have to have the personality to do it. And it can be dangerous. In the first week a punter
who’d lost a bundle shouted “An even hundred” when the favourite in the last race went to 11-8 on. I refused and he spat in my face. I mopped up and sarcastically said “Thank you, sir”. Swift’s wife Maisie, helping out as a cashier, said in a rare burst of generosity, “You can see he’s upset. Let him have the evens.” I did and was pleased when
it won.
The point I’m making about current course odds is that while not all punters want to take a price, the constant calling out of odds does add excitement and holds a crowd. A few weeks later we were
bags into the deposit box at the bank as soon as we closed by law every night at 6.30. Our ex-coppers escorted us. They said they were seeing “faces” every day among our punting crowd.
I mentioned earlier the madness that prevailed. Here’s another unbelievable but true fact: Not one of us – not even Swift, a renowned tightwad – knew or cared if we’d won or lost on any given day. All we wanted was to get into the “Clarence”, the pub next door. Swift was happy. His balance at the bank was soaring.
*
packed to the doors as usual when a customer in the crush in front of me yelled he’d been robbed. The man next to him pulled a knife when he was accused of stealing and raised it to strike.
counter, then over the grille and jumped down. It was a crazy move on my part but it worked.
his weapon, stooped, handed the victim his wallet, and said, “Look, it was here on the floor.
impression I was being brave because I didn’t even think about it. I just didn’t like seeing a dagger brandished in “my” shop, that’s all.
* * *
BUCKETS OF CASH kept crossing our counters. Swift hired two ex-police officers to watch his punters – and staff. He also engaged more
cashiers. I was sorry after a week when two quit. Swift gave me a knowing look. “They’ll never come back,” he said. “They’ve obviously been helping themselves and they’re scared I’ll find out.” I know today’s betting shop
I don’t want to give the The pickpocket sheathed I leaped up on the * *
IN THOSE CRAZY pre- computer days before anyone dreamed of a Bookmakers’ Trade Fair and its efficient equipment, what we had going for us was a financial free-for- all. The takings were pouring in so quickly they weren’t even rung up. Our “cashiers” were simply
pay-out clerks, handing customers the amounts written on betting slips by our settlers. This led to some nasty moments. One afternoon an ex-cop noticed that a punter always bet small but collected big. Further observation showed that two of our settlers were consistently over-paying their confederate and splitting the proceeds with him later. Another day our second ex- copper pounced. He grabbed a punter who’d just been paid, took him into Swift’s private office, and called one of our cashiers into the same room. “Look,” the copper said to
Waiting to take a price? *
* Picture: Racing Post *
me, holding up the punter’s betting slip, “it says he gets two pound seventeen shillings and your man here just paid him fifty-seven quid.” What gave away the cashier
owners will find this next fact astonishing, but there was no way Swift or anyone else COULD know if he was being robbed. It’s because in those early months no one gave a damn about cash-controls, we were too busy raking it in. All we DID care about was shoving over-stuffed money
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was the way he straightened his tie with an overblown flourish as a signal to the punter it was safe to come in. Our undercover copper caught it and neatly cracked the Strange Case of the Over- screwed Knot. Swift didn’t prosecute. He hated any publicity that showed the gambling world his security was lax and he could be “got at”. So in these and similar cases the crooked employees were simply sacked and the punters barred for life.
ANOTHER MENACE came in with the shops: It was the chance they gave “jobbers” to place commissions for gambling stables without arousing attention and thereby losing long odds. People engaged in working “coups” suddenly found they were in Jobbers’ Heaven. They could swoop on dozens of shops with ease and get away with getting on with impunity. One day one got greedy. He put a hundred at S.P. on an outsider; it won at 100-7. I paid the stranger with a smile but clocked the man’s face and the name of the trainer. Next time the jobber came in he put two hundred at S.P. on another outsider. Same trainer. I called Swift in his office next door. He promptly used the Exchange Telegraph to send a thousand pounds on the longshot to the course. The odds plunged from 20- 1 to 11-2. The horse won but Swift won twice: he averaged 9-1 and paid out only at S.P. Of course the jobber had no idea he was betting with the biggest gambling bookmaker in London. However Swift never guessed, betting only when he had
inside “info.” Next day Swift admitted
he’d been wrong: he should have spread his bet in small amounts across the country using his scores of hedging accounts. That way he would have had
20-1, maybe more, and our jobber would have come back to us. Sadly, he never did.
* * *
“EACH-WAY MERCHANTS”, as Swift disparagingly called them, were another problem in that first year of betting shops. Until 1961 the credit accounts of punters with winning balances were routinely closed if their bets were confined to each-way doubles and trebles on non- handicap races. One-quarter the odds a place was the norm then. But a bookmaker had little chance in non-handicaps when the favourite was at odds-on because it was unlikely that the second or third favourite would finish out of the frame. This was proved by place- only bettors on the Tote who usually received a paltry 2s 1d for a 2s stake – 24-1 on, and the Tote grumbled it was losing money paying even that.
BOS Magazine November/December 2011 15
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