My dad was a compulsive gambler, it was mum who brought the money in, because we lived with grans, aunts and uncles who could look after me. He was also a bookmakers clerk, a bookies runner, and at boxing matches would be one of the people who held up the number of the round at the beginning of a round. I spent many a night watching him and a group of his pals sitting at our kitchen table playing whatever it was they were playing and the money passing from one to the other - he would sometimes gamble his winnings on the horses on cards in the train home - He sometimes travelled by car, and on several occasions he would come running in throw the bookies equipment in the cellar and sit exhausted - something had obviously gone wrong, and they had done a runner. I would see him arrive home with a roll of notes in his pocket, some of which he would give my mum, the next day he would be broke. At the age of 55 he stopped smoking, cut back on the gambling and got a job, just like that, no idea why. His last journey on this earth was a visit to the bookies at the end of the road, he came home and died in the armchair. He was a lovely dad, gentle as a lamb with me and his grand-daughter, but he told my husband on the day we got married that if ever he harmed me he would set the gang on him, yes he was on the edge of the underworld as it was then. I never had a serious discussion with him, but he was still my dad. Sorry that is going on a bit!
