Walter Albert Lindrum wed Beryl Elaine (formerly Russell), nee Carr, 21 July 1956
Death
On 30 July 1960, at the age of 61, Walter Lindrum suddenly became ill and died while on holiday in Surfers Paradise, Queensland. The cause of death was officially listed as heart failure.[5]
Burial
He was buried at Melbourne General Cemetery, with champion cyclist Sir Hubert Opperman raising the funds for a distinctive monument consisting of a billiards table, complete with balls and cue. [6]
Honours
He was made a Member of the Order of the British Empire (MBE) in 1951, and an Officer of the order (OBE) in the 1958 New Year Honours list for services to charitable organisations. [7]
Walter Lindrum was Inducted into The Sport Australia Hall of Fame in 1985 as an Athlete Member for his contribution to the sport of billiards and was elevated to “Legend of Australian Sport” in 1998. [8]
Walter Albert Lindrum, OBE, AM, was an Australian professional player of English billiards who held the World Professional Billiards title.
As a boy he played billiards wherever his itinerant family roamed.
Walter’s father was a very hard task-master, insisting that Walter practised up to 12 hours a day. He converted the boy from a natural right-hander into a left handed player after an accident when 3 years old, in which he had lost the top joint of his index finger on his right hand.
Walter’s role model was his elder brother Fred, who became professional Champion of Australia in 1909. Following closely in his brother’s footsteps, Walter’s first professional game came two years later when he was 13 years of age. [9]
Records
In June 1927 in Melbourne he claimed a world speed record when he scored 816 points in 23 minutes in an unfinished break.
During 1930 in Manchester, Lindrum set a record aggregate of 30,817 during the fortnight match against Willie Smith. In this match he made 10 breaks over 1,000 with a highest of 2,419. In his final match of the tour against Smith in London, Lindrum's performance set numerous records: the highest individual aggregate (36,256), the largest winning margin (21,285), a record match average (262), and a record number of four-figure breaks (11). Smith, although beaten, had played excellently with an average of 109 per innings for the match.
His record break of 4,137 was made in a match he lost against Joe Davis (with 7,000 points start) at Thurston Hall, London on 19 January 1932. Lindrum occupied the table for 2 hours 55 minutes, for about 1,900 consecutive scoring shots. [10] The referee for this match was Charlie Chambers
In 1933 on a tour to South Africa Lindrum claimed a new world record for fast scoring when he completed 1,000 points in 28 minutes in Johannesburg.
Between 1929 and 1933 Lindrum dominated the English billiards scene. With games usually being played to 24,000 points, he would often start conceding as many as 7000 points to his opponents. Lindrum and his main rivals, McConarchy, Smith, Joe Davis (World Champion 1928–1932) and Tom Newman (World Champion 1921–1922, 1924–1927), were called in the press "the big five" [11][12]
Article Aug 2010
Dolly Lindrum vividly remembers how her uncle would practise from 6am every day, for up to 12 hours at a time. He was a stickler for it. You should practise until your back aches, he would say, and then start practising. He would practise on the seats of trains travelling interstate, and shipboard when travelling overseas; he did not fly.
Dolly remembers an eclectic roll of callers and visitors. In the morning, it might be Dame Elisabeth Murdoch a less celebrated achievement of Lindrum was to raise more than £2 million for charity in his lifetime, a prodigious amount. Where's Uncle Walter? she would ask. Practising already?
In the evening, it could be Prime Minister Bob Menzies. One night, Menzies drove Lindrum back from a lecture in a nearby church. Discovering that Lindrum's mother, Harriet, was unwell, he came in. He sat on the end of the bed talking to her, Dolly said. It was 11 o'clock at night.
Later in life, Menzies took Lindrum to the Windsor one Sunday morning to tell him that there was a knighthood there for him, if only he would reconcile with his divorced wife. It means that of Australia's Depression-era sporting heroes, two - Sir Donald Bradman and Sir Hubert Opperman - ended up gilded, one - Phar Lap - gelded and Lindrum was left to his own devices.
Since his death, a celebrated list of admirers have paid dues and respects. One Dolly especially remembers was Greg Norman. Accompanying The Age this week was Steve Mifsud, 2002 world amateur snooker champion, who said it always sent shivers down his spine just to be in that room.
The walls and vaults tell their own tale. They feature clippings from British papers, including diagrams of Lindrum's shots, letters, a photo of him at 10 Downing Street with Prime Minister Ramsay MacDonald, a photo of himself the day before he died, looking especially cheery, and portraits of royalty presented to him by royals. King George V gave him a set of cufflinks which became part of his daily attire for the rest of his life.
Bradman thought Lindrum was more dominant in his sport than he in his own. In 1930 in England, he went to watch Lindrum play, and later they played one another. Sympathising with Dolly when her uncle died, Bradman wrote a letter that concluded: In my opinion, he was not only the greatest billiards player who ever lived, but he was also the most modest of great champions. That is how Dolly remembers him. I always found him a very peaceful man, she said.
Lindrum's statistical domination of billiards is like light years: impossible to get your head around. He set 57 world records and still holds some. He played against blind handicaps of up to 7000, the exact figure kept from him so that he would play the games out. For much of his career, he deterred challengers and played exhibitions instead, 4000 of them during World War II. At least twice, the rules were changed in an effort to blunt him. He adapted.
Some marked him down for style, as some did Bradman. A nephew, Horace, spoke of his highly scientific but somewhat mechanical thousands. This is because he perfected the nursery cannon - a deft shots of a few millimetres, barely budging the balls - that he could repeat indefinitely, 1900 times in a row in one game.
But Tom Newman, one of his greatest rivals, wrote: It is the greatest injustice you can do to Walter to call him a scoring machine. Nothing could be more unlike him. He is showing you everything the beautiful game can show.
Grainy black-and-white footage reveals his deceptive genius, to bring the balls together in the first instance, then to keep them together, shepherding them around the table as expertly as a blue heeler with a couple of recalcitrant ewes, knowing that if because of faltering concentration or touch one was to escape, the jig would be up.
It also reveals an undramatic disposition peculiar to his time and lost in ours. This game's too easy for you, Walter, intones a wondrous off-screen voice. Looks like it, replies Lindrum, not breaking stride or rhythm. His tone says: You try it!
His faultless sequence complete, Lindrum says, in flat vowels, identical to Bradman's: That's how you make a 100 break. Off-screen voice: I see, Walter. And how do you make a 1000 break? Lindrum, deadpan: Just make nine more of them. Lindrum's highest break was 4137, mercifully not addressed in the clip.
War put an end to Lindrum's competitive career. He devoted himself instead to charities, taking his own cushions with him on his travels to counter the idiosyncrasies of local tables, and playing his shots quickly, so as not to disrupt his rhythm and for entertainment's sake. The AFL would have loved him.
On holiday in Surfers Paradise in 1960, he took ill suddenly and died. The official cause was heart failure. Dolly is convinced that it was a dodgy steak-and-kidney pie, and Andrew Ricketts, author of Walter Lindrum, billiards phenomenon, tends to agree. Fifteen hundred attended his state funeral.
Opperman raised the funds for a distinctive memorial at Melbourne general cemetery, featuring a billiards table and three balls. Authorities tell Dolly it is the most visited grave. She tends it still, and on the 50th anniversary of his death found $10.70 in small change left there. He is not forgotten.
But the years have flashed past. The '30s and their heroes are long gone, billiards has been supplanted by snooker as the pre-eminent table game and Dolly is concerned for her uncle's legacy. She wants the collection displayed. The Victorian Billiards and Snooker Council is campaigning with her to have it moved to the National Sports Museum at the MCG.
There are two obstacles. One is that the collection is half-owned by Dolly, half by a vested interest. The other is that museum is self-funded and cannot afford on its own account to pay for the saleable half and set up a suitable room for it. Dolly's very happy to donate her half, said VBSC secretary Paul Cosgriff. It requires a philanthropist to come forward to meet the costs of purchasing the other half. The MCG is the best place for it to reside.
The estimated sum needed is $100,000-150,000.
Dolly herself is not yet ready for preserving. Contemplating another famous visitor to the Lindrum abode who best remain nameless here, she said: I'd leave home for him![13]
English Billiards, called simply Billiards, is a cue sport for two players or teams. Two cue balls (originally both white, with one marked with a black dot, but more recently one white, one yellow) and a red object ball are used. Each player or team uses a different cue ball. It is played on a billiards table and points are scored for cannons and pocketing or going in-off either object ball.[14]
↑ "England and Wales Marriage Registration Index, 1837-2005," database, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/ark:/61903/1:1:QV8H-HQMR : 8 October 2014), Alicia Hoskin and null, 1933; from "England & Wales Marriages, 1837-2005," database, findmypast (http://www.findmypast.com : 2012); citing 1933, quarter 2, vol. 1A, p. 1260, St. Martin, London, England, General Register Office, Southport, England.
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