The old saying that a bookmaker never loses is turned on its head by Rob Boag.
Our regular contributor from Canada forwards a tale which is very close to home.
Said Rob: “My father Robert started on his career path early in life.
“In 1918, at 12 years of age, his entry into the workforce was a position at Cox’s Jute Mill.
“It was an offer he couldn’t refuse.
“When his career ended, he was a telephone engineer with the GPO.
“In between Cox’s Mill and the GPO, my father ventured into various means of employment.
“He was a poacher, a professional boxer (who travelled with Stewart’s boxing booth), a labourer (he dug holes for telephone poles) and a bookmaker.”
Rob described his father’s various employment positions as a “chequered career”, and continued: “Dad had tales about the different work environments, and his boxing booth stories are not for the faint of heart.
“But it was the story of his introduction and self-inflicted misfortune as a Lochee bookmaker that stays with me.
“My Dad’s mother — maiden name Mary McBrearty — had a cousin in Glasgow by the name of Joseph McBrearty.
“Joseph, in the early 1900s, was one of many successful Glasgow bookmakers, and he had a patch in Glasgow.
“I don’t have details of how, in 1926, Joseph McBrearty initially set my dad up in business, but I do know that 1926-27 were successful years as my father ordered a new Norton motorbike.
“The spring of 1928 — March 30 — welcomed the Grand National.
“That year, the race was contested by 42 horses, making it the largest field ever.
“Also, for the first time, it would be broadcast live over the wireless.”
As we all now know, the Grand National is known for ‘housewives’ betting on horses in the field because they like the name.
And so it was back then, as Rob went on: “In the line-up for the 89th Grand National, there was one horse that drew much attention locally.
“It’s name was Tipperary Tim — and Dad knew every Lochee punter and those who had an annual flutter on the National would have their money on Tipperary Tim.
“The odds were listed at 100-1.
“Dad studied Tipperary Tim’s form.
“It had never won a race. The rider Billy Dutton was a solicitor and a part-time jockey.
“Also, the horse was tubed. He was asthmatic and a vet had opened a hole in his throat and inserted a plug.
“When Tipperary Tim raced, the jockey removed the plug so Tim could breathe through the hole in his throat.
“The Grand National is the ultimate endurance test of horse and rider, and Tipperary Tim, based on form, would never even place.
“At Aintree, on that particular day, it had rained for days and a mist swirled over the sodden track.
“The 42 horses lined up for the start of the Grand National . . . and they were off, with Tipperary Tim running on the outside and in last place.
“The spectators watched the horses and riders disappear into the mist as they approached the Canal Turn.
“What the spectators didn’t see was a massive collision as jockeys and horses misjudged or refused to jump the fence.
“At the corner after the jump, the spectators saw only seven horses and riders emerge out of the fog and Tipperary Tim was still in last place.
“By the time the penultimate obstacle was in view, just three horses and riders remained in the race . . . and Tipperary Tim was third!
“The saddle on the lead horse slipped and its jockey spilled from his horse.
“Two horses left. Billy Burton was in the lead, then stumbled. Jockey Tommy Cullinan fell, then managed to remount.
“However, by that time, Tipperary Tim overtook him and won the 1928 Grand National at odds of 100-1.
“My father was in his ‘office’, which was the back room of a Lochee pub, when the winner was announced.
“Shock and fear took over.
“He said his inners turned liquid and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He could barely move.
“Blood started to flow back to his head and his brain began to function.
“He looked at the sheet of paper in front of him, which recorded all bets collected and now all bets won. There was a major problem with cash flow in and cash flow out.
“He forced himself to the phone, picked up the handle from the cradle on the stem and asked the operator for a long distance call to Glasgow to Joseph McBrearty’s personal number.
“It was McBrearty himself who answered the phone.
“My father blurted out: ‘Tipperary Tim — I didn’t lay it off, I didn’t cover the bets.
“There was a couple of seconds silence, then: ‘How much are you short?’
“From the sheet of paper in his shaking hand, my dad read out the pounds, shillings and pence he needed to pay off the winners.
“McBrearty said: ‘I will have two of my boys drive through to Lochee, to your mother’s house with that amount. You will pay back every penny with interest on a weekly basis. Also, from this very second, you are out of the business’.
“Joseph McBrearty then hung up.
“Everyone who bet on Tipperary Tim received their winnings and my father paid back every penny he had borrowed from his mother’s cousin . . . and then ventured into another career.”
This article originally appeared on the Evening Telegraph website. For more information, read about our new combined website.