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Before the Betting Shops

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Before the betting shops it was the street corner, the factory, under the counter at the pub or the chippy, and if you were a bit posh, over the phone to a turf accountant.   Before she came along there was an old man on the factory floor who took all the bets for the men and he passed them onto his bookie. But there was no-one doing it in the offices until Barbara started. There were girls in that typing pool who probably never thought of wasting their money like that until she came along and led them astray with all her talk of winnings and her flashy brooches. They should have all been saving for their bottom drawers instead of flinging their wages away like that, it was sickening to watch. She would come in for her morning coffee and sit at the table in the far corner and take bets from young women, bold as anything, She would have a folded up newspaper which had the lists and the racing tips in and she’d write out her own bets as well. Then, five minutes before she was due back at
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Losers All

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Sometimes everybody loses, including the bookie: It turned out that someone had followed her when she was on the way to the bank with the weekly takings - and there would have been a decent amount there with it being Cheltenham. Then she’d been hit on the head and as she fell they’d taken her handbag with the bag of money in. I said to Bill “How much did they get away with then?” and he said “Well I can’t really tell you.” I don’t know why it was such a secret, probably Sparkes had told him not to say. But then he said “But how much have you taken this week?” and I got what he was saying to me. We’d taken a fair few hundred pounds so there must have been the same in Barbara’s handbag. She soon came out of hospital, where they’d just kept her for observation what with her having a blow on the head. Pollywasher by Sarah Miller Walters is available on Amazon.
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Lady Luck

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 Another screen capture of a scene from "The Sweeney - Lady Luck". And as Jack Regan would probably punch you in the face and tell you, its all luck son, don't let anyone tell you otherwise"... Well, when you win big it’s all luck, we all know that - those of us who work on the right side of the counter. But she’d come swanning over the road every morning, purse in hand, tips written out ready. We’d humour her, you know, “what’s your big tip for today then, what’s going to win the Grand National” that sort of thing. She’d give you a name and sound as if she knew all about it, but it was only what she’d read in the Racing Post before coming over. If she thought she had insider knowledge or a special knack she was having herself on. I would say that she averaged one or two wins a week and she was putting on a couple of bets every day. If anything she was lucky if she broke even over all. She was never a threat to the shop's profits. Some of the big gamblers, the ma
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On The Fiddle

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From the outset, betting shops went all out for security. Bars (seen below) and bandit screens shielded the staff. But what about when staff went rogue? Betting Shops attract staff who are into gambling and sometimes they reckon they can beat the system. Only the development of cameras could preserve the profits. Here's an example of how it might be done from "Pollywasher": When a bet is taken, the shop’s copy of the duplicate slip is passed through a camera. When a race-off announcement is made, an off-slip is put through the same camera. Any bets put through after that race off-slip will be void as they have been put on too late. The idea of this is to stop bets being put on when the race is half run and a dog or horse looks to have a clear lead.  Unfortunately, that is what Barbara had started doing. The morning greyhound races come first in the day. Meetings begin mid-morning and go on over dinner time and then the horse racing begins. Early in the week, we often just
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Down the Alley to Place Your Bets

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 More on the alleyway bookie’s runner:   If  you wanted to put a bet on a horse, and a lot of people around here did, then you went and dealt with your local bookie’s runner. Old Joe Parkin used to work from this little cut through that ran alongside the Royal Oak pub. It’s still there though I wouldn’t go anywhere near it now if I were you. It’s not like it was in our day anymore, and even back then it wasn’t the best of places. This cut through where Joe worked was just a length of pavement with a tall brick wall at either side and a big bollard at each end. The things that probably went off in there at night don’t bear thinking about, it didn’t half stink if it hadn’t rained for a bit. Anyway, old Joe would be there to collect and pay out bets at certain times of the day that everybody seemed to just know.  He had this little leather satchel that he hid under his coat. It meant that he had to wear his coat even on the hottest day. Mother and Dad used to send us along to Joe with the
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The Bookies' Grand Opening

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 The famous racehorse Red Rum also had an illustrious career opening new betting shops in the 70s and 80s. What better way for the big chains to draw attention to their  investments - where Red Rum went so did the newspapers. This photo is from the Lancashire Post.  This trend emerges in "Pollywasher" too, when the Sparkes betting shop chain invites a champion greyhound to open their flagship shop: So, once Sparkes had found his feet with that back street shop, he decided to give it a go near the markets in a more prominent position if you like. What do they call it? A flagship shop. And one Barbara Toller was going to be the ship’s figurehead, or resident dolly bird. Charlie did the organising and he got her cutting the ribbon to the shop on the day it opened, all dolled up in her finest with the papers there taking photos. Mind you, she wasn’t the star turn, that was a champion greyhound. Barbara was only there because a dog can’t hold a pair of scissors. Reporters were mor
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The Bookies' Runner

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Betting shops only became legal in 1961, before then you had to place your bets on course or have a telephone account. If you wanted to stay on the right side of the law. If you were poor, neither of these options were really in your grasp. So to keep hope alive, you placed your bets with the local runner -  on the street, in a backyard or under the counter. This came with occupational hazards. As described here in "Pollywasher": As a rule the Bobbies left Sparkes’ mob alone, most of them were betting men themselves and they thought they had better things to do I mean, you’ll never stop gambling will you? But every now and again I think there’d be this new broom who wanted to make an impression by arresting loads of bookies and there’d be these raids. Most of the time it just ended in a fine, which Sparkes could take in his stride, it was nothing to him just expenses. Then it would just start again where it had left off. But Joe was duty bound to at least try and make an effo
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