[AusRace] Tulloch done this and The SP On The Run

[Tony Moffat]

3.8 - THE SP ON THE RUN++++++++++++++++++++++++

There was a drycleaning shop on the Main Street next to our yard, the
boiler whistle went off sometimes, overfull you see, and towards the
end it was my job to put the pine crates, apple and orange boxes, into
the firebox to keep steam up for Mr J pressing, and there wasn't a
lot, ever, to be pressed. You got your clothes next morning, he
drycleaned and ironed the afternoon before and they cooled down on
hangers in his hallway overnight. They left, that family of
drycleaners, the girls were older and flirty and the son was my age.
Before they went though I learnt all a kid could learn about the
ancient trade of cleaning with spirits, and steam. I got a ten
shillings a week and I was 9.

I had to buy a Chelsea bun for Friday arvos.

The shop sat vacant for a couple of months then a bootmaker and
leatherworker/saddler moved in with his kids and friend. He was a good
bloke, kept budgies, dozens or perhaps hundreds and got a bit of
interest going in keeping birds. I got a job with him, cleaning and
repainting show cages, wooden boxes with cage and door on the front,
painted black outside and white inside, special paint that did not
kill the birds and made of gold apparently because if you dropped a
drop it cost a shilling. So I would work on these show cages and paint
4-5 a day, there was about a hundred or so, I used to work Saturday
too and the shop would be busy.

He was a SP bookie but it took me about a month to realise and in the
end Dad told me what a SP bookie was. One phone, a table and a
notebook and a radio in a room with a fridge. That phone was busy, you
heard it inside and him talking, like this,  Sydney 4, horse 4, say
the runners name please, that's right, a pound, yes I'll take that,
thank you. There was an inordinate amount of front counter traffic
too, people who had never worn a pressed item in their life were
there, female and male, the females swapping roles, just a few bets
for my hubbie, and he would say, have one or two for yourself, and she
might have a deener on something, 'whats that horse Mulley is riding
in Melbourne today, I'll have a little'n on that please'. It was
Kingster and it won.

It took some months for mother dear to cotton on, then she allowed me
to stay as, well, I had those cages to finish, and don't you dare go
near those betting persons neither, then Miss G over the road
commented on the devils work taking place in the place and that did it
for me, I got yanked, I left then, I had almost finished the cages. I
did not get any budgies. There was an argument and sometimes a fight
on Saturday afternoons, perhaps a drunk wanting his money. They
weren't all drunk, the mining manager and two engineers were regulars,
religious, and teetotallers, although the Brazilian used to cheat at
golf they said, the old two ball routine. He had clear brown skin and
a pony tail and wore shoes with chrome metal lace eyelets, lovely
dancer was Mums opinion, charm oozer was Dads opinion, he may have
caused a few divorces in his time, and he taught me a Portuguese
swearword, oh well Dad laughed until his bottom teeth moved, Mum was
not impressed with me but forgave Senor. He wasn't murdered, could
have been but, he was wrapped in a carpet or rug and left in the bush
near an ants nest, one version, however he managed to unroll himself
and got up and got away, hobbling from the kicking he got, another
version, and the only confirmed action is that he left town, and the
consulate came and collected his gear, the third version. 

 If your bet won you got paid on Monday and not before, and paid by
cheque too which the pub cashed for you, if you bought some of theirs.


We, me, Mum and Dad went bush one weekend, out to Glenroy where they
grew oranges in the desert, and when we came back on Sunday arvo we
saw that our back gate was open, then saw that the boot making
bookmaker house was empty. Miss G over the road told Dad that he had
put everything on a truck early Sunday and left, leaving his birdcages
and his budgies, dozens of them. The bird club fed and cared for the
birds and they were re housed over the next week without loss. I was
hoping for a selection of pied blues but Mum said no way.

Dad said that bookies often run off with their bets, Mr Galvers the
Policeman came and looked over things and said 'Tulloch done this'
and there were shoes and boots everywhere inside the place, I mean it
was a working bootmaking shop too, and the Police were there a couple
of days sorting out who owned what.

The SP bookie was often in the pub down the road, in effect the
building next to his which was next to ours, although Dad drank at the
big pub further down the street or at the Bowling Club. This
afternoon, it was a Tuesday, I was on the woodheap cutting chips, when
I heard arguing from down the pub, on the footpath. I looked, of
course, and the SP bookie was being shouted at by a man, about the
same size. Anyway the man took a swing, I mean it was so slow, and the
SP ducked that and pushed the bloke away, he staggered backwards off
the footpath, went the length of the car parked there, it was reverse
in parking, and fell onto the roadway. He immediately held his head,
his head had not contacted the ground, I mean I saw the lot, the push,
the dance in reverse and the fall onto his backside. If he had a bad
back he would have hurt that but no way did he hit his head, perhaps
it was whiplash, perhaps he was looking for sympathy. The bookie
stayed put and the bloke on the road got up and staggered back to him.
He shouted again, apparently he was not going to pay, whatever he had
to pay for and I assume it was not shoe repairs but his SP bill. The
SP bookie walked off and the head holding man was left there and
ignored by the drinkers outside the Pub. I watched and he came up the
street to the front door of the bootmaking shop and kicked it and it
broke, the wood panel broke and his leg went inside and his cuff got
caught and he was swearing and it was entertainment before there was
tv. So he was stuck in the door, the three ply had hold of his leg and
he was hop scotching on the other. Mr Galvers, the Police Sergeant
came in a few minutes, perhaps in response to the first shindig, the
dance in reverse bit, and spoke to the door kicking, broken head, sore
tailbone non paying SP punter, and went and spoke to the drinkers, who
nodded and pointed, both out onto the road and up to where the door
kicker was now, still hop scotching. Mr Galvers kicked in the rest of
the door panel and the door kicker was free. The SP bootmaker walked
up, with fish and chips rolled up in newspaper and spoke to the
Police. The result was the door kicker had to come back and repair the
door. I don't know if he paid for whatever he said he wouldn't, Mr
Galvers said hello to me and walked back into the pub. He walked the
main street footpath most days and walked through the pubs and often
the drunks would be removed, left staggering on the footpath, talking
to their car keys and muttering but standing to attention when he
walked up and past them. Sometimes he would be walking with a man, or
woman sometimes too, an arrest maybe or a person who needed to be
spoken to or more likely a person who needed to be displayed as a
person who needed Police intervention in their affairs, either as the
perpertrator or the recipient. Mr Galvers and Dad were a bowling pair
and he came to our house in shorts and he and Dad drank beer in the
breeze room, water trickling down the walls out of the grape vine, big
brown bottles, and I never had more than a few greeting words with
him. There were other Police in town, younger men than him, one of
them a very good footballer.

I don't know if the SP bookie got his money as I said, but the door
kicking non-payer was in the shop off and on the next few Saturdays. I
was hitting tennis balls against the brick wall of the garage both
days and saw him. The door got fixed, and painted and life went on.

I saw that SP in another town, some time later, there was a flash of
recognition from him. Dad was bowling and I had been at the pool and
came back to the hotel to change before going to Dad for tea. The SP
man was in the bar, near the side door, and had his book, his raffle
tickets, and his paraphernalia with him. 

There was an SP bookie at school at Bathurst, there had been two, both
the sons of bookies, who ran the show more for notoriety than gain.
You got sp for the win and money back if it placed. He also had dibs
on smokes, he was the Fiesta distributor in the place, 6d each, 3 for
a shilling. B&H were slightly more, 2 shillings for three.

 

Cheers

 

Tony

 



---
This email has been checked for viruses by AVG.
http://www.avg.com
-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: <http://ausrace.com/pipermail/racing_ausrace.com/attachments/20180108/ac936925/attachment.html>