This report of Miller's State Funeral Service at St.Paul's Cathedral in the Herald Sun, first and The Age next.
Well played, and well lived Keith Miller
Ron Reed
21oct04
KEITH Miller's four sons carried their famous father's coffin out of St Paul's Cathedral and into Swanston St yesterday to be confronted by hundreds of people applauding.
That's when it got to the youngest one, Bob, 48.
"I cried when I saw that," he said, having regained his composure over a beer or two at the official wake in the Miller Room at the MCG.
Keith Ross Miller – cricket legend, football star, larger-than-life "hero even of the heroes," as broadcaster and old mate Tony Charlton described him in the main eulogy – was farewelled in great style after dying at 84 early last week.
The service, featuring tributes from Charlton, former Test captains Richie Benaud and Ian Chappell, the late Sir Donald Bradman's son, John, Cricket Australia chairman Bob Merriman and Miller's second wife Marie, resonated with the admiration and esteem that became a common denominator with everyone he ever met.
The Prime Minister, who is overseas, sent a note. So did the Governor General. The pews in this enormous church were packed with big names from many branches of elite Australian sport, politics, the media – you name it.
But of the many talents for which Miller was famous, his common touch was one of the most important.
In his prime, indeed for many years past it, he partied with royalty, regarded one of the world's richest men, John Paul Getty, as a close mate, and yet happily bought beers in public bars for garbos, flower-sellers and anyone else who looked as if they might enjoy a drink and a chat. He was the people's champion.
That's what hit home outside the church with the boys – Bill, 57, Peter, 55, Denis, 53, and Bob – who have thrown heavily to the sire: they are likeable, popular knockabouts.
Keith was named after the pioneering aviators, Keith and Ross Smith, and, true to form, he adopted his own colourful method of identifying his boys.
Bill was named after Bill Young, who flew with Miller during the war and was killed in action at 19. "****y Bill from Broken Hill", Miller dubbed him, but he didn't forget to make the trip to the remote mining town to meet his parents after the war.
Peter was born while his father was batting in the South African city of Pietermaritzburg.
Denis was named after his father's great mate and fellow bon vivant, the gifted English batsman and soccer player, Denis Compton.
And Bob? "I was named after mum's gynaecologist, a bloke named Robert Highan."
As cricket historian Gideon Haigh observed: "It doesn't sound like he was the sort of bloke to pore for hours through books of baby names!"
The sons are the product of a 60-year marriage between Keith and their mother, Peg, who died a year ago, about the time their father married again and moved back from Sydney to his native Melbourne.
That upheaval generated its fair share of tension, with the boys effectively estranged from their father for a couple of years.
But yesterday – even though none of the four was invited to speak at the church – was no time for negativity.
"We're pretty philosophical," Denis had told this column the day after his dad's death, and outside the church he had a tear in his eye as he embraced Marie.
Much interest centred on John Bradman's speech, given that his own iconic father and Miller have always seemed to speak ambiguously about their relationship.
The younger Bradman made it clear that they certainly were not enemies, and his father had enormous admiration for Miller the cricketer, and regarded him as a firm supporter.
He said the similarities between the two men ran more deeply than any differences, in that they both played cricket for the sheer love of it.
The funeral party adjourned to the MCG, where Marie laid a wreath at the foot of the statue of Miller in fast-bowling pose, which the sons were seeing for the first time.
That imposing work of art is one reason why Benaud was right when he said Miller's name will live as long as cricket exists. But an even more important reason is the way Miller related to people, whoever they were.
RIP K. R. Miller. Well played. And more importantly, well met and superbly lived.
Just a few tears as Miller's tale celebrated
By Greg Baum
October 21, 2004
[Richie Benaud and Keith Miller's widow, Marie, at yesterday's service. "I was blessed to meet him, privileged to take care of him, and honoured to be his wife," Mrs Miller said.]
Welcomed to the state funeral for Keith Miller at St Paul's yesterday were representatives of the Governor-General, the Prime Minister and the Premier. The Governor was there in person, with four Australian captains, three of the six surviving Invincibles and a Brownlow medallist - and Tom Portelli, the Melbourne Cricket Club barman for 39 years.
As eulogist Tony Charlton observed, they knew each other well. Among the official well-wishers were eminences of cricket, football, golf and racing, but also Les Fehr, a one-time cleaner at the MCG and a stalwart of South Melbourne Cricket Club for whom Miller interrupted the unveiling of his statue at the MCG last year so they could exchange greetings.
Charlton said Fehr had put a flower in the hand of the Miller statue last week.
Legendary English jockeys Scobie Breasley and Ron Hutchinson came, and so did an anonymous Englishman who had thrilled to see Miller play in 1948 and thought it only proper that he fly out to bid him farewell. England and racing were always close to Miller's heart.
Miller's funeral was a stately affair in a grand cathedral, but it was also a faithful celebration of the life of a big-hearted man who never forgot a name or a courtesy, a man who looked up to no one, but down on no one.
Miller's generous spirit was as much abroad in death as in life. Politicians of opposite bents stood together, as did players of far-apart generations.
Ian Chappell, a long-time critic of Sir Donald Bradman, stood side by side with John Bradman, Sir Donald's son.
John Bradman said Miller had been a personal friend since childhood, when he had been stricken by polio, and he was speaking yesterday at Miller's behest.
He said his father had had a warm place in his heart for Miller, whom he had found steadfastly loyal.
"Keith stuck up for him through thick and thin," John Bradman said. Miller and Bradman twice swapped caps, gaining for each a better fit at the time, but delivering to auction houses a nightmare when trying to establish their provenance recently.
John Bradman said Miller was a man's man who nonetheless expressed friendship more openly than any other man he had known.
There were many mourners at Miller's funeral, but few tears, and fewer regrets. Miller's was a life lived. Tales were legion, and as Richie Benaud noted - upturning the old axiom - for once you could believe everything you read.
Charlton, the veteran broadcaster and close friend, told of how Miller turned his back on the navy when it refused to enlist his mate, and joined the air force instead, and so was a fighter pilot born.
He also told of a latter escapade when a Concorde pilot of Miller's acquaintance spotted him by chance in London, and so it was that Miller found himself later that day in New York.
Returning the same day, he had difficulty explaining to customs why he had no luggage, but two bottles of duty-free spirits.
Benaud said Miller was Australia's greatest all-rounder, and "the finest captain never to lead Australia".
Some would remember Miller in silence, said Benaud, and some with a raised glass and a simple toast: "Thanks, Nugget."
So it was in the Keith Miller Room at the MCG an hour later, and probably today at The Oval, in London, where there is also a room named after him.
Ian Chappell told of how Miller had been his hero, of how he had flicked back his hair in the Miller manner when preparing to bowl in the backyard, and of his heartache to see Miller dismissed for 99 in an Ashes Test in Adelaide. "I think I was more distraught than Keith himself," he said.
"The greatest thing I can say about Keith Miller is that I had a boyhood idol who lived up to my lofty expectations."
Marie, Miller's second wife, who nursed him through his last illness, spoke of a man who had remained true to his motto: "Be yourself."
"I was blessed to meet him, privileged to take care of him, and honoured to be his wife," she said. "He was, is and always will be, the love of my life." Miller was proud of his cricket exploits, but did not belabour others about them.
Charlton said that on Miller's mantelpiece on the Mornington Peninsula were only two trophies. One was a crystal bowl to mark his induction into the international hall of fame. The other, the size of an eggcup, was to mark a heroic feat of resistance for South Melbourne against Carlton when he was 16. It was the prize he cherished most.
Miller touched the lives of the thousands he met, and the millions he did not. His portrait hangs with Sir Donald's in the Long Room at Lord's, the only two Australians so honoured.
Australian Cricket Board chairman Bob Merriman said Miller had inspired the current presidents of the West Indies and South African boards to pursue lifetimes in cricket.
When his death was announced, a minute's silence was, of course, observed in Chennai, where Australia was playing India, but also in Lahore, where Pakistan was playing Sri Lanka.
Miller's four sons were among the mourners, also seven grandchildren and seven great-grandchildren, the newest only months old.
The service began with the national anthem, but most of the music was by Bach and Beethoven, Miller's favourites. Trinity schoolboy Hamish Beeston recited Miller's favourite poem, Composed upon Westminister Bridge, by William Wordsworth.
Soloist Suzanne Shakespeare sang "Sheep May Safely Graze", from a Bach cantata.
The service ran nearly an hour over time, for Miller's was a life that could not be compressed, nor its memory hurried.
Mourners emerged into a sun-blessed Melbourne afternoon, just in time for the running of the Geelong Cup. Miller would have liked that.
The cortage moved with a police ****** to the MCG, where Marie laid a wreath beneath the statue of Miller in a simple ceremony.
Then all adjourned to the Miller Room, where great and small, mighty and humble, celebrated as one.