The Havards Part Three

The recession of the twenties and thirties saw vast crowds of desperate gamblers flocking to the horse and greyhound racing tracks.  They in turn drew in the criminals who ran protection rackets, fixed races and ran the bookmaking activities.  These criminals formed into vicious gangs and none was more vicious or wealthy than the bookmaker Joe Marr for whom Mel had run professionally.  Mel had thought professional running would be a bit of a lark.  He found himself whisked away to a private hotel, fed a diet of steak and eggs and made to sleep with a string of bobbins round his waist to stop him rolling onto his back and ejaculating.  Mel laughed when his trainer, told him, 'If you do have a wet dream you must tell us.  You will lose two lengths.'  He stopped laughing, however, when he saw the large sums of money Joe Marr wagered on him.  He was taken to athletic events as far north as Powderhorn in Scotland and as far south as London.  He won Joe Marr a lot of money and it was to Joe he turned to borrow money for his father's funeral.

Joe Marr sat back in his seat, 'I'll lend you the money but you have to do a job for me.  Saturday night, Oldham Dogs.  Five of the races are fixed.  If I or any of my firm try to back them the price will drop like a stone but you, likeable lad, sporting hero and known dim wit.  They will think you are just having a lucky night.  What do you say?'

Mel shrugged, 'Yeah I'll do it. How do I know which dogs to back?'

Joe Marr lent forward in his seat and stubbed out his cigar, 'You will be given a marked card clearly indicating which dogs to back.  Do you understand?'  Mel nodded.

 

The greyhound track was crowded with Saturday night revellers.  People recognised Mel and he had no trouble placing bets on the selected dogs.  Indeed the bookmakers welcomed his bets as all the dogs lost.  After the fifth race Mel was intercepted by one of Joe Marr's gang, a big man wearing a dark overcoat, trilby hat and a white silk scarf.  Mel noted he had a prison pallor and a face that had never smiled.  He said, 'Hand over the winnings.'

'What winnings,' Mel asked  'The dogs all got beat.'

The gangster stood rigid.  After a few seconds he said, 'The dogs all won.  Show me the card.'

Mel handed over the race card.  'There you go, I backed all the dogs with a line through their name.'

The gangster stared at Mel stone faced with anger.  Eventually he spoke, 'You were told to back the dogs whose names were underlined.'

Mel grimaced, 'Oops.'

The man backed away, turned and left.

Mel left the Greyhound stadium and hailed a cab. As soon as he got in he realised he was in the hands of Joe Marr's Hoodlums.. He was taken up to an abandoned quarry high on the moors and savagely beaten up.  Another car arrived and Mel was hauled to his feet.  Joe Marr stood, overcoat round his shoulders, his hat tipped to the back of his head, Framed in the headlights.  He said, 'If any serious money had been gambled on those races I would have drowned you but no, you really are just stupid Mel.  Give me the money I lent you and stay out of my sight forever.'

'When Mel regained the power of speech he spat out a tooth and said, 'There ain't no Money.  I've sent it to the undertakers.'  Grinning lopsidedly he groggily tapped his nose with his finger.  'If you want your money Joe, you'll have to take it out of that.'

Mel's nose remained broken for the rest of his life.  In later years he entertained children by allowing them to press it flat with their thumbs.

George Havard got his funeral.  Gwen and Alan came up by train and were given permission by Matron Graham to stay over in Sian's room in the nurses home.  They held a wake in Mell's favourite pub, The Mallard Duck.  The men who had brought George to hospital attended.  It was a solemn occasion, only enlivened by Mell's account of how he got his injuries.  Even Gwen smiled at that.

 

In 1936 Mel received an injury that ended his career in football.  He earned a living training greyhounds. He liked the life and was quite successful.  He wanted to breed greyhounds and use his greyhound Queen Mab as his brood bitch.

Gwen did qualify as a Nurse and became a ward sister in 1938.  Although she encountered all the attitudes Matron Graham had predicted, she did not find life too difficult and made many life long friends.  When war broke out Mel joined the Royal Navy.  He showed a talent for engineering and achieved the rank of Petty Officer, working on frigates.  Sian married a shipmate of Mel's and became Mrs. Sian Ford.  She gave birth to her daughter Megan in 1944.  Matron Graham was not too pleased but came to accept that in the world she had helped to create, women had to be given more freedom and as Gwen came up from Wales to live with Sian and look after the baby, Sian's break of service was only a matter of months.  However, Matron Graham did get her band of elite nurses.  They became known as the Graham Girls and they took over the running of many nursing and teaching establishments in the new National Health Service at home and abroad.

 

Alan trained as a draughtsman.  He worked for a railway company specialising in diagrams for signalling circuits.  Because of war damage his work was of national importance.  When the war ended, he was based in Crewe and worked on modernising  the signaling system in the new, Nationalised, British Railways.  He married and had three children all boys as bookish as he was.

 

One day in 1943 whilst Mels ship was in dry dock in Liverpool, he took a days shore leave and went for a walk in the country.  He was walking down a narrow country lane when a tractor came bounding round a corner and nearly ran him over.  Mel dived into the hedge.  The tractor stopped and the driver, a young land girl climbed down.  Mel noted that she was wearing jodhpurs that showed off a fine figure.  'I say, frightfully sorry and all that,' the girl smiled cheerfully.  Mel burst out laughing and promptly christened her posh.  They were married on his next leave and they had a child, a little girl but like many war time marriages it didn't last.  They were divorced without acrimony and shared access to the child.

When the war ended Mel returned to civilian life and put the knowledge he had gained in the engine rooms of ships to good use.  He started his own business, Havards Instruments.  He proved to be an astute business man but his main passion in life was still greyhound Racing.  He met up with Joe Marr.

Peace time Britain did not suit Joe.  Racing and race tracks were better regulated and the crowds of desperate gamblers were gone.  He ended up still bookmaking on local dog tracks and living in the little terraced house in which he was born.  His son, whom he had spent a fortune educating, now lived in London.  He found Joe an embarrassment.  However, one of his sons, a sensitive lad somewhat lacking in confidence. was very attached to his Grandfather and was living with Joe whilst studying at Manchester University.  It amused Mel to see the one time violent gangster who, in his prime despised weakness, being so caring and protective of his grandson.  Mel and Joe argued about everything under the sun but they were both at bottom, true sportsmen with a shared love of dog racing and a history going way back.  Mel adjusted to life in post war Britain, Joe Marr never did.

 

Mel decided to look for premises where he could keep and breed his greyhounds.  One day in the summer of 1948 he took his daughter for a drive.  He drove to the house of Amos Dixon.  He stopped the car.  He new Amos Dixon was dead, killed in one of his factories during the bombing of Liverpool.  'Fancy a paddle?' he asked his daughter.  She was all for the idea so Mel unlatched the gate and they walked in.  The property had deteriorated.  Long rank grass grew on what had been parkland.  The trout stream was choked by reeds and overhung by elderberry and ash trees.  When the child had paddled to her hearts content they set off to explore the house.  It too had suffered.  Clearly It had been requisitioned for war work.  All the furniture was gone.  Windows were broken.  Many slates were missing from the roof.  The rooms were filled with filling cabinets and metal shelves.  Mel remembered that the staff had lived in a house round the back where the stables and coach house had been.  That was the part that interested him.  Taking his little girl by the hand they made their way round there.  The place was just as he remembered it.  Then he saw a woman and three children.  They were feeding some chickens.  A dog started to bark at their approach.  The woman turned, It was Daphne. 

'Daphne!'

'Mel!'

'You look great,' Mel said, and indeed she did.  Her hair was greying and she had put some weight on but it suited her.  She had a serenity about her.

'Come here,' Mel said, 'and let's have hold of you.'  They kissed.  'You are more beautiful than ever,' he told her.

Daphne Laughed, 'You still say all the right things Mel.'  She pushed him back to better survey him. 

'It must be, God how many years?'  She said before going on,  'What happened to your nose?'

'I'll tell you all about it later.'

'And whose this?'  Daphne knelt down and took the hand of Mel's child.

'This is my daughter Grace,' Mel explained.

'Hello Grace, Would you like to meet my children'.  Daphne stood up, 'This is Edward, John and Miriam.  Graces Dad is an old friend of mine,' she told her children, 'He's a footballer.'  Mel shook hands with the children.  'Would you like to take Grace for a glass of lemonade whilst I talk to Mr. Havard.'  The children led Grace away.

'Three kids, How did you manage that?' Mel asked.

'I have adopted them,' Daphne explained.  'They are German Jewish children.  Their parents are dead.  They were sent with their grandparents to an internment camp outside Biarritz at a place called Gurs.  There was a typhoid and dysentery epidemic and their grandparents died.  In 1941 a French children's aid society got permission to get children out and I took these three.  We have been back in England about eight months now.'

'God what a sad story,' Mel said.  'I didn't know the Germans sent Jewish prisoners to the south of France.'

'Well they did and believe me it was no holiday camp.  The children were traumatised when I took them but we healed each other.  They gave me a family and a purpose.  I adore them.  What about you?' she asked.

'Divorced,' Mel said.  'Only lasted a couple of years.  We just came from different worlds.  I was in the Navy, Ships. Engineer.  I spent years looking at gages so when I was demobbed I started my own little business.  It's doing well.  There's loads of work.  The government is modernising all the power stations and building more.  Funny isn't it,' he mused. 'When we had a bloody Empire on which the sun never set They had three million unemployed.  Now we are bankrupt, everybody is busy, busy busy.'

Daphne laid her head on Mels chest, 'It takes a war I guess,' she murmured.

Mel kissed the nape of her neck.  He put his arms around her and held her close, 'Let's get married Daph.  Do this place up.  Live here and fill the place with grandchildren and greyhound pups.'

Daphne raised her head, 'Greyhounds, Oh yes, you always wanted one as I remember.'

Mel nodded, 'I got one.  Joe Marr looked after it through the war and bred a litter for me, so I have her daughter.  I'll be seeing Joe tonight.  We still meet in the Mallard Duck, why don't you come with me.  He'd love to see you.  He has his grandson with him.  A lad who could do with a bit of female input.'

Daphne laughed, 'That rough old pub.

'You'll love it, It's got a piano.'  Mell laughed and gave her a squeeze.  'Piano's,.....remember.'

Daphne blushed, 'You've got a wicked memory Mell.'

'Well what's your answer?'

'O. K, I'll come.'

'No', Mel feigned exasperation.  I mean will you marry me?'

Daphne and Mel married and despite the age difference Daphne outlived Mel by six months.

 

One summer evening in 1960, Sian entered the conservatory where Gwen was sat in her favourite chair listening to music and sat down.  Gwen by this time looked nothing like the Gwen of the 1930s.  She had her hair done once a week to maintain her blue rinse.  She had well fitting false teeth and smart glasses. She was an attractive old lady now, at the heart of her family, with many interests and a wide circle of friends.

'I want your advice Mum, about Megan,' Sian said.  'You know she's doing British Social History at College.  She keeps asking about Dad and how we came to leave Wales and what it was like in the depression and the General Strike.  What do you think I should tell her?'

'As little as possible,' Gwen replied.  'We don't want her knowing how downgraded and humiliated we were.  Your Dad would hate it and no examining board would thank her for raking it all up about means tests and all that. Just say we came here looking for work.  Be sure she is proud of her Welsh roots and the fact that he was a miner and a member of the National Union Of Mine Workers, The salt of the earth.  As for the rest, it was hard but we managed.  Please don't tell her any of the nasty stuff.  After all,' Gwen smiled, taking a sip of her Mateus rose. 'It is not as if those days are ever coming back is it.'

The End