Not Enough Green: A Story of Bowls, Murder and Betting Scams

By Les Raybould

Based initially at the premises of a lawn-bowling club where the treasurer has recently absconded with 30,000 of the clubs money. The action moves swiftly to London where a huge sporting betting scam takes place by members of the underworld.
This is investigated by an old-time detective ably assisted by his sergeant, where corruption at the highest level is revealed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jul 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481775878

Les Raybould

The author, Les Raybould, is a retired butler with many years experience in the United States. Long since retired, he lives with his wife in the county of Dorset. He is a passionate writer and has written five books based on his experiences as a butler and a further five on topics ranging from the travails of a country music singer to the Bahamas, where an innocent man is tried for murder.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The atmosphere is tense in the clubhouse of the Northcliffe Bowling club where the members are attending the extraordinary general meeting called by their committee. They are shocked and dismayed by what they have just heard. One of the members, after addressing the chair asks in a most truculent manner.

What I want to know is how our crook of a treasurer has managed to abscond with thirty thousand pounds of the clubs money? Our money in fact as we have all contributed over the years. Money we can ill afford to lose may I remind you. How did it happen, and just what are you going to do about it?

The man sinks to his chair perspiring slightly after his haranguing of the committee, ripples of applause and murmurs of assent from the members ring around the room.

The questioner is George Harris, affectionately, and sometimes ruefully referred to as Bomber due to his predilection for firing his bowls at great speed at any given opportunity. This has resulted in him being hauled before the greens committee a couple of times as there have been complaints from the ladies. It is ever thus, he is wont to say. After being warned as to dire consequences over what is deemed to be unsafe play at times, he nevertheless continues to play his game as he sees fit.

The chairman, an ex military duffer in his early seventies endeavours to smooth the members anxieties and retain control of the meeting. This is a rather difficult task for him as he is the one together with the club secretary who signed blank cheques for the treasurer, cheques that were meant to take care of every day business and not to make the cupboard bare.

Order, please members, you of course are entitled to your grievances and I fully understand your worries as to how this calamitous event will affect the future of the club. Believe me; no one is more worried than I,

A voice pipes up from the back of the hall.

You have a good right to be worried mate. Don’t forget it was you and that dipstick of a secretary who got us into this mess.

The chairman is flustered and completely out of his depth. He is not a well liked figure in the club as he insists on being referred to as Major White. The members, especially the older men will not hear of it. The Major goes by the nickname of Chalky even though he may not answer to it. There is more than enough truth in the rumour that he and the secretary are engaged in an illicit affair as he is married while she plays the merry widow. Merry being the operative word as she is rather keen on red wine plus anything else she can lay her hands on.

The secretary, Jean Fryer by name is a petite woman of indeterminate age. She obviously takes care of herself as she looks very well preserved. At first glance her liaison with the major would seem a little odd. As is normally the case, it all comes down to money. He having the wherewithal to supply her every day needs. This amounts to copious amounts of alcohol, and the odd spot of heavy breathing; especially on his part.

Catherine Jones, president of the ladies section is the next to voice her opinion. She is a big woman, with a very forceful personality who will brook no nonsense from anyone. She is known as Catherine the Grate, behind her back, as she very often goes on a bit. She is nevertheless a good administrator and a loyal servant of the club.

Dear, dear me this is a right state of affairs, I do declare. The club could go belly up, and most likely will. Heads must role and questions asked. Blank cheques flying about like confetti. What on earth were you thinking of?

The chairman, who has a glazed look in his eyes, says weakly.

I think I will hand this one over to our secretary Miss Fryer. I am sure she will be able to explain quite adequately all the ramifications of this terrible business.

The secretary is not at all happy with this turn of events. If looks could kill the poor old Major would already be in the mortuary. She does her level best to smooth over the fact that the club is out of pocket to the tune of thirty thousand pounds because the treasurer is not the man everyone thought he was. Because of this, will the club be able to carry on or will it go to the wall? This question is impossible to answer as the committee members have little or no idea what to do next.

The meeting is finally brought to an end after much in the way of denial and recrimination. The committee was given a vote of confidence simply because no one else is prepared to take on the responsibility of running the club. This outcome is not to anyone’s liking, but who knows, salvation may well be around the corner, and there again, maybe not.

Northcliffe Bowling Club, one of many in the county of Dorset is very successful in its bowling activities. It does very well in the many leagues, both ladies and men’s throughout the local area. There are two outdoor greens and six indoor rinks. The indoor rinks are housed in a building adjoining the club house. The social side is extremely good being as it has a very keen and hard working committee. Many events are organised such as, trips to a country pub to play skittles and sample the local ale. There are numerous dinners throughout the year and barbecues in the summer, as well as quizzes and the like. However! Like many clubs up and down the country they have a problem. Membership is dropping, sometimes because of the prevailing economic climate as bowling is not cheap; but mostly because of the older members becoming infirm and eventually dying. Even though there are quite a few young bowlers in the club, and very good they are too; not enough younger people are taking up the game as one member is fond of saying.

Dying is a growth industry in the bowling world.

Bomber Harris and his friend Jack the Wicker are seated on a bench in the clubhouse vigorously polishing their bowls while waiting for the bell to sound that will signify it is time to start their game. Jack has been given his nickname for his penchant for lucky wicks. That is to say, when his bowl reaches the head it very often touches an opponents bowl, or even one of his own thereby diverting its course to the jack. This is referred to in the game as a wick or in his case a lucky wick as he does it so often.

This is a rum do that’s for sure. Bomber opines."

It is that lad. Jack answers. The money has gone and there’s nothing we can do about it, and that’s a fact.

Bomber, who is much more optimistic, replies.

I don’t agree. Surely there is something to be done. Can’t we take him to court and sue him?

We could but you will have to find him first. He’s disappeared even his wife doesn’t know where he is evidently.

Bomber is about to reply but is interrupted by Ted (the mouth of the south) Hanson their team skipper.

Come on you two the bell has gone. Sitting there gossiping like a couple of old biddy’s.

Ted is a good natured type with a smile and a joke for everyone. He is very loud on the green forever bellowing out instructions and encouragement, hence his sobriquet. Sometimes his loudness is too powerful and this elicits complaints from some of the members, but it doesn’t seem to worry him.

The game was not a good one for either team with an abundance of bowls with not enough weight or too much. Bowlers taking too much green then not enough. With more than a few bowls ending up in the ditch at the far end of the rinks. Even Bomber’s firing was way off course. All this is to be expected as playing bowls takes a lot of concentration. With their fears as to the very future of the club weighing heavily on their minds the level of consistency needed was nowhere to be found. Just as well the game was only a roll up between members. If it had been a league game or indeed a friendly with a visiting team they would have been well beaten.

Afterwards a lot of the members are having a drink in the club bar. The bar plays a major part in the social side of the club. It is a huge money earner even though the drinks are much cheaper than in the pubs in town. The conversation, naturally enough is centred round the missing club funds and indeed the missing club treasurer.

I reckon he’s gone to Spain, living the high life on the Costa del Crime with our money,

States Bill Trundall, a man with an apt name if ever there was one given his uncanny ability to trundle his bowl onto the jack more often than not.

No way, I bet he is down in London with that fancy woman of his.

One of the more adventurous ladies opines.

What fancy woman, what are you talking about?

Catherine the Grate asks being a little irate as she is not aware of this piece of scandal. Jack the Wicker has his say like always.

He is having it away with that busty barmaid from the Kings Head. Has done for years, it is common knowledge.

With that Jack goes off to the bar and returns with two pints of bitter one of which he places in front his friend Bomber.

Cheers mate, Bomber says. I say we should call the police in. Find him and we will find the money. It’s no good talking among ourselves. The longer we wait the more of our money will be spent.

The conversation ebbs back and forth with no one proposing any form of concrete action. Eventually after consuming more beer that they intended doing Bomber and Jack decide to call it a night. They leave the premises quickly followed by the remaining members who are all hoping for better times to come. But will they?

CHAPTER TWO

The national indoor bowls championships are being held at Porter’s Sports Centre in Suffolk. It is a good venue, well liked by all the players and spectators alike. All the top players from the UK are here with plenty of overseas entrants. Even though the event is televised, tickets to watch the games are hard to come by. They are quickly sold out as soon as they come on the market. Keen bowlers come every year to watch their hero’s, often finding it necessary to pay over the odds for tickets from agencies; and even ticket touts.

Porter’s Sports Centre is also the home of the world championships where the prizes to be won are even greater than those of the nationals, as is only to be expected. Professional bowls and the money that goes with it is a comparatively recent phenomenon. The prize monies are not great if one compares them to golf say, or tennis. Nevertheless there is money to be made. The revenues from TV and advertising see to that

This all seems a far cry from the days when bowls was derogatively referred to as an old mans sport. Obviously the vast majority of today’s bowlers will never aspire to professionalism, nor would they wish to, content as they are to merely play the odd game at club level. Sheer enjoyment of the game is their driving force. A lot of bowlers, especially those of the elder generation abhor the way the game has gone. They hold the opinion that money has been the ruination of many a sport over the years. A truism though is that the standard of play that one will see at these championships far exceeds that of the average bowler.

Be that as it may the match is about to begin. The scene is set. The spectators are ready as the master of ceremonies introduces the two players.

Andy Reid, the defending champion from Scotland having won the toss is set to roll the jack down the rink while his opponent, Bill Travers who is tipped and heavily backed to win this match and eventually go on take the national crown from the Scotsman, stands silently as he focuses on the match to come. Yes, as in any sport in Britain; there is betting; though by the players it is strictly forbidden. There is however a strong body of opinion that states it does go on out of sight of the officials in the privacy of the locker room.

There is a discernable gasp from the spectators as Andy rolls the jack and it ends up in the gutter along the side of the green. This is unheard of in the professional game, and definitely frowned upon in the local clubs.

Quiet please, ladies and gentlemen.

The MC says as the marker retrieves the jack and hands it to Bill. This of course allows Bill to roll the jack to a point on the rink that is favourable to him. This he does so and steps back from the mat as Andy retains the first bowl. Andy does not immediately take up his position on the mat. To the bemusement of the spectators he merely looks about him.

Up in the commentary box the TV anchor thinks that Andy is looking dazed and confused.

At this, Andy steps to the mat and bowls his first wood. It barely reaches halfway down the rink. This is a very unusual state of affairs indeed. Bill glances at his opponent before delivering his wood he is very pleased with this first effort as his bowl comes to a rest in line with the jack a mere four inches behind. Andy totters to the mat with the gait of a drunken man. There are titters around the arena as he does not have a bowl in his hand.

Come on Andy, your bowl, the marker says.

Wearily Andy picks up his wood and fires it down so hard that it ends up in the ditch at the top of the green.

Something is not quite right here.

The commentator says to his co-presenter. He is quite right of course as at that precise moment Andy crashes to the floor in a dead faint. The ambulance men are quickly onto the scene and he is carried off on a stretcher.

The outcome of this extraordinary episode is that Andy recovered overnight from whatever it was that was affecting him. The game was played the next day, and with rapturous applause from a highly sympathetic group of spectators he came out the winner of a hard fought match.

Peter May is the Chairman of the Association of Licensed Bookmakers it is in this capacity that he sits before Henry Lodge the president of the English Lawn Bowls Institute, who is also chairman of the National Committee who oversee the running of the National and World Indoor Championships, among other events.

Peter hands the president a manila folder while saying.

This is my full report giving all the salient details. I would just like to go over one or two points with you, if I may.

The president, who is in a sombre mood, nods his head in agreement.

Let me say first off that this report and discussion is to be in strict confidence. It would do neither party any good if the press got wind of it. Also the police would insist upon it.

The president seems quite taken aback by this last statement.

The police is there to be an investigation?

Most certainly, my members will accept nothing less.

I’m sure you are correct. It’s a bad business all round.

Peter May presses on.

We began to notice unusual betting patterns earlier on. An extremely large amount of money was placed on Bill Travers to win his match against Andy Reid. You know what happened there without me telling you. I am sure you will agree that nine times out of ten Travers would not be expected to beat Reid. I am sorry to have to tell you that the unfortunate affair at the nationals was due to a betting scam.

The president leans back in his chair and toys with the folder still in his hands. Finally he speaks.

That explains a lot. From our own inquiries we have learned that Andy Reid was drugged. Some sort of barbiturate I believe.

He was drugged all right, and the high stake gamblers were all set to make a killing, but it didn’t work out.

This type of thing does not happen in bowls. We have always prided ourselves on it being such a clean sport. Why now I ask you, why now?

"Why? I’ll tell you why. It all comes down to money. When there is money involved there is betting. Where there is betting illegal practices are not far behind. In the past we have seen it in horse racing, football and even cricket. Those of a criminal mindset will forever find a way to infiltrate any system. If they have to bribe a competitor they will. If they need to nobble a player, as they did with poor Andy Reid, they will. This has been proven on many occasions, too many for our liking.

Please believe me when I say that we do not think the game is crooked. It is those on the periphery, the money people that we must fear."

Thank you Mr May for being so frank with me, although what you have told me is most unpalatable. I shall forward your report to my committee and decide what action we will take. We will of course endeavour to co-operate fully with any further investigation on your part together with that of the police should they assume an interest in this matter.

The two men shake hands and Peter May exits the office leaving a visibly shaken president to deal with his demons. He is near retirement and not qualified to deal with events he finds in this world of today. Events that he feels will be bad for his beloved game and his own future.

Money, money, money, he cries out loudly. Why has this happened, where will it lead us?

Thoroughly dejected he ponders the questions with a great measure of foreboding.

CHAPTER THREE

You are a silly, silly woman.

The staff nurse says to the patient lying supine on a hospital bed. She goes on.

Don’t you realise how precious life is? It’s not to be ended in this manner whatever the reasons. Just look at the trouble you have caused. This bed could be needed for a genuine sick person,

The patient, who is looking and feeling rather sorry for herself as she has been brought in after attempting suicide. The sister obviously has little or no sympathy for this type of act.

I don’t feel well. The patient wails.

How do you expect to feel, you’ve just had your stomach pumped out.

The patient attempts to rise but is restrained by a young nurse.

Don’t lecture me you horrid person. You don’t know what drove me to this. You don’t know me at all.

She starts to cry.

It’s so unfair, it’s all so unfair.

The sister softens her attitude a little.

Life very often is, my dear, The nurse will give you a sedative, and with any luck at all you should feel a lot better in the morning; then we can see about sending you home. You will need to see the psychiatrist before you do so however. She’s very good and will get to the bottom of whatever your problem is,

The patient is Tracy Johnson and she is the wife of the missing bowls club treasurer Trevor Johnson. Hers is not a happy lot as she is trapped in a loveless marriage to an abusive and philandering husband. She is aware of her husband’s actions and is mortified at being abandoned. Her attempted suicide was a cry for help and she pours her heart out to the psychiatrist in the privacy of her office.

"I never really loved him you know. Looking back I was too young for marriage. I simply thought it was the done thing as all