One of the common dangers of calling the numbers for a room full of bingo heads, is missing one of their shouts. It can be a bit of a flashpoint in an evening’s bingo, because believe me, if you do miss one of the members’ claims, and they lose the prize money, you will hear about it both at the time, and the rest of the night, and subsequent nights until either you or the player departs this mortal coil…
At the start of each game I would always say, “and remember nice loud shouts if you have a claim please” to push this point home. In a room full of 700 people shuffling, coughing and making general noises, a quiet shout can be lost especially if it’s a bit late as well. And, as we all know, if that next number has begun to be called, that’s it, you’ve missed out.
So let me set the scene for you, and the events that transpired on the fateful evening of “the missed call from hell…” It was one of our regular busy nights, the club would be full to bursting and the prize money was big. As usual, it was all hands on deck and there was barely an empty seat in the house. I was on main-stage duty, which was unusual for one of our busy nights, as Jack would always be there for them. However, for whatever reason that escapes me now, it was little ol’ 19-year-old me in the hot seat for the evening.
This was around 1990, well before the days of electronic terminals and smoking bans. One of the big draws to the club was our link game. The prize money was typically £1000 for the house (around £20 by today’s standards), a not unsubstantial sum at that time. Around 8.15pm, after the interval and National Game, we played the linked game – we dialled in to several clubs in south Wales, if I remember correctly it was us, The Gaiety in Cardiff, Splott, Sketty, Newport, Blackwood and another Swansea club playing the link with the combined prize money.
One of the other clubs was calling the numbers, so as was the technology of the time, every caller in the clubs not calling the numbers would listen to the calling club, and manually enter the numbers on their own calling system. As the caller had to concentrate on hearing and correctly entering the numbers being called (to display on the screens around the hall) the manager would also stand on the stage, at the microphone, ready to hear any shout and stop the game.
That was the usual, but this night, through a number of contributing factors, it didn’t quite go to plan. So, from my vantage point, I’m sat on the stage high above the floor with a commanding view of the hall. Bill, the manager at the time, is stood to my left on the microphone, scanning the hall. Just to reiterate, the hall is absolutely crammed, and there’s a background buzz of the people playing the game. The game has begun, the voice from the calling club is distorted and a bit thin, as you’d expect from a call done down your typical analogue land-line.
All is going well, I’m concentrating on putting the numbers in as they’re called, and then the line goes in another club. The win is validated, and we move on to the big prize, the full house. The numbers roll by, no claims, we get past 40 numbers called, and my anticipation is heightened, the winning call can come at any moment now. The numbers keep coming, I put them into the system, I look at Bill, he’s scanning the hall.
Then it happens, and it’s burned into my mind ever since. I hear a very faint shout from the very back of the hall. I’m still mid-number entry and look to Bill, but he’s still looking out, he hasn’t heard the faint shout. A second after the first faint shout, there’s an almighty noise from the back of the hall as the regulars realise the first shout was missed. Bill hears the second kerfuffle and stops the game. However, that extra second of time was enough for the caller at the other club to start the next number. As we know, if the next number is started, it has to be called.
Not only does it have to be called, but a shout of house is heard from one of the other clubs. There’s a load of confusion at the back of the hall. I look who is holding up the ticket, and it’s a lady who was a regular at the club. I remember her well, she was a friendly and chatty lady, who unfortunately was in a really challenging situation. She was in bad-health, wheel-chair bound, and her chair was carrying various bits of kit in service of her medical condition.
My heart sank when I saw who it was. I knew she’d lost the claim, as did all the people sat around her who had raised the second shout following her first one. And let me tell you now, they were not happy, not in the least, and we would get to know just how unhappy they were…
First up, Bill had to silence everyone to figure out what had happened. When he realised the call was on the previous number, he had no choice but to say it was a false claim to the other clubs. The moment he said it, there were angry recriminating shouts from the back of the hall. He shrugged and then the winner at the other club got their ticket validated and won the £1000. The other clubs all signed off, and the telephone link was closed down.
Now, normally after the excitement of the link we’d be straight back into the main session games, with little more than a congratulatory moment had the prize been won at our club. But not that day. Instead, there was angry shouting from the back of the hall demanding the lady in question get her prize. The members were really unhappy about what had happened, as given the circumstances of the lady who’d missed the claim, in their minds she deserved that money. Remember, a £1000 was a really large sum back then.
Bill argued back and fore with them from the stage, he was adamant that was that, she lost the prize by not calling on time and the bingo needed to carry. He wouldn’t entertain the fact he had missed the call and used it as an opportunity to remind the members that a loud shout was essential, especially if you were at the back of the hall. Well, that went down really well, everyone around the lady was kicking off again and shouting. The air in the hall hung heavy with an atmosphere that could be cut with a knife.
Bill left the stage, and it was up to me to get the games rolling again. Sometimes the best way to shut up any kind of nonsense in the club is just to start calling the next set of numbers. I sheepishly announced the start of the new game and began calling. It was in full swing as Bill walked back up the aisle past the players that had been shouting, but it didn’t stop several of them waving angrily at him as he passed. I was now alone with a hostile crowd, and every time the game was stopped with a shout, the anger would begin to rise again at the back of the hall.
It’s fair to say I was absolutely bricking it, as confident as I was to call the numbers, I was not used to dealing with angry customers who felt one of their own had been robbed. The only thing I could do was keep my head down and call the numbers until there were no more numbers to call. When the main session was finished, I hung back at the stage end of the hall, not wanting to walk up past the complainers. As luck would have it, they weren’t staying for the late session and soon left with the main session exodus.
I’ve always felt sorry for the lady that lost out. It’s no doubt that money may have bought her a bit of joy. She loved coming to bingo but would often complain that she never won. That night was the first time I’d known her to shout, and for such a wonderful prize as well. As a result, I’ve often wondered if I could have done more to stop the game on time. I had heard he initial shout, but hadn’t responded to it as I was concentrating on the number entry.
It was the manager’s duty, to stop the game in the event of a claim. It always was on the link. If I’d had the wherewithal to shout at the time I heard the faint claim, I would have. I’ve always felt awful that I didn’t, but like I said, it was the only time as a caller that stopping the game wasn’t my responsibility. If I had been calling a normal game myself, I would have stopped at the slightest hint of a shout, much like the one I’d heard that evening, just to make sure it was or was not a claim.
I don’t know why Bill didn’t hear the first shout either, was it a momentary lapse in concentration? Was his hearing a bit less honed than my young ears? I had heard it, why had he not? I often replay the event in my head, and whilst it may be the worst thing that could happen as a bingo caller, it certainly ranks as one of my nightmare events.
But there we go, for me, it was a night from hell, for the lady who lost the money, it was a crushing disappointment, for the other customers it was a night of anger and for Bill, a night of avoiding customers. So, if you take one thing away from this event. Shout as loudly as you can when you get a win…
