In the Chips

Sweetening the public kitty

The seventh Earl of Lucan, descended from the commander who ordered the Charge of the Light Brigade, was reportedly driven to murder a few years ago by debts incurred during his binges at the chemin defer tables, at $2,000 a deal. At least one turf-preoccupied London bus driver became famous for tooling past passenger queues and rushing instead to the betting shops along his route. Not surprisingly, Gamblers Anonymous operates a 24-hour rescue service in Britain. Says the respected British scientist and public policy analyst, Lord Rothschild: "Napoleon called us a nation of shopkeepers, but I think we are a nation of gamblers."

No one is willing to argue with that post-Waterloo appreciation-not in Britain, where gambling of every variety is not so much diversion as obsession. From the dowdy bingo parlors of Clapham Junction to the nobby casinos of Mayfair, the British now spin the wheels of chance to the rhythm of $15 billion a year. The main reason for the boom is clear to all: Britain is the most liberal gambling society in the world.

Last week the government announced that it will attempt to establish a new, more effective set of rules for the national pastime. The recommendations were part of a sweeping report on gambling, 2 1/2 years in the making and 581 pages long, that was issued by a nine-member Royal Commission chaired by Lord Rothschild. The document constitutes the most exhaustive study of the British gambling industry's practices, growth and problems in more than 25 years.

The Rothschild report found, among other things, that 94% of the adult British population gambles at some time or other, 39% regularly. Happily the commission did not find that the national passion produced any harmful social or economic side effects. Rather, it suggested ways in which gambling could be more constructively channeled into socially beneficial directions. Noting that some London casino operations make 400% returns on their investments and that Ladbrokes, the best-known name in British bookmaking, doubles its profits every two years, the commission also pointed to the country's depleted coffers and held out the public hand for a larger share of the take. Among its 304 recommendations:

> A national lottery that would bring in an estimated $75 million to be funneled to the arts, sport and other good causes.

> A 7.5% tax on every chip purchased for casino tables, with additional levies for big emporiums, thus bringing casino players into parity with betting-parlor habitues, who are already taxed.

> A required contribution of $ 13 million a year by soccer-pool promoters to help the sport, among other ways, by supporting amateur clubs and combatting stadium hooliganism. The commission also urged stricter control over commercial lotteries, which came in for the heaviest criticism: "The situation we have discovered is scandalous. There is wholesale disregard of the law, commercial exploitation to a totally unacceptable degree and, we strongly suspect, a good deal of plain dishonesty."

While being occasionally fleeced himself, it would appear the British bettor likes nothing more than to learn that gambling problems also occur in the best of families. Tabloid readers lapped up a recent court case involving the Duchess of Bedford's daughter-in-law, a sultry Iranian high roller named Kitty Milinaire, who in an epic three-year binge frittered away a $6 million fortune at chemin de fer, blackjack and practically anything else at which she could try her diamond-decorated hand. Charged with stealing jewels taken out on approval from Cartier, Kitty, 39, was acquitted by a jury after her defense lawyer scored a decisive point: given her notoriety as a compulsive gambler, who could believe that a shrewd firm like Cartier would let her walk away with two rings and a diamond worth $400,000?

Britons also reveled, mostly at a distance, in the opening last month in the venerable Ritz Hotel of London's newest and most elegant casino. More than 350 guests, including the Countess of Suffolk, the Baron de Montesquieu and the prince of thespian cool, James Mason, consumed 300 lobsters, 25 Ibs. of beluga caviar and 50 cases of Dom Perignon champagne while inaugurating wheels and tables that insouciantly accommodate $8,000 wagers at a clip. "Nice, isn't it?" a Ritz entrepreneur observed demurely. "In London, there's something for everyone."

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