Colleen Z Burke
Each way
Minor crime was woven
into our lives just like
the salty tang of the sea
sifting through dreams
nightmares.
Some of dad’s
rellies were SP bookies –
Illegal then and
Saturday arvos were
consumed by the fevered
sound of horse races
blaring from the wireless –
a sound I grew to hate.
When I was about 10
after Mum gave me money
and a piece of paper
with her bets listed
I walked around the corner
to a house in Grove Street.
Standing on tiptoe
at the window in the side passage
I recited to Mr Li – 1 or 2 shillings
each way on horses with Irish names –
‘Danny Boy’, ‘The Pride of Erin’,
or other ones that caught Mum’s eye.
If the house was locked up
I knew that he’d been warned
of a police raid and went
to the nearby backup house.
Mum occasionally picked a winner
but her biggest victory was Old Rowley
who she backed at 2 bob each way –
he won the Melbourne Cup at 100 to one.
The horse’s name was bestowed
on my brother born a few days later.
I went to St Patrick’s School
and for several years I was very devout –
in Confession I listed minor sins –
disobedience, omission, white lies
but never mentioned the SP Bookie –
gambling and drinking were
embedded in our community –
just a normal part of life
On Friday nights after work,
payday, Dad, a factory worker,
often lost his wages in card games.
Later he also worked
at the Greyhounds and the Races
And when he eventually became
an SP bookie we finally got a telephone
which I wasn’t allowed to use
My brother followed in
the family footsteps
betting on everything in sight
but I rarely did –
I was studious and from a
young age – a book worm –
my way of escaping
the discordant
clamour of childhood –
the inhalation of air
blighted by well-meaning
unfulfilled lives
