The Cricketer Magazine – June 2018

(Sean Pound) #1

Whatever happened to...


Tony Dell


Tony Dell, 70, was a barrel-chested left-
arm quick who debuted for Australia in
the pivotal seventh Test of the 1970/71
Ashes at Sydney. He took five wickets,
but played just one more before retiring


  • he thinks, because of post-traumatic
    stress disorder caused by two years
    in the Vietnam War. His marriage
    broke up and he ended up living in his
    mother’s garage, but has rebuilt his
    life and now runs the StandTall4PTS
    charity. He is the only living Test
    cricketer to have seen active service.


You are a rarity – an England-born
Australia cricketer... My dad was
in the Royal Navy, and I was born in
Hampshire in 1945. In 1959 Dad was sent
to Queensland to open up Hoover there.
I think I was accepted at school because
I played cricket. Funnily enough, it had
been the ’56 Ashes that got me into it –
Laker and Lock. On that Australia side
were Peter Burge, Wally Grout and Ken
Mackay. I played first-grade when I was
still at school... Burge was my captain, and
I was playing against Grout and Mackay!
It was a school of hard knocks, rather
than the entitled cricketers we have in
Australia now... you played against guys of
stature – first-class or even Test players –
and learned the culture from them. In the
second innings Wally opened the batting
and I went for about 40 off five eight-ball

effects. My family didn’t talk to me about
it. Because I was a national serviceman
we just went back to our jobs.

Was cricket a release for you? I’m sure it
was. Cricket was my ‘regular unit’. Every
chance I’d be netting or playing – one of
the things that saved me from going over
the edge. That said, it did first come out
on the cricket pitch. The Queensland
papers used to call me ‘the Gentle Giant’,
but I turned into quite an aggressive
person. You don’t know it’s happening.

Why did you give up first-class cricket
at 28? I know now that PTSD is one of the
reasons I turned round to chairman of
selectors Sammy Loxton in 1974 and said:
“I don’t want to play anymore”. The army
motto was: “The platoon’s only as strong
as its weakest member”. My day job was
in advertising and I thought I was letting
my workmates down by going off and
enjoying myself playing cricket. There
was a feeling of guilt. My state captain
was Greg Chappell. He persuaded Jeff
Thomson to come up to Queensland to
open the bowling with me, and I couldn’t
resist that. So I played one more season
and after that carried on in club cricket.

What were your strengths as a bowler? I
bowled late inswing, and it was my height.
Being a left-hander I came in at the ribs
all the time. I always had a short leg, which
no one has these days.

Was there any support system at the
time? No one knew anything about
PTSD. To talk about it in the military was
totally taboo. There might be 20 different
methods to deal with it that we don’t
know about. See, I wasn’t diagnosed until


  1. I got fired from my job in 1980. I
    would castigate people in the agency for
    not measuring up. That works in the army,
    but it doesn’t work in business. In 1987
    they put on a welcome-home parade. I’d
    decided I wouldn’t go. A good friend of
    mine, he decided he’d go. He came home
    and a day later shot his brains out. I never
    contemplated anything like that. I’m fairly
    resilient. The people that killed themselves
    were generally the ones on medication
    or drugs. I was a ‘two-pot screamer’ – as
    we call them in Australia – so drinking
    was never an option for me, and I was an
    athlete so I wasn’t likely to touch drugs.


Interview by
James Coyne


overs... He turned to me and said: “Son,
you bowled well, but that’s just the way I
bat.” That took the edge off it.

How did you end up in Vietnam in 1967?
Australia was closely allied to the US.
Our armed forces were small so they
introduced national service. For anyone
turning 20, they drew marbles, and if the
date coincided with your birthday you
were eligible to go. It’s the only lottery I’ve
ever won. I tried to get out of it. I got back
unharmed physically, but I’ve had it really
tough in the mental sphere.

How do you explain PTSD to people?
I always say: “Think of something fairly
significant; now try to get it out of your
mind.” And you can’t. The more you think
about something, the more it stays. The
things the brain wasn’t built for, they sit,
ferment and come out later. But if you’re
in an army unit, you have to move on to
the next phase. It wasn’t until 1983 that
American scientists got a hold on PTS.
There are probably millions out there
with it. But it’s not just war – it’s police and
firemen too. It’s bloody hard work raising
awareness. Of your politicians, I think
Johnny Mercer [Conservative MP] is
one of the few who really understands it,
because he’s been there, done it.

Was it any one event that caused
PTSD? Two things, I think. We were
with a company trapped in a Viet Cong
encampment overnight, while snipers
surrounded and peppered us. That was
fairly scary. But then walking out and
seeing the dead bodies, with their brains
blown out, was quite horrific. The other
major situation was just before I came
home, in a botched ambush, the corporal
stuffed up and we couldn’t find the right
place and just had to sit where we were
through the night. About 250 VC walked
through the middle of us and you just
froze. If they’d have seen someone, all hell
would have broken loose and we’d have
probably all been dead. I had the radio
and we’d decided that once they’d come
through I’d call in the artillery and blow
the s*** out of them. But I couldn’t talk.

What was the reception like when you
came home? We were told, “don’t wear
you uniform, else you’re likely to get
spat on”. I’m sure that had psychological

To find out
more, visit http://www.
standtallforpts.org


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