Straight Draw
I didn’t inherit my father’s love of horse races. I saw Dad lose more than win. I valued the money I earnt too much to squander it so. In fact, Dad’s addiction, that was how I saw it, really irritated me as a child. He commandeered the radio every Friday night to hear which horses were listed to run that Saturday. Consequently, I missed sequential episodes of my radio stories. Then all day Saturday, he listened to the races ran in Brisbane, Sydney and Melbourne. At the time, I found the race caller’s constant chatter annoying. Later as an adult, I realised my father looked forward to little else in his modest life. He worked hard labour in the heat, cold and dirt day in and day out. He earnt his time listening to the radio whilst sitting in a cool spot on the veranda.
Later Saturday evening, whilst I worked, I overheard Dad’s conversations with his mates whilst they chugged beers in Mattie’s bar. They analysed horses’ forms, their wins and losses, the qualities of the various race courses and the bookmakers’ odds. Some horses ran well on dry tracks and others on wet. Consequently, I knew everything there was to know about the sport.
When the Melbourne Cup Race approached annually, energetic discussions and an infectious air of excited anticipation invaded the bar. The men spoke of little else in the six week leadup. Twenty-four horses would line up for the most famous race in Australia and run three thousand two hundred metres, about two miles back then. Not only would the men lay bets with the local but illegal starting price (called an ‘SP’) bookmaker on the day, they bought tickets in sweeps, which popped up at businesses around the community. It seemed the only establishment not running a sweep was the church! A sweep was akin to a blind lucky dip. Lots of tickets were sold but only tickets were drawn for the number of horses in the race. The remaining tickets lost out.
The Station Master at Bethania Railway Station organised the biggest sweep around. He sold tickets for weeks ahead at two shillings each to anybody willing to cough up such an extravagant amount. By comparison, two bob usually bought you five tickets in a raffle. Nevertheless, all the local Railway men bought at least five tickets if not ten.
In 1957, this race fever caught me in its grip too. I was fourteen and wanted to join in the men’s excitement. I deliberated for several days if I should purchase one two shilling ticket. I only earnt three shillings for my Saturday morning shift at the refreshment rooms. Besides, my odds were extremely poor; one ticket versus the hundreds sold to score a horse then one horse against twenty-four to win one of the three places. Foolishly, I did buy one ticket, just one. I told nobody about my gamble and hid the ticket in my money tin.
The day before the Melbourne Cup, the Station Master drew the twenty-four horse names from all the tickets he had sold in front of a crowd of ticket holders. I wasn’t present but my father was of course. Dad arrived home miserable. He grumbled he had lucked out again and hadn’t secured a horse in the draw.
He then said, with a quizzical look on his face, ‘Jakob, you drew a horse though. It’s Straight Draw. However, the odds of it winning aren’t good. Sorry lad.’
I felt down too. I had wasted two precious shillings. That was a lesson to myself. Nevertheless, I had a horse to cheer on tomorrow.
The next day, I thought of little else. The race was scheduled to be run twenty minutes before school finished. The school had no radio so the students couldn’t listen to it. The school teacher wouldn’t have allowed this anyway. Alas, news of which horses had placed in the Cup travelled quickly. As I walked my bicycle to the school’s front gate, I heard somebody yell that Straight Draw had won the Melbourne Cup. Excitement bubbled up inside me. I had never been so excited before. I couldn’t believe my luck to score the winning ticket.
Dad walked with me to see his mate, the Station Master. Even he was beaming!
Some loitering locals weren’t impressed however that I had won the sweep. They suggested not so politely that my ticket should be disqualified because I was a minor and not legally entitled to bet.
The Station Master firmly replied, ‘The boy bought his ticket fair and square with money he earnt like everybody else.’ He then handed me a considerable amount of dosh with a broad smile.
I didn’t know it yet; but I’d need that money soon. It would help change the direction of my future. My win certainly was a miracle.