The First Levy Board Experience

 

It was snowing big flakes as I walked down Oxford Street in search of a job.  I had been unemployed for three days and was looking for the Brook Street Bureau.  Shortly after being told, “It’s about 30 yards along on your right,” I spotted a pound note on the ground, trodden in the snow.  Picking it up by the Bureau entrance, I went inside, hoping to play up my luck.

 

It seemed that the newly formed Horserace Betting Levy Board were in need of clerks who were good at maths, knew a bit about racing and had preferably worked for the Government. And so, deemed fit for purpose, after the first month, I was given a rise and put in charge of the Assessments Division.

The task, after the legalisation of Betting Shops a year and a half earlier, entailed assessing and collecting monies from bookmakers and the Tote, for the purpose of improving the panorama of horseracing.

 

The staff employed, roughly fell into three categories – ex-army personnel, their daughters, and ex-civil servants.  For a while, the daughters   (rarefied breeds), were allowed to keep their pet dogs (rarefied breeds), under their desks, and this perk seemed to catch on, until dogs of different persuasions confronted each other.  Then the posturing, growling and barking would inevitably bring their owners into the fray in an attempt to separate their charges.  However, these ‘teething problems’ were soon sorted, when both ‘Peek’s’ and perks were withdrawn.

 

It didn’t take me long to discover I was the only member of staff with a Secondary Modern education, and there were times when I was more than a little embarrassed, although, a few of my colleagues also came from unique backgrounds. Gerry, who had studied to be a Cistercian monk in Ireland, was unable to keep silent either then or now. There were two Hugh’s – ‘Hugh the cash’, who was the chief cashier, and ‘Hugh the books’, who kept track of the ‘non-payments’.  Both were brought up in the village of Bedgellert, in darkest Wales, and in times of high excitement, reverted to their mother tongue.

 

At the time, everyone shared a great enthusiasm for the work, but none more than Dennis, who would make the return trip to Angmering in Sussex every day on a moped, having first purchased The Sporting Life at 6 am.  By contrast, Anne – a voluptuous young lady who, in the process of calculating horse transport allowances, was often to be found lying in the middle of the floor on a huge map of Britain, inviting passer’s by to come down and help her find the way from Bridgwater to Bogside.

Another lady who left a vivid impression was the formidable Miss Hardcastle, who ran the Registry. A forerunner of Ann Robinson, who, peering over her spectacles could discharge a volley of cutting remarks that would bring a Brigadier to his knees.

 

Of course, harnessing these diverse personalities was sometimes a headache, but I had no difficulty in organising the daily Naps table, encouraged by the hierarchy “to spread a wider understanding of the sport among the staff.”  This unfortunately they lived to regret, for its inroads into the workload were significant, firstly the deliberation over the selections, secondly because of the necessity of keeping the master sheet up-to-date, with all its pluses, minuses and disputes, and finally, the collection of money each week, all of which left very little time to fit in the work.   However, it did generate a lot of fun and a nail-biting finish on the final day, with Dennis, myself and Gerry leading at different times in the afternoon, and Gerry celebrating his last race triumph with an exuberant Irish jig on the top of his desk.

 

A few weeks later on, December 21, 1962, there began a lengthy period of bad weather known as ‘The Big Freeze’.  Only one race meeting took place (Ayr, January 5), before racing resumed on March 8, and the effect on both betting shops and the Levy Board was devastating.

 

With the bookmakers’ payments down to a trickle, the staff was left in a void, and more so, after a well-timed directive closed the Naps competition. Nevertheless, we all came to work as before.

 

Now, inventive activities filled the time. To begin with, there was pool betting on the first word uttered by the tea-lady as she entered our office with her trolley, but since she had a colourful vocabulary, there were many rollovers.  However, this was such a success that an afternoon version was added.  I’m sure the poor woman often wondered why her opening greetings were met with such mixed reactions from the staff.

Then of course, there was the paper dart in the hat game, paying even-money at three paces.  Another stimulating challenge was betting on the number of minutes between red buses stopping outside St Pancras Church.   This activity kept the two Hugh’s happily occupied at their window desks for the best part of the afternoon, and could surely be claimed as the forerunner of spread betting.

The usual diversions such as Pontoon, Poker Dice and Totetopoly were, for reasons of decorum, played in our extended lunch break, whilst some of the more restless of the staff would prefer to catch a cab to a nearby Dance Hall to improve upon their Twisting or to learn the ‘Locomotion’.  And so it was that many happy hours were passed throughout that winter.

 

Sadly, all this came to an end when racing resumed; that is until Gerry devised a novel Grand National competition. As soon as the weights were published, he encouraged each person to put a cross against their fancy and put two shillings in the kitty.  This was repeated every week until the big race, when the horse with the most crosses carried all the money in one huge, each-way bet.  Gerry’s Cistercian logic was that if we were lucky, we could all celebrate together.  Anyway, despite all that, Gerry let the ladies persuade him to divide the kitty between the top two horses.  Thus it was that we went down to the bookies with our crock of gold and backed Frenchman’s Cove and Mr What each way.

 

Leaving a friend’s wedding early to watch the race on Mum’s TV, a mile and a half away, I was grateful to those cautious ladies, as Frenchman’s Cove, our first choice, was brought down, while Mr What finished third at 22-1, to Kilmore and Fred Winter at 28-1.

 

Throughout this year and the next, for a number of reasons, the Levy collected fell critically short of expectations, and I was gently persuaded to move on.   My fond memories of this happy time have now mingled with the reflection that I was possibly not quite mature enough for the job!