Part 2 of the Our Manly Series on Manly Olympians

Clontarf’s

Bruce Bourke

This is the second in a series of stories The Drum is featuring on local Olympians… and it’s about a real local character, Bruce Bourke who represented Australia in London in 1948. Bruce shared his memories in an interview last week. I hope you enjoy his story as much as I did. – Dave Keogh

D K: Thanks for agreeing to share your story Bruce. I’ve known you as a local for years, but where did you grow up before moving here to God’s own country? 

B B: Well Dave, I was born and grew up about 100 metres from the baths at Brighton le Sands.  To mark the significance of my birth, Brighton Baths opened in the very same year –1929. The years have ravaged that remarkable structure in much the same way as they have treated me… we’re both old and buggered, but still standing.

D K: As a youngster, how did you get into competitive swimming?

B B: I was taught to swim at The Baths when I was about 4 by the Manager, a good old bloke named Frank Sandon.  He knew right away that I was a problem - a little pest who was going to be there at the Baths every other day from early morning until my mum lowered my lunch over the parapet on a piece of string (interrupting what was fairly important play time). 

I guess it made sense to Frank to teach me to swim… better that than risk a drowning on his watch.  So he did and by the time I turned 5, I was racing other kids on Sunday mornings as part of the St. George Amateur Swimming Club.  For a fair while I swam with great enthusiasm, but I was technically dreadful… heaps of wasted effort from a bad stroke that was far too long.  

At around 12, I entered an inter-club event at Ramsgate Baths and by great fortune my darling mother came to watch. When my heat came up she was standing near a fit young man in his late 20's who was a competitor in an older age category. He seemed to know something about stroke technique. She heard this bloke make a comment directed at me along the lines of: “Yeah, he's got a ton of guts, but he won't go far with that stroke!" 

Mum bowled right up to him and asked if he was talking about me… and by the time I’d finished the race, she'd discovered that he trained early mornings at Ramsgate and arranged for me to join him!  "Sure… if he’s keen to improve, there are a couple of thoughts I think I could plant in his head… yeah,  okay… see  ya'  Monday  morning ."   

D K: So after learning the rudiments, this was your first ‘real’ swimming coach?

B B: That’s right. He was a young plainclothes policeman and father of two by the name of Steve Duff. He was a terrific swimmer, surfer and water polo player and I absolutely hero-worshipped him from the start. He coached me for the next four years in what was for me an amazing learning curve in both swimming and life. 

One of the first things I remember vividly about Steve is that, in the earliest days of training, he wanted one point made perfectly clear… in his words: "You're obviously reasonably interested in girls Bruce… and I can live with that. But one thing I will absolutely NOT tolerate is smoking!  Mate, if you even think that smoking could be on your agenda, now or at any time in the future, let's pack it up & finish right now!"  I'm now nearing 80 years of age and I haven't smoked a cigarette yet! Thanks Steve.

Not only did Steve teach me stroke technique, but also the psychology of competing and preparing myself mentally. 

D K: Were you into other sports at the time?

B B: Sure… my Dad was a very competent all round tradesman. He built lightweight, framed Mosquito Bombers at De Haviland Aircraft during the war and on the home front he built me a canoe when I was about 10 and a Vee Jay sailing boat when I was 12. 

Living on Botany Bay, I had a bloody marvellous youth where I was either on or in the water all the time.  I played water polo with high school teams and by age 14 I had found my way out to North Cronulla Surf Club where Steve Duff taught me enough to get me through to my first (and North Cronulla's first ever) Australian Surf Championship title.

In 1945 I was in my final year at Canterbury Boy's High when the war ended. Up to that time nobody had been in the frame of mind to even think about the Olympics (much more serious matters were consuming hearts & minds).  But as Peace came slowly back, our servicemen and women returned and the sporting world started to re-establish a trickle of interest in the re-birth of the Olympic Games.

In 1946 the Australian Swimming Championships, which had not been held throughout the War Years, were reconvened and I got my first go at a major event.   Under Steve’s coaching I finished 2nd in the100 metres Backstroke (in a time that embarrassingly wouldn't get me into an Under 10 Girls final these days).

But after this somewhat promising start to my career, my mentor and hero took me aside for a manly heart to heart and very nicely explained that he felt he’d taken me as far as his knowledge of swimming could benefit me. He said that if I had the dreams and aspirations he thought I did (and that he shared for me) then I needed a higher level of coaching.

D K: How did that make you feel?

B B: I was devastated. I told my parents that I didn't want to swim ever again. Nothing could persuade me to reconsider.  Fortunately, time is a great healer and a wise and patient mother also comes in very handy. She let me wallow in my maudlin state for a sensible length of time and then started a gentle little campaign to massage the bruise and re-ignite the flame.

There was an older backstroke swimmer that I had competed against in my first year of open competition when I was 16 or 17 and he was in his late 30's.  (I actually thought anybody of that vintage could expect to be in a convalescent home fairly soon and that he was to be revered for having the character to still compete.)  My mother gathered that I’d put this bloke on some sort of pedestal so she made the suggestion: "Why don't you have a yarn to him, tell him what your problems are? He might come up with some advice or guidance that might help." 

The outcome was better than that… better than anything I could have imagined! His name was Marsden Campbell and he winkled out of me that I had a burning desire to make an Olympic Team, even though I was almost too afraid to put it into words, (no doubt covering for the fact that I might not be good enough).

"You realise this cannot be just a pipedream, boy. You know you'll have to work a lot harder than you ever have?"    So I had a new Coach and a new hero.  Now that I'm an Old Fart, I look back with such gratitude at the decency of those two fine men.   Both of them had kids of their own to rear and yet both were generous-spirited enough to see the fire that was burning inside me and agree to help. 

D K: So you set your sites on the first post-war Olympics?

B B: You bet! From the time I left school until the ‘48 Olympics, swimming and surfing dominated my life. In 1948, I was primarily chosen as a backstroker, but Marsden Campbell was convinced that since no Australian had gone under one minute for the 100 metres freestyle, I should focus on that as a personal goal.

The great Johnny Weissmuller (Tarzan to movie fans) had been the first in the world to do so, but no Australian up ‘til then had gone under a minute. At that time North Sydney Olympic Pool was the best-credentialed pool in Australia, so Marsden arranged for me to make attacks on the 100m record at whatever carnivals were to be held there.

In February 1948, I broke through with a 59.7 … the first Aussie to crack a minute for the100m freestyle.  In retrospect, it seems a somewhat dubious honour as there are plenty of 12 year olds who go under a minute these days… in fact, my own grandson Cooper is pretty close to dipping my eye in it – (but I guess that still doesn't make him the first to do it, eh)?

I broke that barrier just before Olympic selection so my timing was perfect… it guaranteed me a start in both the 100 freestyle and 100 backstroke events in London. Of course, the number of Olympic swimming events in 1948 was much fewer than now – there was only the100, 400 and 1500 freestyle and only the 100 backstroke.  There were no medleys at all – it was a very small program.

D K: Describe the feeling of being selected for and competing in your first Olympic Games?

B B: This is a difficult one Dave. I can give you the honest answer, or one full of tact and diplomacy wrapped in a sugary package. Naturally my feelings initially were of immense satisfaction, fulfilment, even relief… but let's get it perfectly clear that there is a world of difference between the strictly amateur ‘Avery Brundage’ Olympics of 1948 and the professional circus that rolls around every four years these days, making big money for all the centre-stage stars, but not much for those not within the spotlight.

Sadly for me, all those joyous, satisfying emotions I first felt were tainted within a very few weeks by the pressing need to find enough money to enable Australia to send its 70 odd chosen people to compete in London. The pressure this put on the athletes was enormous…

D K: Go on Bruce – I’ve never known you to hold back.

B B: Okay, but remember, you asked me… the President of the Australian Swimming Union at that time was an overbearing, pompous arse of a man who gave great service - years and years of service - to the sport. This brought him huge recognition not only within Australia, but   eventually as El Supremo of FINA. You'll probably remember the name - Bill Berge-Phillips (mainly recalled now for the 10 year suspension he handed down to Dawn Fraser in 1964!).                     

A few weeks after the ’48 swim team was announced, I was summoned to the swimming association and instructed by Phillips to contact every source I knew to ask for money. He directed that overtures be made to my Local Council, High School, previous primary school, Surf and Swimming Clubs, my parents, employers, et al. The implied threat was that if we didn’t pull our fingers out, get these drives going and put money in the kick, then even though you were in the team, there may be no Games for you.

I'm fairly certain that two of the deepest hatreds that I’ve carried for the rest of my life were spawned at that meeting…  firstly, I hate, loathe and detest begging for alms, even when the cause is honourable… (Hell, even when the cause is me!). Secondly, I still carry deep mental scars when in contact with bombastic people who wield the power of their office indiscriminately… and that embraces most sporting officials I’ve ever known, (with a few extremely nice, notable exceptions).

At just 19, I was certainly nervous at that meeting but I guess I also rejected what I was being asked to do and was cheeky enough to respond to Mr Phillips, saying: “Sir, keeping in mind that I desperately want to go to the Games, I'd be very grateful if someone within the organisation could do the asking for me. I'll do whatever I can to help and support.”  That's when I received my deeper indoctrination into the Phillips technique of persuasion, which involved standing uncomfortably close to the person being convinced of his viewpoint and frequent poking an index finger into the sternum.

This was a reasonably unfortunate start for a good working relationship with a man who was to be Manager of the Swim Team. That first meeting wasn't an isolated case… worse was to follow.        

D K: But you made it to London?

B B: Yes. In fact, when the dramas of financing the team were finally resolved, it was decided that this would be the first team to fly to an Olympics. Through the newfound wonders of flight, instead of the problems of maintaining fitness that came with a long sea voyage, Australia could have its athletes in London, fit and raring to go, after a mere four days in the air from Sydney to London. Unfortunately, practically everybody on my flight arrived with a rather virulent strain of the Asian 'flu, with Cairo figuring as the likely source of the contagion. 

Compared to the opulence of accommodation that we see in all the Games of this era, the living arrangements for all teams in London back then were more like a Boy Scouts Jamboree (without the tents!). Immediately post-war, England was on the bones of its arse financially and still on very stringent food rationing.  Instead of building athlete accommodation, they wisely used the schools that were in reasonable proximity to Wembley Stadium and also the temporary hospitals that had become a necessity during the war.  

Australia's first Camp was a complex of huts (previously an Army Hospital) in King's Park, Richmond-on-Thames and as the time for competition drew near, our new home became the High School at Willesden. Classrooms were fitted out with Army beds and a locker each.  The food was pretty basic and uninteresting, but sufficient… (and that in itself was much more than the average English family was enjoying at the time).

D K: Sounds amazing…  tell us about The Games themselves

B B: Well, I was drawn to swim in the first heat of the100m freestyle on the day after the Opening Ceremony.  When you take into account that it happened to be the first event after a 12-year hiatus in the Games, it was an historic occasion. You’ll appreciate that there wasn't the same precision that goes into assembling competitors that we’re used to now. There was no marshalling area - competitors were simply called to the starting platform. 

Because I happened to be drawn in Heat 1, there was no opportunity to hone up on the format, the starting procedures, or to get comfortable with what was required from the officials.

I had never been a terribly nervous competitor, but I was about to get the biggest ‘blowtorch to the belly’ of my competitive life!  Heat 1 is called and I proceed to the starting blocks. I'm drawn in Lane 3.  The officials are a motley crew of mainly POMs and some Europeans with no uniforms to designate who does what. But I happen to notice a scruffy-looking bloke with a clipboard addressing the competitors in a fairly surly, guttural tone. He started with the swimmer in Lane 8, then proceeded to Lane 7. I'm a bit bewildered, but see no reason to be nervous about anything until he eventually gets to Lane 4. 

The Frenchman Alex Jany is competing in Lane 4, (a surly, uncommunicative bastard who nonetheless is both French and European Champion). He’s previously held the world record and is obviously the best-credentialed swimmer in my heat… he's the one I'm going to have to hang on to as closely as I can throughout the race. 

I hear ‘the Guttural One’ say to Alex:  "Oondergarments… show your oondergarments!"   Then it dawns on me… he's the bloody Costume Steward.  No problem here, I'm sweet. I've got on an old full-length Speedo - my ‘lucky costume’ complete with full skirt across ‘the sticking out forward parts’… no problem here                        

So the official passes Alex with a grunt of approval, ticks the clipboard then gets to me.  "Show oondergarments!”   I've got the tracksuit off, ready for a tick and go as he says: "Oondergarment… Shtrap… Yock Shtrap!"  I point at the absolute propriety and decency of my private parts and say: "Skirt… Full Skirt."   

He's enjoying this… he's got power, he's got authority, he's got his first culprit… he's absolutely fulfilled… and he goes up a couple of decibels & shouts at me:  "No oondergarments…  OUT!  (but  it came out like "OOOOUUUUTTTT”). No Shtrap -OOOOUUUUTTTT - YOU OOOOUUUUTTTT."

And I am absolutely crapping. I bark something like, "Don't you let this ‘effing’ heat start!"  And I started to sprint for the dressing room. My coach Marsden Campbell (who had come to London at his own expense, not as a Team Coach) came running down from his seat in the grandstand: "What's the problem, boy?"

"Marsden, for God’s sake don't let them start this heat! Throw yourself in the pool, do any bloody thing!"

" What's the problem?" 

"A bloody jock–strap… they reckon I've got to wear a bloody jock-strap."

"Have you got one?"    

"No!  I've never had to have one before and we've had no prior warning!"    

"Well get into the dressing room and see if you can borrow one. Go!  I'll see what I can do to solve things here!"         

Nerves snapping and jumping like they never had before, this terrible thought kept pounding at me!  What if they start without me?  What if we've gone through all this, all these years of preparation and they don't let me start for this pitiful, trivial, nonsensical piece of archaic costume bullshit?   But all the time I was fretting, I continued to run.

I get to the dressing room where two Aussie swimmers are chatting, both good friends – team mate John Marshall (who was the 1948 near equivalent of Ian Thorpe and Australia's best chance of a medal) and Frank O'Neill (who was not on the team, but at the Games as a spectator).  I'm frantic that at any moment I'm going to hear a pistol shot and I bark at both of them:

"Have either of you got a jock-strap?"  They're not quite in synch. with what's going on in my head and this simple question produces an outburst of laughter… until I explode with: "You bloody idiots, this is serious.  Quick Mullet (my personal nickname for John) Quick! Get out of your togs and give 'em to me!”

I took off my full-length old fashioned Speedos, put Mullet's racing tights on, then put my own costume back on over the top and raced back out to the starting platform, heart pounding like a jackhammer. I get a quick okay from ‘the Guttural One’ and whether it was the adrenalin output or the fact that I was nervous and being nerved up worked in my favour, I swam the 100 metres in 59.1 seconds, which was by far the fastest time I'd ever recorded. 

I still came 2nd. to Jany but made it through  to the Semi-Finals. I eventually missed out on the final by just one place.  (Maybe I should have persisted with the two-costume rig?)

I never again reproduced that time.  A few days later, I swam in the 100m backstroke and won my heat, but again went out in the semi's… and that was the end of my short, unsuccessful, but emotionally satisfying Olympic career!

D K: What a story! So what happened post-Olympics?

B B: Marsden Campbell suggested that I should contact an American university, since the U.S. was by far the dominant force in world swimming immediately after World War II.  So we made some preliminary enquiries and Michigan showed some interest, dependent upon me coming back there after the Olympics and doing some months of "a trial course" to gauge my suitability… and to work out what courses I qualified for.  

It was a great opportunity and I grabbed it.  I got the chance to compete in the U.S. National Outdoor Championships in Akron, Ohio and I placed in the 100m Freestyle & 100m Backstroke… so that upped my desirability with the Coach (who modestly liked for people to refer to him as "Matt Mann of Michigan").

I'd have to say that I enjoyed every moment of those few months, but as the time drew near for me to commit to what would have been four years away from home, I started to suffer grave doubts and strong pangs of homesickness. I was an only child in what was a very close and loving family (some callous critics could use the word "spoiled" but I heartily refute that). 

I was hardly settled back home when the awakening "What have I done?" started gnawing at me. Here I was back in the cloistered, protective warmth of a loving family, when only such a short time ago I was my own man, master of my own destiny.   I guess growing up takes time, eh?

D K: And that was the end of swimming?

B B: Not quite… after the Olympics and the Michigan experience, I came back to work with Marsden Campbell, but something had changed. At first I thought it was just me… that my fires had been doused or dampened. And then it became obvious that Marsden too, had moved on. 

I understand it now… he had aspired to get somebody to fulfil his dreams and together we'd done that. Mission accomplished!   It was time to move on… but the hard part (and I'm certain that this is a life crisis for many young people in the sporting world) is that the focus of your whole life is aimed at one goal… and when that's over, you're just drifting. It was time for me to go, but I didn't know where?     

I competed without coaching advice through the next two seasons.  I knew enough about stroke mechanics by then and I knew how much work had to be done. I occasionally asked Mum if she wanted to come and hold the watch, but that was mainly for the companionship.

The trials for the Empire (now Commonwealth) Games were coming up in January/February 1950.  I won my 4th Australian 100m Backstroke title and backed up with another 2nd in the 100m Freestyle. (In the four consecutive years that I'd won the Australian Backstroke title, I had run 2nd in the 100m Freestyle to four different winners!).

The Team was announced at the end of the Australian Titles and I was chosen, both in the100m Free and 100m Back, plus both relay teams - the 4 x 200m F/ S, Relay and the Medley Relay. The selectors had chosen a rather big team, probably calculating that they could blood a contingent of young up and comers, since the Games were just across the pond in New Zealand and transport wasn't going to cost too much.    

But a few weeks after the announcement of the Team, that old finance problem reared its ugly head again. Each of the chosen swimmers was offered the option of raising the money for their trip, or personally contributing.  I was inclined to think that the selectors had gone overboard and chosen some swimmers who were pretty much ‘dead wood’… and I said so!   The newspapers picked up on it and that put me fairly head-on with Bill Berge-Phillips… again!

As you know, controversy is only of interest while the media deems it to be… hence the expression ‘a 9 day wonder’.  That’s what this was, but in the final wash-up I decided to resign from the Empire Games Team… after giving a bit of a bucketful to the Swimming Association for the methods it employed to finance their teams.

One of the nicest things that emerged from all this came from sports journo Ron Casey. He had a monthly magazine in the 40's and early 50's called Sports Novels in which he wrote:  "I think the swimmers of the future might have a lot for which to thank Bruce Bourke."    I really appreciated Case for saying that.

D K: What next?

B B: Well, I turned 21 while all the above brouhaha was unwinding and it didn't take me very long to discover what most young blokes of a similar age were doing to fill in their leisure time. Among other diversions I bought a small (20 ft.) yacht, just big enough to do some short coastal hops - Sydney Harbour to Pittwater or Port Hacking to Botany Bay. They were mainly weekend trips on a pretty Spartan little sloop with no motor… but I suppose it was like a release from purposeful dedication.  I didn't know it at the time, but it was beautiful therapy. It could only sleep two, (uncomfortably). I cooked on a tiny metho.  pressure cooker and for a couple of  years I was a Viking reincarnated.

During that same period I also discovered partying… for which I trained as hard and long and dedicated myself to as devotedly as I had my swimming. My parents were great… they cut me enough slack, realising that I needed some time, but eventually, after about 3 or 4 years of what was really rebellion against the authoritarians of amateur sport, Mum gently broached the issue.  

With typical good sense, her theory was that I had had a long youth of being totally focussed on my dreams and aspirations… and in the backlash of cutting myself away from that disciplined life I had plunged into a dissolute, rudderless existence. "While you're still young enough, don't you think that there could be some half-way compromise, like surf lifesaving, where you could use your natural skills and abilities without the total loading of a huge training program?"

She was right of course… and even better, her timing was immaculate! I was getting a wee bit sick of "the Silly Circuit"… and so began ‘the surf club years’.

D K: ‘The Surf Club Years’?

B B: Yep… not long after our little soul-cleansing ‘tete a tete’ I took myself back to North Cronulla Surf Club and that was the start of 10 years of the best, most enjoyable, competitive era of my life.  From 1954, I made the NSW Team several times and the Australian Team in '56 at Torquay (as an exhibition event held during the Melbourne Olympics).  I became interested in R & R (Rescue & Resuscitation), which in that era was the Blue Riband Event of the S. L.S. A.

Soon after I met and married my beautiful wife Jen and moved to Clontarf, where we’ve lived ever since. I was a Member of Freshwater's R& R team, which went undefeated in competition for three years. 

The time I spent in surf lifesaving had a better balance to it… I could train sufficiently to be fit enough, without the total demands required in the swimming pool. I eventually stopped competing, but still didn't want to be too far from saltwater… (guess I was afraid of desication).

I bought a Finn (single -handed sailing boat) and later a Sixteen-Foot skiff. I set off (21 years ago) to sail around Australia, but there was a ‘Captain Bligh/Fletcher Christian’ episode that I won’t go into now.

I got hooked on spear fishing and even more hooked on looking for lobsters. I played   competition squash with Norths Rugby Club for seven years and played tennis (quite badly, but you know that already) up at Bareena Park at Balgowlah Heights where I met you. I also played rugby union during ‘the dissolute era’ (also badly… but I made a passable rugby coach).

Jen and I had two wonderful children – Christie and Glenn (who of course you know) and through them, the competitive juices started flowing all over again… Christie played team tennis in France, took part in triathlons and is now back competing as a swimmer. In fact, only a couple of weeks ago she finished 2nd in the World Masters 3km Open Water Swim in Perth, so her fire hasn't gone out, even after having three kids.

Glenn's got no less than 7 World Titles in his chosen sport and National Championship titles from more countries than I've visited.  They've both been good hard competitors, but what we value isn't the wins (as nice as they are)… we're just so pleased that they're still fit and firing at 47 and 44 respectively… and it's their loving warmth, which has never waned with either distance or the passing years… but that's way too long a story to finish now.

D K: As always, an absolute pleasure, Bruce. Thank you so much for sharing your story with readers of The Drum.                 

Bruce Bourke’s son, Glenn, is himself an Olympian and one of Australia’s most successful ever yachtsmen. Read the Our Manly exclusive Manly Sports Star interview with Glenn Bourke here.

Our Manly columnist Dave Keogh has been a professional writer for some 30 years, contributing to publications as broad as Modern Fishing and Outdoor. He honed a passion writing a regular column – Talking Tennis – for The Manly Daily. With a varied history including work as a music industry publicist, theatrical agent, band manager, poet, editor and tennis coach, he found his niche in advertising, and with loads of awards under his belt, Dave went into business on his own and now runs several very successful businesses, including an online community connecting sport-loving people – www.doubledrummer.com Most importantly, Dave loves sport, and is an avid supporter of The Manly Sea Eagles…