My father William Franklin [1] Etherden was a trade union man who looked after the interests and aspirations of the lowest-grade civil servants working for the Ministry of Defence at the Woolwich Arsenal. Masons and not communists were his union's main problem in the 1950s.
This was his day job and he did it well...so well in fact that he was blacklisted and never promoted. This did not endear him to my mother, whose day (and night) job was to make ends meet and bring up her four boys to be good middle-class citizens striving for success. As one of Margaret Thatcher's regiment of middle class women, my mother had little sympathy with the struggles of Civil Service Clerical Association (CSCA) members.
However on race nights (Mondays, Thursdays and Saturdays) my father moonlighted behind the betting desk with William Hill at Catford Greyhound Stadium...I wish now that he had shown me the ropes. He also studied form when my mother wasn't looking...and broke even on his betting...or so my father assured his wife.
t my mother was not convinced and confiscated the bulk of his Civil Service earnings the moment he brought them home each month. Her father had not approved of her proposed marriage to one of the notorious 'Etherden Brothers'...who had, it was rumoured, been mixed up in some dubious goings-on at the Royal Mint where my father and two of his brothers, Jack and Percy, worked during the 1930s depression.After my father's death in 1984 my mother discovered that her father's misgivings were not without foundation. My father had been declaring only half of his earnings at William Hill to my mother, thereby depriving her of the pound a week pay rise he received in the 1970s. My daughter was one of the principal beneficiaries of this windfall...spent on packets of Polo Mints
Mind you, my mother had an inkling that all might not be what it seemed. My father lived the last ten years of his life with a pacemaker monitoring for heart flutters. This device has been implanted after a mild heart attack on one of his Catford evenings. Unfortunately my father did not collapse at the betting office but on the terraces of Catford Greyhound Stadium. Oops!
In 2006 I decided to resurrect the family tradition...but betting on economies instead of dogs and gee-gees. I am not interested in breaking even...and have no intention of bankrupting myself. I am in this for the money...if I am so smart why aren't I rich? Just so...I will be.
But betting 21st Century style means spread betting on the prices of spooky things like carbon speculations, pipeline monopolisings and currency volatilities when backed by legally enforceable contractual agreements...with identifiable counterparties. These usurious and tax-exempt winnings will be transmuted into proper property...not improperty.
My trading account with IG Index will be the work-horse and the family firm of William Franklin & Sons Limited will be the carriage to carry my father's descendants into the blue beyond...once post-depression confusions start to clear and the next generation of Black Swans glide out from the reeds...masquerading initially as Ugly Ducklings
Background Notes
[1] The last Royal Governor of New Jersey,William Franklin was the only son of Benjamin Franklin. The latter's duties once included printing money, laws, and documents for the people of Pennsylvania. Not a lot of people know that.
[2]Helena is the wife of Goethe.
