THE PIE SHOP Chapter Seven Maurie's Story

Maurice was in trouble. Real trouble. The sort of trouble that could cause you to spend some time in a hospital bed, limp for the rest of your life or even disappear altogether! The word in The Pie Shop was that he had upset the boss of the hardest 'firm' in Bethnal Green. Quite what he had done to upset him no one seemed to know, but whatever it was Maurice had made himself scarce and was nowhere to be seen. We all found it hard to believe he could have been so stupid. Having known him a long time he was well respected by everyone and regarded as being a shrewd operator. He always seemed to manage his life with great skill and showed no outward signs of being involved with the heavier mobs that operated in the manors around us. In his business that wasn't easy.

He knew all the local 'firms' of course, but had managed to create the image of being small beer, not worth their bother. In any case he'd been to school with most of them and they knew he posed no threat. It was always assumed he sent a percentage of his takings (A small percentage) to the biggest of the local firms but no one ever really knew anything about either his business or his personal life. To us he was just Maurie the Bookmaker and we all liked him. He was a quiet sort of bloke, not for him a flash car and stylish clothes, he drove a modest Ford Prefect and Benny's dad made his clothes in quiet colours and sober styles that suited his slim build very well, he generally looked more like a clerk in the local council offices than a bookmaker. He lived with his wife and son, Ralph, in one of those three-story houses opposite Victoria Park, but that was his only outward sign that he had any sort of wealth. In short he wasn't the generally accepted image of a bookmaker.

My father, who had been at both junior and senior schools with him, told me Maurie had been a gambler from a very young age. It was during the last year at senior school that the revelation came to him. Gambling, he realised, was a mug's game! It would never make him rich, but if he was the one who set the odds…now that would be different. So he became a bookie and put two of the school's bad boys on a percentage of his takings (A very small percentage) to collect his winnings for him. Now he would give odds on anything. How long would assembly last? Who would be the 'outstanding scholar' this month? How many times would Harry Whyles be late this week? He'd give you odds on that subject from four to one on him being late just once, to ten to one on him being late every day. He'd run a book on virtually anything that was going on inside or outside the school.

There was then, no doubt about the profession that Maurice would enter on leaving school. But, 'off course' betting in those days was illegal. There were no betting shops to pop into and place a bet on the Derby or the National or whatever, they were a long way into the future. Off Course Betting was apparently allowed if you had an account with a bookmaker, that was deemed to be OK, but not that many people had a telephone or could afford such luxury. You could of course bet on the dogs or the horses if you went to the track, and most men betted on the football pools, though it wasn't regarded as betting by the law; it was thought to be a game of skill rather than chance. Being a bookie on street corners was definitely not acceptable to the police and in any case had a high degree of risk from disgruntled punters or greedy villains. So it was necessary to be a bit subtle if you wanted to place a bet, didn't have an account and wasn't going to the event. Maurice provided that service through his runners and in doing so provided a comfortable living for his wife and two children. It was always believed locally that the police knew of his activities but were 'too busy' to cause him any aggro.

His son Ralph at an early age, showed every sign of following in his father's footsteps. I know that for a fact because he was in the same class as me at junior school. From the very first day it seemed his favourite phrase was "I bet you". He would bet on anything. What colour was the teacher's dress going to be tomorrow? How long would the head teacher speak at assembly? How many bits of shrapnel would Ellen Thorseby find that day, she seemed to have a knack of finding the bits and pieces that made all the boys green with envy. How many marbles would Lennie Jackson have in his pocket? This latter question was a regular because Lennie was almost as big a gambler as Ralph. One day his pockets would be bulging with them and the next look empty. Another favourite was the time that milk, malt and orange juice would be given out in the main hall each morning. It varied depending on which teacher was in charge that day. He seemed to win more often than he lost.

We left junior school together and started at what was then called the Central School, that was co-educational. Put bluntly it meant that those selected for this level of education were above average intelligence but not high enough to make the grade and go to the Grammar school. There were two of them locally, Parmiter's, for boys only on the other side of Victoria Park, and Laura Place in Clapton for girls only. Both were regarded as being academically outstanding. The Central school had a reputation for sport and being a 'difficult' school to manage. Both observations proved to be true, the latter particularly so.

Ralph took to his new environment like the proverbial duck and became the school's bookmaker overnight. He offered odds on everything. Who would get the cane next, short odds on Frankie Taylor long odds on Peter Moss, evens on Bobby Parr scoring the most house points this week. June Spicer, who kissed everyone, rated twenty-five to one being kissed by Ronnie Bevan…who didn't like girls.

His biggest coup came when one of the boys in the fifth year stole the bunch of keys to the school from the caretaker's office, locked up every cupboard, window and door inside and outside the premises and then dropped the bunch of keys down the drain just outside the school's main gate. Teachers, dinner ladies, cleaners and hundreds of students arrived just before nine o'clock to find the school securely bolted and barred and no one able to get in. Chaos reigned until the head took control and marshalled everyone into straight lines in the playground. She ordered everyone to stay put until instructed otherwise.

The police and the fire service were called, a locksmith summoned urgently to try to open the premises, none could. There was one cool head. Ralph gave odds of a hundred to one on finding the keys, ten to one on finding who did it and two to one on the school being closed for the day. There were a whole lot of other odds on offer but since none of us had much money bets were placed on only one choice. Still a lot of pennies add up to a lot of pounds and Ralph declared himself satisfied with the day's takings.

The keys weren't found until months later when the Council's cleaners came to sluice out the drains, all bets were out of time by then. The keys were sucked up by the machine and got jammed in the works for hours. The machine made horrible grinding and rattling noises for some time before the men managed to remove the huge bunch of steel keys. We were all convinced that Ernie Witchells was the culprit and we expected to collect on that bet, and Ernie was duly accused of the crime. It was obviously his work but he was never found guilty so Maurice didn't have to pay out. He did pay out on the school being closed because by the time the locksmith opened the school it was too late to start anything anyway so we were all sent home.

I mention all this to demonstrate the similarities between Maurie and his son. They are, unfortunately, about the only similarities they shared. Maurie was quite, sober and unassuming, unless you owed him some money when he could turn a bit nasty. Ralph was brash, aggressive, a flash dresser, a womaniser and frankly not a very nice person, we didn't like him and though he regularly came to the Pie Shop he was never regarded as 'one of the lads'. He had been bad enough before his National Service, afterwards he was positively objectionable.

This particular Saturday evening in early September a group of us were sitting at tables near each other and instead of football being the main topic of conversation we were debating what sort of trouble Maurie could be in. The doors were open to let some air circulate round the room. It had been one of those sticky days when you feel as though you were breathing under water. Though the doorway came Teddy Fenton. He was the fount of all local gossip, if something was going on, he knew about it. He was training to be a reporter with the local newspaper and already fancied himself as some sort of high-flying newshound. From the colour of his face, usually pale and best described as having a billiards hall tan, it was now bright red, as if he had been running. He was obviously excited about something or other.

Quickly grabbing his plate of pie and mash from the counter and with the skill honed by long practice he sped between the tables to join us before the likker scalded his thumb. He dropped his plate onto our table and took the vacant seat opposite me. "I've just come from the Hackney nick," he announced breathlessly. He had our attention instantly! "They've just found Ralph Ingleton," he gasped. Puzzled glances shot round the table.
"I didn't know he was lost." I said. "He's not usually difficult to find, well not unless you happen to be the husband of his latest girl-friend."
"No! no, no, no," Teddy came back quickly. "He wasn't lost. They found him hanging from that bloody great arc light in the middle of Mare Street outside The Regal cinema."

Now he really did have our attention. The arc light he referred to was in the middle of the junction of Mare Street and Well Street. It lit up a dangerous area where heavy traffic flows of buses, cars and trolley buses had often caused accidents. It was very high and gave off that eerie sort of light that made everyone's face look a bit phosphorescent. I stared across the table incredulously "Hanging from the arc light?" I echoed. "What the bloody 'ell's he doing hanging from a lamp post in the middle of a Saturday night; is this another of his daft bets or has he topped himself? Is he dead?"
"Nah! he's not dead."
"Well why was he hanging from the lamp post? demanded Georgie Pope repeating my question. Teddy leaned forward across the table with a conspiratorial look spreading across his face. After glancing over his shoulder as if to make sure he wasn't being overheard he said in a low voice. "He was hanging from the arc light just above the trolley bus lines. How he wasn't electrocuted, Gawd knows, he couldn't have been more than a few inches above those electrified wires, just high enough to let the buses pass underneath him….and how about this…he was stark naked!!! He sat up straight again and looked around the table with a look of triumph, and waited for the questions he knew would follow.

"Stark naked?" I said. I suddenly wanted to laugh, but for some reason or other didn't.
"Stark naked?" The others around table echoed, their faces registering the same astonishment I was feeling.
"Stark naked," repeated Teddy…."Except for a brown trilby hat and a string of French letters around his neck…..oh yeah and a pair of co-respondent's shoes!" He leaned back in his seat and looked around the table. "What do you make of that?"

Make of it? What could we make of it? We just sat for the moment, dumbstruck, all sorts of wild theories chasing each other through our minds. One thing was certain, however he got there Ralph must have been terrified, one touch on those wires and it would have been his lot! Teddy began eating his pie and mash glancing around the table every couple of seconds enjoying the sensation his news had caused. "Well don't just stop there Ted, how did he get up there what did the daft sod think he was doing, was he pissed or something? what was he trying to do?" Tommy Molton had joined us and with his hand on Teddy's shoulder put the question we were all waiting to hear answered. Teddy shrugged his shoulders. "Well," he said "that's the queer bit, no one knows, Ralph says he can't remember how he got to be up there, just how terrified he was when he realised where he was and the great danger he was in. The Old Bill intend to treat it as a stag night prank. One of our blokes is trying to contact Maurie to see what he reckons but he's been away for a couple of weeks now, at his sister's place in Clacton so we think." He looked around at us and added, "really that's all we know at the moment."

Disbelieving looks shot around the room. A stag-night do? No one believed that for a moment. Apart from anything else Ralph wasn't involved with any girl that we knew of, he certainly wasn't engaged to be married. He was far more likely to be "carrying on" with someone else's wife. Perhaps that's why he came to hanging from the arc light? Whatever had happened we clearly were not going to hear about it from Teddy at the moment. We all went home with much to think about.

For several weeks the topic dominated the chatter in the Pie Shop. No one could see how Ralph could have got to be hanging from that arc light. All sorts of theories were aired but no one really knew. But these things can't be kept quiet forever. Secrets have their own way of finding the light, and so it proved in this case. The incident made the local paper easily enough but there was also a brief mention of it in "The Star" one of London's three evening newspapers, it was Teddy's first by-line. One of their reporters, intrigued by the story, started to dig. Money changed hands somewhere and the story came out. Not that he could publish it, that was made clear, unless of course he fancied a turn at swinging on the arc light.

You may find what I am about to tell you a bit difficult to believe. Frankly I'm still not sure I believe it myself. I did ask my father what he thought about it, he went to the same school as Maurie and those he was involved with, so knew them all. His view was that it was probably true, but then added that the people we were talking about hadn't built their reputation on the back of a sense of humour, so… Anyway I'll tell you what Teddy told me and you can make up your own mind.

Ralph and his dad were both gamblers, but it was the only thing they really had in common. Maurie was quiet and rarely involved in any form of trouble. Ralph was brash, and seemed to attract trouble without trying too hard. He had been critical of Maurie's business and in a determined effort to show his father how much better he could run it for him, had began to expand the business into neighbouring manors. In doing so he upset the firm who 'looked after' the bookies in those areas. It just happened to be the same firm that had 'looked after' Maurie since he started his bookmaking business all those years ago and had made sure he had no competitors in the Hackney area. They took the view that he must have known what his son was up and should have put a stop to his activities. It explained why no one had seen Maurie for some time. They finally found him at his sister's place in Clacton, he was given a choice; deal with Ralph or we will!

Maurice now faced a dilemma. He hadn't known anything about his son's extra activities and doubted if Ralph would take any notice of him if he told him to stop. The firm said they understood his problem and since they had known him a long time, gave him the benefit of the doubt; but they pointed out that such a breach of contract couldn't go un-punished, it would be bad for business. So Maurice was either to hand over his business to someone they knew could be relied upon to stick to agreements, or they would have a word with his son and point out the errors of his ways. It was obvious which choice Maurice had made.

Ralph's punishment? Well as they pointed out, they'd been 'friends' a long time so a nasty shock should be enough this time, but it wouldn't be a good idea for him to continue in Maurice's business. Oh yes! and it had to be a public shock, as a lesson to others, you understand. So that's how Ralph came to be dangling from the arc light in the middle of the road at the junction of Well Street and Mare Street. He had been having a drink at "The Cambridge" with some friends and remembered nothing more until he woke up to find himself at the end of a rope suspended from the arc light and swinging just a matter of inches above the trolley bus wires in the middle of that busy junction.

He nearly died of fright! As the trolley buses passed underneath him giving off those bright blue sparks as they switched from one track to another, he could smell the spent electricity. He made sure he kept his body rigid so that he kept well clear of those deadly wires, convinced he was going to die. The strange thing was that no one saw him! Well not until a bus driver turning into the Well Street bus garage just happened to look up as the bus turned the corner. He could hardly believe his eyes and jammed his brakes on to verify the 'vision' above him. He told his mates in the garage later "It looked like a bleedin' fairy swinging there, showing all his meat and potatoes. Daft sod could have killed himself!" It took the police and fire brigade nearly an hour to cut him down to the cheers and amusement of a now sizeable crowd of onlookers.

The rest of the stuff and the brown trilby hat? Well they weren't savages they said…it was their idea of a joke, ….all bookies wear a brown trilby at the race-course don't they? and the brown and white brogue shoes known to us all as co-respondent's shoes? and the string of French letters around his neck? Well his activities with other blokes wives was well known and they were just pointing out that they were not going to allow him to do to their business what he had for years been doing to other blokes wives. Ralph understood he had had a very narrow escape and we haven't seen him in the Pie Shop since. He quietly left the area and went to live in Clacton with Maurie's long suffering sister, but I bet we haven't heard the last of him.