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

Mon Jan 8 20:14:55 AEDT 2018

Yes, great story.
Australia has changed a lot since then, some for the better, but mostly for the worse.
I missed that generation by a bit, but listening to my Grandmother (the only one in Australia), as a kid, I remember stories like Tony's.
My Papa used to listen to the races on a leather bound transistor radio, but was placed on an allowance after several bad losses.
They lived in Moonee Ponds and if the races were on, he'd stop there on the way home on payday, if he had a win Mum got snowballs as a treat, if he lost there was hell to pay at home. I recently discovered that he may have been a penciller or runner for some bookies, as in his very precise neat writing style was a ledger in a notebook of various races and their balances owing or owed. It wasn't for himself, he was doing it on behalf of a bookie / bookies. I'll never know the full story as he passed away when I was about 6. Nana passed away a lot later, but you'd never mention gambling in her house - Ever!
Lindsay

From: Racing [mailto:racing-bounces at ausrace.com] On Behalf Of Phil Buckland
Sent: Monday, 8 January 2018 6:13 PM
To: 'AusRace Racing Discussion List'
Subject: Re: [AusRace] Tulloch done this and The SP On The Run

Great Story Tony.
I love these when you put them up
Cheers
Phil

From: Racing [mailto:racing-bounces at ausrace.com] On Behalf Of Tony Moffat
Sent: Monday, 8 January 2018 3:43 PM
To: racing at ausrace.com<mailto:racing at ausrace.com>
Subject: [AusRace] Tulloch done this and The SP On The Run

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

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