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Betfair
Great Posts _ Betting shop characters (Part Two)
AM I TOO EARLY 31 Jul 02:11 The CHIP SHOP MAN Long greasy hair,
smoked rollups that were always going out, glasses held together by
elastoplast on a string round his neck, wore his overall all day
which was caked in grease and batter, smelt of fish, and was proud
of the fact he once sold a drunk a piece of cardboard dipped in
batter and fried. Spent an hour having two two pound bets. One day I
noticed he was kicking on for him. £8 on first and second favourite,
then £16 then £32, gets up to £256 upon each both lose, and he
leaves the shop without a sign of emotion. "Gone to cut his
wrists" I thought. Ten minutes later he is back in £512 on
each, both lose but he is impassive. Walks up to the jump, offers me
a bet with £1024 win 1st and 2nd Fav written on it. "Can you
put these through, I am just off to get the money" "Sorry,
no." Walks off quietly back in three minutes with £2048,
watches impassively as the second fav wins at 7/2, and walks out
with a quiet "See you in the morning" I paid him the next
day and said, " It was looking a bit desperate there
mate." " No problem, I do all my own ratings and I have
got a secret staking plan, not many people take my bets now, I have
perfected this over twenty years." Walked out the shop, and
never ever seen again. That night a Chinaman was running the Chippy,
it transpired that the Fish and Chip shop man had sold up, they had
completed the deal for £5k in cash that day. So a £2 merchant had
played double up stop at a winner with his life savings, got out of
jail on the last, and made out he was a feared professional
handicapper with a secret staking plan the bookies feared. Fair play
to him, though he must have been getting twitchy but he acted cool
throughout.
AM I TOO EARLY 31 Jul 02:12 West Country Bookies 1988-95
Phil- imagine a six-foot-six, six stone Chuckle Brother and your
just about there. 1p combo tri-casts were the name of the game but
you could'nt tell from the stream of obscenities that were delivered
when he didn't draw. Had the GN tricast once for £5.45. Also had
the amusing habit of b###tardising Jockeys names when the pressure
was on, Cachrane, Dettieri and so on.
AM I TOO EARLY 31 Jul 02:12 Sammy-
Toothless soap-dodger who would ask you to write his bets out for
you in totally unintelligible grunts. Fed up with this one day I
wrote out "fancy a ****, gorgeous?" and let him take it to
the relief manager working that day. Had to scarper as she went mad
and called the law.
AM I TOO EARLY 31 Jul 02:12 Kazi/Kaz/Khazi-
Waiter at the local Indian spot-welded to the Germany football
shirt that was his gambling uniform. Must have been robbing the safe
with the bankroll he carried. Favourite mad and use to pace quietly
at the rear of the shop until his nag got into contention where he
used to erupt with screams of 'ride like the wind'. Also liked to
free-style word associate e.g. Sabrehill was encouraged to 'roar like
the sabre-toothed-tiger' etc. Better than Thommo, I suppose. After a
good day could be robbed of his winnings at handicap snooker where
he seemed to spend entire frames trying to double every ball into
the middle bags.
AM I TOO EARLY 31 Jul 02:13 Terry-
Cockney, believed to be involved in the drug trade, notable for
his bizarre footwork during races. Started the race watching from
directly in front of the screen. However, as the race developed and
the tension mounted he began edging nearer the wall viewing from an
ever more acute angle. In a photo he would often be in a position
behind the screen but leaning back, precariously, trying to watch
the race!!!!
AM I TOO EARLY 31 Jul 02:13 SLIPPERS Major odds on merchant in
Birmingham City Centre. Good age now, will back long odds on shots
especially at football and all winnings onto next bet eg
"£847.72 win on Man Utd to win at 2/9". When the winning
run comes to an end will exclaim suicidal thoughts, eg "I'm
sick, I'm going to go down to New Street, lay my head on the tracks
and let a train end it"
AM I TOO EARLY 31 Jul 02:13 SICK MICK *****
Very ill twenty something year old who frequented central
Newcastle betting shops in the late 1980's. Had an old style walkman
with very large headphones like Cliff Richard in the Wired for Sound
video. Unnecessarily rude to women.
AM I TOO EARLY 31 Jul 02:15 Lots more to go yet.
Back tomorrow.
Tommy Toes 01 Aug 01:07 This thread needs saving.
oggsbog 01 Aug 22:57 ttt
DarkDagger 01 Aug 23:41 Great thread, gotta be saved.
Flantastic 02 Aug 18:06
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
DarkDagger 03 Aug 01:56 ... ttt
Aspirin 03 Aug 11:54 From AITL as follows...
NERVOUS DOG FORECAST MAN Frequented the ******* Palace shop in
Newcastle in the lat 1980's. Only backed dog forecasts, commentary
only over the blower (for some reason Newcastle got SIS very late).
As soon as the commentary came on for the dogs poor guy would be a
bag of nerves, shuffling around whilst screwing up his ticket. Soon
as the commentary stopped right as rain
MAXXIE Former well known fence in Birmingham, used to back in the
Arena shop on Stephenson Street. Like Terry the Cockney referred to
above, developed the Maxxie lean i.e. when his horse was in a tight
photo he would lean to almost horizontal to favour his horse. Banned
from the Arena ultimately for particularly nasty and unwarranted
racial abuse. Always brought in at least half a dozen plastic bags -
when on a good run Boots bags, when losing Poundstretcher. Still
owes me a pony.
'NANNY GOAT' PLACE used to frequent shops in Reading having
anything from 100 - 500 quid on horses, during 80's to early
nineties, would mark his ticket 200 t.p., if the horse won he would
claim it was 200 tax paid, if it placed it was 200 **** place, (as u
know a few bookies took **** place bets then but soon outlawed
them), was barred from numerous betting shops for "trying it
on", never watched a race, look outa the door and you would see
him pacing up and down the pavement for 3 or 4 minutes after the
off. When the **** place only bets were stopped a mate of mine used
to lay him and he was such a toby jug they had an agreement that if
the horse was less than 5/4 he would only return him ten on, or
£1.10p for each pound staked, the number of odds on favs he had
monkeys on that got beat was horrendous, the bloke was so unlucky,
if there were five odds on shots that day he would pick the one that
fell or was unplaced. Not married, lived with his mother i think and
did his absolute gonads over the period.............i can still see
him pacing up and down the pavement outside Reading station now!!
When he used to come back in the shop he was nearly white with
fright looking at the screen, dunno for the life of me why he bet,
was just not cut out for the game.
Give my regards to all, and tell each way from me that he's a
gutless ****!
RacingCert 03 Aug 12:52 This should be in a book, Campo.
Excellent stuff.
Dutchy Schwarz 03 Aug 13:25 Best read I've had in a long time :)
Aspirin 04 Aug 13:05 More from AITL...
Ron and Reg If you lived in Worthing in the 70s&80s and were
in betting shops there were always people that had information on
horses trained by Josh Gifford and Captain Ryan Price (THE GREATEST)
1976 Saturday before Royal Ascot, the biggest Majic Sign shop in the
town, everyone knows everybody else, racing has finished on TV, and
the shop is packed. There had been a big tip for Price's horse in a 5
furlong handicap at Bath which had been on TV, horse got beat but
should have won. Two local characters, Ron and Reg, in the shop, Ron,
well known racehorse owner, Reg, scrap dealer, but does know a lot
of people in racing, were arguing if it was the jockeys fault, this
lead to pushing and shoving, then it was off. Reg throws one of
those heavy stools ( the ones you sit on) at Ron, they're fighting
in the street. Reg throws a pushbike at Ron, who's trying to get
into his BMW ( I think} then fighting on the front seat, shouting
about shooters, gangs, five handed, tomorrow morning at a well known
green.
Everyone from the shop is out in the road, watching, hilarious.
Ron went on to have winners at Royal Ascot and in Group races, was
always in the racing news, saw him a couple of months ago getting
petrol.
On the Isle Of Wight one day in a taxi, driver says you're not
from round here (cockney accent) where you from?
I said 'Worthing' and he said 'Oh you know Reg then.'
Not the characters anymore, especially on racecourses.
MAKE ME LUCK BOSS
And that is correct, it's not 'Make Me Lucky Boss.'
Asian cab driver, compulsive gambler, starts the day with £10
bets, and bets on every single race, dogs, horses or cartoons, only
backs favs or second favourites. Never says a word until his
selection comes to challenge, then he starts :-
' make me luck boss, make me luck boss, MAKE ME LUCK BOSS, MAKE
ME LUCK BOSS, GO ON BOSS, GO ON BOSS YAAAAAYYYY.
Makes no difference if it's £10 or his last bet of the day when
he's skint.
I've seen him have 17p on a 6/4 shot and cheer it home just the
same, even when he's £200 down.
10p SHORT
I first had his crotch in my sights when I was kneeling down
outside a bookies in Belfast and he walked straight in front of my
rifle. The groin of his old blue jeans was faded white with urine.
"Would ye ever have 10p to make up my bet, sojer? Would ye,
sojer, eh?" He wouldn't be waved on. He just stood there, a man
of about 60, small and skinny and unshaven.
"For f*ck sake, pal, sod off," I said, trying to see
past him. "I'm jist 10p short, sojer. 10p short of ma
bet." A crackle in my ear and the radio said "Give him the
ten f*ckin pence!" So I handed it over. At the end of the
patrol I was told, with much laughter, that he did this all day and
every day. With no links to any paramilitary group, he was deemed
harmless and the best way to shift him was to give him the 10p. He
could make two quid an hour from us. We weren't allowed to claim it
back on expenses.
MONEY GONE, MONEY GONE". Last Year, I used to go into a
bookies with some mates from work (Leicester Square). My mates were
atrocious punters - doings BAGS, Roulette - you name it they lost on
it. Anyhow - that part of the World Edges on China Town and the same
Chinese Faces used the shop all day long. One tiddly wink chap used
to go loopy when my mates accidently brushed against him reading the
form (etc..), convinced they were bad luck incarnate - the Chinese
guy would go mental shouting "MONEY GONE, MONEY GONE". So
of course every lunch time we would pat him on the back and ask how
his luck was.
"You go away, you go away MONEY GONE, MONEY GONE"!
Aspirin 05 Aug 00:59 The Hitler lookalike.
Appearing daily at Fulham Road *********. He speaks in a German
accent, and is accompanied by two others. One female with a wig, and
a large chap that looks a little like Bernard Bresslaw. I last saw
him in March 2004 before I moved from the areas, he was in every
weekday between August 2003 and March 2004. Someone must have seen
this fella. He is identical looking to old Adolf. Wonder if he still
goes in there.
Chinese and their luck
what's all that about. Ages ago I used to frequent a Chinese
restaurant and got to know the boss quite well. For some reason, I
still don't know why, he got the idea that I was lucky. He'd always
come over and say, "You lucky man" and rub my shoulder. Of
course all the family worked there and they'd all spend the
afternoons punting like nutters in the LBO. The entire gang would
line up behind me as I sorted out my bets and one by one they'd say
the same thing, "Ah, Mr Golden. How you? Fine man, lucky
man" and they'd rub my arm. After a while I didn't even bother
turning around and they reduced their bit it to just walking over
and touching me (no jokes). Weird.
SIS once showed a fox running loose at Goodwood. The Chinaman who
hadn't spoken to anybody ever and we assumed did not speak English
shouted out AGH COME ON TWO DOG and laughed his head off at his own
joke for five minutes, in the end the whole shop joined in.
The Accountants Two go into my local Billy Hills shop in Cardiff.
They don't know each other but they bet exactly the same. Walk in,
read the papers, have a coffee, watch some racing. When the race
they want to bet comes on they saunter up to the counter. £200 on
the nose, normally a favourite but always wins. One walks out and
goes for a pint without picking up his winnings and reappears about
an hour later. Picks his winnings up, does exactly the same thing and
wins. The other takes the money and goes to a different pub. I've
seen them lose now and again but normally they win and win well.
Manager hates them because he knows they will only have one or two
bets and wont give their winnings back like most of the other
punters.
Aspirin 06 Aug 08:47 Charlie the Chinaman
in ******* Brighton shop. Seems to have some kind of palsy as he
can't stop shaking. Wears the same filthy suit and shirt every day,
smokes constantly, backs the favourite in every race, always
shouting out the words "no money..no money". Supposedly
owns a huge property empire all let out to housing benefit claimants
and junkies.
Hong Kong punters
in a billy shop in knightsbridge mid 80s , betting so large that
a guy from security was put in just to count the money , wanted 250k
( in a suitcase ) on Dancing Brave for the Derby , but were knocked
back even though they'd done fortunes. Eventually left the country
when the sun did a front page article on them and their dad got to
hear about it.
SHY used to only come in on a Saturday and looking like an
accountant stood out like a sore thumb in Brixton hill . A large
punter he'd wait until the manager came to the payout and hand over
bets of a monkey or a grand , until one time the manager was out the
back on the phone and he heard a loud shout from the new cashier ,
" BOB this bloke wants to place a one thousand pound bet , do
we take it ? " SHY was never seen again
THE FINE GENTLEMAN This is a frequent bettor I got to know in the
mid 90s at a central London shop: An elderly gentleman who walked
around the shop with a very fancy, silver-tipped walking stick,
always well turned out and polite to all the clerks and patrons.
Always had a smile on his face -- if you didn't know better, you'd
think he had a ton of cash stashed away and he didn't have a care in
the world. He always lathered on some strong scent, which smelled
like a mix of honey and limes. He was a £5 or even £10 bettor per
race, always putting the bets down on longshots in the horse racing
(he pronounced the dog racing "a mug's game."). When each
race began, his own booming, hysterical commentary would begin:
"RUN YOU MOTHERF***ER, YOU F***ING C***, YOU F***ER CANNOT
RUN, YOU C***, YOU SLOW C***, YOU PIECE OF S*** F***ING B******,
YOU'D F*** UP A FREE LUNCH, YOU DAMN C*** F***ER, RUN C*** RUN! THIS
PIECE OF S**** IS LAME..."
Race ends, inevitably with a losing ticket nestled in the nice
old chap's hand, and he'd quietly grab his walking stick, begin
pacing the shop again with that wan smile plastered on his face
(though it now looked just slightly mad).
"A fine race, that was," he'd softly to anyone who
would listen. "My horse never gave up. He's a good un, he is.
Next time. Next time will be mine."
TopTier 07 Aug 01:23 ttt
Aspirin 07 Aug 09:16 THE FIRESTARTER
USED TO BE A GUY IN EDINBURGH WHO USED TO LIGHT THE PAPERS WHEN
HE LOST.
HE WAS BANNED FROM EVERY HILLS BOOKMAKERS ABSOLUTE NUTTER.
THE EX-JOCKEY who no-one believes Used to be a guy came in our
shop, small, but age had fattened him - claimed he was an ex-jockey,
but no-one believed him. I knew his sons, and knew that the geezer
was telling the truth - I'd seen the pictures of him, about five
stone lighter, on the walls of his house. Played cricket for our
team, left-handed opener, with an amusing habit of backing off to
square-leg if the bowler was any faster than Bishen Bedi. Anyway, a
fair size-stakes punter, with a penchant for backing Willie Carson
mounts. Would do one, two or all of the Scot's rides on any given
day - clearly Carson could ride a bit, so he had a few nice
pick-ups. Anyone one day he rings up, says I really fancy Carson on
such-and-such, had what was for him a big bet on the beast. The race
was at Newcastle, and the history books record that Carson rode six
winners that afternoon out of seven - the ex-jockey's one was the
only loser.
THE BANK MANAGER north east late 90s . big gambler hence the name
,bet on anything, horses, dogs, south african,one day won 14k ,
anyway he had to come back next day while we scraped the money
together, next day picks up,we're really panicking with him having
14k to play with, he loses the lot + another 2k. we couldn't
understand why he brought the extra 2 ...total compulsive
Tommy Toes 08 Aug 16:44 Saving.
Gene Hackman 08 Aug 16:51 Fella about 36 ish who pushes his
brother in through the back entrance in a wheelchair. The brother
seems a bit bemused by it all, but our man who is usually dressed as
if he's just been on a night out (cheap topshop suit) seems to love
the racing. Bets in every possible event but has a particular liking
for the dogs. "Go on 2 and 3...go on 2 and 3 go on .....go
ooonnnn...GO OOOONNNNNN 2 and 3" he can be heard shouting as 1
3 5 and 2 flash past the post together.
Aspirin 08 Aug 19:04 AUGUSTO Italian, loud, lopsided gait,
ex-boxer. Not a big guy, would have been a welter max in his prime,
the keenest multiple punter I've ever known. Ran a collection of
seamstresses like pimps run whores, always carrying plenty - would
place at least 20 multiple bets a day, each for about a score. Not a
lot of money, but damage if he copped. Every evening, would cash up
his day's tickets. Always carried at least 500 losing tickets in his
pockets, and would always find the winners last. Lippy fecker, would
have a pop at anyone if they got in his way, must have been in his
sixties when I knew him. Still see him now and again walking up the
City Road.
THE PRODIGY Worked in a small-town shop, used to have a young lad
(15-16) phone up his bets every Saturday and the big meetings. His
dad was a local face, knew everyone, and the boy was a nice kid, so
he would come in at the end of the afternoon and settle up, or to
watch the non-televised stuff if he had any runners. Always backed
seven or eight, patent top three, lucky 15 top four, and so on, with
a superheinz or goliath to top it off.
Came in one Saturday, he has had a few winners, and he needs the
last one, a Pitman novice hurdler, for a big five-figure draw. The
word spreads, everyone in the shop is watching, the boy's just
sitting quietly in the corner trying not to choke to death on the
cigarette fumes - the Governor comes out the front from behind the
jump, and in front of everybody, offers the kid a few grand (can't
remember the exact amount) for his ticket.
Boy's not having it, so we watch the race, the boy's horse is
clear at the last, and falls. A big sigh from the whole place,
except the Governor, who sitting in the corner laughing his nuts
off.
DANGER HORSE everything that ever one apart from his few winners
was the one he picked out as the danger to his selection. He was
ex-CID and now a fiction writer. Had a book deal but nothing major.
was known through the 2 bookies in my town as danger horse because
his danger horse always won. I told him he should be backing two
horses every race
Tommy Toes 09 Aug 22:31 Saving.
Aspirin 09 Aug 23:26 FIGGIS
Asian, about 30, in partnership with his brother with two
newsagents shops. Used to stick to the same stake every bet which
was £20. Win or lose, his expression never changed, and he never
spoke to anybody else in the shop. My mate was whistling the tune
'I'm H.A. P. P. Y.' one day when Figgis came in, we couldn't call
him Gupta, so he got labelled Figgis.
Two years later he vanished completely, but his brothers shop is
still open.
EYES IN BACK OF HEAD MAN
In for the duration every day God sends, has large docile dog
which causes major obstruction at doorway. Has an opinion on every
sporting event from football to Pro-Celebrity Patagonian Ping-Pong.
Backs £2 FAV in every race and when race is off, he turns to RP
display on wall and studies race card. Never watches ANY of the race
and when horse invariably loses, crucifies hapless jockey in the
James Hunt rhyming fashion. Probably never watched a horse race in
his life.
THE DOGGY MEN
Two pensioners whose wives had died, Len and Steve. Nice old
boys, and it was cheaper to sit in our shop all day in the winter
than sit at home with the heating on. The flat upstairs was rented
by two nurses and when they got a new sofa they gave the old one to
the betting shop and that's where Len and Steve used to sit.
Steve's dog on his left, and Lens dog on his right, and sitting in
the middle was their old mate Ernie, with no dog or wife.
All was quiet before I managed this shop and it stayed that way
until The Sentrys dad (see first post on this thread) came in one
day half drunk. Ernie was visiting his daughter who lived near
Southwell racecourse, and the Sentrys dad fell into Ernies seat in
the middle of Len and Steve.
The dogs (a Jack Russell and a small Boxer) went completely
bananas, nipping at his feet to get him to move out of Ernies place.
Somebody got the Jack Russell and Steve got his Boxer under
control, while dear old Len slept through it all.
andywef23i2gfhe4 10 Aug 16:38 .
Aspirin 11 Aug 12:07 Typically Tropical
Back in the 80s in Brixton my local Mecca was used by
predominantly black punters. The place was done out fairly lavishly
for those days - it took loadsa dru g/prostitutio n money - naffly
and patronisingly themed along the lines of a Caribbean racecourse
complete with columns supporting the roof made to look coconut
palms. At the top of each column was a box affair from which plastic
flowers cascaded. As the local ganja dealers would use these boxes
as safe places to stash their gear it was commonplace to have your
view of the 2.30 from Sandown obscured by some dread locked guy
skillfully shining up a coconut palm - 'baggy' in mouth - before or
after doing a bit of business (betting slips are perfect for
wrapping ganja in btw). Amazingly the staff took absolutely no
notice whatsoever. After the place got turned over a couple times by
local gangsters using shooters Mecca installed a CCTV system. This
passed off without comment from the locals for about 6 months until someone suddenly got the idea that the cameras were linked directly
into Brixton Police Station. Cue the instant trashing of the place -
luckily the staff managed to make a quick exit through the back
door. This was enough even for greedy old Mecca as the place never
reopened.
One Out Tom......
Possibly the World's Worst Gambler. Earns his name from his
ability to do one Placepot everyday for Life at EVERY meeting and
NOT understand the concept. I.E would invariably put in Favs/2nd
Favs and if ONE Race had a 16/1,25/1,14/1 finish this would bung the
Divi up to £100+, whereas if his Fav had come in it would be about
a Pony. Worked as a Milkman over Windsor and one of my favourite
stories about him, was when his long-suffering Wife could see that
he was on a bad run whilst playing Poker with his mates in the
house, opened the Flat window(4th Floor), unplugged the TV and threw
it out the Window and said.....'''They've bloody had everything
else, they may as well take that when they go'''
The Professional.......
Used to live with his Mum. He was about 45/50. Come in once or
twice a week......Case the joint.....pretend to read ALL the
info......make sure nobody was looking at his ticket........slip it
under the Bandit Screen Bond-like......always the same bet....... 5p
win (usually on some out of town dog) Sadly died in a house fire,
thankfully after his Mum had passed on!
Aspirin 11 Aug 22:19 These are from Oz...
The first one is brilliant, it's what betting characters are all
about.
We don't have betting shops over here, but a few of the
characters I've come across working for on-track bookies over the
past 30 years. Around 1981, I worked for a place-only bookie at
Sandown Greys. An elderly guy turned up one Thursday night wanting
$5k cash on a dog at 6/4. We bet him $2k. He asked the guy next door
for a similar bet, and then walked to the T.o.t.e and plonked the
rest of what he had on. The dog somehow ran 3rd..paid money back on
the ****..and cleaned us out. The odd thing about him was that he
was wearing pyjamas and slippers, with an enormous dressing-gown
over the top. We never saw him again.
Colonel Klink
was very well known around the late 70s-early 80s. Would have
been around 55. He would turn up occasionally and take the very,
very short odds.1/10, 1/12 etc, always for cash. He flew from
Melbourne to Sydney one weekend to have $20k on a horse that was
going off at around 1/8. It duly won. When asked where he had stayed
in Sydney, his answer proved the adage that money is for gambling,
not for spending. He had slept the night on the beach!
Ronnie
is a large place punter on Melbourne races. Usually bets for
cash, and will have $5k or $6k on his 2 or 3 fancies for the day,
usually around the $2 mark. We didn't know much about him, but he
was proving hard to beat, until a day last year at Caulfield. His
final bet, being $80k down, on credit, was $10k e.w on the last
winner @$10. It was an amazing recovery. That night there was a
meeting as well, and a few of us went out for a midnight supper
after the races. We were sitting at a table outside the cafe in busy
Lygon street, when a man of about 60 walked through the crowd,
selling the early editions of the next days papers. It was Ronnie.
Our likely $100k debtor was a paper-boy !! He was at the races
today.
Young Inca 13 Aug 08:11 http://tv.cream.org/specialassignments/themes/bigdeal.mp3
sloppyman 14 Aug 00:00 THE NERD PUNTER
has a rich family so gets himself ?50 at the start of each day
even though he never had a job. backs 5 dogs in each dog race so no
matter what wins he cant make a profit. when he gets returns he
keeps the coins and punts away the notes. when he has no notes left
he counts up his coins, loudly exclaims "i have enough for x
cans" goes home happy with his cans and returns to lose about
?40 of his daily ?50 the next day. now known as "the N.P."
as an abbreviation for his above name.
andywef23i2gfhe4 14 Aug 22:53 .
HENRY the Seventh 15 Aug 11:56 Larry The Boardmarker
I sometimes used to travel into town on a Saturday, for no other
reason than to spend the afternoon in the betting shop, of which
there was several, mostly dingy holes (this was the 1960's when
most shops were pretty spartan, to say the least), but the shop I
normally attended was comparatively huge for its time and always had
a good Saturday crowd - many of them were the older types, who back
then usually wore rain Macs and flat caps . Larry would always be
standing up on his platform, roll-up fag on his lower lip, same
blue-holed cardigan, well worn white shirt with dog-eared collar,
grey trousers and plimsolls. And of course with him were his tools
of the trade - bucket of water, chamois leather, cotton cloths,
chalk and felt marker pens. The blackboard was for the results, and
the plastic marker board for the betting shows. He had plenty of
yap, and always seemed to attract a small shifting audience. Larry -
in his early sixties - had an opinion on every race, could always
set the world to rights and give his opinion and solutions for
anything and everything, from the Vietnam War to women's lib. He was
a character.
It was a gloomy late October day and the rains came to soften the
ground, and together with the big end of flat season fields,
conspired to produce results which rendered the formbook something
close to being obsolete. This particular Saturday in question was
especially horrendous, with one rank outsider after another sailing
home to bash the wallet. Mercifully the last race arrived, but with
fatalistic predictability, produced yet another stumor. It seemed
nothing less than plunder by the bookies. The looks on the faces
said it all - the inside of an old debtors prison could not have
been more cheerless.
Now, there is an old hymn-anthem titled, Abide With Me. It is a
very solemn hymn with words and music to match and has been sung at
countless funerals down the generations. Somewhat surprisingly to
younger generations, it was extremely popular with most older
people, most of whom seemed to know the words and tune by heart.
Also it was, for years, sung by the Wembley crowd before the Cup
Final.
Within seconds of that final winner nailing any hope of punters
leaving with anything more than a bit of silver and a few coppers -
many with not even that - Larry, realising the gravity of the
situation, seized the moment and spontaneously burst into song:-
Abide with me, fast falls the eventide; the darkness deepens:Lord
with me abide When other helpers fail and comforts flee, help of the
helpless, O abide with me.
In the first two lines he was on his own, but then the whole
shop, including the staff, joined in, and it was quite rousing and
emotive. Having been forced to attend church twice a week for years,
as a boy, I was familiar with this hymn, and in the situation
present, it lent itself perfectly to the occasion and the words of
the first two verses aptly echoed the plight of the voices singing
them.
Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day; earth's joy grows
dim, its glories pass away. change and decay in all around i see -
you never change, O Lord: abide with me!
Every verse was sung, and the final line of the final verse was
rendered very slowly, and at lung bursting volume:- In life, in
death, O Lord, abide with me!
With that, nobody uttered a word, they all just filed out of the
shop in an orderly fashion - perhaps sensing their souls had been
cleansed; in fact, they appeared very similar to a church
congregation as it leaves at the close of service, with Larry, in
the role of minister, waving down, nodding and saying his little
"bye" to everyone, and, in turn, being acknowledged. The
punters headed for home, some perhaps to face the music, having
maybe lost the rent money. For sure, it looked every bit like a
quiet Saturday night in for all.
I have not seen anything quite like it in a betting shop since,
nor ever shall, as the camaraderie of betting shop punters has
disappeared forever, and we are now in the age of the internet.
Larry is now up there with the angels - along with, I suppose, many
of the punters in the shop that day. Let's hope he is singing for us
when we have a similar bad day. Gone, but not forgotten.
Kamikaze City 15 Aug 12:01 Smelly Lilly
Jesus wept, need i say more....
Aspirin 15 Aug 12:11 The Knitter She had the whole shop to choose
from but always chose to sit in front of the paper with the main
meetings raceform .perched on her stool knitting away. refusing to
budge needles clacking while a queue of blokes tried to glance over
her half finished cardy at the 2-30 from Goodwood
Distant memories. They guy who smashed the screen with his fist
because I wouldn't pay him out on a straight forecast. The race was
a dead heat and he had one of the winners and the third. He simply
could not grasp that his bet had lost
The guy who came in late November with a carbon £40 win Le Moss
for the St Leger.I searched everywhere for the original. I had seen
it knocking about in the shop for months as you do with Ante Post
bets. Anyway I knew the bet was genuine so I paid him out on the
carbon just as he walked out the door it clicked. LE MOSS DIDN'T WIN
THE ST LEGER. I had to chase him down the road but I got the cash
back.
Aspirin 15 Aug 22:31 Guy spotted in Badbrokes main branch in
Wincombe St. Cheltenham - comes in three or four times a week stays
for one race only. smartly dressed but not office / retail clothes.
mid 30s, sometimes seen carrying books / files. walks in
acknowledging no one and speaking to no one. Occasionally glances
at RP on the wall but never makes a bet - never even goes near the
counter. Sometimes takes or makes a call on his mobile. Never more
than the briefest exchange on the phone. Watches the race
impassively. occasionally smiles towards the end. Afterwards again
takes or makes a call and appears to give a brief report on one of
the runners. Leaves. What is he up to? One rumour is that he is a
big Betfair layer but as he speaks to no one, it remains
speculation.
I was a boardmarker in Mecca in the Archway. There was a gypsy
camp just up the road and a guy, probably in his forties or fifties
but looked older from being out of his head by 10.30 every morning,
was a regular. He could scrawl '5 pound favourite' on a slip when he
was able to hold a pen and stand up at the same time, and let it
ride on the next one when he won. There were five favourites in a
row one afternoon and he was walking to the door with fivers and
tenners falling out of his pockets when his daughter came in. She
was built like a rotweiller with a face like a pox ridden werewolf.
She swung at him for reasons only they knew, and knocked him out
cold in the middle of the place. He lay there through a race, stood
up for the next one, wrote '5 pound favourite' on a slip and handed
it over.
'IT'LL BUY ME A COFFEE' Back in the mid 70s, single bloke in his
40s on the dole. Came in once a week and the entire giro (about
£18) including the odd smash, on an odds on shot. Every time we
paid him out he said ' It'll buy me a coffee'. He had one loser in
about 17 weeks, promptly vanished, and was never seen again in our
shop, but carried on in Mecca at the top of the road.
Aspirin 15 Aug 23:47 The guy who came in to a billys in streatham
vale , sat there punting in the afternoon and got paid out £50 too
much on the wrong slip. Cashier tells the manager who goes out to
speak to him . Bloke does a runner out the shop and tears off down
the road . He comes back in 10 minutes later and sits down , the
bemused manager goes over, shows him the slips and the bloke pays it
back. A short while later the manager notices a bet that's been
running up , a £15 acc that's got nearly £600 going on to the next
race fav trading at 1/3 . It doesn't win and the bloke nearly takes
the hinges off the door as he leaves the shop cursing and spitting.
The Brixton shop very similar to the one mentioned , with a
nutter of a manager. Cashier gets robbed at the counter, manager
realises as robber walks out the door . Tears out under the hatch
out the door after the bloke , jumps on him in the market , bloke
pulls out a knife and stabs him. When the police turn up they work
out he's jumped on the WRONG BLOKE....
Mate of mine going into shop in East London to put papers up,
gets in shop, bloke follows him in and locks door says 'Give me the
money.' Mate says it is all in the insert and has a half hour delay
before it can be opened up. Robber says 'That's ok, we'll wait'. And
they did before making off with dosh.
J P McEnroe 81 15 Aug 23:53 The guy who came in late November
with a carbon £40 win Le Moss for the St Leger.I searched everywhere
for the original. I had seen it knocking about in the
shop for months as you do with Ante Post bets. Anyway I knew the bet
was genuine so I paid him out on the carbon just as he walked out
the door it clicked. LE MOSS DIDN'T WIN THE ST LEGER. I had to chase
him down the road but I got the cash back.
How did you work out how much to pay him ?:|
HENRY the Seventh 16 Aug 19:37 Greysuit Harry.
Harry was what used to be termed: an "old lag".
Somebody who is in and out of prison on a fairly regular basis -
quite often for burglary of houses and shops, and other various
petty stealing crimes, which in many ways, is his way of life.
Usually none too bright, he would seldom move away from his own
area, and is normally on friendly terms with the local policemen on
the beat. A generally harmless type who would "come
quietly" rather than put up a violent struggle if caught. Harry
was one such type - called Greysuit Harry because that was what he
always wore. Whether he caught them as a batch of the same size and
colour as they fell off the back of a lorry is anyone's guess. I
remember one occasion when a local small electrical shop had been
broken into one night, and the police had been alerted. They
discovered that whoever broke the window had cut his hand. The trail
of the drops of blood was followed down a side alley and into the
entrance of an old woodmill. There, under a workbench was Harry,
sleeping like a baby, and with a brand new kettle and toaster by his
side. I think he got three months. Harry often lived rough - and
often looked rough too. When he wasn't "sleeping it off"
somewhere - either in cells or some other form of shelter - one
could guarantee he would be in one of two places: either in a pub,
or in a betting shop. He was a magician in the pubs, always knowing
which ones to go to when the crowds were there - darts night,
snooker night, whatever. He got to know almost everybody, and he
made sure strangers too would soon become acquainted. It has to be
said that Harry was a scrounger of pints par excellence. During the
evening he would move around from group to group, joining in the
banter. Although a known scrounger, he was such a friendly and engaging
fellow, with a big smile, warm personality and tales to
tell, that there was always someone in each group who would fill
Harry's glass, even knowing that the favour would not be returned.
It should be said, however, that if he had had a good day in the
betting shop, then he was generous, almost to a fault.
In the betting shops, he was quite amusing. If skint, he would
enter very quietly and go straight to the form pages on the wall and
spend long periods assessing the form, of which he was a very shrewd
judge. He would then make it his business to give his opinions to
punters who he knew had benefited from his advice in the past - in
fact they were usually keen to know what Harry's opinions were. If
successful, he would often be given the odd couple of quid, and
sometimes a fiver. The funniest bit would be if he was flush with
cash - especially on a Saturday. Harry would come through the
betting shop door in really ebullient style - everyone had to know
he had arrived. He had just come from the pub and was quite well
oiled. He would go straight to the table in the middle of the shop
where he would deposit his money - and there it would stay for the
duration of the afternoon. There would usually be a few fivers, lots
of pound notes and a mountain of change -all poured on to the table
very noisily. Harry had a strange ritual if he was doing well. He
always came in with a big cigar lodged in his top jacket pocket. If
towards the end of the day he was a long way in front and had just
backed another winner, he would take the cigar out and peel off the
wrapping. He would then stand near the middle of the shop, light up,
and draw strongly on the cigar; he would then look upwards and blow
huge rings of smoke up at the ceiling, probably through a feeling of
elation combined with a momentary signal of triumph over adversity -
maybe, deep down, there was a bit of primal virility mixed in there
too. There were some dark days also, when the cashpile dwindled to
nothing. Harry would then politely ask a regular who had had a good
day to lend him enough money for "the first pint". His
economic (drinking/betting) cycle would begin again, although the
word begin is rather inapt, because there was no end or beginning to
this cycle (apart from when being banged up), it was almost a
continuum.
I saw Harry limping along - and looking quite rough and old - as
I drove through his home town a couple of years ago; it looked as
though arthritis had got to him. I often think about him on freezing
cold winter nights, and privately wish him well. A bit of a rogue,
but a harmless and likeable one, who's heart was always in the right
place.
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