Some Billiard Sharpers Sixty Years Ago

The Billiard Player. April-May 1929

Personal Recollections by One Who Escaped Them.

Billiards is now a clean game; but sixty years ago many public billiard houses in London were worked by one or more sharpers in league with the markers who received substantial tips. My first acquaintance with billiards was when I was about 18 and working at my father’s warehouse in Gresham Street, City. When the warehouse was closed about I o’clock on Saturday afternoons I used to rush down to a billiard table in Greenwich Market and play the marker fifties up till closing time. He let me win a game occasionally to encourage me; and I generally managed to transfer a good part of my weekly earnings from my pocket into his. In those days I had hardly heard the word “sharping.”

A Friendly Warning.

A few years afterwards when I was a fairly good player I drifted one day into the Bay Tree in St. Swithin’s Lane in the City, where they were playing eighteenpenny and sixpenny pool. I had been there only a few minutes when a middle-aged man, a stranger, came and sat beside me and warned me not to play, as the room was frequented by sharpers. He evidently thought I was a young fellow likely to be fleeced there, and I have thought kindly of him since. I was warned in time, but I am afraid more than one young fellow came to grief. The play was of a high order and they used to start from about eleven in the morning till closing time. It must have been a little gold mine for the marker or proprietor, as each player had to pay sixpence per pool. There would be sometimes eight or nine playing. The sharpers played amongst themselves when there was no one else; but other players who joined in were usually fleeced. I went two or three times and looked on, but never played.

The Shady Side of the Game.

Billiards is a fascinating game, and I have known young fellows beg, borrow, or steal money—and jewellery from their sisters—and squander it on the billiard table. One marker boasted to me of the things he had won from one of his customers. I remember going once into a room where four young fellows were playing pool; I played four games with them, took two whole pools and divided the other two. Then they turned it up. Perhaps they took me for a sharp, but that was, as I have said, never in my line. I was in Tunbridge Wells one morning on business and played a young fellow, who was astonished at the easy way in which I won a hundred up, and begged me to come in the evening and play a certain fellow who fancied himself. He said we could make a lot of money, but I did not go. I was not sure of myself with a strange cue; was not sure of his bona-fides, although I think he was genuine; and it would have interfered with my business.

The “Commercial Traveller.”

One of the cleverest things I ever saw—if you like to call it clever—took place one afternoon in a room that I used to frequent in the suburbs. The landlord was a sporting man and the room was a sporting one. When I entered there were, besides the landlord, five or six people and two young fellows, apparently commercials. These were playing pyramids; one of them had a travelling bag with him. They seemed to have plenty of money and were backing themselves freely. They had been playing some time when a well-known player named Dash entered the room, took a seat on the settee, and watched the game. Dash and his play were well known to the frequenters of the room. After some time the landlord left the room ostensibly to see about some drinks. The whisper soon went round that there was money to be made and several more people gradually sauntered into the room. After playing several games one of the commercials pulled out his watch and said he must be going as he had a train to catch. His friend tried to persuade him to stop, but he said he had to get to Paddington. They settled their bets and he took up his bag and left.

Let Down by the Decoy.

His friend was unwilling to leave off and offered to play any one in the room. The landlord pointed to Dash and asked him if he would play that gentleman. He said he did not care whom he played. Dash seemed unwilling to play at first, but allowed himself to be persuaded, and after selecting a cue started playing. Dash played so brilliantly at times that it seemed as if he could do what he liked with his opponent. The commercial looked grave, played with great care and seemed unwilling to take the odds offered on Dash, until he was worried and chivvied into taking them. Poor Dash had very bad luck. He would make a grand screw-back for position, get the position all right, but just miss the hazard and leave the table muttering to himself. Next he would make a brilliant hazard and go all round the table for position, but his ball had an uncanny knack of finding a pocket. At last at the end of the third game he flung his cue on the table and said he’d had enough of it and that the white ball was foul. They tried to persuade him to go on, but he said: “No, you’d better take him on yourself, I’ve finished.” He then flung two fivers on the table to the commercial and left the room apparently disgruntled. The room thought it had a sure thing on and never dreamed that Dash had let them down.

Bogus Bets.

They were long-faced when they paid the “commercial,” who said: “I’ve been very lucky; he is a fine player, but you can’t play against persistent ill luck.” Of course the room deserved what it got. The bets of Dash and the commercials were bogus. What they handed in I do not know, but it was pretty considerable. The whole thing ultimately came out and Dash was not seen in that room again as long as that landlord was there. In how many other rooms they worked the same oracle I do not know, but it all seemed very simple. Dash, who was a brilliant: player, has now been dead several years.

Dash told me that he used to practise flukes. When playing with an opponent he would play for a losing hazard which his opponent could get without much difficulty. He would miss it and go round the table, either making a cannon or a losing hazard. This was such a palpable fluke that it encouraged his opponent, to his ultimate discomfiture, to think he was the better player. He told me that he once stopped in a town for three months to play a certain gentleman, and won a lot of money off him besides his yacht.

Two incidents of his career I may mention. A certain town in the Midlands had a hotel in whose grounds there was a large pond, and an old chap used to sit there fishing; as there was no fish in the pond, they used to ask him what he was fishing for. He said he was fishing for gold fish. They thought him weak-minded. He used to go into the billiard-room of an evening, and always seemed eager to play, and as he seemed to have plenty of money, some of the clever ones thought they might as well ease him of a bit. He had a handsome gold watch, a diamond ring on his finger, and a bunch of gold seals hanging from his watchchain, which he would slip into his pocket when playing. At last one of the habitues proposed a game, but he said he would only play if he had a bet on. He added that he had plenty of money and he only enjoyed the game when he had a good amount at stake.

They agreed to play for ten pounds, and he started in a very awkward and excited manner, flourishing his cue about after each stroke. But, however he played, he managed to “get there” at the finish and landed his first gold fish. What one man couldn’t do another thought he could, as the visitor’s play was very erratic and peculiar. Others followed, but he took them all down and cleared the pond. Soon after he disappeared from the neighbourhood, probably to seek “fresh fields and pastures new.”

The other incident is more interesting. It was at a hotel out Norwood way (so Dash said), and two well-dressed strangers appeared in the billiard-room. One was a tall, military-looking man, whom they called the “Colonel,” and the other was a young man, expensively dressed, who frequented the bar parlour and bragged about what his father could do on the billiard table. The “Colonel” swaggered about the room, garrulous and conceited, flashing his money when he paid for a drink. They were taken for a couple of “mugs.” When the “Colonel” played, he would make two or three good hazards and then miss an easy one, and when they chaffed him he said his hand shook on the stroke. When it was pyramids that they were playing he said he would play anyone in the neighbourhood. One night they told him they knew an amateur who could easily beat him. “I’ll play him,” said the Colonel. “He shall play you for twenty-five pounds a side,” they replied. At this the Colonel drew back a little and seemed a bit flustered. Then they said: “You want to draw back from it now. Look here. He shall give you two balls and play you the best of seven games for twenty-five pounds a-side.” “What do you say,” retorted the Colonel, “give me two balls? I’ll play him. “He pulled out a bulging pocket-book and drew from it a five-pound note to fix up the match.

To make doubly sure they had Dash down as the amateur. There was a room full of people on the night, but before starting, the Colonel insisted that all bets should be staked. They did not demur, as they thought their money was sure. They played, and Dash wasn’t in it. The Colonel won the first three games right off. He let Dash win the next two. Then he took the sixth and won the match. The son was there sucking the knob of his walking-stick and crying out, “Go it, Dad,” when the Colonel made a good shot. Next morning the landlord sent in his bill for wines and spirits to the Colonel’s house, but was told they were only lodgers. Of course, there was no father and son about it; the son was only a decoy to help in working the deception. So if Dash had not found a cleverer sharp than himself, he at any rate found a cleverer player. Such were some of the scenes that took place in billiard rooms sixty years ago.