THE FANNIE BAY BOOKIE SCAM

An  exclusive   expose  by    an   anonymous   mug   punter , close  friend  of   the   desperadoes  involved   In   this   failed  Fine  Cotton - like  turf  swindle ,  which  involved  the  misuse  of   Defence  Department  equipment .


Bookies can smell a set-up from four furlongs away on a windless day  and  Fannie Bay's rough-and-tumble  mainly blue-collar ring  was no different, but that  didn't stop one small  group of punting  tragics from giving  it a go.

The  players in the great bookie plot were led by one James Arthur Ramsay, better known as Jerker Jim and later to be a co-founder of the Kings Cross Whisper , but at that  time reporter at the NT News. Jerker, formerly of Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Albany, Gympie, some of which locales he departed in unseemly  haste  with various citizens wanting to know what happened to their money, either loaned and given over  to a sure-fire get-rich scheme engineered  by Jerker,shown below when he was editor of the Waratah Whisper .

Three  other toilers at the ramshackle NT News office made up the rest of the team-- Peter Blake, enthusiastic but not too successful Fannie Bay regular and ironically years later to become a Darwin bookie himself, photo at top ; Margaret Greenberg  reporter and  fearless but perennially-broke punter whose good looks enabled her get on the nod with the more randy members of the Fannie Bay bookies " fraternity," and   Grahame Aimers, lanky Kiwi linotype operator and flatmate of Ramsay and Blake and like many  Kiwis of that era, closer to  a  quid  than  the  print. 

 

The final player shall be known only as Bill the Soldier, thirsty army sergeant stationed  at Larrakeyah Army Barracks , befriended by Jerker during many a session at  their  favorite watering hole, the Vic Hotel, where the clientele was ruled with avuncular discipline by Richard Fong Lim, a good bloke whose brother Alec, coincidentally,  was a Fannie Bay bookie.

 

At that time (early mid 1960s) the Darwin Turf Club got its radio broadcasts of the Saturday races courtesy of the ABC, but occasionally prior commitments meant these broadcasts were delayed. Such occasions were the cricket tests, the national broadcaster's holy grail and not to be interrupted for any reason, Also, technical problems would  sometimes delay the broadcast, prompting some bookies to let eager punters on after the advertised starting time, for up to three or four minutes, a fact noted by the band  of   desperates.

 

This course of events was at the heart of the scheme to dud the  bagmen. The ultimate beauty of it was that no laws would be broken. by betting after the starting time, the satchel-swingers had no comeback if they got taken to the cleaners by astute students of ABC radio form.

 

The big hurdle facing the would-be ring raiders was how to get the result of the non-broadcast races onto the track where the discreet plunges on the winner would be orchestrated.  Learning the result was easy -- phone mates in the south and listen to the broadcast, or have somebody with communications equipment powerful enough to tap into the race broadcasts on the Sydney and Melbourne radio stations . Remember we are talking pre-mobile and internet days and it was not as if somebody could stroll into the racecourse car park with a bloody great ham radio strapped to his back and tune into the races. To say that this would not attract unwelcome official attention is  rather like saying horse shit won't attract flies.

 

Still, wouldn't it be lovely if somehow, somebody could be positioned unseen in the car park within easy sight of the betting ring, and such accomplice would semaphore the result to members of the group, quids clutched in clammy hands and ready to invest on the sure thing with  bookies still looking for action after the starting time.

Enter Sergeant Bill  for his starring role. He had access to an army communications truck, and so the ability no-one else in Darwin possessed, picking up the race calls direct from Joe Brown and  Ken Howard  when the Darwin Turf Club had no live broadcast. Bloody perfect!The following Saturday there would be no broadcast of the first two races in the south because of cricket commitments-- and this was the window of opportunity. Depending on starting  times this gave  the group potentially the first  four races to bet on.

 

However stern rules applied --  (1) If a bolter came in at big odds give it a miss --investing 20 or 30 pounds  on a 33/1 shot would certainly ring alarm bells with the bookies particularly after the race had started and very likely such bookie would look very hard at the person wishing to place such a bet, maybe even suggesting  he  fuck off  and stick his money you-know-where . (2) Don't bet with the same bookie twice  and as there were four people handling the commission this was no problem. (3) No more than 30 quid in one bet -- also not  a problem because the total bank for the ring-raid was about  200 quid. (4) Bet each way when odds allowed it and have a second losing bet on another horse to help allay suspicion. With up to four races to have a crack at, the haul for the day could reach a couple of grand -- serious cash for impoverished NT News hacks and  an  army sergeant.

 Race day loomed and all concerned hoped it would  culminate in a rollicking evening  at the Hotel Darwin lounge bar or the Fannie Bay Hotel, -- traditional sites for Saturday night roistering. -- the Vic being reserved for routine week-day tippling.

By Thursday night the plan was ready to snap into operation. Bill had the army communications truck lined up, and the gang of four had targeted the bookies who, on previous  form, would be be taking on punters after starting time.

This is how the betting coup would work. Blake was the point man stationed at the end of the betting ring where he had an uninterrupted view of the nerve centre of the operation -- Sergeant Bill's truck. As soon at the horses crossed the line Bill would hold up a piece of paper with the winner's number and Blake, Jerker, Greenberg and Aimers would fan out to get the money on. It looked foolproof and it was.

 

Just one problem. Less than 24 hours to race day the Darwin Turf Club announced it had arranged an alternative broadcast and there would be no interruption of the race calls. And so, the Great  Darwin  Betting Coup collapsed. There was indeed a gathering of the gang of four at the Darwin Hotel on Saturday night, where, in a sea of beer, they pondered  what might have been. Oh, and to add their sorrows, they had all done their money at the races that day.