When I parted company from my brother and went alone in the licensed betting trade, there was one thing that I excelled and that was promotion.
When ever I bet at the races my working tools were always the best, working on the old assumption that of a punter was expected, to give you money on a horses chance of winning you had to convince that they would be paid promptly if it was successful.
The old saying it is never a crime to be poor but it is ti look it.
I doubt a high street bank would do much business if it looked like a slum.
In 1970s the big three Bookmakers of Hills, Ladbrokes and Corals, were spending fortunes on there units, making them accessible.
Even though I had only one shop, it had to be the best that I could make it, in fact the moto included in my company badge was moro when County Bookmakers was in Latin, “Not the biggest but the best”
One day I was at home contemplating a move that would get me in the local news
I had created a trophy for the return of three of the country’s, most infamous, called the Welcome Home Cup.
It had been on the front page of the SUN. no less.
The three runners were for that is what they were having done a runner from our shores
It was obvious that none of them, wished to return, so when the SUN caught Stonehouse, they wanted me to be at Heathrow when he stepped onto British soil to present him with the winners trophy. never afraid of confrontation, but the Cup (Tin)which I had purchased from a fishing tackle shop for £2.50. may have given the winner the needle.
The letter,s I received all positive, having made the British laugh, surprised even the Suns feature expert.
I was due another promotion , that would cost nothing but give my Bilston betting shop.a needed boost.
Having lived in the country side 5 miles frim Eversham, and 3 from Henly in Arden, for 10 years I was getting a little bored. having always been a city centre chap.
The wife who was a born again Greene, had been badgering me about having some chickens, fed up with the pore quality of The British Egg. she longed for fresh new layed.
One day when she was in the local Post Office she had discussed an Hen Project.and the postman’s wife had told her that she should have some worn out Hens from the Inkberrow Batery Unit, befie the go to Mahamad Husains Curry House.
She told Pauline that every 3 months, they have a clear out after the Hens had layed twice a day, every day, they were feathless and almost dead.
Howver she said, take 2 dozen at 50 pence each and just drop then into the field behind your house they lye as if dead fro three days and then gradually begining to recover in a short time the feathers will return, and begin laying again, fresh new layed Eggs,
When we arrived at the Battery Unit, there were two big sacks, with not a movement inside.
I carried them home and placed them in a empty run, with there own shed, with golden straw. a foot deep. not before the wife noticed that 3 of them were in a terrible state, and required a little jumper each,
Ever morning I would go down to the bottom of the garden to see the expected recovery.
One morning there was blood everywhere, a Renhard, Myth & Legend / European Myth & Legend) a name for a fox, had appeared and although he could not get in the shed, he had caught three by the beak, and pulled them through the small space in the fence,
Not a great start, however within a week the remaining hens were beginning to recover with beautiful new feathers,
A short while and I would let them out into the fields and I could find eggs every morning.
Week ends friends and relations would come over for a chat a glass of wine and a dozen eggs each.
Like all good things, friends, began to have just a hold dizen and then 3. every one was getting fed up of Eggs.
It was here that I planned a new promotion for my shop.
Driving to W.H.Smiths in Bromsgrove I ordered a ink stamp,
COUNTY BOOKMAKERS WE LAY ANYTHING.
Placing a dozen eggs in the container, with the advertisement, prominently displayed.
Phoning the Express and Star I told them as it was near to easter I would be giving the New Layed Eggs away free to my older customers. http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-54kogK-6KNY/TdZ4qdPHeBI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/KrTWA4V4ZIw/s1600/P1020961.JPG
In the shop was a regular punter of mine, Albert Swale a WW1 veteran, who was always complaining about the good old days, when the meat and vegetables tasted much better.
He was reaching a century, and looked as fit as a fiddle. Ladbrokes had even refused to bet him against receiving the Queens Post card.http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4W9tM-RIaho/TA9q4uIKnbI/AAAAAAAAABI/Er7lEo9darQ/s1600/invite+the+queen.jpg
As I arrived at the shop. there was a reporter and camera man, the punter was a professional.
“Beutiful Fresh New layed Eggs, just like the olden days.
He was arranged to hold an egg up with the Advert in display “County Bookmakers will lay anything”
With the photos and comments completed both the old veteran and the reporter, dispersed.
I made a nice cup of tea to await the front page, report approx 4.30.
Within 30 minutes however the door to the Betting Shop flew open almost kicked off its hinges.
“Were is the Bookie, The Bastard ” came the cry, standing in the doorway was the old soldier who had came back from the Somme, intact,
In his hand was a newy boiled egg placed carefully on a round of buttered toast.
Albert had already cut the egg, in slices, and like a Blackpool rock, the advert, was on every slice.
“COUNTY BOOKMAKERS WE LAY ANYTHING”
When I looked the blue dye was beginning to run into the egg, and it didn’t look nice.
“I have phoned the Police about you. the soldier raged. If I had eaten this crap I would have had Salmonella BY NOW”.
Most fortunately the other 9 gifts were still in the car, and the police decided not to charge me with attempted murder.