All aboard for a colourful trip to race trains past Campaign topic: George Edser at Canterbury in 1958. Photo: Fairfax archive Arthur Bergman was a feature of race trains, where he staged political meetings. A roly-poly little bloke who stood small in a homburg hat and waved a cane for effect, Bergman would find a captive audience and pontificate. Standing as an independent in the NSW state elections, he campaigned on such heady affairs as the injustice doled out to "Hollywood George" Edser, who was warned off by the Australian Jockey Club. However, his nemesis was big Natty Fox, the leading hitman of the era. "Bob Menzies look out, here comes little Arthur," big Natty would boom from another compartment. To which Bergman would reply: "What are you doing here, Natty? Has Kate Leigh [the madam] given you the day off from emptying the bedpans? This was a far cry from going to the provincials recently by train, where the Gosford station drop-off was restricted to a few front carriages, and they were thus packed to a degree that would have given Bergman a satisfactory attendance. Alas, young and old were mesmerised, gawking at mobile phone screens or listening to something coming out of earplugs. It was a different world from when rail was the major mode of transport to the provincials plus Newcastle and country majors such as Grafton. Ronnie Waterbags, tipper, urger and bookmakers' PA who kept the fluids up to them on hot days, was a train regular. Coming into a station, then mostly alongside the racecourse, odds were called about beating him to the entrance gate, due to his reputation of being quick off the locomotive when it was going at a strong tempo. Waterbags wanted to be first at the kiosk, and at times hit the counter only to discover he did not have the price of a pie and had to wait for a friendly face. Maybe special race trains, remaining only in the memory of dinosaurs, were peopled by the needy and greedy, gamblers who had survived depression and world wars on their wits, but they provided a classroom specialising in survival. "Never play cards on this means of transport" was wise advice imparted to the young. When studying the action at makeshift tables, you would note the participants had grown fins. Yet on a journey by rail in Britain in 1962, returning from Newbury, I figured a group was more halibut than shark. I had struck the treble, had a few lazy pounds and recognised the game being played as red dog, a hellish hub of grief in which players bet against the centre or the pot. Being 20 minutes out of London, there seemed little chance much financial damage could be done. Anyway, education comes at a price. The lesson learnt was how a kangaroo could be skinned and filleted in 10 minutes; in currency terms, not only a few quid but the proceeds of the treble. Happier memories, though, centre on railway entertainment, particularly the return jaunt from the Grafton Cup with colleague Jack Ward. Half the program had been abandoned due to rain. The journey promised to be long and miserable, until we found bookmaker Bill McHugh, father of Bruce. Bill had taken over the refreshment section. Following the eight-hour trip, a new code of conduct was formulated for railway staff. The time went quicker than the 90 minutes to Gosford because the travellers were treated with entertainment and booze; the package compared with the Moulin Rouge. Probably, though, it fell short of what Laurie Connell regularly produced for the Bunbury Cup in Western Australia. Connell chartered a train from Perth, complete with a jazz band and liveried attendants serving exotics in food and drink. The hospitality was so good Connell would even stop the train at a siding on the return so festivities could continue well into the night. Of course, Connell could afford to be generous, having a merchant bank, horses souped up with elephant juice and a keen instinct for larceny, highlighted by the Bunbury Cup. Danny Hobby, a jockey, took a dive in the 1983 edition for Connell and went abroad for an extended spell. Hobby later said he jumped off a mount after accepting $5000 from Connell. A decade later, it was alleged Hobby was paid more than $1 million by Connell to see the world and not to return to Australia. Perhaps he had the Orient Express experience: no cards but first class. Bill Rutledge, one of the great modern-day racing administrators, reckons it would be a great return to the past when, and if, his home track, Gosford, gets a stand-alone Saturday to have a special race train. Obviously, none of Connell's style or even McHugh's joviality, and red dog would be barred; the only cards permitted would be "grab." For a flashback floor show, Roy Billing, whose portrayal of Aussie Bob Trimbole in the Underbelly TV series was epic, could play Arthur Bergman. Richard Callander lacks a certain stature, but he has the right volume for big Natty Fox.