more grand finals. Thompson emphatically denied that happened. Bob Rose did too; he was in no condition to make promises and certainly not ones like that. Bob’s mood was somewhere between furious, exasperated and sad, but mostly numb.Then, when he spoke, he said how sorry he felt for the players. Even 30 years after the event, he still grieved for them: ‘I coached them into grand finals and yet they never experienced the feeling of winning a f lag.That still hurts me.’ And he felt sorry for the supporters, the trainers, the families and everyone else he could think of. Bob blamed himself. ‘I don’t know what more I could have done, but there must have been something. I take the blame.’
The following day Bob made his way to the Channel Seven studios for the obligatory World of Sport dissection of the game.
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It had been a long night.After the game, Elsie and Peter fought their way through the crowds into the rooms and tried to make Bob feel better. It was no use. Then, after what seemed an eternity, they made their way to Victoria Park—usual practice after a grand final—before heading back home for a party with all the players. There was plenty of music, laughter, commiserations and drink but very little sleep. Television obligations were not something Bob was looking forward to and no-one would have blamed him if he hadn’t turned up. They would, however, have been surprised. Bob Rose was not a man to back away from anything. When he arrived on the set, Lou Richards and Jack Dyer strode on singing a parody of the club song, ‘Good Old Collingwood For Never’. Bob was infuriated. Not so much because of Dyer since he was the opposition. But Richards? He was a Collingwod man. He could have said and done anything else that day but not this. Richards knew that Bob was less than impressed and knew also that Bob was looking for him after the segment finished. Richards hid and was grateful that Bob could not find him. Bob, in some ways, was grateful too. He understood the way papers and television needed the stars of the game. Indeed, at one stage he had even had a ghost-written column. He never backed away from criticism and sometimes even agreed with the comments. At other times he was annoyed. Richards had written a number of columns that were critical of Collingwood over the years, most of them directed at the players. He pointed out things that were obvious to most observers of the game and even, he suspected, to Collingwood. He was certainly loved at Victoria Park but, sometimes, even his supporters cringed at his comments.
On Monday, the papers were scathing of Collingwood, full of praise for Barassi, Hopkins and Carlton, and sympathetic towards Bob. There were not many mentions of how close the game actually was.The old story resurfaced about Collingwood being soft and Bob not training them hard enough during the week. But on the Thursday night Bob had thought that the team had trained better than ever before. Besides, how much more can a coach
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do than have his side in front by almost eight goals in the grand final? At that stage no-one thought that Collingwood could have been any fitter or played with any more vigour, courage or skill. If Tuddenham hadn’t crashed into McKenna and the two had played in the second half the way they did in the first, Bob has no doubt that his team would have won. But ifs don’t play a part in reality, that’s another thing that Bob Rose was sure of. Football, in the same way as life, is about what happens not what might have happened. Bob Rose never really came to terms with 1970, and he’s not sure if he ever will. Inside him, deep inside him, is a small black hole where memories of a premiership should be. That year changed Collingwood forever, of that no-one is in any doubt. Not Bob, not the players, not the captain, not the club, not the critics. Collingwood and the people involved would never be the same again.
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ollingwood the suburb had changed even more by 1971. Factories had drifted away in the previous few years as the developing new suburbs offered cheap and more spacious land. The population had gone the same way. A census, in which Aborigines had been counted for the first time, told of a drop in the population of over 20 per cent. Families had moved out to the suburbs along with the factories, and professional couples were taking their places. On land where more demolition had taken place, blocks of high-rise f lats were still being built and a Labor politician by the name of Gough Whitlam was talking about becoming the next prime minister, much to the delight of Peter and much to the chargin of Bob. In the midst of all this change, Bob Rose was reappointed as coach of Collingwood for the 1971 season. Secretary Peter Lucas was quoted after a meeting as saying that, ‘The committee expressed full confidence in Bob Rose as coach.We feel that Bob has done a magnificent job for the club. It was no fault of his that we failed to win the premiership. Committee men feel that this announcement will give him great confidence in himself. It will also let him know that the committee has absolute confidence in him.’ Lucas was right. There was confidence in Bob. The players had it, the press had it and most of the members had it. Since the man had not won a premiership and had an ordinary finals record, the confidence was considered misplaced by some. The usual rumblings of
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discontent emanated from the social clubrooms. None of this affected Bob until the season drew closer and he came to realise that there may very well be some committee members who were not happy. At the start of the season, Bob approached the committee and told them he wanted Des Tuddenham to be reinstated as captain. He thought that Tuddy had taken his punishment the previous year for his perceived misdeeds and desperately wanted him to be appointed as leader. Tuddenham himself had made statements about the captaincy. He said that he had been made aware that he could regain the position and that he knew Bob wanted him. He also remarked more than once that if he’d been captain in the 1970 grand final Hopkins wouldn’t have kicked the goals he did, he’d have been off the ground. The question he really needed to answer after that remark was, why should not being captain have stopped him? At the meeting to decide the captaincy issue, Tuddy and the incumbent, Terry Waters, each had four votes while the other candidate, Wayne Richardson, had three. The Richardson votes then went to Waters, which left Tuddy, and therefore Bob, out in the cold. Even though the result might have been seen as a snub to Bob it was more likely a sign of lingering resentment of Tuddenham for his misdemeanours.Tuddy was furious and vowed not to play for the Pies again. Eventually he relented but only after an assurance that he would be cleared at the end of the year. Bob, typically, took it all in his stride. He was fuming inside but he knew that emotion was not going to change anything and besides, he had to be aware of the other players’ needs. There was, however, one thing that made him quite upset. Every so often business would take him away during the week and early in the year he missed a committee meeting where they were set to discuss the assistant coach. On his return, the treasurer Neil Kearns informed him that Neil Mann had been appointed. ‘Don’t you think you could have waited until I returned?’ fumed Bob. Not that he necessarily had anything against Mann, who was also still the reserves coach, but Bob was part of the committee and the decision just didn’t feel right. The season started spectacularly with the Pies unbeaten after seven rounds. At the beginning of the year, Bob had vowed once again to win the f lag.
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‘Make no mistake,’ he told journalist Brian Hansen, ‘this will be our year. Everyone at Collingwood is sick and ashamed of being runners-up.’ He told the players he wanted everything they had to give. Even though the players always said they had given everything, which Bob, for the most part, believed, deep down he wasn’t so sure. He knew in his heart that Collingwood lacked the very thing everyone always thought they had—fanaticism. Bob understood the difference between wanting to win and being ruthless about it. He knew that ruthlessness was required along with dedication, fitness and skill. As the season wore on, it looked as though the Maggies were going to be around the mark again as after round seventeen they had only been beaten three times.They were outright favourite for the f lag but then in what had almost become an annual event, they proceeded to lose four of the last five games to struggle into the finals. Bob was walking down Johnston Street one day on the way to one of those games, and supporters, frustrated with what had happened over the years, called out to him.‘You’re in the four now but are you going to let us down again?’ It was one of the most hurtful things anyone had ever said to him. Bob, being who he was, could cope with those comments, but he knew it was getting to some of the players who had also been yelled at. During this series of losses, Bob came under severe criticism. Against St Kilda at VFL Park in round nineteen he removed captain Terry Waters from the ground and replaced him with Robert Rose. The captain had been totally out of touch, fumbling the ball, dropping marks and desperately searching for the form that had eluded him for most of the year. It was a difficult move to make but it showed the tough side of Bob Rose who was never afraid of the hard decisions. Waters was in good company though, as Magpie hero Peter McKenna was taken off shortly after.The full-forward had only kicked one goal for the game and couldn’t get near the ball at all. He was furious at being removed and, after ripping the strapping from his fingers and f linging it away, he stormed into the rooms where Collingwood’s legendary trainer, Alf King, brought him down to earth. ‘Pete,’ he was told, ‘I’d give anything to be dragged in front of a
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crowd like this.’ McKenna realised then how privileged he was to be a Collingwood footballer and that what had happened to him was not the worst thing in the world. He said as much afterwards. ‘You just have to swallow your pride.Take it on the chin. It’s football, you have your ups and downs.’ Waters, however, was not as magnanimous.
Sitting with Bob that day, as he did in every game that Bob coached, was Charlie Utting. Utting had started with Collingwood in 1943 and when Bob came along the two became quite friendly. Utting showed the quiet country boy the more exuberant ways of inner suburban life. Bob learned about the backstreets and how things were done and, in turn, Utting learned something about the conduct of young men. Theirs was a case of opposites attracting—Bob with his youthful good looks and innocent approach, and Charlie, craggy-faced and never without his felt pork pie hat. Utting coached the seconds for a couple of years before taking on the role of chairman of selectors when Bob became coach. The two men discussed selections and moves for years with very little conf lict. There were only a few times they had disagreements that were never resolved. One was the appointment of Terry Waters over Tuddenham in 1971. Utting believed that since Tuddenham had shown his loyalty, he should remain as captain, but he was in full agreement with Bob when it came to the decision to take both McKenna and Waters off the ground. The one person in the whole episode at VFL Park that day who was not happy was Terry Waters. After reaching the boundary line, he continued running straight into the rooms where he showered, changed and left the ground before the game was over. He hadn’t brought a car to the game so he hitchhiked home, furious. A couple of days passed and Waters was hauled before the committee to explain himself, which he couldn’t do to their satisfaction. There were suggestions that he was sacked from the captaincy but that was not so; he resigned. He had three reasons for doing so. First, his position in the side was under question; second, his captaincy was also under question and third, he did not have the support of his coach.
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Waters didn’t necessarily believe that the three reasons had validity but he knew he was in an untenable position. Regardless of whether he was sacked or whether he resigned, he was no longer captain and Wayne Richardson took over the role for the rest of the year. Waters then played one game in the reserves as part of his punishment but wrenched his knee. At training the next week, Bob suggested that he continue to rest it.Waters did not play again that year. Collingwood had gone to great lengths to recruit Waters. His club, Dandenong, on the outskirts of Melbourne, had refused him a clearance. Collingwood then threatened a lawsuit when they were made aware of an agreement between Waters and his club that guaranteed him a clearance if he ever made league ranks. Terry Waters was an exceptional footballer—a good mark, a good kick and his skills were as good as most players. But, as much as Bob admired Waters as a person and a footballer, he wasn’t what he thought a captain should be. Strength and setting an example for the rest of the team were the qualities that Bob expected of a captain. Captains should do everything in their power to reach the ball. Waters knew that but never discussed it with Bob. They were, he thought, of like mind. If Bob was a general then he was at least a major while blokes like Tuddy charged out of the trenches when ordered.
Where once there had been a certain conf lict, the years softened both men’s approach and three decades afterwards the two have remained firm friends. Waters said later that Bob Rose was perhaps the strongest inf luence on his decision to come to Collingwood rather than the other clubs that were after him. He had enormous admiration for the man he considered to be before his time.‘He would bring in specialist running coaches for instance,’ Waters remembered. ‘And he’d work on individual strategies with individual players. It was something that we thrived on, we wanted to learn.’ He also recalled that despite Bob’s easygoing demeanour, he was somewhat dictatorial. ‘He mostly got his own way,’ said Waters, ‘and there’s nothing wrong with that. After all, he took the stick when it went wrong.’
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Waters also made the distinction between being tough and being overly hard. Bob was tough but he wasn’t stupid.The players followed him because they wanted to; they did things because of him, not in spite of him. Waters also thinks that the notion of Collingwood not being tough enough was rubbish. He still waits for someone to point out to him a final they lost because of a lack of toughness. When Waters was thrust into the captaincy in 1970, he took it in his stride. He handled it well too, with even Bob admiring his play during the year. Waters thought that Tuddenham’s and Thompson’s stand at the start of the year was entirely reasonable. He thought that the adage, ‘there’s no right or wrong way, just the Collingwood way’ was outdated, to say the least. He considered that the reaction of the club was unreasonable, even though he benefitted by inheriting the captaincy. Then, in the middle of 1971, when Tuddenham was appointed as captain of the state side, it added further insult to Waters. Not only did his own coach believe he was not the right sort of captain but the state selectors, by their action, had reinforced that view. Even though they were both upset, the two men didn’t let the turmoil in the club stand in the way of their relationship. And, apart from one half of football in the last game of 1970, the results were proof that they got on.Waters’s form was impressive and he was named in Collingwood’s best players in all the most important games of the year, including the finals. But the incident at Waverley towards the end of 1971 troubled him. He recalled that he was battling poor form that day and he knew that his football career was on the edge.There was a question mark on his position in the side. It was all playing on his mind when he received the call from Colin Rose to come off. ‘I was furious,’ he remembered. ‘Being captain and being dragged was not on.’ His relationship with the coach was sound while the team was performing but during the last few games of the year, when the wheels started to fall off, it degenerated quickly. Waters knew what Bob thought and Bob knew that Waters wasn’t giving what he expected. The pressure of the situation was mounting on both men. Mind games were being played.
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The insult of being taken off affected Waters. He was upset with himself for being upset. He knew that the coach held the position of power and could do what he wanted while Waters could do nothing. The fact that Robert Rose was the player who took his place had no bearing on his feelings. In fact, Waters didn’t know he was the player who replaced him until much later. And he knew that Bob, for all his disagreements with him, was not that sort of man. Indeed, Bob had been overly cautious with his son. Selecting him was always going to be a risky exercise and many thought Robert should have been picked long before he was. He had played impressively in the reserves during 1969 and 1970 with just one game in the seniors. In 1971, after continuing his form in the seconds for a few games, he had played the last dozen in the senior team. It concerned Bob that onlookers wondered what he thought of Robert. Was he biased for or against him? Bob, however, was too clever for that. Robert played when Bob considered he was good enough and when he wasn’t, he didn’t. Simple really. Robert copped a bit from the other side of the fence at times. ‘You’re only in because of your father’, was a comment from time to time but Robert ignored all that and proved his worth to the supporters. He never had to prove anything to himself or his father.
Later in the week after the incident,Waters gave an interview to John Sorrel, a reporter from The Herald.Waters believed the interview had ended and the notebooks put away, when Sorell asked a couple more questions in general conversation while the two men were standing around chatting. Waters answered them honestly but with no malice aforethought. Just general answers to general questions. But, Waters came to realise, he had fallen for the oldest trick in the journalists’ book. The headlines were splashed across the pages the next day: ‘Collingwood needs new blood’.Waters was also quoted as saying the team needed a new coach.That was enough for the factions to come out fighting—those who wanted Bob to go and those who wanted him to stay.The Sherrin versus Galbally feud rose again, as well as all the heartbreak from 1970 and the Tuddenham–Thompson episode. Collingwood people had long memories. The players heard the rumblings, they knew that Bob was under
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pressure and they held a meeting on the Thursday night after training before the last game of the season. No officials were invited and all players who had played seniors were in attendance, including Terry Waters. He went along because he understood that his conf lict, although significant, was just one incident in a journey he’d started as a nineteen year old with Bob Rose. He never really thought of him as a father figure but he relished the almost pastoral care that Bob showed towards his f lock—his inclusion of everyone, the way he understood the differences men had and the way he worked to bring everyone to the same end. The players had remained silent during the entire goings-on over the previous few weeks and although they didn’t comment specifically on any issue, new captain Wayne Richardson emerged from the meeting with a statement vowing full support for the coach. The statement contained derision for ‘backstabbers and rumour mongers’, and said the players were ‘sick and tired’ of criticism of their coach. For his part, Bob was thrilled. ‘I never doubted their loyalty,’ he said, ‘now we can look forward to Carlton tomorrow and then the finals.’ But all the meetings and all the talk proved worthless in that last match of the season when Collingwood visited Princes Park for the clash with Carlton. At half-time the Pies held a 42-point lead, only two points different to their lead in the previous year’s grand final. And, as they had in that game, they lost. Carlton overhauled them in the second half and won by nineteen points. This was the final humiliation for Bob. If there was anything to make him realise that his reign was over it must have been this. No matter what he thought about luck, fate and all the rest of it, this was something beyond understanding. How on earth could he get the players up after that? The answer was simple. He couldn’t, even though he tried. The semifinal against Richmond was, like many Collingwood battles, close for three quarters and at the last change there was only two points in it. But, while Collingwood fell apart in the last quarter, the Tigers romped away, winning by 44 points. All the usual stories were run out again. Collingwood was soft. Collingwood was not fit or tough enough. Bob was too much of
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a nice guy to be a hard coach. He was too close to his players. Blah, blah, blah. Six years later, a new coach by the name of Tom Hafey would f log the players unmercifully, training them when they were already over-trained—running them into the ground and demanding strong, hard, rugged play. He lost five grand finals. The final against Richmond was the end for Bob Rose.Three days later, he resigned. One of the last things he said was, ‘All the black-and-white blood has drained out of my veins.’
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FOOTSCRAY 1972 – 1973
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n the other side of town, the Footscray Football Club had been coached by their own legend, off and on, since 1957. Their mentor was Ted Whitten, who had taken over the mantle of Mr Football from Bob Rose, sharing the title with Ron Barassi, depending on your point of view. The people of the western suburbs loved Whitten for the passion he showed whenever he played. He was the one shining light they had enjoyed since Charlie Sutton had won them a premiership in 1954. Appointed playing coach in 1957 at the age of 23, Teddy had guided the team into the 1961 grand final, which they lost to Hawthorn.There had been little joy since. In 1966 the club sacked him and returned to Sutton.Whitten was devastated and threatened to go to Richmond but president Jack Collins did everything he could to keep the champion at Footscray. Then, in 1969, Sutton retired once more and when Neil Mann and Geelong star Bob Davis, among others, rejected overtures to be coach, the club turned once more to Whitten. By 1970 the Bulldogs committee, still led by Jack Collins, was again unhappy with Whitten. The side had not played finals football for a number of years and the club felt that it was time for a change.They thought playing coaches were old hat.Whitten disagreed but the club insisted, although they allowed him to continue in the role until he broke the record of Dick Reynolds for the most number of games
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played in the VFL. He was told that once the record was his he had to revert to being a non-playing coach. Again, Whitten was not happy and disagreed. He eventually relented and continued in the role for the 1971 season but the social side of life seemed to take precedence over the more serious business of winning football games. Collins believed that the team had a ‘near enough is good enough’ attitude. Whitten, for all his impassioned speeches to the side, also appeared to be content with the theatre of the game rather than the actual winning. Collins could see that they were getting the same thing over and over again. There was very little subtlety in Teddy and the game was changing. They needed someone who could change the Bulldogs with it. Television and radio commitments were thrown Whitten’s way regularly and he took them up regularly. Collins spoke to him about the way it affected the coach’s role but one day at Geelong proved too much. The Bulldogs had not won at Kardinia Park for about 40 years and assumed they would be beaten every time they drove down the highway. In this game, however, they had got within a kick. In the rooms afterwards the excitement was similar to winning. Bill Findlay, the assistant coach, was patting players on the back, ruff ling their hair and generally saying, ‘Well done boys.’ Collins asked what Whitten was up to.The answer was that Whitten had returned to Melbourne at three-quarter time for a television commitment. Collins was incensed. Whitten was told he would not be sacked, nor did he resign.When the coaching position came up at the end of the year the club would not reappoint him, they would look for someone else. That someone was Bob Rose.
The official talks began a month or so after Bob had resigned from Collingwood. At that stage he considered his football career over. He had not thought about looking elsewhere. In fact, he was relieved and was looking forward to a rest from the rigours and stresses of the job. Punishing himself again was out of the question. Then, one day, the phone rang. It was Kevin Webb, the Bulldogs secretary. Could a few men from the Footscray Football Club come over for a chat? For some reason Bob said yes. After all, it was only a
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chat and if nothing else he wanted to find out what it was all about. Ego, too, meant that if they thought that he was someone they wanted then he should listen. The proposition they put to Bob was simple.They wanted him to be their coach and they were prepared to pay him almost three times what he had been receiving at Collingwood. There was no bargaining; just a substantial offer on the table. It took about five minutes for Bob to become interested. He told the deputation that he would consider the offer but if everything could be arranged to his satisfaction, then he would more than likely sign on. Bob liked the thought of being paid handsomely for doing a job he loved but at the same time he was cautious about transferring his allegiances to such a club. Collingwood had problems but Footscray had more. They were a lowly club, usually beaten, their home was in one of the poorest suburbs in Melbourne, and they had only one f lag in their history. At least Collingwood made the finals, even grand finals, before they lost. At Footscray it was a different story. Bob wondered, realistically, if coaching the Dogs would become a case of frying pans and fires for him. He decided he had to sit down and discuss it fully with the family. Elsie, as she had been all their life, was supportive. She understood her husband’s need to be involved in football. She could see the hurt he’d suffered over the years and if there was somewhere he wanted to go and something he wanted to do, then she would be right with him. Theirs was a shared life. They faced whatever came up together. Even though she may not have liked everything he did and every decision he made, she supported him. After he accepted, Bob wondered if he had said yes because of the money or because he loved football and wanted to stay in it or because he was a good coach and Collingwood could ‘get stuffed’. He decided it was a little of each.
In the 1850s Footscray consisted of just a cluster of stone and weatherboard houses built on muddy f lats. It was once separated from Melbourne by Batman’s Swamp on the other side of the Maribyrnong River, originally known as the Salt Water River to distinguish it from the fresh water Yarra River.
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From about 1920, Footscray became the industrial part of Melbourne, full of chimneys, storage tanks and factories. By the mid1950s, roads leading in and out had so many lumps and bumps in them, ruined by trucks that carted everything from petrol and bricks to chemicals and industrial steel for the new skyscrapers that could be seen if you looked east towards the city. For many years there were also glue factories, slaughter houses and bonemills, and the stench from them carried for many a mile. The local council, desperate for more ratepayers, had a history of welcoming noxious industries when they were rejected elsewhere. The people of Footscray prided themselves on being part of a working class suburb. More so even than Collingwood, which had changed dramatically in the last few years. The main difference was that Collingwood had money, or could at least get their hands on it, whereas Footscray had very little.
On the face of it, the task ahead of Bob Rose was huge—to not only rejuvenate his new club but to transpose himself from being a Collingwood man since before he could remember, into the loyal subject of another club. But Bob was enthused by his new challenge. The first thing he noticed when he arrived at the Western Oval in Barkly Street, Footscray, was the lack of pressure. At Collingwood, the expectations were always enormous and probably served to bring the club down at times, while over in the western suburbs the expectation was to lose. Of course the players wanted to win but no supporters, players or officials expected that to happen too many times. Bob wanted to change that culture. Pre-season training began two weeks after Christmas at the Skinner Reserve in Sunshine because the Western Oval was still in the hands of the cricketers. The players took to Bob immediately, and he to them. They relished his training methods because they were completely different to those they were used to. There was individual as well as general training.There was match practice, running, skills and the Bob Rose invention of touchball. This was designed to sort the men from the boys and was described by one player as no-holdsbarred mobile wrestling. Still, it served its purpose, first being a chore but soon becoming fun.
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Training had been discussed at the initial meeting between Bob and the recruiting committee. Jack Collins had given Bob an amount of training that the club thought necessary to which Bob replied simply but emphatically, ‘That’s not enough.’ Collins and the others were impressed and it was perhaps in that moment that the direction of the Footscray Football Club changed. The local press was in attendance at training, and in the next issue, granted more space and photos to a pre-season training run than any paper had before. That was another problem Bob tried to sort out. It didn’t take long for him to realise that the players were idolised and that the local paper would praise them no matter what.While it was understandable that Footscray’s own paper would stick up for the locals, if the players started to believe their own publicity then there were big problems ahead. Bob soon knew that he had quite a number of talented players at his disposal and every now and again he could see the side’s potential. But there was always a problem with the depth of talent. And, of course, with lack of desire. It was one thing to talk about getting better but quite another to actually put in the necessary work. But with the encouragement of their coach small steps soon became larger, and at the start of the season the Bulldogs were ready for the year. The season began with a loss at home to Essendon followed by a win away to Melbourne. They won eleven games for the year, the same as they had for the previous two seasons but they did manage to beat Essendon at Windy Hill.Then in round seven they travelled to Geelong where, with a sensational burst in the last quarter, the Bulldogs won there for the first time in 27 years. It was not a brilliant performance by Footscray—they simply refused to give in.That and a few telling moves together with a tactical speech from their coach at three-quarter time saw the Dogs kick eight goals in the last quarter to blitz the Cats. In the rooms afterwards, Bob told his players that by winning that game they should now be able to see that if they continued to play as a team, victory would become so much easier. Bob was hailed in all quarters of the suburb. This was what they had searched for—a coach who could achieve the results they wanted. Even better was to come.
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For the next match, Footscray visited Victoria Park for the first time since their coach had left Collingwood. They hadn’t won there for eleven years and Bob was extremely nervous during the week, even though he professed indifference. ‘Manangatang or Collingwood, it makes no difference to me,’ he was quoted in the Sun as saying. But it did make a difference. It had to. In Bob’s heart he knew that he wanted to show certain people at Collingwood a thing or two. There was a lot of preparation for the game in both camps, as well as in the Rose household. Robert, who was still living at home, had been selected on the Collingwood bench so father and son banned football talk from the house until after the match. Robert, ever the larrikin, tried to bait his father as the day grew closer but Bob wouldn’t fall for it. He kept his cool and was determined to treat it like any other game. Elsie and Peter watched on, laughing at most of the banter, but concerned at times because they knew how serious it could become. On Thursday night, Bob trained in his old Collingwood jumper for the first time since he’d been at Footscray. He said that it wasn’t a gimmick, it was the only clean one in the house, but most onlookers suspected it was his way of goading his players. As far as the game went, he told reporters that he would be treating Robert as he would any other opposition player or at least he would try to. In the back of his mind he knew how he would counteract Robert but he was torn between wanting his son to play well and negating him for his own side’s sake.There would be no delight or victory in belittling his son on the field. On Saturday he arrived at the ground with Robert and they went through the gates a few paces apart—Robert refusing to walk alongside the opposition and Bob, cannily, using his Collingwood Life Member’s badge to enter. From there it was different. Bob walked into the visitor’s rooms and started psychological work on his players. At half-time in the reserves game, and in what must have been almost a first in league football, Bob took his players, all dressed and ready for action, on a walk around the ground. He’d stop every so often and point out some feature or other and explain what to do
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when the ball was in that particular area.The players listened intently as Bob made his point in each part of the ground. When it was time to run out, the crowd was warmed up. Both sides hit the turf and when Bob walked out into full view of the crowd the reception was amazing. He had been worried more about how he would be received at Victoria Park perhaps more than the game itself, but he need not have worried. The welcome home began when he parked his car and the backslapping and handshakes continued at the gate. Everywhere people wanted to touch and talk to Bobby Rose. As he walked past, fathers pointed out the man in the suit to their sons, saying in hushed tones, ‘That’s Bobby Rose.’The sheer delight on the faces of the faithful spoke more than any words. Then, fittingly for a man of his stature in the club and surprisingly for the notorious Collingwood fans, they stood and applauded him excitedly as he walked to the opposition coach’s position in the stand. As he strode around the familiar territory, Bob felt humbled and emotional.This was more than he thought possible but it demonstrated that the part of his soul he had left at Collingwood was appreciated. It was, he confessed later, one of the proudest moments of his life. Nonetheless, all those feelings changed when the game started and the Magpie fans reverted to their usual state. It didn’t matter much as Bob had thought out his game plan well. In another demonstration of why he was considered one of the most innovative and thinking coaches in the game, the Bulldogs had all the answers. Bob showed his players how to shut down all the big guns in the Magpies side. It was a hectic affair with Bob urging his players to give everything for the jumper but at the same time thinking about their game and sticking to the plan.Thankfully Bob didn’t have to worry about Robert until well into the last quarter and by then the game was over. Robert’s lack of game time appeared as if it was another case of Neil Mann not really wanting him in the side. In the end, Footscray triumphed by four goals. Combined with their victory at Geelong it was a double that not many in Bulldog land thought they would ever see again. There was talk of more victories throughout the year, there was talk of finals, there was even a few old folk talking about the glorious year of 1954, but Bob reminded them there was a long, long way to go.
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After the players had come down to earth from the excitement of the victory, the whole team descended on the Collingwood Social Club where they celebrated the win in fine style. There were some less-than-happy members when the Footscray boys walked in, led by their own former champion. Quite a number thought it was gloating but they couldn’t have known Bob Rose too well. One in particular was Charlie Utting. He was outraged and gave Bob an earful at the bar. It was one thing to leave the club, quite another to come back and beat them, but to come up and gloat about it . . . well! Charlie huffed off and sat with a few others who were not happy. But they missed the point. Bob hadn’t come to gloat. The whole exercise was to show the Footscray players what it was like in the social rooms at Collingwood.To demonstrate not only the passion in the club but also the absolute hatred they had of defeat. If the Bulldogs were to progress as a club they, too, had to have those feelings. It didn’t have any marked effect though and Footscray finished the year in seventh position with eleven wins.They may have done better if they had not lost the last two games of the year against Richmond and Carlton, both by just two points. Inaccurate kicking cost the Dogs in both matches. Bob commented that the team had done everything right except win the game. It was sounding all too familiar.
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uring the middle part of the 1972 season, Robert decided he wanted to leave Collingwood and join his father. He wouldn’t say why but it was clear to most observers that Neil Mann, for whatever reason, did not consider him good enough. He was not being selected for the senior team despite the run of injuries Collingwood was having, and reserves games were not what Robert envisaged playing. He was one of the better cricketers around, but that was played in summer and Robert wanted to be able to play at the best level in everything he did. Collingwood refused to clear him. Even when the season ended, they stuck fast to their decision. And it wasn’t only Footscray. Collingwood said they would not release him to any league side. Bob was not impressed with his old club. He couldn’t understand their reasoning. If he was not good enough to play league football, what was the harm in clearing him? Didn’t they value their judgment? Eventually, Collingwood cleared Robert to Prahran in the VFA, coached by his Uncle Kevin. Robert played a few matches but before round ten of the 1973 season, Footscray, Prahran and Collingwood agreed to let Robert Rose join his father at the Western Oval. This was another chance to stop the tag of ‘Dad’s boy’. It would be difficult though, as after just one training run with the club he was selected to play against Carlton. Once again the sound of spectators arose, yelling about him only
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getting a game because he was the coach’s son. This was one of the things that led him away from Collingwood, especially after the rumours were given credence when Neil Mann didn’t pick him. It didn’t bother his team-mates however and they welcomed him warmly. The impact of his inclusion in the side was not what he had hoped for as his start with Dogs coincided with an alarming run of eleven straight losses that ended any hope they had of finals football. Bob was not happy and set out to change things for the next year. The first thing was to look for a new captain. David Thorpe had been skipper for the 1973 season but was at loggerheads with Bob over the way he played the game and the lack of responsibility he showed. Thorpe was a headstrong personality and he and the coach had a number of altercations in the first two years of Bob’s tenure. Bob won all of them, of course. A few games into the year, Bob approached Laurie Sandilands, a veteran of six years with the club but a player whose temperament and rugged play saw him visit the tribunal quite frequently. Sandilands had a feeling of apprehension when Bob was appointed as coach. After all,Ted Whitten was extraordinarily popular around the club but he also realised, like most people, that it was time for a change. Bob Rose was a legend in the football world and for him to come to a place such as Footscray was, if not unbelievable, certainly surprising to the players. They were used to local playing coaches leading them, not an outsider and certainly not a legendary outsider. Sandilands believed it was probably the best thing that could have happened. Players would now understand what it was like in the world of the big clubs. Sandilands liked what he saw. Bob was forthright with his players. He told them what he required and for the most part, they responded. He looked everyone straight in the eye and was direct. Some players didn’t like that. For years they had been treated with kid gloves by the local papers as well as by some within the club.They were looked upon as gods, which, in the western suburbs, they were to some extent. Bob changed all that. Suddenly the players were not being treated the way they had been. Suddenly players that went down injured in a game were not having trainers at their side too quickly because they may have gone to ground too often, and needed to be back on their feet more quickly. Bob knew that as much as you get used to winning, so do you get used to losing. He wanted that to change and if some feelings were
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hurt along the way, then that was unfortunate. If they were man enough they would get over it. As usual Bob was not afraid of discussing points of view with players and none of his demands were disparaging or discouraging. Far from it, he wanted all his players to succeed and become better. Sandilands liked the other things that Bob brought to the club including the feeling that they were all in it together. All the values that Bob held dear in his life, as well as at Wangaratta and Collingwood, he introduced to Footscray. It wasn’t forceful or deliberate—it was just the way he was and the way he treated people. In the first two years, Bob brought an air of professionalism to the club that hadn’t been apparent before, together with a degree of two-way communication that players were not used to. Bob liked what he had seen of Sandilands in the first two seasons and told him that if he kept his head down, didn’t miss games because of injuries or dumb visits to the tribunal, then he would look at him favourably as captain for 1974. Sandilands agreed instantly. He set about impressing the coach and by the end of the season had done enough to warrant his elevation to the captain’s post. Thorpe wasn’t at all happy with the decision and immediately applied for a clearance to Richmond. He held views about Bob that were not shared by many others at the club.Yes, Bob had stepped on a few toes but mostly the response was exactly what he wanted. He was different to what Footscray was used to but it wasn’t that he was an ogre or unsocial. Indeed, he was quite the opposite. At the beginning of 1973, Footscray had travelled to Adelaide for a couple of practice matches. After one of the games the players asked Bob if they could have a day off and travel to the Barossa Valley for some sightseeing. Bob agreed and they set off. The sightseeing ran a poor second to finding out what was in the bottom of some wine bottles and when the bus returned to the hotel the players and coach were not in a very good state. As the players staggered off the bus into the hotel lobby, a rather unimpressed Jack Collins met them. He told the players what he thought of their appearance and condition, and then told Bob what he thought of him, how irresponsible he was and how he needed to show more leadership. Bob, however, thought that he had done something that no amount of talk or training could have done.
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he 1973 season was forgettable for Footscray but was significant for Bob and the Rose family. Robert had met Terry Yewers, a young enthusiastic Magpie supporter, in the Collingwood Social Club, after a game a year or so before. Robert, by then a state cricketer and league footballer, had girlfriends on tap and Terry was, for a while, just another on the list. But something was different between her and Robert. Terry had a very limited knowledge of sport, even admitting to thinking Bob Rose was a trainer at Collingwood. She also had no understanding or experience of the media or well-known people, or of how important Bob was in the world of football. She was simply a young, relatively innocent girl from Heidleberg. Even though their relationship was, to say the least, tempestuous, Robert and Terry were in love, which was just as well because when Terry became pregnant, they decided on marriage. It was not a grand affair. The simple wedding took place in a registry office with the reception held at the bride’s home. It wasn’t the way that Bob and Elsie had imagined one of their sons being married and even though they tried to reassure themselves that everything would turn out well, there were serious misgivings. Not that they thought any less of Terry. In fact, Bob remarked that Robert should share any blame that was to be had, equally. He should not have allowed the situation to occur, but then responsibility was
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not one of Robert’s strong points at that stage of his life. Not surprisingly,Terry found it complicated adapting to the Rose family. It was extremely difficult being thrust into a family with famous men everywhere. Terry saw herself as a young pregnant girl who could be seen as taking away a son, but Bob’s view was different. Naturally, he and Elsie would have preferred everything to have taken a rather more normal course, but they held no grudges towards their daughter-in-law, even if they may have appeared cool or off-handed at times. And when Salli was born, Bob and Elsie took great delight in their new granddaughter. Robert, however, was a bigger problem for Terry. Being part of a family with a large public profile was not easy and being the wife of a top-class sportsman even less so. And Robert was a top-class sportsman. He had been selected for his first Victorian cap in 1972, shortly after his nineteenth birthday, and was an instant success. Each summer the name Robert Rose was at the forefront of cricket discussions and towards the end of 1973 he was being touted as a future Australian player. It was not just Victorians talking either. He had dealt with bowlers like Dennis Lillee, John Snow and Jeff Thompson, not only standing up to their bowling, but handling the sledging easily. ‘When you’re Bobby Rose’s son and you play in his football team, some of the things that you hear from over the fence make you pretty strong,’ he once said. Robert was passionate about cricket and his footy, and enjoyed the social events equally as much. This frustrated Terry who sometimes would not know where her husband was. Bob understood her frustrations in some ways because at times he was frustrated as well, particularly with Robert’s long hair and fashion sense. He also understood the temptations open to a young man thrust into the spotlight. But it wasn’t only sport that brought problems. Robert had a couple of jobs that didn’t last due to the demands on his time from cricket and football, and he wasn’t handling the responsibilities of a young married man too well.
Peter, by this time, was becoming more and more different to Robert. He had no girlfriends, although he had plenty of friends who were
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girls, and had developed a very political outlook while at university. He was almost the complete opposite to his father and brother, and the advent of Gough Whitlam brought with it many differing political opinions in the Rose household. Peter and Bob had some fearful rows, Bob with his Menzies-type views and Peter taking Whitlam’s ‘It’s Time’ position to its extreme. Most of these discussions started off harmlessly enough but when fuelled with a drink or two they became more serious. Although Peter enjoyed football and went to watch Footscray, as he had Collingwood, most weekends, he also had an affinity with his mother that stemmed from their love of the arts, opera and literature. While a proportion of his opinions were diametrically opposed to those of his father, it had no effect on Peter’s love for, or interest in, the fortunes of Bob and Robert. Bob was happy that Peter and Elsie were close. His conservative personality had not allowed him an appreciation of the things that Elsie loved and Robert was certainly not of an artistic bent, so when Peter developed his tastes, Bob was content that Elsie had someone to share things with and to talk to. She could do that with Bob of course, but Peter actually understood what she appreciated.
At the end of 1973, there was trouble brewing at Footscray in areas other than football. Jack Collins was under pressure as president and accusations of impropriety were levelled at one of his committee men.At the annual General Meeting, one of the club’s loyal supporters and chairman of one of the fundraising groups, Dick Collinson, stood against Collins. He won in a landslide. Collinson and Collins didn’t agree on much, especially football. Many years later, Collinson said that he ‘got on pretty well with Collins, only belted him once!’. The incident occurred before the election when Collins visited the pub owned by his opponent. An argument erupted about who knew the most about football and the upcoming election. While yelling, Collins constantly wagged a finger at his adversary, whereupon he was informed that dire circumstances would follow if he got too close. Collinson was then poked in the stomach and retaliated with a quick
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right to the nose.The battle of the pub was short-lived but the battle for the presidency wasn’t. After his election, Collinson set about securing a team that could give Footscray a boost.Ted Whitten was welcomed back into the club as number-one ticket holder and recruiting agent, while thousands upon thousands of dollars were raised to support Collinson’s chequebook-style recruiting. Star players were sought from interstate as well as locally and when pre-season training started just after Christmas, Bob’s side for 1974 was looking very capable. Collinson ruled strongly. He told the players what he expected of them and any bonuses that were on offer would only be paid if the team won. That was typical of his style—strong and straight shooting. He and the coach had already taken a tough stance when David Thorpe demanded a meeting with them following the elevation of Laurie Sandilands to captain. He wanted to discuss his clearance, the captaincy issue and a few other matters. In the first minute of the meeting, Collinson asked Thorpe what he wanted, to which Thorpe replied, ‘A clearance.’ Collinson quickly said, ‘No problems, you’re cleared. Now was there anything else?’ Thorpe was staggered. He hadn’t expected such a reply. He thought they would at least fight to keep him. But he was wrong, very wrong, and he left the club straightaway. When pre-season training began in January, Bob could sense a new urgency amongst the players.Attendance was good, with even Robert finding time between Victorian Sheffield Shield cricket practice to have a run with the team. Soon afterwards, Bob left on an overseas business trip and hoped that when he came back his assistants would have the players fit and ready for the season. As he f lew out of Melbourne, Bob was sure a good year was ahead.
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GLEN WAVERLEY 1974 – 1983
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t the time of Bob’s overseas trip, Cambur Industries was known as one of the better companies to do with business with, due in no small way to Bob Rose. The company was Australia’s largest manufacturer of aluminium indoor plant containers and was exporting to ten countries including the United States and Great Britain.The nursery trade in the suburbs of outer Melbourne seemed to be increasing every weekend, with new offices and homes all being potential customers for Cambur or their distributors. While football was in recess, Bob drove around the state and frequently visited Tasmania and other southern regions in his capacity as a director and national sales manager. His name was well-known in these parts and business was improving all the time. When he went interstate on football recruiting missions, he’d tell his fellow directors that while he was over there he may as well spend a few days selling. The three men had to work hard. Ian Cameron and Geoff Burrell were not household names and even though Bob Rose was, there were no foregone conclusions. Always on the lookout for new ideas and to be the first in the country to have the latest trends, Bob and Geoff Burrell set off at the end of January 1974 on a six-week journey that was to take in Germany and London.They planned to visit ceramic factories with a view to increasing their imports. Before that, they spent a couple of
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days in Fiji after which they headed for Las Vegas to take in the sights. The men had never been to such a city before so they visited a few nightclubs, playing the poker machines and listening to the celebrities perform. It was not until the ‘wee small hours of the morning’, as someone had sung in one of the nightclubs, that they returned to their hotel for some much-needed sleep. At 3 a.m. Bob was woken by the piercing ring of the telephone— it seemed to be bouncing around in his head. He fumbled about, still half asleep, and when he finally managed to locate the phone, he recognised his brother’s voice. Kevin’s news was to change his life. The conversation was short and to the point. The Rose men did not muck around. Kevin told his brother that Robert had been in a car accident. Bob quickly sat upright on the bed. ‘How bad is it?’ he asked, fearing the answer. Kevin responded quietly. ‘He’ll never walk again.’ Bob was silent for a few moments, trying to absorb the words. ‘No, I can’t believe that,’ he finally answered, his voice unsteady. ‘No, surely not.’ Kevin then told Bob that he should come home as quickly as possible and the discussion was completed. The darkness of the hotel room seemed appropriate to Bob. He sat on the edge of the bed for a minute or two, thinking and trying to absorb what he had just heard. It wasn’t possible, was it? Could this have really happened? What did it all mean? What should I do now? Questions filled his head and f lew out unanswered, only to be quickly replaced by others, equally as difficult. He rang Geoff Burrell’s room, waiting while his partner fossicked around in the dark trying to find the phone.While he explained what had happened Bob’s wavering voice finally broke. By the time Geoff had dressed and the two met downstairs, Bob had calmed himself somewhat although the tears had not completely left. Already Bob’s resilient spirit was showing, but he was still obviously shaken. Geoff organised a f light back to Los Angeles where they had to wait a few hours for a connecting f light home. Geoff suggested a bar might be an appropriate place to wait so they wandered into the
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airport lounge where more questions were raised. The answers were not what Bob wanted to hear. Like most people, neither of the men had ever thought about the sort of damage Robert had apparently suffered let alone the effect it could have on everyone associated with him.They discussed it while nursing their beers.What was the extent of the injury? What exactly did quadriplegia mean? Soon Bob said he didn’t want to talk about it any more. It was not something he wanted to confront just yet. Geoff told his friend that it was the only thing to talk about. Finally a seat on a f light was organised, but before they boarded Bob wanted to ring Elsie. He had not been able to reach her and he needed to hear how she was. The public phones were a long line of open boxes, and not very private. As Geoff stood beside Bob, he couldn’t help but hear the conversation. Thousands of miles from home, before he knew the details of what had happened, before he understood what the rest of his life would be like, Bob Rose had made up his mind. ‘Whatever it takes,’ Geoff heard him say to Elsie. ‘Whatever has to be done, we will do it.’ Bob’s thoughts as he took his seat in the plane were only of Robert. How would he be feeling? How would he be coping with the news? Had they told him anything and if so, what? He simply couldn’t believe it and wondered how this could happen in a car accident. A broken leg, perhaps, maybe even two. Crushed ribs, a compressed arm, certainly. But a broken neck? And amongst all the feelings pounding in his brain, Bob worried about Elsie, so far away from him. Elsie had received a phone call in Wangaratta where she and Peter were visiting the Challman family. They were also awakened late at night and left immediately with Elsie, unused to night driving, at the wheel and Peter silent beside her. As the plane carrying Bob f lew back to Melbourne through the night sky, Elsie drove slowly and carefully down the Hume Highway, both anxious to be at the side of their eldest son, lying, maybe even dying, on a hospital bed.
On Thursday 14 February Robert had gone to the Ballarat races with a couple of friends, Robert Bird, a Collingwood footballer, and Ken
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Lynch, a groundsman at Victoria Park. After a few beers and backing a couple of winners, they started on the trip back to Melbourne. At 9 p.m. that night, four miles from Bacchus Marsh on the Western Highway, a semitrailer travelling in the opposite direction appeared as though it was heading into the path of Robert’s white Volkswagen.As Robert veered to the left, the car hit the gravel where the road dropped away but Robert brought it under control and back onto the road. A blow-out in one of the front tyres sent the car into a spin and it clipped the truck. The Volkswagen then rolled several times while the truck drove on.The impact caused Bird to be thrown through the windscreen. Lynch was thrown out after him while Robert was trapped inside. Neither of the three men appeared badly damaged. Bird had a couple of black eyes and was badly shaken while Lynch had a few cuts and bruises. Robert did not have a mark on him. It took 90 minutes for firemen to cut Robert from the wreckage. He was conscious the whole time but admitted to one of his rescuers that he couldn’t feel his feet.When he was finally freed, he was taken to the Bacchus Marsh Hospital after which he was transferred to the Austin Hospital in the Melbourne suburb of Heidelberg. It was 1 a.m.
After an agonisingly long 32-hour f light Bob arrived at Melbourne Airport on Monday morning where Elsie, Peter and Kevin were waiting. When he appeared through the gates, Bob reached for Elsie and they held each other tightly, their grief unspoken but obvious. Also waiting for him was a scrum of reporters. They jostled for photos and asked for quotes but Bob and the others made quickly for the car park. Ian Cameron had also been at the airport and while Elsie and Bob talked in the back of the car he drove towards the Austin. It had been a long f light and one that was particularly hard on his mind. Bob was dishevelled, unshaven and ashen-faced but now that he was with his family he was more at ease. Elsie explained what had happened and what the doctor, David Burke, had said. She spared him nothing and just before the railway crossing on Bell Street, a short distance from the hospital, Bob asked Ian to stop the car. Whether it was the f light, the tiredness or the circumstances, Bob thought he was going to be sick. He stepped out of the car and into the roar of the traffic.Trucks belted past, taxis with passengers headed for who knows
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where, and commuting cars laden with businessmen off to work, f lew along the road at speed. Bob was oblivious to them as he walked around in the fresh air for a minute or so and then, composed once more, resumed the journey. At the hospital, Bob had to confront another media throng that had been waiting since Robert first arrived. But they were going to have to wait longer. Bob wanted to talk to Dr Burke before anything. He wanted to know exactly what the situation was. In his office, David Burke told Bob and Elsie quite bluntly but with compassion what had happened, both in layman’s terms and the full medical terms. He then told them that Robert was in a very dangerous situation.There was a real possibility he may not live. Bob was not inclined to accept that his son might die so he asked about the future. ‘Well,’ said Dr Burke gently,‘the chances of him ever walking again are unlikely.’ Bob thought that was a remarkably strong statement to make to a father in those circumstances but it wasn’t long before he understood how right the doctor was. Bob and Elsie accepted Dr Burke’s thoughts. If Robert didn’t walk again then at least they had always known that, and if he did, what joy that would bring. Anything other than the worst possible outcome would be a bonus. They understood that Dr Burke could have made a lot of promises, told them to wait and see, told them that in six or twelve months Robert could be walking, given them false hopes. He could have made them wait and wait until a year down the track when all those hopes would fall away and they would be left to adjust once more. In some ways, the tough words were the best option.
Bob Rose impressed David Burke. Burke could see that even though he was distraught, Bob appeared to be in control. His inner strength was evident from their first meeting. Family members were sometimes difficult to deal with but Dr Burke sensed that Bob Rose would be one of the better types. And, although it was difficult, Elsie and Peter would follow his example.
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Dr Burke had understood right from the time he found out whose son was coming to the hospital that this was to be no ordinary admission. In fact, the first thing he knew about the accident was from a reporter who phoned and asked when Robert Rose was to be admitted. He mused that although quadriplegia and the work of the Austin Hospital was known, this would take publicity to a new level. It would be difficult to control and could be a problem. On the other hand, such a high-profile case would help make people aware of the devastation quadriplegia brings.
After their frank discussion, Dr Burke guided Bob along the hospital passageways to Robert’s bed. Past heartbroken families maintaining bedside vigils. Past row upon row of disinfected stainless steel and crisp linen. Past nurses trying to keep intact the spirits of patients— other people’s loved ones. Past the desolation of ruined bodies, to Ward Seven. When Bob first saw Robert he was stunned. Seated in the plane thousands of feet above the earth, all he’d had was his imagination. Visions f litted in and out of his mind. Thoughts went the same way. But here in this room it was real. Stretched out before him was his son, covered by a sheet, a hospital towel rolled up and placed under his neck, his stubbly, shaved head tilted upwards and backwards, his arms placed at his side by someone else, his legs useless under the cotton covering, a long plastic tube thrust down his throat into his stomach, a number of shiny bolts drilled straight into his skull (with no anaesthetic), a steel band attached to them with an eight-pound weight dangling below to hold it in place. He looked like something from a horror movie and his mind was God knows where. Bob struggled to remain composed. He knew that if anyone had to be strong it was him.This was his family—he needed to be there for them. He held back his tears; he could do his crying by himself. He smiled at his son. Robert looked into his father’s eyes through the tilted mirror that had been placed above his head.‘I don’t want to stay in bed,’ were his first words. Although Robert hadn’t actually said as much, Bob was in no
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doubt as to what he meant. He knew that Robert would prefer death than to be bedridden for the rest of his life. Bob told him Dr Burke was confident that within six months he should be up and around in a wheelchair. Robert didn’t believe him. He had accepted what had happened to him with amazing fortitude but he was also clever enough not to believe in miracles. Conversation was slight but Bob reassured Robert that his whole family would fight for him and with him no matter what arose. The most pressing concern for everyone at that time, Bob told him, was his well-being. Immediately Bob set his mind to the job ahead. He knew that they would have to work hard, that they needed to be as positive as they could be and that they would try to help Robert enjoy his life as much as was humanly possible. Even if it meant every day of the year, he would be there for him, giving whatever he may need. Bob’s attitude was that he needed to deal with the situation. He couldn’t run away from it; he couldn’t do anything to change what had happened. In typical Bob Rose fashion he decided to get on with it.The alternative, as he well knew, was to give his son up to someone else.The thought of that made him despondent. Outside the hospital, Bob, still unshaven, even more haggard, and still in the clothes that he had been wearing when he left America, spoke to reporters. He told them that Robert was coping quite well and understood the seriousness of his situation.The doctors had told them that it was still too early to give an accurate picture of Robert’s future. Before he excused himself and left the reporters, Bob said that it was important for both Robert and the rest of the family to ‘keep our chins up’. There were no bigger fighters than the Roses but this was to be a battle that even they would struggle with.
After addressing the reporters, Bob and Elsie went home. The drive took almost an hour through the traffic and the noise and pace of the city. In some ways the world seemed heartless. Didn’t anyone understand what had happened? Yet in other ways it was reassuring. It confirmed to Bob that he was right.The world was not going to stop and life would go on.Whether or not it went on with the Rose family
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was their choice. He only allowed himself a couple of thoughts—let’s concern ourselves with what happens now; let’s fight for Robert and let him go on with life the best way he can. Bob was worried about Elsie who had spent those first devastating hours without him. Kevin had been there for her, as had Peter, but one was her brother-in-law and the other her young son. As wonderful as they were for her, there could be no replacement for her husband. Elsie was a strong woman and even though she had always wondered and worried a little about what lay in store for her eldest son as he tested the boundaries of life, this accident had pushed her to her limits.
At home, Bob again thought of how important it was for him not to buckle under the strain. He had to show the way for all of them. He was worried about Terry, still only 20 years of age, but not so much about Salli who was the centre of attention everywhere she went. It was as if playing with a child would distract people from their concerns. Terry had received the news first and in much the same way as Elsie and Peter—a phone call in the middle of the night. Her call was from the Bacchus Marsh Hospital which informed her about the accident and that her husband was being transferred. She had rushed to the Austin and waited until Robert arrived.When she saw him she did not understand the full implications of his injury but she knew then that her life was irrevocably changed. She was also glad that Bob arrived soon after and was there to take charge. Even though Terry was Robert’s next of kin, she, like all of them, had no experience in anything remotely resembling her current predicament and she needed someone to organise things, to consult with, and to handle things for her.
Sitting alone later that night, Bob thought about Robert and his courage. He also thought about Kevin’s courage in being strong enough to ring and tell him the news, and Dr Burke’s courage in being so forthright. It would not have been easy for them. He thought about Robert’s sporting career. He thought about his own career and knew that the pressures he had been under during his
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life would now help him. Although they were nothing compared to this, at least those experiences might help his mind work a bit more rationally. From the first time Bob saw Robert in hospital, he envisaged the life ahead of him.That night, quietly, he committed himself to making every day of Robert’s life as good as it could be.This was no idle boast to the media to be forgotten in a few months or a few years.This was not lip-service to nurses or doctors or footballers or associates or hangers-on or anyone who wanted a quote.This was the word of Bob Rose, given to himself, of himself and when he was by himself. Noone else needed to know.
That night, Bob tried to sleep but it was almost impossible. He dozed off a number of times but even though his eyes were closed they could still see and the visions were horrific. Exhausted, he finally dozed off and when he woke, for a millisecond he recognised it was morning. Then his stomach churned. This was no ordinary morning. Like the trite words on a desk calendar, this was indeed the first day of the rest of his life. After a quick breakfast, Bob and Elsie set off again for the Austin. While Bob knew the situation and had accepted it to a degree, he couldn’t see his son suffer. It upset him to see Robert like he was.The diagnosis that Robert would never walk again and that he’d be crippled for the rest of his life was just words. Bob could understand them but their full horror was only evident when Bob entered the hospital each day. He wanted desperately to be there but at the same time he was upset every time he walked through the doors. It wasn’t so much the long-term realisation—that would take care of itself given time. No, it was the immediacy of what he had to do that upset Bob, seeing what Robert was going through and knowing that he understood what was happening to him. In his own mind, Bob was at a loss for ways in which he would keep Robert mentally together for however many years lay ahead.And how was he to keep Elsie going? Or himself, for that matter. Dr Burke told Bob that quadriplegics could have a reasonable life expectancy and that Robert could quite easily live until his fifties. Bob
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wasn’t frightened by that; his only thought was what would happen if he and Elsie died before Robert.Who would look after him then? Dr Burke also explained that Robert’s bravado and attempts at humour could be a front and could possibly wear off soon. Then he would really know how he would cope. So would Bob and Elsie. The night-times were the worst. For everyone. For Bob and Elsie, night was when they weren’t with Robert, when they spent their hours wondering if he was OK, if he needed anything, if they should be there. For Robert, daytime brought people. Whether they were for him or for some other poor soul didn’t matter as long as they were there. Whether they were walking past or coming to see him, there was movement and noise and activity and distractions for the mind. At night-time, when the dark blanket of loneliness was laid over the ward, the mind had its own way of being active, of playing games of trickery and torture. In the first couple of weeks either Bob or Elsie, and most of the time both, were at Robert’s bedside for hours a day.Wiping his brow, removing the phlegm that he coughed up with extreme difficulty, talking about the world outside but being fearful that by trying to be normal they would upset him. The foremost thing in Bob’s mind was that they all had to stay positive and that Robert must see that.They couldn’t break down in front of him no matter how hard it was. If tears were close, as they were quite often, they had to leave the room and those left behind would keep up the conversation. It was difficult and Bob suspected that Robert knew what was happening but he never let on. It has been said that sometimes it is harder to watch someone in trouble than to go through it yourself. If this is true, then Robert understood, especially where Elsie was concerned. Bob reasoned that everyone apart from Robert had it fairly easy so they had to be strong, both for themselves and for Robert. For Elsie, this was extraordinarily difficult. As a mother, she hated seeing her son suffer. The time the Rose family spent together now had to be as happy as it could possibly be under the circumstances. Robert needed to be brought up to date about all sorts of events but Bob was constantly concerned about what he should say. After all, how do you talk about the world outside? How can you discuss cricket and football when the
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son who played them at the highest level can do so no more? The ordinary was now the extraordinary. But Bob quickly came to realise that Robert was not going to break down and whine about the way the world had treated him. He was stronger than that. He was preparing himself quickly for whatever it was that his life would now offer. Visiting time always went too fast but while it was terribly difficult to leave, it was even harder going to the hospital. They knew that in front of them were a few hours of horror. Going home at least meant respite. One of the hardest things in that regard was reassuring themselves that it was OK to think like that, remembering that if they didn’t look after themselves properly they wouldn’t be much good to Robert.
After a few days, the initial danger to Robert’s life had passed but he was still subjected to the humiliation of having everything done for him. His body needed to be turned regularly to ease the likelihood of pressure sores developing and every bodily function had to be handled by someone else. The turning was a complicated procedure.‘Turning teams’ consisted of five people—one for the head and the others at the patient’s arms and feet. Robert was turned onto his side, then his back, then his other side and so on.This happened every two hours, every day. Bob watched this happening and, for a time, willed his son to be able to attempt the turns himself. He knew it was stupid and futile but he couldn’t help it.This positive reaction to adversity was natural for him. And he knew Robert would fight. It wasn’t something that he discussed with him—he just knew that he would. It was what happened when times were tough. If you’re a Rose, you fight. Bob had to be aware of his own well-being, as well as that of Elsie and Peter. Not to mention Robert. Bob wondered how, deep down, they were all coping. On the surface it seemed they were coping reasonably well, yet at other times he knew they were not. It was a hectic, emotional time. Days blurred into other days, weeks into other weeks. Bob’s life was now constant activity. It consisted of Robert, Elsie, Peter, Cambur Industries, and the Footscray Football Club.
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week or so after the accident Bob took training again.The players didn’t quite know how to handle the situation. After all, Robert was not only their team-mate, but their friend. He had played with them, won and lost with them, and been drunk with them. The early part of the season was difficult for Bob and he offered to resign as coach. In his blunt and forthright manner, Dick Collinson told him that the club wanted him to stay. He said that Bob was one of them now and that the club would back him with whatever he needed. If he wanted time off, he could have it. If he was going to be late for training or had to leave early, he could. If there was somewhere else he needed to be then he could go with the club’s blessing. Bob was relieved. Although he felt a touch guilty about both the club and his family, he realised that coaching would allow him to release some of his pent-up frustrations. Work was also an outlet, a change of pace, but football was where he felt comfortable. In fact, he felt comfortable anywhere but the hospital. Anywhere but Ward Seven.
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Remarkably, Robert had improved enough to talk to the press in early March, not quite a month after his accident. Bob was concerned that it would be draining for Robert but he accomplished the feat well.
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A group of journalists gathered around his bed for the short time allowed, while photographers snapped away, their f lashes momentarily bringing light to an otherwise dark time. Robert was as helpful to them as a man f lat on his back with his head held in shiny metal tongs could be. With the semblance of a grin, he told them that ‘a beer, a smoke and a feed of potato cakes’ was what he’d like most. Robert loved visitors. Even in his parlous emotional and physical state, they were part of what kept him going. But some of his friends didn’t visit.They explained to Bob that they ‘couldn’t handle it’. Bob thought that was strange and it angered him. Why couldn’t they handle it? What about poor bloody Robert. How was he handling it? The doctors explained to Bob that this was not unusual but still he could not understand it. If Robert could put up with the indignities thrust upon him, surely they could spend a minute or so looking. Dr Burke also talked to the press that day. He explained what had happened to Robert and said that he would not walk again, that it would be difficult for him to ever dress himself, that it would be unlikely that he would ever write and that the basic, ordinary, everyday things the rest of the world took for granted would no longer be possible. He also said that an injury like Robert’s happened easily and regularly, mainly in road accidents, but also from diving, riding horses and occasionally from gymnastics. In the five weeks since Christmas there had been 24 others—almost two a week.
After their initial apprehension, the players responded well to Bob. Training didn’t seem any different to the previous seasons. But it was different—utterly so—for the club and for Bob.At times he found his thoughts drifting off. He imagined he saw Robert in the bunch of players running laps, laughing and chiacking amongst themselves. It could have been a mark, a turn, a kick, a handball, but every once in a while Robert ran along the turf at the Western Oval, visible only to Bob.At other times when he was engrossed in his football endeavours, his mind was free and clear. Only two months after the accident, Robert progressed to a wheelchair, although the road to it was long and hard. The first step was to sit up, in itself an arduous task.When a patient sits up or stands
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after prolonged periods of inactivity, fainting is the usual outcome and so it was with Robert. First he sat for a minute or so, then a bit longer until finally he managed it well. Dr Burke considered his fitness to be a big advantage and his willpower another. Before this, as Dr Burke predicted, Robert had become extremely depressed. His bravado had disappeared as had his acceptance of permanent paralysis. Not that anyone ever really accepts it, according to Dr Burke—patients adapt their lives to it but they never sit back and say they’ve accepted it. It was a subtle distinction. Robert’s moods f luctuated. Sometimes he was happy for people to be there while at other times he wanted to be alone. Even when Peter visited there would be occasional silences. Sometimes Bob and Elsie left early as well.Yet through it all Robert never complained. When he was feeling low all the family was too.When the crash occurred, it seemed that was the worst that could happen but it wasn’t. It was as if everyone was at the edge of a cliff staring over and wondering if there was anything but the dark, unknowingness ahead. And there was—in April, Robert moved. It was only a small movement, but a movement nonetheless. Looking down at the hand that Robert had turned over for him, the thought f lashed through Bob’s mind that ‘Hell, he’s going to beat the doctors’. But he didn’t. And he wouldn’t. Nevertheless, Bob smiled to himself. A feeling of immense satisfaction f looded over him—he knew his son could fight.Would fight. Had fought. The calipers were removed from Robert’s head shortly after this and when Bob saw him without his steel halo the sense of relief was indescribable. Then the doctors sat him up and placed him in the chair.That was another in the series of shocks that had filled Bob and Elsie’s life recently. They watched in anguish as their once virile son was lifted, f lopping and limp like a ventriloquist’s dummy, into the chair. There were other problems associated with becoming mobile again. Some patients find it difficult to adjust to movement. Even the speed of a wheelchair can be disconcerting and getting in a car again can take a degree of courage not available to all. Robert, however, handled it all with apparent ease. A month later,
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Bob could push him around the ward, greeting the other patients. He was as proud as he had been when he was a new father pushing a pram up and down Johnston Street in Collingwood.
Progress for Robert was steady and he was transferred to the rehabilitation ward. At the end of May, he made his first public appearance. Victoria had won the Sheffield Shield and the official dinner recognising the team’s players had been delayed until Robert was well enough to attend. It was an important night for Robert but Bob could see the dangers involved and they were not only physical.There were things that could go wrong from all points—there was the emotion of seeing his team-mates and their joy in victory; being back in their company; the travel, the food, the drink; the exhaustion. With his father pushing his chair, a pillow across his lap with his limp hands in the same position all night, and with a turtleneck jumper almost hiding his neck brace, Robert took to the evening with aplomb. It was an emotional night for Bob as well. Seeing his son enjoying himself again and being able to deal with the many conf licting feelings was one of the bravest feats he’d ever witnessed. Two days later, Robert made his first trip home. Bob and Peter had great difficulty extricating Robert from the car but eventually he was sitting on the couch, supported by almost every pillow in the house. It was Saturday and Bob set up a television on the wooden sundeck and the two men sat and watched the football. Elsie looked at them through the kitchen window with mixed feelings. Those feelings remained when they returned Robert to hospital that evening.They were happy the day had gone so well, but there are degrees of happiness and theirs was not at the top end of the scale. Robert didn’t enjoy his return at all—he didn’t want to be back with all the cripples. Over the next few months Robert’s progress continued to be steady and as he improved so did everyone else. He occasionally attended training with Bob, even entering the rooms, although he didn’t want to encroach on the players’ territory or to distract them from the job at hand. Even though his body was broken, his mind still knew how sportsmen reacted.
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Footscray lost the first match of the year but after that they were always close to the final five. Even though they lost six games in succession during the middle of the season, they won five on the trot towards the end and secured a place in the finals for the first time in thirteen years. With all the distractions during the year it was both a credit to the players and an incredible coaching achievement.With all his worries, Bob had still managed to get his message through. Maybe the players gave a bit more in an act of sympathy. Maybe, as Laurie Sandilands thought, they realised what devotion and dedication really meant when they saw their coach in action. Bob felt satisfied that he had done his job. After the support he had been given by the club right through the year, he felt he owed them this. It had been difficult but after the promise shown the previous year, he would have considered anything less than a finals berth a failure. The elimination final was against Collingwood at VFL Park. According to all the papers, the Bulldogs were favourites to win.Their big men were superior, they had pace to burn and the determination to win for Bob and Robert was evident. But despite all this, they were thrashed. At half-time they had as many shots at goal as the Magpies but kicking one goal from eleven shots in the second quarter did not help them at all. Bob was bitterly disappointed. He knew they had not played anywhere near the form they had shown in recent weeks and was concerned about what supporters might think. He wondered whether he had done or said anything to lose the players during the week. Or was it just a simple case of his players, once again, letting him down? He didn’t know the answer but a few days later certain players confessed that some members of the team had spent a wild night of partying and drinking before the game. Ever since Bob had arrived and especially that season, Footscray had looked as though they were going to lose their irresponsible tag. Now it appeared that at least some of them could not keep up the pretence.
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lmost ten months after the accident, Robert was released from hospital. It had been decided that he and Terry should live in the games room below Bob and Elsie’s house and after renovations had been completed and a pathway constructed for access to the upper part of the house, the young couple moved in.The homecoming was a joyous occasion. When Bob wheeled Robert out of hospital he could sense a new beginning, although none of them could possibly have understood how difficult it would actually be. Bob’s back was the first problem to overcome. Even though he was a strong and fit man, he was approaching 50 and the effort required to lift Robert took its toll. Elsie helped of course, but it was mainly Bob who bore the brunt of the physical work. At home, the five-person turning teams of the hospital were reduced to one or two people and with the condition of Bob’s back, the strain was unspoken but enormous. Nonetheless, they both wanted Robert there and it comforted them to know that he was close if anything should happen. Life was a combined effort and became like one big military manoeuvre.Terry controlled her small home downstairs even though they went up for dinner most nights. Bob, together with Peter, when he was at home, and Elsie, helped Terry put Robert to bed in the evenings and assisted Terry with anything else that needed doing. Bob thought Terry showed tremendous courage. He could sense insurmountable problems for her in the years ahead, quite apart from
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the obvious ones, but she displayed a strength Bob respected. She had responsibilities no-one her age should have had to bear. Elsie had returned to her full-time job at Myers, which Bob considered to be very important as it meant that she could have some respite from the strain of the days.They both felt a bit guilty but they needed time away, to think about something else. Robert knew that and encouraged them. But it was never easy. They had received a small amount of instruction from the hospital when Robert was discharged but it was not enough. It couldn’t be. A district nurse visited most days but only for a short time, so for the most part they were left to themselves. Counselling for them all was nonexistant. Some things could be explained—the mechanics of what they were expected to do—but anything out of the ordinary needed to be worked out for themselves. Counselling for them all was non-existant. Pillows were a point in case. Robert needed pillows behind him, beside him and between his knees. Blankets had to be soft and light, sheets as well. Foam rubber was cut into a doughnut-like shape so his anklebone could be placed in the middle to protect against pressure sores, the enemy of all quadriplegics. If not treated promptly and properly these sores had the potential to degenerate quickly into open, festering wounds that were very difficult to overcome. The only way they could be cured was to keep pressure off the affected area, a difficult task for a quadriplegic since they usually occurred on the backside. Robert had already suffered one of these horrendous aff lictions in hospital, which delayed his homecoming by some weeks. Pressure sores were not the only problem from which Robert suffered. Urinary infections, phantom pains in his limbs and spasms to his muscles were other potentially serious ailments that needed constant monitoring and treatment with drugs. In addition to those, there was the suppositories, the showering, the cleaning of teeth, emptying of his catheter bag, and a myriad other small things, all things no-one really notices in their lives that Robert could no longer do.With the aid of a brace he could smoke a cigarette and turn a newspaper, but he couldn’t comb his hair, scratch an itch or rub his forehead. Initially embarrassing for Robert and for his parents, it wasn’t long before everything became part of their everyday routine. When everything was going well it was relatively easy but there were constant
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reminders of what was really happening. Toilet issues were the worst. Sometimes the suppositories worked well but at other times the reaction was delayed.The bowel movement could happen later in the house, in the garden, in bed, and there was the odd occasion it happened when Bob was out with Robert. During those times, Bob reassured Robert and quietly fixed the problem as best he could. He’d done it when Robert was a young boy, therefore he could do it again.
Around this time, Bob started to receive advice from all sorts of areas. Letters arrived in the mail, people stopped him at work, he was sent articles, and he read constantly about treatments or plans for treatments. It seemed that everywhere he looked there was another remedy. He initiated talks with a chiropractor and had him visit Robert after which X-rays were taken and some manipulation occurred. Bob never consulted Dr Burke or anyone else at the Austin for fear they wouldn’t understand. It wasn’t that Bob didn’t trust the traditional methods, he just thought he owed it to Robert and everyone else to explore everything that was brought up. Who was to know when something was destined to work? It was obvious that no traditional medical treatments would cure Robert so if there was something out there and he didn’t try it he would never have forgiven himself. Bob didn’t thrust anything upon Robert or subject him to any bizarre remedies—he just listened, read and digested everything before he took it any further. In the end he only tried chiropractic and acupuncture and, just as he suspected, nothing worked. Soon the experiment was finished. Dr Burke heard about some of the treatments and he understood the reasons behind it. He knew that people looked everywhere and he would have thought less of Bob if he had not tried. Bob Rose needed to explore every avenue he heard of if it meant his son might be given at least some hope of a better life. Occupational therapy was necessary, not only for Robert but also for Bob and Elsie. Bob had work and football, Elsie had returned to her job and Robert began a short career as a journalist with a Melbourne paper, using his intimate knowledge about football and cricket.
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When he was occupied with sport, Robert was happy, but his mood f luctuated, and with this came arguments with Terry. For a woman who was just six months past her 21st birthday, her workload was horrendous.The district nurse helped but a couple of hours were never enough. When things were good, Robert would sit on the porch and watch television, and when summer came around, he would watch the cricket. Robert was happiest at those times or when playing with Salli, whom he adored. By Christmas, life as the Rose family now knew it began to stabilise.
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he end to the 1974 season had been good for Footscray, even allowing for the events surrounding the last match.With recruiting a priority and with Dick Collinson still at the helm, Bob decided to stay on as coach for the new season. Elsie although supportive of her husband was not altogether pleased, but the extra money would come in handy.There were a lot of expenses. The 1975 pre-season was terrific for the Dogs and the star recruit was the South Australian tough man Neil Sachse. He wasn’t a huge man but he was fearless, skilful and he added strength and leadership to the team. His practice match form was excellent and this continued into the first match of the year even though the Dogs lost to Melbourne. The second game of the season was at home against Fitzroy, now coached by Kevin Rose. It was only the second time in league history that brothers had coached against each other and Robert wrote a lighthearted article before the game focusing on the legendary family rivalry. Bob and Kevin played their parts amid much laughter and insincere animosity. The game was close at half-time and continued that way into the third quarter, with Sachse starring for the Dogs. During one passage of play, he ran straight and hard into a pack of players where, for once, he lost his footing and stumbled. The Fitzroy defender closest to the action felt Sachse crash into his hip and watched as he fell to the turf.
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Sachse didn’t move and, after what seemed an eternity, was taken from the ground on a stretcher. Bob sat motionless in the coach’s box high in the grandstand. His companions groped for words. When the game restarted, Bob was distracted but like the rest of the Bulldogs, his resolve was firm and they ran away with the game in the last quarter. At the after-match function Robert suddenly broke down. Bob was shocked—Robert wasn’t given to crying. But Robert knew instinctively what the outcome would be and shortly afterwards they learned that Neil Sachse was a quadriplegic. Bob was devastated but it was nothing compared to the way Robert felt. He was horrified. He knew what was ahead for his friend. This was the final straw for Bob.The final insult.After all he’d been through, now this. And against his brother. What more could fate or the gods or the stars or the world or whatever anyone liked to call it, have in store for him? Surely he’d had enough misfortune? Later that night he drove, alone with his thoughts, to the Austin Hospital where he met Dr Burke. ‘Well,’ Bob said grimly, ‘here we go again.’
The Footscray club was crushed. The players couldn’t cope with the accident at all. Laurie Sandilands confessed to the incident changing his life. He looked at things differently. He knew that football was something that played a part in life but he realised how insignificant a part it actually was. He began to understand his mortality and the fragile grasp that everyone has on life. Although they were brave for the rest of the season, the Dogs really had no chance of gaining anything from the year.Training, while still sounding the same—the same voices and they were still being watched by the faithful—had lost its edge. Some players were more affected than others. A few were given sedatives before the next match. Bob tried valiantly to urge them to greater deeds during the year but it was to no avail. He never really lost control—there was no control to be had. Losing two team-mates to quadriplegia within two years was more than anyone could bear. Still, they were always on the fringe of the top five, eventually finishing seventh.The entire club rued what might have been.
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At the end of the year, Bob resigned. He knew, the players knew, the club knew that it was over.There was no more for him to give. To some, the end of their footballing days is when a gaping hole appears in their life. No training nights, no after-match functions, no dressing-rooms smells, no bandages. Bob’s one regret was that he had not coached a premiership side but other than that his life was to be more than full.There was plenty to occupy his time. Most observers wondered how on earth he continued anyway, how he managed to handle it all.When they asked him about it, all he did was smile his usual dignified smile and say, ‘Well, you’ve just got to keep going.’
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y the middle of 1976, Bob was becoming extremely worried about Robert and Terry. He sensed what was coming. Robert had been back in hospital off and on with infections, bedsores and other minor complications and his absence gave some respite to everyone concerned. It was during those times that Bob could see more clearly how much the situation was taking its toll on everyone. All of them had psychological problems, all had physical and emotional problems and all were extremely brave. Bob never really considered himself brave—he was simply doing what had to be done. He thought Peter was brave, watching his brother’s struggles. He thought Elsie was brave and his admiration and love for her was immense. He also understood the problems Terry was having. Her courage was extraordinary for a woman so young. Then there was Robert.What it took for him to be so outwardly brave and to carry on as close to normal as he could was exceptional. He knew that Robert could be difficult at times, obnoxious at others and downright obstinate as well. But what did everyone expect? Did they want him to conform to their ideas of how a quadriplegic should behave? Were there limitations on quadriplegic moods? Were there limitations on what those closest should put up with? Bob had no idea about the correct answers to these questions and suspected there weren’t any.There wasn’t a set of rules that you could
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look up and say, ‘well, this is what we’ll do now’. Everyone handled situations differently and, in a way, they were all the right way. He was right. Elsie was right. Terry was right. Peter was right, and Robert was right. And, at different times, they were all wrong.
Eventually, everything became too much for Terry and in the middle of the morning, a year and a half after arriving in the f lat, she picked her daughter up and drove off, leaving Robert at home by himself in the wheelchair. Elsie arrived home from work late in the afternoon and found Robert in a terrible state. His lungs were congested because of a cold and, as the break in his neck was so high, he found it difficult to cough. Elsie asked where Terry was but Robert wouldn’t tell her. She knew instinctively. When Bob arrived home he was furious. He couldn’t understand why she couldn’t have told a neighbour that she was going, or asked someone to sit with Robert. But that would have been rational, something that Terry, at the time, most certainly was not. A young girl with bouffant hair, threequarter length leather coats and knee-high boots who wanted to live her life, was instead surrounded by suppositories, catheters and all the paraphernalia of a mini hospital. Deep down, Bob knew this day was always going to happen but that didn’t help his mood. He remembered his words a year or so earlier when he had been doing something in the f lat that Terry didn’t think was necessary. She told him to butt out. Bob quietly replied that he’d keep at it. He had to, he told her, because she would leave one day. ‘No,’ said Terry, shocked, ‘I’ll be with Robert forever.’ ‘No,’ said Bob, matter of factly but with no malice. ‘You’ll go one day.’
After the break-up it was apparent to Bob that things would be much more difficult. No matter how hard they wanted to look after their son, they were not equipped to do so, emotionally or physically. But they tried.
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Elsie gave up work and on the weekends Bob took Robert to the football or sat on the back patio, listening to the races and whatever other sport was on the radio or television. Robert would sunbake while Bob pottered around doing something or other. Discussions that arose occasionally became arguments but more often than not it was just a father and his son spending time together. Peter, meanwhile, was still sorting out what he wanted to do with his life. He had been living away from home for some time and had completed an arts degree at university but was unsure of his next steps. One of his talents was poetry and when he attended Haileybury College, a letter had been written to his parents asking if they knew they had a poet in the family.They did not, but always felt that Peter would one day make his mark on the world using his love of the arts. Peter moved back home for a while after Robert and Terry split up, and worked in a factory wielding a power drill instead of a pen. It wasn’t long before he left on an overseas trip with a friend.
While Peter was away, life was manageable as long as everything went smoothly and in its routine. But when it went wrong, as it frequently did due to the pressures everyone was under, it was plain to Bob that problems were ahead if Robert stayed. But where could he go? Choices were limited.They amounted to the Austin when he needed treatment or an old folks home. Neither was palatable. Six months later, Yarra Me, the long-proposed hostel for the disabled was opened in Croydon and Robert decided to live there. The thought of living ‘in a home’ was not all that appealing but Bob sensed that Robert was thinking as much about his parents as he was about himself. He said very little about either but Bob knew. After a few initial problems with settling in and the staff and Robert adjusting to each other,Yarra Me was good for him, as well as for Elsie and Bob. Although Robert confessed to Bob that he was never excited about living at Yarra Me, he knew it was the best thing for him and made life easier for everyone. After a few initial feelings of guilty relief about Robert having left,
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Bob understood that it was a load off his shoulders, and he needed to accept that and not feel guilty.That would not help anyone. Elsie returned to work while Bob concentrated on his job. Life became more settled. Each Saturday morning Bob drove to Yarra Me at exactly 10 a.m. and picked Robert up for the weekend at home, returning him by 6 p.m. on Sunday. For a short time, Bob visited in the evening during the week but when he realised that Robert was reasonably happy and there was nothing more he could do, there would be no contact other than an occasional phone call.The week was free for Bob and Elsie to spend as normally as they could. Every now and again Robert could see that his parents needed a break and insisted that he wasn’t coming home for that particular weekend. Bob would agree on the few occasions when they had something else on or somewhere they needed to be, but more often than not Bob brought his son home. Feelings of guilt went both ways. Robert because he was such a burden and Bob because he wanted Robert to be with him all the time.
The bond between father and son, strong since birth, had now become even stronger. Robert talked to his father like no-one else. He shared with him all his frustrations, all his black thoughts and his innermost fears. Bob listened patiently and accepted that someone needed to be there for Robert. He was the one. There were distinct phases to Bob’s life now. One was the public persona when he was pushing his son around town or at the footy or cricket. Another was when Robert was sick and he needed to try and urge him on, to encourage more fight out of him, to instil in him the belief that he would be OK. At other times he was there to listen, to absorb the frustrations pouring from his son, the feelings of desperation and hopelessness. These were the times that Bob’s strength showed. His upbringing and his attitude that whatever happens you keep going, worked for him. He, together with Elsie and Peter, fought when others gave up.
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Some families in similar situations broke down irrevocably. Parents stayed away from their children, siblings went about their business. This was a common occurrence under the circumstances and the doctors and staff found it in some ways understandable.To Bob Rose, it was neither acceptable nor understandable. ‘Why can’t they handle it?’ he’d ask. ‘This is their family.’ He was bewildered at times. Some of these families had seen Bob in the Austin or Yarra Me and had pointed him out to their patient. ‘There’s the great Bobby Rose,’ he’d hear them say. Often they would ask him to speak to their son about the need to fight—they would ask if he could give a pep talk, a footy analogy or two about keeping the fight up. Bob did so gladly but when these families gave up on their offspring he was disgusted. He didn’t think it proper that they ask him to talk about fighting if they weren’t prepared to do so themselves. It was the same with some of Robert’s friends and a few of Bob’s acquaintances. They didn’t come to see Robert. They felt they couldn’t handle it and they didn’t know what to say. Bob thought that it might be squeamishness, that they may feel uncomfortable. Even so, he thought they could have made some sort of an effort.A five-minute stay perhaps, or less if they wanted, but at least something. In later years, Bob accepted it a little more. He tried hard and eventually accepted it but never completely understood it. He always thought it strange that grown men with everything going for them could find visiting difficult, or that they didn’t want to even try. Robert knew who was missing and he never said anything. In fact, Robert never complained about anything at all. If he did, it was to Bob when they were alone. If he did, he never made anything of it.
The devotion to Robert was a huge emotional strain on Bob. He admitted as much to himself every now and again. He admitted too, the difficulty in adjusting to the life he and Elsie now had.The important thing, as far as Bob was concerned, was that there was no clear alternative.Whatever feelings he may have harboured deep in his soul, the foremost was that of looking after his son.Things had to be done. End of story. Nothing to discuss, just get on with it. It was no good sitting down in the corner and wishing it would all go away. It wasn’t
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going to go away. No matter what anyone did, at the end of the day, it was still there. The worst and most frustrating times were when Robert had been given a suppository and it had only partially worked. He would be washed or showered, had his teeth cleaned, dressed, and helped into the wheelchair, only for the suppository to complete its job. At those times, Bob would not sigh. He would not utter anything other than encouragement. He’d simply take a deep breath that noone else could hear and start the routine all over again. Robert despised the lack of dignity on these occasions. He had reluctantly accepted the everyday routines but when things went wrong and his father had to lift him out of the chair and start again, he felt his helplessness even more.
Bob always kept a close eye on sores that developed on Robert’s leg and torso. These festering, debilitating horrors kept him in bed for months at a time, and in one case for almost two years. Robert hated going back to the Austin with a passion. But there was nothing anyone could do. He needed to be treated and the Austin was the place for it.The more he demonstrated his hate for things the more upset Bob and Elsie became. They were by now inextricably linked to the emotional oceans of their son.When he was happy and buoyant they were too, but at other times they plunged into the depths of his despair. But Bob was always there for him. He gritted his teeth and kept on going. Elsie did too.Their focus was on doing whatever they could to help him return home or to Yarra Me as quickly as possible. The pressure on Bob and Elsie to keep their sanity was enormous. They had their moments but their love for each other and their devotion to their son made the union they had formed 30 years earlier even stronger.
By the start of 1980 things had settled down again and even though Robert still needed treatment for his sores, his life became more routine. Saturday morning was what he looked forward to, and he’d be ready and waiting for his father’s arrival in the yellow mini-van
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he’d bought for transporting his son. The Yellow Peril, as they called it, had a raised roof with two doors at the back into which Robert was wheeled and the wheelchair secured to the f loor. From there it was a simple task to get him in and out, and he could also watch what was happening through the windscreen and the tiny side windows. Bob was the main driver, but on the odd occasion, Peter, who had returned from his overseas trip by himself, took the wheel.
Bob wondered about Peter who had, over a few years, formed relationships with a number of men, including the one who had just accompanied him to Europe. Peter’s proclivities, however, were something he had never discussed with Bob and never really would. Sexuality wasn’t something that families as conservative as the Roses talked about openly. Peter never exactly came and said that he was gay, and none of the family ever asked him outright. So the subject was left alone, never discussed and never addressed, but always assumed. It didn’t affect any relationships though. Bob suspected that Peter was gay but Peter was his son and his and Elsie’s love was unconditional. Every now and again Bob felt disappointed that Peter might never marry and give him grandchildren but it was not something that he thought about for too long.There were other things happening in his life far more important. Years later he ref lected on the incongruous nature of it all. Here was a man who was an iconic figure in football with two sons—one was a typical Australian larrikin destined to become a great name in sport when he suddenly became a quadriplegic, while the other was a leading literary figure and a gay poet.
Robert by now had formed another relationship with Jenny, the girl who lived next door. Jenny was good for Robert as she had an interest in sports. The two of them spent hours talking about them. She would borrow the Yellow Peril during the week and take Robert out for a meal or a drink. Salli, who was growing up quickly and who had never known her father to be anything other than in a wheelchair, often went with them. When the couple were together Bob
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watched his son lose some of his moroseness and he marvelled at the changes. The relationship was also good for Bob in that he could relax from time to time and not worry about Robert and what he needed to do to keep him occupied. Bob suspected that it wouldn’t last but was grateful that whatever time the two had was worthwhile. Robert understood that too. He told Jenny that whenever she needed to go she could, he would understand. Jenny went two years later but, when she did, Bob and Elsie were grateful that their son, despite his aff liction, had regained something of himself.
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COLLINGWOOD 1984 – 1990
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fter leaving Footscray, Bob’s allegiances returned to Collingwood, where perhaps they had, in some ways, always been. During the early 1980s he watched as another feud started at Collingwood.Tom Hafey had been sacked after his failure to secure a f lag, and was replaced by Mick Erwin, the assistant coach, whose hold on the job was shaky at best. Members of differing groups within the club wanted change.They wanted heads to roll. All the fighting, manoeuvring and mud-slinging during that time led to the advent of a group who called themselves the New Magpies, led by Melbourne businessman Ranald Macdonald. At the end of September 1982, in an unprecedented move, the old committee of twelve were thrown out of office and a board of seven, including ex-players Terry Waters, Len Thompson and Brian McKenzie, were elected in their place. The new group, like other groups in years gone by, wanted the club to forge ahead with new ideals and modern thinking. They also wanted unprecedented control and three years without elections. Bob thought that was extremely dangerous. He had heard it all before and was dubious about the group’s ability, rather than their intent. He and six other Collingwood heroes, Murray Weidemann, Phonse Kyne, Albert and Harry Collier, Alby Pannam and Ray Gabelich, supported the old committee and wrote to members urging their return. But the members didn’t listen—they
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wanted change no matter what.They certainly got what they wanted. For all their faults, there were some good things the New Magpies brought to the club.Women could now become full members for one; incorporation for another. But essentially they were a spendthrift group who separated into two distinct factions—footballers and nonfootballers. The non-footballers had approached legendary Hawthorn coach, John Kennedy, to replace Mick Erwin. The ex-footballers meanwhile, wanted John Cahill, a highly successful coach from South Australia. They considered Kennedy was past his best and they wanted someone more in touch with modern football.Terry Waters f lew to Adelaide and promised Cahill the job. Bob, although not officially consulted, talked to many of the other greats of the club and urged everyone to lobby for Kennedy’s appointment as he quite rightly felt the difference Kennedy would make to the club would be huge. Vice-president Alan McAlister had managed to secure Kennedy’s signature on a contract but it was done without the other group’s knowledge. After heated meetings and after interviewing both candidates, Cahill was appointed. McAlister was demoralised and apologised to Kennedy who still had a signed contract. ‘Don’t worry,’ Kennedy told him, ‘you tear up yours and I’ll tear up mine.’ In 1983 Collingwood finished sixth and Ron Richards was appointed chairman of the match committee for the new season. He replaced Len Thompson, who resigned from the board in anger after he was told his demotion was because of the players’ dissatisfaction with him. So to whom did the club turn when in need? Who else?—Bob Rose. McAlister could sense that things were starting to slip off the rails and he pestered Bob to stand for the vacant position on the board. He and other board members sensed that the supporters wanted people they could trust making decisions.The experiment with nonCollingwood names had failed. They wanted the heroes back. And there was no hero bigger than Bob Rose.
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By July McAlister had succeeded. Bob was persuaded, although with some reluctance, to stand. He considered that if he was on the board at least he would have some say in what was happening.
If there was one thing about Bob Rose that stood out above all else it was his ability to be honest and straightforward with his thoughts. That’s how he was on the board. He respected McAlister but had some fearful arguments with Macdonald when he felt the president was not doing all he could for the club, or when he didn’t understand what was happening. In 1984 the Magpies finished fourth, but after wins in the elimination and first semifinals they faced Essendon in the preliminary final, suffering the biggest loss yet recorded in a VFL finals match— they were defeated by 133 points. And it was not only on field that Collingwood suffered. Off-field the New Magpies had accumulated debts of $3.5 million and the club was in a lot of trouble.The banks were circling. Bob could see problems everywhere he looked—with finances, with the members, and most importantly with the players. During the game against Melbourne at the MCG, he wandered into the rooms at half-time when the side was getting comprehensively thrashed. The coach and selectors were locked away making decisions about the second half and there was complete silence. The players were not talking to each other and no-one was talking to them, so Bob decided he would. He knew he was out of order but he couldn’t stand by and see nothing happen. A few of the senior players who had never heard him speak certainly found out what drove this man. He lambasted them without mercy about their commitment, their attitude to the club and their lack of effort. Cahill came out towards the end of the speech and took over but Bob had done enough. After half-time Collingwood was a different side, and ended up winning the game. Afterwards, Bob apologised for sticking his nose in but Cahill thanked him for his input. Cahill, however, was concerned and after the inglorious end to the season, the board spoke about his tenure as coach. Bob didn’t agree with the view that Cahill should be sacked. He agreed even less with the notion that he should take over.
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But the word was out. Someone must have whispered in Cahill’s ear that he was to be sacked in favour of Bob. It is not clear who started the rumour but when the issue was due for discussion at the board meeting Cahill stormed in, threw a document on the table and announced, ‘That’s my resignation.’ Before anyone could say anything, he walked straight out again. He wouldn’t come back and wouldn’t talk to anyone, so the board had the coaching issue sorted out for them. McAlister returned to Kennedy and asked him to take over, but he refused, having already committed himself to North Melbourne. Bob and the board were certain that Kennedy would accept, perhaps blindly so, because they believed that coaching Collingwood to a premiership was one of the last great challenges in football. Kennedy, and many others in the football world, obviously disagreed. It was then that the board turned to Bob. ‘I don’t want to coach again,’ was his definite reply to McAlister and the other board members. He told Ranald Macdonald the same thing. But, once again, he could not refuse the club so, after persistent requests, he accepted. Perhaps it was loyalty to the Magpies. Perhaps it was blind faith. More likely it was that he could not shut out the fierce desire to win a premiership, however unlikely that may have appeared. The appointment was announced at the Copeland Trophy presentation night and the Collingwood faithful were, by and large, ecstatic. Elsie, most assuredly, was not. Bob had discussed the move with Peter and Robert, and with Elsie, and the general consensus was that if he wanted to coach again then they would support him.They didn’t necessarily agree with him but he would have their encouragement. Elsie, in particular, thought it was a huge move for a 56-year-old man who had been out of football for ten years. He had commitments with his job and with Robert, although work had become a lot easier these days. Cambur Industries had been sold a year or so beforehand after which Bob bought a couple of disposals stores in suburban Melbourne in partnership with Geoff Burrell and later, with his brother Ralph. Although Bob worked in them, the staff he employed made it a lot easier for him to attend to his footballing and fatherly duties.
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At his first meeting with the players at the start of 1985, Bob warned them that they needed to show more passion for the cause and said that they were in for a tough summer. He told them that they needed more aggression, a Bob Rose hallmark. Not aggression with sly backhanders or make-believe tough guy stuff but with a desire for the ball unmatched by any others. ‘We need aggression together with skill,’ he told his troops. ‘We need to be committed to the club.’ Bob refused to dwell on the past once the initial interviews and media scrutiny were over. He was not interested in where the club had been, rather in where it was headed. He tried to ensure everyone’s efforts were fixed securely on the future and that long-awaited f lag. It was all to no avail. The season began well enough with a win over the Kennedy-coached North Melbourne which was followed by two more victories over Geelong and Melbourne. None of these were teams that were expected to play much of a part in the finals but they were victories nonetheless, and showed the members that Bob was on the right track. The fourth game of the year was at Windy Hill and Bob was desperate to atone for the debacle of the previous year’s finals exit. The Pies were behind for most of the day but a stirring speech from the coach led to a massive turnaround in the last quarter when they came from five goals down to be within a couple of points entering time on. But old Collingwood problems emerged again. As the siren was about to sound, a point was kicked from ten metres out straight in front when a goal would have given them victory as well as a great deal of momentum and self-belief. From then on, the season was a struggle and was not helped by injuries to two of their best players, Peter Daicos and David Cloke. Injuries played a part all year; at one stage 21 players were on the injury list and the talent was spread very thinly. Before the season began, Collingwood had been a reasonable bet for the f lag and a near certainty for the five, but after the Essendon game, every time they won a game they would lose one the following week. Bob was struggling to get his message across. Some of his players were overpaid stars who didn’t give everything, while others were simply not good enough. They finished seventh on the ladder with ten wins.
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The whole year had been one of constant worry for Bob. Things had changed so much in ten years and he found it difficult to adjust to the demands of a modern-day coach.There were so many jobs he needed to do that he was always under pressure. Most people knew that he was only doing it for the club and they were grateful, but that still didn’t mean they would be content with losing. Bob would have had it no other way and was not looking for sympathy or for excuses. He simply hadn’t realised what he was in for. At the end of the season it was known that Carlton premiership coach, David Parkin, was on the market and some of the directors felt that he should be approached to replace Bob. Alan McAlister was adamant that they should stick to their contract with Bob. After all, he said, they didn’t even know if Parkin was interested and, besides, Collingwood would lose its integrity if they discarded the great Bob Rose for someone from another club. McAlister told Bob of his loyalty knowing full well that Bob would have stepped down if that was what the club wanted and if he could see they would be better off under someone else. In the end, after a lengthy board meeting the directors decided that Bob should stay. McAlister was relieved because, even though he had his critics he quite rightly thought the club would have ‘lost a little of its soul by dumping one of their favourite sons’.
The off-season produced one of the biggest recruiting coups in recent memory when Collingwood recruited Leigh Matthews to Victoria Park. Matthews had retired as a player after the grand final the year before in which Hawthorn was f logged by Essendon, and was also enduring pressures from court appearances relating to a clash with Geelong player Neville Bruns. Bob suggested to him that he take over the reins immediately but Matthews was reluctant. He told Bob that he would come as his assistant because he respected him as a coach and as a man. That was quite a statement from Matthews who also told Bob that he would not be an understudy to anyone else. The agreement was that he would be Bob’s offsider for 1986 with
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the understanding that he would take over the senior role for 1987. The move was met with approval by the Magpie hordes as ‘Lethal’ Leigh was regarded as one of the greatest and toughest players ever. Surely the combination of Rose and Matthews would deliver the goods. The pre-season training was gruelling. Injuries had been overcome and by the middle of March the players who had committed to the club were keen for the season to start.They might have been ready but there were still big problems off the field. Financially the club was on the brink of collapse and players had been told to take a 20 per cent pay cut. Some were happy to do so, others were not but did it anyway. Two, Geoff Raines and Mike Richardson, refused and were cleared. It was not the necessary happy or united start to the season to entice members back to the fold, or for the crowds to come and spend. The much-hoped-for start to the season didn’t eventuate. Collingwood was thrashed by Essendon and Sydney, and then, humiliatingly, by North Melbourne after leading at half-time. That was enough for Bob. He rang Matthews very early on Sunday morning after the North Melbourne game. ‘I’m resigning,’ Bob told him after pleasantries had been exchanged. ‘You’re now the coach.’ Matthews was staggered. He replied that Bob should sit back and have a think about it. ‘I’ve thought about it,’ Bob was adamant, ‘I’m finished.’ The two men agreed to meet at training later in the morning and discuss the matter. Sitting in the old grandstand Bob told Matthews that he knew he was finished. He was certain he could get no more from the players. His time had come. And now it had gone. The next day, the men attended a board meeting where the decision was ratified before returning to Victoria Park for a meeting with the players. At the meeting there were other full and frank discussions that led to the sacking of general manager, Peter Bahen, followed by the resignation of president Ranald Macdonald.The New Magpies were gone and another Collingwood drama had finished. Bob Rose’s decision to resign was typical of the man. No fanfare, no hanging around waiting for the axe, just a simple assessment of what needed to be done for the club. There was no doubt he was
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under pressure from the members and supporters, which in turn would eventually be relayed to the board. But no-one asked him to go. There was nothing said behind the scenes, in fact no-one knew until he and Matthews had spoken. Bob knew what was wrong and he decided to fix it. Typically, he also had the presence of mind to resign before an easy home game so Matthews could possibly be welcomed with a few wins. All along, he was the only person who knew what was to happen. Never, though, did he speak out of turn. He understood full well what damage telling tales could do. If he had a problem he would air it in the correct place and in the correct manner, after which it would be over. His thoughts were always of the club. Deep inside there were plenty of stories but Bob was not going to tell any. Yet he knew he had been the sucker. He had been there when the club was in the worst financial state of all time and had not been able to say no when they asked for help. On top of that, he was asked to cope with players who were given a huge reduction in their pay. He was supposed to keep them loyal to the club while others left for more money. He had to put up with in-fighting amongst the board and injuries to a great number of star players. And all through it he had to deal with the pressure of the thoughts that ‘Bob Rose will save us’. But, as there had been for the 40 years Bob had been at the club, there were those who didn’t want him to save them, or indeed, to have anything to do with them.There were some who wanted him gone, which was hard for Bob to understand. Fair enough if he’d mistreated people or hurt the club in some way, but what had he done? Even though nearly all of the supporters loved him, they were frustrated, and he had put up with all sorts of abuse during his last weeks as coach. At one stage a prominent Collingwood person stood up in the social club and gave him one of the worst barrages ever heard at Victoria Park about his coaching ability. Was it out of frustration? Perhaps. Was it true? In some ways, perhaps. Was it necessary? Absolutely not. If ever there was someone who did not deserve ridicule heaped upon him it was Bob Rose. He couldn’t understand why it happened but he never complained. ‘It’s what happens when you’re up there,’ he remarked once. ‘It goes with the job.’
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Leigh Matthews won that first game and the fans loved him for it. During the middle part of the year Collingwood had some easy victories and was heading for a finals spot but then their form tapered off and they finished sixth, missing out on percentage to Essendon. Although the result was not exactly what everyone wanted, relative peace and calm reigned at Victoria Park. For the next few years Bob was happy being a member of a board that was somewhat more settled.The finances over that time became stable and the team under Matthews became better. Bob had made the right decision when he’d resigned. Leigh Matthews was just the answer for Collingwood. He did not suffer fools and could not stand prima donnas. He found a few of both here and there but they either changed their ways or they left the club. Bob thought highly of his successor and encouraged him, while keeping well out of his way, although occasionally discussing players and ideas about football in general, and Collingwood in particular. It wasn’t all plain sailing for Matthews though and in 1987 the Magpies finished third from bottom but improved dramatically in 1988 to finish second on the ladder, even though they lost both finals. In 1989 Matthews wrote a small article in the club magazine where he mentioned his concerns that ‘everything about Collingwood is constantly being magnified out of all proportion’. This was similar to the sentiments he expressed to Bob when he first came to the club. He was amazed at the pressure and expectation that was placed on everyone from the president down, especially the coach. Bob smiled at his thoughts.‘You’ll find out more about that as you go on,’ he remarked knowingly. In the article Matthews went on to say that,‘a good win brings out the inevitable and boring speculation about whether this will be “the year”, while on the other hand a poor performance is often reported as though the club is falling apart’. Bob knew he was right, of course, but also understood that it was almost impossible to change old ways at Collingwood. The magazine’s front page that month was dedicated to the naming of the social club stand after the club’s favourite son and, in most opinions, the greatest player ever to wear the black and white—Bob Rose. Both the premier of Victoria, John Cain, and the Prime Minister, Bob Hawke, were on hand to honour Bob—a move regarded as
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unprecedented. While being overjoyed at the honour, Bob was also overwhelmed and was, as usual, humble and gracious in accepting the accolades heaped on him. Elsie, Peter and Robert watched proudly as he was spoken about in reverential tones. The Magpies beat Brisbane comfortably that day but wins were hard to come by during the rest of the season and they finished fifth, eliminated in their only final. Then came 1990. After a season that didn’t appear as though it would amount to anything extraordinary, a few lucky breaks went Collingwood’s way and, after a heart-stopping grand final against Essendon, Matthews achieved what everyone had wanted for so long. When the final siren sounded, Bob Rose walked out on the MCG alone. During the game he had been absorbed by the battle. He was worried and anxious at times but towards the end of the game, when victory was inevitable, he made his way down to the fence. He wanted to be one of the first to congratulate Matthews and the players. He had no thoughts of himself. No inkling of ‘why couldn’t it be me’. He greeted Matthews with a warmth and an honesty not all could have given. For Bob Rose though, it was natural.
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GLEN WAVERLEY 1990 – 1999
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fter the premiership, life for the Rose family became a little more stable. Even though Robert had severe problems at times with his usual aff lictions, summers brought the subtle joys of the back porch, the radio, the television and the cricket season, while winters were filled with football and trips in the yellow van. Winter time also meant a few late nights in the Collingwood Social Club when Robert stayed long after Bob had gone home. There were quite a few times when Bob answered the door to a taxi driver who wanted assistance removing Robert from the cab. There was one night when Bob himself stayed out late with Robert and when the two arrived home it was a difficult job for both men to get inside the house, such was their condition. After much holding, twisting and turning the result was that Bob watched while Robert fell over and rolled down the driveway, laughing all the way. Then there were tennis matches between Bob and Peter that Robert umpired—very badly according to Bob and with absolute impartiality according to Peter. Not that Robert favoured anyone, it was just that most disputed line calls went the way of his brother. By this time a number of Peter’s poems had been published and he had secured a job as a publisher with Oxford University Press. He was mixing with writers, editors and other publishers, but his relationship with his brother never changed. Even though their personalities and their lives could not have been more different, and even though
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Robert had trouble understanding Peter, the brothers shared a bond as special in its own way as that shared by Robert and his parents. One day early in 1995, Robert suddenly lost what little use he had of his wrists. It was the first indication that his health was failing. For a little over 20 years, Robert had been strong but now his hair was beginning to turn grey, his face was becoming more lined and his skin took on an awful pallor. He appeared to always have some sort of sickness, whether it be a pressure sore, a cold or some other debilitating ailment. Bob was becoming increasingly concerned about his well-being. Robert was also concerned—about his father and, more particularly, his mother. Elsie doted on him. Robert didn’t want to be doted on, not because he didn’t appreciate what Elsie was doing for him but because he didn’t want to put too much pressure on her. He knew that he had been the cause of a few of her medical problems and couldn’t bear to see her run herself down because of him. Elsie had suffered a degenerating deafness when Robert had his accident, brought on, according to the specialists, by the stress causing damage to nerves. She was now quite hard of hearing and at really stressful times a rash would cover her body.Then to top it all off, she had major surgery on her bowel. Robert begged his parents to have a break every now and again but they refused more often than not. They wanted to be there, helping, watching, lifting, fetching, carrying and simply being with him. Once in a while Bob convinced Elsie that they needed a rest but it would only be a weekend here or a week there. It was never for very long. Bob could see that it wasn’t the big things that annoyed Robert, it was the small ones; the inches not the miles. He had come to terms with his injuries quite early and he rarely discussed a yearning for days gone by, even with his father. He could handle all that but he had always been annoyed with people who talked around him, not to him, like those who discussed his health with Bob, not with him. After all, what did they think he was? An invalid? When Robert was at home he would often not ask for a drink or something to eat because he knew that either Bob or Elsie would have to get up from their chairs, or interrupt what they were doing, to get it for him. He didn’t want that. Bob, however, knew instinctively what
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to do and would disguise his actions so Robert wouldn’t know what he was up to. Or so he thought. Their minds circled each other constantly. In August 1995, Bob became the Victorian Father of the Year. Nominated by long-time friend Bill Jacobs, the award was greeted unanimously throughout the community. While Bob accepted the award he remarked that it could just as well have been the Mother of the Year, as Elsie was beside him in everything he did. Typically, he regarded the award as recognition not only of his work but of all the parents of disabled children. In his speech, Bob also mentioned his father, Bert, who instilled in his family a strong sense of loyalty and reliance. He spoke of the closeness of the Rose family, of the importance of family ties and affection. Early in 1997,Yarra Me was on the verge of closing. Only a dozen residents remained and by June it had closed altogether. The new thinking was that disabled people needed to be more autonomous and to have a lifestyle as close to normal as possible, so they all moved into smaller houses. Robert hated Yarra Me closing—he wanted things to stay as they were. Change was not something he looked forward to, especially after 22 years. Eventually he moved into Briarwood, a special accomodation house, with three others, one being Brian Martin who had roomed with him at Yarra Me. Martin was a jockey who had become a quadriplegic as a result of a race fall eight years before Robert. As sportsmen, and as men, their relationship was close, one that can only come from like-minded people in an environment set to test even the hardiest of spirits. Begrudgingly, Robert agreed that the move was a good one, especially for Bob whose driving time to and from the house was decidedly less than to Yarra Me. It was more than that though. The residents had more room, more privacy and more freedom. They could move around the garden by themselves, they could even go shopping, which Robert did quite often, much to the amusement of Bob and Elsie, who never considered their son a supermarket type of person. Other expeditions included Brian Martin and Robert heading off for counter lunches at the local pub, crossing major highways in their wheelchairs as they went. Bob thought that was a health hazard far greater than any bedsore or cold could have been.
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Bob was happy that Robert took to his new home well and even though his condition f luctuated from reasonable to terrible, on the whole Robert was happier than he had been for some time. Not much changed as far as the week went, or, for that matter, the weekends. Bob still picked up Robert on Saturday mornings as he had always done and dropped him back on Sunday evenings. Even with the ailments that Robert suffered over the years, there was still quite a bit of his life that was repetitive for both him and his father.
By the time of Bob’s 70th birthday in August 1998, the family had progressed from the Yellow Peril to a Volkswagen Kombi, similarly fitted out. The yellow Morris had served its purpose admirably but the new car was not only extremely functional and easier to drive, it also created significantly less attention. It was in this fine machine that Bob took Robert to Victoria Park where friends, foes and family had gathered to mark the occasion. Later in the evening, when only the closest friends were left, the stories, the songs and the drink f lowed just as they had in the old days—the days when Bob believed that the world contained nothing but goodness for him, the days before he understood how wonderful and how cruel life could be. Robert stayed as well and joined in everything. His regular taxi driver came to collect him at the appointed hour and was duly convinced that Robert was not going anywhere. So he stayed.And stayed. And stayed. Bob was concerned about Robert’s health and thought that he should be in bed.Yet he also knew he should stay, for in that room he had a feeling, as he watched Robert with friends and family, that not many fathers could ever know. And he was sure his son had a feeling the like of which he would never know again. A week after Bob’s birthday Robert became gravely ill. He still had horrendous problems with the pressure sores that had threatened to keep him away from the celebrations, and he had other illnesses from time to time, but this was much worse. Brian Martin had been noticing a general decline in his mate. He’d watched Robert go to bed early each night, knew he felt uncomfortable in bed and that he had lost his appetite. After Martin
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had mentioned as much to a nurse, they realised how sick Robert actually was. By now he was unconscious and the trip to the local Maroondah Hospital was interrupted when the medicos had to pull the ambulance over and work on Robert until he responded. Bob and Elsie were called in and they thought the time they had dreaded for so long was at hand.They thought their son would die. The hospital was not equipped to handle quadriplegics or to conduct major surgery so Bob quite rightly asked who was. For over an hour, phone calls were made to all those hospitals that had the correct facilities—the Royal Melbourne and the Austin among them. None of them could take Robert; there were no beds available anywhere. Bob, as well as becoming agitated about the condition of the state’s hospital system, was more than agitated about the condition of his son. Finally the Knox Hospital agreed to take Robert.An operation that night revealed a twisted bowel. Robert had aged considerably in the previous twelve months but as Bob watched him sleep, still drugged from the operation, he could almost see him ageing even more, before his eyes. The next day, Robert, still in a dangerous condition, was transferred to the Intensive Care unit at the Austin. He was surrounded by tubes that either went into or came out of him, computer screens with information that someone must have understood, and nurses who scurried around from one emergency to another. By early September, Robert was still in a critical condition but Bob and Elsie maintained their vigil most of the time, either together or separately. Salli visited most days and wondered if her father would be alive to see her married in December. Salli had become even closer to her father during the last few years and had been a constant presence in Robert’s worst times. Bob and Elsie thought the world of their granddaughter and wondered at times how different life could have been for them all. But by now Bob was beginning to run out of answers. He wanted Robert to go on and he wanted to help him but there were times when he had almost had enough.
While his eldest son’s condition was deteriorating, so was Bob’s relationship with his football club. Leigh Matthews and the team hadn’t
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reached the heights of 1990 again and, in 1996, he was replaced as coach by one of the club’s favourite sons, Tony Shaw. The appointment was popular in some quarters but not very successful. When Shaw coached Collingwood to a wooden spoon and not much further up the ladder the next year, there were problems afoot. Another coup was on the cards and Bob wanted no part of it. At 70 he wanted his energy for his son, not for fighting. He’d seen too many conf licts at Victoria Park.Too much backstabbing and treachery. Too many lies told by too many people. He wanted to see no more. He resigned at the start of September. He wished it could have ended differently. He wished at times that he was someone who could say something, tell stories. But he wasn’t and he didn’t. He was Bob Rose, loyal to the end. His brother Kevin, who had been president for years, resigned at the end of the season in favour of Eddie McGuire. Michael Malthouse replaced Tony Shaw as coach. As far as Collingwood coups went, this was bloodless, and for that Bob was grateful.
Robert had been shifted to Ward Thirteen at the Austin after a month but was still extremely ill. He never really improved, he just became more stable. His one desire was to go to his daughter’s wedding.That was all that drove him.And if that was what Robert wanted then that was what Bob wanted as well. The hospital set out a program for Robert to become used to a wheelchair again. Once more he went through the procedure gradually. Bob spoke to him regularly about what to expect. He began to prepare him mentally for the day of the wedding. He could see how dangerous it would be for Robert, physically as well as emotionally. But Robert Rose was made of stern stuff. He was his father’s son. He knew what to expect. The two men did not talk about death but they understood each other.They both knew that this was so important to Robert that if it was to shorten his life then so be it. Bob’s intuition told him that Robert knew he had only a limited time left and that the one thing he needed to do before he departed this world was give his daughter away. Bob would help him do it.
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Robert would never throw in the towel, would never give up fighting. That would have meant accepting defeat and he wasn’t like that.There are times when you can accept that you are going to lose without being defeated. Being a Rose, he knew that. It was the hottest day of the year when Bob drove across to the Austin and loaded Robert, immaculate in his crisp shirt and tie, into the Volksie and took him to the church. The heat was stif ling and Robert felt it more than anyone else but, closely watched by Bob, he gave Salli away.There were not many dry eyes in the church. After the wedding Robert was supposed to be returned to hospital but he decided he would continue to enjoy what everyone else was enjoying. He didn’t want to miss anything.After all, it was not every day your daughter got married. And it was not every day he felt free. He made a short speech at the reception and shortly after Bob suggested that they should leave. ‘No,’ Robert replied casually, beer in hand, ‘I think I’ll stay for a while.’ Then Salli and her bridesmaids wheeled him onto the dance f loor and pranced around him as only young women can. Robert was the happiest Bob had seen him for years and it was almost midnight when the party broke up and they headed back to the Austin. The Austin Hospital had a Cinderella time schedule and if people were not back at midnight they were locked out. It was after the allotted time when Bob eventually got Robert out of the van and he had to ring the bell a few times before someone came to let them in. Bob helped put Robert to bed and stood there quietly for a few minutes. Like many other times through their lives there were no words. There were none needed. The love of a father for his son and the pride he felt watching him fall asleep was enough. Not wanting to leave but knowing he must, Bob moved slowly along the quiet, semi-dark corridors, heard the whoosh of the automatic doors as they shut behind him and stood for a moment looking at the night sky. Then he crossed the road to the car park and drove home.
Robert wanted to be home for Christmas, no matter what. His pressure sores had worsened by then and he really should have stayed
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in hospital but he insisted so home he came. For some of the day it was one of the best Christmases the family had spent together. At other times it was the worst. Afterwards, Robert returned to his own house but became ill again early in January 1999, vomiting a black mucous which had infiltrated his lungs. He desperately wanted to stay at home but finally relented and was whisked away to the Austin once more. He was operated on and once again they found a twisted bowel. That night when Bob and Elsie visited he was on a respirator and the doctors spoke candidly about his condition. Bob knew what they said was true but he also knew that Robert would fight to the end. The one thing that Robert did not want was another operation. He didn’t want to think about what he would be like afterwards. His life, as tenuous and horrific as it might have been, was preferable to the unknown. He now had golden staph infection, pneumonia, the wounds from his operation would not heal, his pressure sores were becoming worse and worse, but he did not want to be operated on again.
Robert struggled on for the next few months. His condition ranged from one of total despair to one with some degree of hope. Bob didn’t think he had long to live and, somehow, he understood that Robert knew the same. It was only a matter of time. Robert had told Bob a couple of times that he didn’t want to go on. Bob had spoken to him at those times about fighting, knowing full well that it was hard thing to ask a man in Robert’s condition. But he felt that it was what he had to do. Neither of them could give up. Day after day, week after week, Bob and Elsie stood by their son’s bed and watched him contend with unimaginable things. Then, early in May, Robert told his father once more that he didn’t want to go on.This time Bob just listened.When he left the ward he realised that he didn’t want Robert to go on either. He had fought for 25 years and his son’s body was now in such a condition that any respite, even death, would be a release from its horrors. Bob suffered with Robert. He could fight no more. He could do nothing about this. He had no control. He had helped Robert all
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these years yet could do nothing now except be there for him. Be there to talk to him about the world. About Collingwood. About cricket. About the love he felt. And the helplessness. Bob had helped him live yet he couldn’t help him die.
On 11 May the whole family gathered in the room where Robert lay. Elsie stood over his bed, touching him gently, stroking his body, playing his favourite music on a player she had brought in, speaking her last tender words to her first-born. Salli and Terry, who had also come, sat and watched, saying little. On a chair in the corner Peter wept. The loss of a brother seemed impossible to bear. Bob paced around the room impatiently listening to what could be his son’s last breaths coming at irregular intervals, heaving gasps followed by long silences that invoked thoughts of his death. This was the ‘agonal’ period, coming from the Greek word ‘agon’, meaning struggle. Robert was struggling. Doctors and nurses came and went, as did the watchers, and Robert fought on. By now there was no respirator to cover his face, no tubes hanging out everywhere, no lines that secured his hold on the world, but he was determined not to leave. Bob understood. Somehow, he thought, Robert was going to keep fighting for life.After all, tomorrow was his daughter’s birthday and he was not going to miss that. On the day of her father’s accident, Salli had taken her first steps. Now she would mark another milestone in her life. In the early hours of Wednesday morning, with Robert’s breathing becoming more laboured and the doctors suggesting he could go on for hours, Bob, Elsie and Peter went home for some rest. Perhaps Robert didn’t want his family to be there when he left them. Perhaps he wanted to be by himself. He died at 8 a.m.
When he returned to the room, Bob found it hard to understand the chasmic difference between life and death. As fragile as Robert’s hold on life had been, it was still there.Tangible. Obvious.
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A single hour previously he had watched his son breathe, had talked to him, wiped his brow, watched the pulses in his head as they throbbed, felt his heart. Now there was nothing. No movement whatsoever. No touch of warmth, no f licker in the eyes, only the stark remoteness of death. Bob sat for a while and gazed at his son’s body.There’ll be no more days watching the footy, he thought. No more discussions about the cricket. No more fights about tennis scores. But there’ll be no more anger. No more grotesque obscenities thrust upon him. No more pain. Only simple, longed-for peace. Sighing gently to himself and holding Elsie closely, Bob walked out of the hospital into the coolness of the autumn breeze.
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EPILOGUE
hree months after Robert died Bob was approached to become involved with the Victorian Para–Quadriplegic Association but he declined. His emotions were too raw, too close. But it wasn’t long before he knew he had to help. If he could use the Rose name to support other people, he knew he should. After all, he could understand their suffering. From that began the Robert Rose Foundation and through that the Robert Rose Cup, played each season between Collingwood and the Western Bulldogs (Footscray) as a mark of respect to Robert and Neil Sacshe, and as a fundraiser for those with spinal cord injuries. For years Bob helped the Forest Hill Lions Club who gave so much assistance when Robert first came home from hospital. He was also prominent in organising reunions, golf days and tennis matches for ex-VFL players, and for his family.
T
Over the years Bob and Elsie attended most of Collingwood’s home games and Bob followed the fortunes of the club closely, occasionally being asked to talk to the younger players. He watched their development intently but always stayed out of the limelight. Even though his career had ended years before, his name was still revered in football circles. He was one of the first named when Collingwood selected its ‘Team of the Century’ and was an inaugural member of the AFL Hall of Fame.
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Shortly before his 75th birthday, Bob was diagnosed with cancer. Although he vowed to fight the disease it was quite advanced and his activities were curtailed. He still wanted to attend Collingwood games but his treatment took precedence. He was strong enough, though, to go to a couple more matches; the last one was against the Western Bulldogs when the teams played for the Robert Rose Cup. Bravely, he stayed until three quarter time, after which he returned to hospital. The cancer was extremely invasive and the end came too quickly. His battle was lost on 7 July 2003.
During the last few weeks of his life, Bob and Elsie spent a lot of time with Peter and were in constant contact with Salli. Bob was extremely proud of Peter and what he had achieved in his life. Peter, in turn, was an unchanging source of strength to his father and mother. Bob Rose faced his problems with the same courage and dignity that had marked his life. A few weeks before his death he remarked that when he was a youngster kicking the jam tins around, he could never have imagined where his journey through life would take him. He said that there were a few things that he wished had turned out differently but generally he had no regrets. He regarded not being able to win a premiership for his players as something he wished he could change but he didn’t dwell on it. Smiling, he said that in the whole scheme of things it wasn’t important. Then he talked about Robert. Through the years Bob didn’t spend much time thinking about the ‘what ifs’. Rather, he remembered the good times. And there were good times with Robert, even after his accident. Bob remembered the immense joy Robert, despite all his problems, found in life. He remembered how Robert never complained. He remembered too, the times he was ashamed because he was impatient with his son. The times when he momentarily forgot what Robert was actually going through. Bob said he learned so much from him about bravery and courage.
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Bob also talked about the early days in Nyah West and how his parents gave everything they had to their family. Bert lived to 80 years of age and died in 1981, while Millie died in 1996 at the age of 89. Both are buried in Nyah West, the town in which they played prominent roles all their lives. His brothers and sisters have continued to be a big part of his life over the years and were constant companions in his final days. Lorna still lives in Nyah West while Alma is in Swan Hill. Ralph passed away a few years ago, Bill is in Shepparton and both Colin and Kevin live in Melbourne.
Bob also talked about the journey that he and Elsie had been on since that first cold night in Nyah West over 50 years ago. He knew that he could never repay the loyalty and strength Elsie showed throughout those years. Typically, he was more concerned about her than about himself. But by and large, he said that he was grateful for every day he had lived and the good fortune bestowed upon him. He didn’t think he’d let anyone down along the way, at least he hoped not. He said that even though it had been hectic, wonderful and heartbreaking, overall, life had been good to him.
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CAREER
Robert Arthur Rose Born: 7 August 1928 Nyah West 1945 Best and Fairest Nyah West: 1945 Best and Fairest Mid Murray Football League: 1945 Collingwood 1946–1955 152 games, 17 interstate Goals: 214, 14 interstate Copeland Trophy: 1949, 51, 52, 53 Leading goal-kicker: 1953, 54 Victorian representative: 1949, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54 Runner up for Brownlow Medal: 1953 Jubilee Trophy: 1951 Premiership, All Australian player: 1953 Wangaratta Rovers 1956–1962 126 games Goals: 294 Premierships: 1958, 60 Best and Fairest: 1956, 57, 59, 60 Morris Medal: 1958, 60 Club leading goal-kicker: 1958, 59, 60 League leading goal-kicker: 1960 Collingwood as coach 1964–71, 1985, 86 (part) 192 games: 121 won, 69 lost, 2 draws Victorian Coach: 1967 Footscray as coach 1972–75 89 games: 42 wins, 45 losses, 2 draws Life Memberships Nyah West Football Club Mid Murray Football League Collingwood Football Club Victorian Football League/Australian Football League Wangaratta Rovers Football Club Ovens and Murray Football League Victorian Country Football league
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I have gathered a posy of other men’s flowers, and none but the thread that binds them is my own. — Montaigne
ob Rose is one of the most remarkable people I have ever met. He has taught me so much about life, humility, honesty and dignity – to say nothing of football. To be granted the honour of recording his life story has been humbling, enriching and inspiring. None of this could have happened without Bob’s honest, and sometimes emotionally painful, cooperation. Bob is married to an equally strong spirit. Elsie has been as strong, if not stronger, than her famous husband for over fifty years. She has endured more than her share of pain but has faced it all with graciousness and charm.They are a truly wonderful couple and I am richer for knowing them. During my often f luctuating moods of joy and despair, the one constant has been the love, support and considered objectivity I have had at home from Lyn and Zac, with whom all things begin and end. With a book like this it is extremely difficult to know where to start when acknowledging contributions from other people. However, I would like to firstly thank the Rose family for their memories and stories. Alma Lawry and Lorna Skinner together with Bill, Colin and Kevin Rose provided me with much information. The remarkable Ethel Gadsden with her memories of the early days was a great help. Special thanks must go to Peter Rose and his wonderful book, Rose Boys (Allen & Unwin, 2001).
B
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Of course, nothing would have happened without the vision and encouragement of Rebecca Kaiser and the late John Iremonger at Allen & Unwin. Emma Sorensen has also been very supportive. I am also indebted to Eddie McGuire for his heartfelt and passionate foreword. His words reinforce what Bob Rose means to the Collingwood Football Club. I would like to thank Richard Stremski for the information in his book, Kill For Collingwood (Allen & Unwin, 1986), as well as Gordon Carlyon and his photographic memory for events many years ago. There are so many other people who have given eagerly of their time to talk to me about Bob: Terry Waters, Peter McKenna, Lou Richards, Thorold Merrett, Des Healey, Des Tuddenham, Duncan Wright, Murray Weidemann, Len Thompson, Graeme Jenkin, Charlie Utting, Neil Mann, Ron Barassi, Charlie Sutton, Jack Collins, Dick Collinson, Laurie Sandilands, Bernie Quinlan, Leigh Matthews, Alan McAlister and Neil Balme. Bob’s ex-partners Ian Cameron and Geoff Burrell were a big help, as were Salli Caruana and Terry Butcher. Thanks also to Dr David Burke, Peter Trethewey and Noelene Cooper at the Austin Hospital. I would also like to recognize Shirley Campbell and Kevin Hill for their help and a big, special thank you to Madeline Haag for being her wonderful self. There have been many others who have helped in some small way with information and I thank them for it. To anyone who is not mentioned here, I apologise, for the slight is unintended. The main sources of material from newspapers were: The Age, The Argus, The Sun, The Herald, The Herald-Sun, The Sporting Globe, The Swan Hill Guardian, The Wangaratta Chronicle, The Border Mail, The West Australian and The Adelaide Advertiser. Books that yielded information were: Boots and All by Lou Richards (Stanley Paul, 1963); Unleashed: The History of the Footscray Football Club by John Lack, Chris McConville, Michael Small and Damien Wright (Aus-Sport Enterprises, 1996); Every Game Ever Played by Stephen Rodgers and Ashley Browne (Viking, 1996); The Book of VFL Finals by Graeme Atkinson (Five Mile Press, 1981); Collingwood at Victoria Park by Glenn McFarlane and Michael Roberts (Lothian Books, 1999); 1970 and other Stories of the Australian Game by Martin Flanagan (Allen & Unwin, 1999); Big Al: The Untold Story
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by Alan McAlister (Wilkinson Books, 1996); A Short History of Collingwood by G.M.Hibbins (Collingwood Historical Society, 1996); The History of the Borchard Family written and published by Lee Borchard; The History of the Rose Family in Australia written and published by the Thomas and Jane Rose Historical Society; Murray Mallee Country written and published by Graham Gardner. The extract on page 11 is from ‘The Poor, Poor Country’ in John Shaw Neilson by Cliff Hanna (UQP, 1991). The pictures of Bob at school are from the 1945 edition of Cygnet, the Swan Hill High School magazine. Other pictures were supplied from members of the Rose Family and from Bob Rose’s private collection.
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INDEX
accommodation above Collingwood sports store 77 for Robert (after the accident) 227, 236, 259, 261–2 Glen Waverley 129, 227 Nyah West 13, 15,19 Wangaratta 109, 113 with the Regnier family 46, 59, 78, 137 Adams, Bluey 99 after-season trips 56–7, 105 to Japan (1965) 151–2 Age,The 169 altercations on-field 63–4, 70, 80, 84, 96 Bernie Smith (1953) 86 Bob Constable (1959) 117 Carlton brawl (1954) 94–5 Denis Jones (1966) 156 Les Foote (1947) 63–4 Wright and Somerville (1965) 148–51 Argus,The 84 Arrowsmith, Bob 77 athletic ambitions 41 athletics factory employment 48, 78 Austin Hospital, Heidelberg 214, 216, 261–2
Baldock, Darryl 163 Barbour, Bill 94 Barrassi, Ron 140, 146, 177, 180, 193 Basten, Al 40, 63 Beitzel, Harry 64, 99, 118–19 Bentley, Bill 37 best and fairest 42, 89, 116, 121 birth (1928) 12 Blowf ly Flat, Nyah West 13, 15, 19, 21 Bob Rose Social Club Stand 253–4 Bob Rose’s Sports Store in Collingwood 77, 85, 100, 108 in Wangaratta 106, 109, 114–15, 117, 129 body clashes 63–4, 80, 93, 99, 120 body on the line 95–6 Borchard, Amy (nee Poulton) 10 Borchard, Jack 10–11, 15 Borchard, Mildred (Millie) 11–12 Borchard, Ray (Uncle) 16 boxing 33–4, 45–6, 50–1 aiding football career 51, 54, 63 Harry Shaw boxing gymnasium 28–30 in Melbourne 30–2, 38, 40 Jack McLeod’s gymnasium 40, 63 lightweight title 34 retirement from 63
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Index
boxing opponents Al Rodriquez 63 Brian Hecker 33–4 George Pitt 34 George Rash 30 Mickey Walker 38, 40 Ron Eames 34 Boyd, Ken 122 bravery on the field 96 Briarwood special accommodation house 259 brothers playing for Collingwood 69, 132 Brownlow Medal 49, 89–90 Bulldogs see Footscray Football Club Burke, Dr David 214–16, 219–20, 229, 232 Burns, Jack 60, 151 Burrell, Geoff 144, 211–13, 248 bus driving 24, 42 business ventures Collingwood sports store 77, 85, 100, 108 Melbourne disposal stores 248 Wangaratta sports store 106, 109, 114–15, 117, 129 Butcher, Bert 37 Cahill, John 246–7 Cambur Industries 144, 211–12, 248 Cameron, Ian 144, 211, 214 Campbell family 113–14 captain of Collingwood 96–7 car accident (1974) 213 bedside vigil following the 220 Bob Rose’s commitment following the 218–20 homecoming from hospital 227 notification of quadriplegia 215 notification of the 212–13 publicity following the 214–15, 217, 222–3 see also quadriplegia career see employment Carlton Football Club 54, 94 coached by Ron Barrassi 146
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Carlton vs Collingwood grand final (1970) 176–9 Princes Park (1971) 189 Victoria Park (1954) 94 Carlyon, Gordon 76, 88–9, 94, 107, 166, 173 Carr, Mickey 40 cars see motor vehicles Casper, Harry 81 Catalina air force base 33 Challman family 110, 213 channel cleaning 24–5 children see Peter Rose and Robert Rose Chitty, Bob 54–5 Christmas at Nyah West 57, 67 with Robert (1998) 263–4 Chronicle,The 123 city life 45–7, 129 swapped for country life 109, 113 Clark, Jim 121 Clarke, Bobby 64 clearance from Collingwood 107–8 from Nyah West football club 52 of David Thorpe from Footscray 207 of Robert Rose from Collingwood 201 club politics 74–5, 127–35, 183 New Magpies faction 245–7 coaching Kyne–Woods controversy 74–5 style 155–6, 164–5 the state side 163 coaching Collingwood 131–2 1964 season 137 captaincy and 140, 154–5 criticisms 164 disappointments 162–7, 169–70 discipline and 132 feeling jinxed whilst 174 grand final disappointments 157–60
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injecting family atmosphere 139 interventionist style 138 media statements whilst 175, 184 player support (1971) 188–9 recruitment 134–5, 142, 146–7, 163–4, 168–9 re-election in 1971 182 resignation from (1971) 189–90 resignation from (1986) 251 return to (1985) 248–50 team meetings 139–40 coaching Footscray 195 after Robert’s accident 222–3, 225–6 choosing a captain 202–3 early success 197 first game against Collingwood 198–9 resignation from 233 training methods 196 coaching at Wangaratta 106–7, 111, 117 1957 season 114 1958 premiership win 114–16 1959 season 118–19 1960 season 119–21 recruitment 110 retirement from 122–4 win against Oakleigh VFA team 121 Cochineas, Manny 109–10 Coleman, John 70, 81, 89, 119, 150 Collier, Albert and Harry 245 Collingwood as a suburb in the 1940s 46–7 in the 1960s 130 in the 1970s 182, 196 Collingwood Football Club biggest comeback in history 175 brothers within the 69 clearance from 107–8 coaching position controversy 74–5 early commitment to 50 effect of World War II on 48–9 family atmosphere 139 first offer 37 first training session 39
grand final defeat by Carlton (1970) 176–81 grand final disappointments 100, 158–9 grand final victory against Essendon (1990) 254 grand final victory against Geelong (1953) 87–8 Japan trip 151–2 liquor licence 49 New Magpies faction 245–51 number 22 xiii, 53–4 player strike 173 president election (1963) 128–30 recruitment 94, 134–5, 142, 146–7, 168–9, 173, 250 resignation from the board 262 salary policy 89, 94, 100–1, 106–7, 134, 147 supporters 72–3 see also coaching at Collingwood; football games; McHale, Jock Collingwood Juniors 51–2 Collingwood Sports Depot 77 Collingwood sports store 77, 85, 100, 108 Collins, Jack 193–4, 197, 203, 206 Collinson, Dick 206, 222, 231 commitment to Collingwood Football Club 50, 179, 252, 254 to Elsie 79, 239, 268 to Robert 198, 201, 204–5, 218–19, 234–40 to the family 67, 90–1, 95, 100, 107, 129, 171–2, 259 committee meetings 173–4 Constable, Bob 117–18, 121 Copeland Trophy Alby Pannam 52 Bob Rose xi, 72, 82, 85, 89 Des Fothergill 49 Corop 3, 6 Coulter Law 89 country boy to city sportsman 65, 67 Coventry, Syd 72, 88, 128
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Index
Crawford,William 42 cricket 15, 26, 66, 118 Robert Rose’s success in 143–4, 161, 171–3, 205 Crompton, Neil 141 crowd numbers 55, 87, 115, 147, 157 crowd reaction 64, 70, 118, 199 cycling during the drought 22 Dale, Alan 80, 110 Daniels, Jack 40 de Lacy, Hec 85, 88 Depression, the 14, 50 devotion to Robert 234–40 dingos in the Mallee 11–12 disappointments in life 79, 157–60, 162–7, 169–70 draught horses 13 channel cleaning with 24–5 dressing room as a sanctuary 64 during 1970 Carlton grand final 177–8 supporters banned from 136–7 drought in the Mallee 5, 21–3 Dyer, Jack 93, 174 Eakins, Peter 173 Eames, Ron 34 East Perth Club offer 105 Elizabeth Street house 13, 15, 19 leaving for Collingwood 45–6 returning for Christmas 57, 67 emigration from England 3–4 employment acid de-scaling sales rep 144 boxing 32–3, 63 Cambur Industries 144–5, 211–12 channel cleaning 24–6 disposal store owner 248 door-to-door grocery selling 20 foodstuff sales representative 128–9 fruit shop assistant 46 Melbourne wood yard 47–8 stitching footballs 48, 78 television career 171–2
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see also Bob Rose’s Sports Store; farm life; football salary Erwin, Mick 245 Eskrick,Valda 57 Essendon vs Collingwood 70–1 preliminary final (1965) 148–9 semifinal (1946) 55 semifinal (1951) 80–1 ethnic population in Collingwood 130 ethnic supporters in Wangaratta 112 fairness 84, 89 family atmosphere at Collingwood 139 family man 67, 90–1, 95, 100, 107, 129, 259 farm life 13–14, 19–20 drought 5, 21–2 harvesting 23–4 horse culling 22–3 farming in the Mallee (mid-1800s) 5, 10–11 in Yarraby 7 Father of the Year 259 father–son relationships 119, 172–3 with Peter 171–2, 205–6 with Robert 198, 201, 204–5, 218–19, 237 fatherhood 82, 85 Festival Hall (Melbourne) 30 financial hardship 9, 14, 19–21 Bob’s boxing purse easing 33 financial inducements 49 First Fleet to Australia 3 fishing 113 Fitzroy vs Collingwood (semifinal, 1952) 84 Flanagan, Fred 37 Flannery, Bob 32 Flannery, Frank 40 focus 55, 94 football boots (1945) 35–6 club culture 90 early interest in 16 in the 1930s 17 last game 123
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style 80–1 see also football games; football salary football games (Collingwood against) after-season 56–7, 105, 151–2 Carlton (1954) 94 Carlton (1970 grand final) 176–9 Carlton at Princes Park (1971) 189 Essendon (1949) 70–1 Essendon preliminary final (1965) 148–9 Essendon semifinal (1946) 55 Essendon semifinal (1951) 80–1 first as number 22, 53–4 Fitzroy semifinal (1952) 84 Footscray final (1974) 226 Footscray semifinal (1948) 64–5 Geelong (1946) 54–5 Geelong grand final (1953) 86–8 Geelong preliminary final (1955) 98 Geelong replay (1946) 56 Geelong semifinal (1953) 85–6 Melbourne (1954) 140–1 Melbourne (1955) 97–9 North Melbourne (1948) 63–4 North Melbourne (1955) 96–7 Oakleigh VFA team vs Wangaratta Rovers (1960) 121 Richmond semifinal (1971) 189 St Kilda (1965) 147–8 St Kilda comeback (1970) 175 St Kilda grand final (1966) 157–8 football salary 85, 89, 92 Collingwood Club policy 89, 94, 100–1, 105–7 Foote, Les 63–4 Footscray as a suburb 195–6 Footscray Football Club Bob Rose as new coach 195 coaching dilemma (1971) 193–4 new president 206–7 quadriplegia and the 231–2 recruitment at 206 Footscray gymnasium 40, 63 Footscray vs Collingwood final (1974) 226
semifinal (1948) 64–5 Fothergill, Des 39, 49, 54 Fraser, Ken 148 Gabelich, Ray 140, 148, 150, 154, 159, 163, 245 Gadsden, Les 22–3, 24–5 Galbally, Jack 128 Gale, Butch 96 Gallagher, Fred 70 Geelong Football Club 84 Geelong vs Collingwood 1946 54–5 1946 replay 56 grand final (1953) 86–8 preliminary final (1955) 98 semifinal (1953) 85–6 Glen Waverley home 129 adjusting for Robert’s home care 227 Graham,Vic 128 grand final 1970 heartbreaker 176–9 disappointments 100, 158–9, 174, 226 taking the blame for losses 179 victory against Essendon (1990) 254 victory against Geelong (1953) 87–8 Grand Hotel, Nyah West 16, 19, 26–7, 42 gymnasiums Harry Shaw boxing gymnasium 28–30 Jack McLeod’s gymnasium 40, 63 Hafey,Tom 190, 245 Hams, George 87 Hands, Ken 94 Harris, Jiggy 128, 142 Harry Shaw Boxing Gymnasium 28–30 see also boxing Hart, Royce 157, 163 harvesting on the farm 23–4
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Hawks see Wangaratta Rovers Football Club Hayes, Frank 106 Healey, Des 79, 84, 88 as player–coach for Wodonga 108, 114–15, 120 body clash ends playing career 99 Hecker, Brian 34 Henderson, John 154, 163 Herald,The 188 Hill, Len 106, 110 Hocking, Gordon 39 Hoddle Street, Melbourne 46 Holton, Mac 60, 111–12 and the Bob Constable altercation 117–18 home Johnstone Street, Collingwood 77 leaving for Collingwood 45–6 Nyah West 13, 15, 19 returning for Christmas 57, 67 home care for Robert 227–9, 234, 258 emotional strain 238–9 Hopkins,Ted 176–7, 180 horse culling in the drought 22–3 horse riding 13–14 household name 83 Hughes, Checker 91–2 Hutchinson, Bill 80 immigration to Australia the Borchards 10 the Roses 3–4 income see employment; football salary injury and illness 100 as player–coach 112 back injury 122, 174, 227 during 1954 season 91 fractured collarbone 60, 62, 68 groin injury 95 North Melbourne head clash (1946) 63–4 pneumonia 57 through playing style 81 torn pelvic muscle fibres 93 interstate games 56, 91–2, 105
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Jacobs, Bill 78, 259 Japanese trip (1965) 151–2 Jeans, Alan 158 jobs see employment jockstrap sales 79 Jolley, Don 178 Jones, Denis 156 Kearns, Neil 183 Kennedy, John 246 Killigrew, Alan 128 King, Alf 184–5 King Bobby 121 Kyne, Phonse 39, 74, 88, 98, 128–9, 131, 245 ladies social committee (Nyah West) 40–1 Lake Boga boxing 33–4 Lake Boga football 35 Lambert, Harold 55, 70 leadership 75–6, 93, 115 playing captain for a day 96–7 life and death 265–6 life’s disappointments 79, 157–60, 162–7, 169–70 lightweight boxing title 34 liquor licence 49 Lombardi,Vince 83, 138 loyalty 92, 107–8, 166, 252–4, 259 Lucas, Peter 182 McAlister, Alan 246–7 McCormick, Hopper 118 McDonnell, Marty 53 McEwans retail contract 144 McGuire, Eddie 262 McHale, Jock xi, 93 as coach 39, 51–3, 60–1, 69, 74, 93 as selector 87 grand final departure 89 McKenna, Peter 147, 149, 155 combination with Price 177 removed during 1971 St Kilda game 184–5 McKenzie, Brian 245
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McLeod, Jack 40, 63 McMahon, Noel 99, 121 McMurray, Jack 80 MacDonald, Ranald 245, 247–8 Magpies see Collingwood Football Club Mallee dirt farming 5, 8 1940s drought 21–3 harvesting 23–4 rabbiting 20 Malthouse, Michael 262 ‘Man on the Hill’, the 50–1 Mann, Hassa 141 Mann, Neil 96–7, 129–30, 199 votes as assistant coach 183 Maple family 11 Maroney, Jack 106 marriage 71, 76, 79, 239, 268 see also Elsie Rose Martin, Brian 259–61 Matthews, Leigh 250–1 on the pressure at Collingwood 253 media interest following the car accident 214–15, 217 media sports reports 55, 84–5, 88, 163, 169 media statements whilst coaching 169, 175 following 1970 grand final defeat 180 in Wangaratta 110, 115, 117–18, 121, 123 interview with Terry Waters (1971) 188 Lou Richard’s 180 on Footscray 197 Melbourne Cricket Ground 40, 55, 157 Melbourne vs Collingwood grand final (1955) 99–101 semifinal (1954) 140–1 semifinal (1955) 98–9 Merrett,Thorold 75, 79, 84, 97, 108 Mettleman, Jack 18 mice plagues in the Mallee 5 Mid-Murray Football League 35
Morris Medal 116, 121 motor vehicles 106–7, 239–40, 260 Mr Football 108, 110, 121, 130, 193 Mr Unlucky 168 Neilson, John Shaw 11 new Australians and football 113 New Magpies 245–6, 251 debt problems 247 Nichols, Douglas 62 Nichols, John 163 North Melbourne captaincy against (in 1955) 96–7 head clash (1946) 63–4 number 22 xiii first game as 53–4 Nyah West 6–8 Christmas at 57, 67 compared to Melbourne 38–9, 67 cricket team 26 early life in 14–17 local pound 15 reaction to boxing 32 Nyah West football club 35–7, 40–1 against Boort 42 against the RAAF 35, 41–2 clearing Rose’s contract 52 Oakleigh VFA team game 121 Omega 10 on-field altercations see altercations on-field Ovens and Murray League 106, 111 Pannam, Alby 52, 121, 245 parents 11–12, 268 Bert 5–7, 9–10, 14, 17–19, 24, 36–7, 259 financial hardship 14, 19, 20–1, 33 Millie (nee Borchard) 14, 21, 36, 45 Peers, Norm 32 people skills 111–12, 115–17, 145 Perkins, Lance 162 Pick, Mary 20 Pies (Magpies) see Collingwood Football Club
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Pitt, George 34 player strike 173 playing favourites 154, 172–3 playing style 81, 86 pneumonia 57 political debates at home 205–6 politics 74–5, 127–35, 183 Poulton, Amy 10 pre-game breakfast 61 Price, Barry 154, 156 Price–McKenna combination 17 prostitution in Perth 56 publicity following the car accident 214–15, 217, 222–3 pubs Grand Hotel, Nyah West 16, 19, 26–7, 42 in Collingwood 47 quadriplegia and Neil Sachse 231–2 family/friends’ support for patients 238 pressure sores and 228 publicity about 216, 223 quadriplegia and Robert Rose 213, 238 alternative treatments 229 Briarwood special accommodation house 259 declining health 258, 260–1 Dr Burke’s warnings 219–20 final months 262–6 home care and 227–9 home for Christmas (1998) 263–4 move to Yarra Me hostel 236–7 patient turning teams for 221, 227 pressure sores 239 rehabilitation following the accident 223–5 the last Christmas (1998) 236–4 visitors 224, 238 wife’s departure 234–5 Yarra Me hostel 236, 259 see also car accident (1974)
281
rabbiting 20 radio (significance of) 109–10 Rash, George 31 rationing during the war 49, 63 recognition 253–4 recruiting as Collingwood coach 134–5, 142, 146–7, 168–9, 173, 250 as Wangaratta coach 110 at Collingwood 48, 94, 173 at Footscray 206–7 Regan, Jack 39, 61 Regnier family 46, 59, 78, 137 Regnier, Lance (Nipper) 46 religion 20, 111–12 reputation 71–2, 85, 123–4 household name 83 King Bobby 121 Mr Football 108, 110, 121, 130 Mr Unlucky 168–70 respect on and off the field 83 resignation from coaching Collingwood (1971) 189–90 from coaching Collingwood (1986) 251 from coaching Footscray 233 from Collingwood board 262 resilience 215–16, 218, 222–6 retirement from boxing 63 from player-coach at Wangaratta Rovers Football Club 122–4 Reynolds, Dick 193–4 Rhode, Laurie (Buck) 35 Richards, Lou 39, 51, 55–6, 60, 69–70, 78, 84, 94–5 criticisms of Collingwood 180 retirement 97 Richards, Ron 69–70, 87–8, 246 Richardson,Wayne 154, 159, 176, 183 and the player strike 173 as captain 186, 189 Richmond coaching offer 131 Richmond vs Collingwood (semifinal, 1971) 189
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Robert Rose Foundation 267 Rodriquez, Al 63 romance 66–7, 71, 119, 239 Rooney, Mick 70 Rose, Alma (sister) 14, 21, 268 Rose, Bert (father) 5–7, 9–10, 14, 17, 24, 36–7, 259, 268 rheumatoid arthritis 18–19 Rose, Bill (brother) 14, 68–9, 137 Rose brothers playing for Collingwood 132, 137 Rose, Colin (brother) 14, 268 as Collingwood runner 137, 140–1, 147, 149 as runner in 1970 Carlton grand final 179 Rose, Elizabeth (grandmother) 8–9, 12 Rose, Elsie (nee Rowlands, wife) 71, 76, 79, 139 and the Challman family 110 following the car accident 213, 218, 220 health problems 258 home care for Robert 227–8, 237 love of radio 109–10 move back to the city 129 move back to the country 109, 113 relationship with Peter 206 support for her husband 195 Rose, Ethel (aunt) 9, 12–13, 22 Rose, Kevin (brother) 14, 137, 140, 154, 262, 268 following Robert’s accident 212, 214, 218, 231 Rose, Lorna (sister) 14, 21, 268 Rose, Millie (nee Borchard, mother) 14, 21, 36, 268 relationship with Bob 45 Rose, Peter (son) 100, 114, 236, 240, 267 early literary talent 119, 129 father–son relationship 171–2, 205–6 following the car accident 213, 237 relationship with Robert 257–8
Rose, Ralph (brother) 19, 67, 137, 154, 268 Rose, Ralph (Rusty, uncle) 6–7, 9–10, 13, 17, 19–20, 35 Rose, Ray (uncle), 5–7, 9–10, 13 Rose, Robert Peter (son) 82, 90–1, 114, 240–1 cricketing success 161, 171–3 daughter’s wedding 262–3 early sporting talent 119, 129 football success 167, 172 journalist career 229, 231 marriage 204–5 playing for Collingwood against Bob 198 playing for Footscray with Bob 201 replacing Terry Waters (1971) 184, 188 teenage years 143 see also car accident; quadriplegia and Robert Rose Rose, Salli (granddaughter) 205, 230, 240 marriage 261–3 Rose,Terry (nee Yewers) 204, 218, 227–8, 230 departure 234–5 Rose,Thomas (uncle) 3–4 Rose,William (grandfather) 3, 8–9 Rovers see Wangaratta Rovers Football Club 106 roving for the Magpies 51 Rowlands, Elsie 57–8, 66 proposal 71 singing career 62, 79 see also Rose, Elsie Rowlands, Len 76 Ruthven, Alan (Baron) 92 Ryan, Jack 144 Ryan, Ronald 27, 161 Sachse, Neil 231, 267 salary cap 89 see also football salary Sandilands, Laurie 202–3, 226, 232 scientific boxer 33–7
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scrapbook 61 secretary of Collingwood 76–7 seniors selection 53 settling in Nyah West 6–8 Shaw, Harry 27–34, 38 Shaw, Rhys xiii Shaw,Tony, 262 Shelton, Ian (Bluey) 149 Sherrin, Syd 37 Sherrin,Tom 37, 48, 78, 128, 134 Sherrin’s athletics factory 48 shirt-fronted against Fitzroy 52–3 siblings 14 Alma 14, 21, 268 Bill 14, 68–9, 137 Colin 14, 137, 140–1, 147, 149, 179 Kevin 14, 137, 140, 154, 212, 214, 218, 231, 262, 268 Lorna 14, 21, 268 Ralph 19, 67, 137, 154, 268 Silvagni, Sergio 178 Sinclair, Alex 109 Singer motor car 106–7 sixties, the 153 Skilton, Bobby 163 Smith, Bernie 86 Smith, Norm 141, 145 Sneddon, George (Jitter) 14–15, 28, 32 social change 46–7, 130, 153, 161, 182, 195–6 social side of football 139, 203 Somerville, John 148–51 Sporting Globe,The 55, 64, 85, 88–9 sports (early interest in) 15–16, 24 St Kilda player–coach offer 128 St Kilda vs Collingwood 1965 147–8 1970 comeback 175 grand final (1966) 157–8 state coach 163 state representative football 91–3 State Rivers and Water Supply Commission 3, 12, 36 stitching footballs 48, 78
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supporters banned from Collingwood coach’s room 136–7, 177 of Collingwood 72–3, 84 of Wangaratta Rovers 112, 116 Sutton, Charlie 64–6, 193 Swan Hill 6
tactics 92 team building 88, 93 through leadership 75–6, 96–7, 115 team meetings 139–40 Tebble, Bill 64 television career 171–2, 180 tennis 15–16, 62 Thompson, Len 147–8, 152, 179, 245–6 player strike 173 Thorpe, David 202–3 titles King Bobby 121 lightweight boxing 34 Mr Football 108, 110, 121, 130 Mr Unlucky 168–70 Todd, Ron 49 toughness as a coach 187 toughness on the field 56, 65, 71, 84, 96 town dances 11, 57 training 41, 51 as Collingwood coach 110–12, 116, 138, 168 as Footscray coach 196–7 first run 39 Tuddenham, Des 140–1, 149, 176 captain of Collingwood 155–7 defended by Bob Rose 156 loss of captaincy 183, 185 on Rose as coach 165–7 player strike 173 turning teams for quadriplegia 221, 227 Twomey brothers 69 Twomey, Bill 79
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umpire lambasting 162 umpires 89, 159 Don Jolley 178 Harry Beitzel 64, 99, 118–19 Jack McMurray 80 Utting, Charlie 185, 200 VFA financial inducements 49 VFL 92 vice-president of Collingwood Football Club 128, 130 Victoria Park 153 military occupation 49 violence in the game 83 body clashes 63–4, 80, 93, 120 see also altercations on-field Walker, Buck 28, 32 Walker, Mickey 38, 40 Waller, Neville 94 Wangaratta Magpies 111 Wangaratta Rovers Football Club 106–8 1957 season 114 1958 premiership win 114–16 1959 season 118–19 1960 season 119–21 recruitment 110 retirement from player–coach at 122–4 win against Oakleigh VFA team 121 Wangaratta sports store 106, 109, 114–15, 117, 129 Waters,Terry 173, 245
on Bob Rose as coach 186–7, 189 removed during 1971 St Kilda game 184–5, 188 resignation as captain 185–6 voted in as captain 183 Webb, Kevin 194–5 Weidemann, Murray 130, 132–4, 164, 245 Wenn, Max 94–5 West Melbourne stadium boxing 30–1, 34 wheat farming 5, 9–11, 23–4 Whitten,Ted 193–4, 207 Williams, Merv 32 Wishart, Max 143 Wodonga football team 108, 114–15, 120 Woods, Bervyn 52–3, 74–5 World of Sport (television show) 171–2 appearance following 1970 grand final defeat 180 World War II 18 impact upon Collingwood 48–9 Wraith, Frank 76 Wren, John 50–1, 77, 81, 85, 89 Wright, Duncan 148–50 Yarra Me hostel 236, 259 Yarraby 7 Yarraby Rovers 16–18 Yarrunga accommodation 109, 113 Yellow Peril, the 240, 260 Yewers,Terry 204 see also Rose,Terry
