Green Fees--Tales of Barndem Country Club

by Brian Alford

  Content

  1

  2 Captains Day

  Jobe’s Grave

  3 Henry’s Money Box

  4 Witness for the Defence

  5 Saki and Chips

  Covens Meet

  6 Beating the Boundary

  7 Have You Done Ploppy Plops Yet?

  8 Come Rain or Shine

  Lovers Brook

  9 Salmonella Sandwich

  10 Sid’s Revenge

  11 Debentures

  12 The Great Whisky Disaster of 1961

  Mary’s Stand

  13 The 40D Cup

  14 Sniffing Tom

  15 Away Day

  Dwights End

  16 And Under Foot, Something Stirs

  17 Just a Little Rain

  18 Beep, Beep

  19

  Copyright

  To Liz and Fred

  Barndem golf club is a figment of the author’s imagination. All characters in these tales are fictitious. Though it is possible you may recognise some of them hanging round your club. If however you recognise yourself then perhaps it is time to seek help.

  Visit the Barndem web site

  http://www.barndem.co.uk/

  1

  Barndem Country Club, refuge of the weary, a place to escape from the real world and relax. Barndem Country Club, sanctuary of the sport of gentlemen though latterly and reluctantly now also the sport of gentlewomen. Barndem Private Country and Golf Club to give it it’s proper title, though there are still some members who hold steadfastly to the belief that anything more energetic than the raising of a glass of whisky is bad form.

  Golf is passably acceptable since the undeniably insane participants at least have the decency to wander off into the distance to pursue their lunacy out of sight for several hours. But what of when it is all over? To where do the lunatic fringe return? Of course, back to the clubhouse to resume the more civilised behaviour of tippling.

  Few Barndem members enjoyed tippling more than Henry, Vic, Bill and Bob. Though they never met socially outside the confines of the club the four men were almost inseparable. Indeed there was a rumour that none of the four actually existed outside the club. They materialised as they walked through its hallowed portals and dis­appeared into some mystical suspended limbo when they left. On any and every day they could be seen sitting in the far corner of the bar indulging in both drink and idle chatter.

  Henry had a drink problem. It was not the copious quantities of Scotch he consumed, though for any other mortal this would have been of concern. Over the years Henry’s alcohol tolerance had increased. As the quantity of Scotch necessary to achieve that pleasant halfway state between sleeping and carefree waking increased, Henry had become more and more suspicious that all was not well with the Scotch. He was convinced that Colin, the faithful club steward, diluted the Scotch in an effort to supplement his meagre wages. Though the accusations were made in a light-hearted manner, this conviction was the source of considerable ill feeling between the two men. Luckily for the sake of peace and harmony the bar always physically separated the two men. Colin would never venture from behind its sanctity and Henry would certainly never demean himself by entering such a lowly place as the domain of serving staff.

  Excessive consumption should also have been a concern to Henry on his short car drive from the club to his home. But given that a large number of the local magistrates and several high ranking police officers were members of Barndem, Henry was convinced that strings could be pulled. In truth Henry and his car were well known to the local constabulary and avoided like the plague. Henry was not the most civil and approachable of people at the end of a long day of serious drinking. Two notorious and unpleasant brushes between Henry and some novice police constables had ensured that Henry was afforded a wide berth.

  Fortunately for everyone and the peace of the neighbourhood, Henry was frequently in the habit of sleeping off his excesses in his car. The sound of snoring from the ancient blue car in the corner of the club car park was familiar to all Barndem club members. Anyone parked nearby moved slowly and quietly so as not to disturb the slumbering beast.

  Henry’s real drinking problem was not quantity but where the next drink was coming from. Having been less that prudent with money during his working years, in retirement he was in a constant state of being financially challenged. Through the reluctant forbearance of others Henry could sustain his tippling but only at the expense of being the object of their mockery. Such mocking was exacerbated by his excited and almost hostile reaction. If alcohol had not dulled his senses and tempered his physical ability to move, Henry would certainly have become violent at times. Fortunately for all concerned any attempts by Henry to exert physical force usually resulted in him falling off his bar stool.

  At face value Bob appeared to be a simple man, often confused and unable to cope with anything more complex than the ordinary, everyday things of life. In truth his mind was given to frequent wild meandering and his contributions to any conversation tended to be sporadic, vaguely philosophical and usually about five minutes late. Sadly and with more than a touch of cruelty this made him the subject of mild derision by many of the members but fortunately he had two strong allies and supportive friends in Bill and Vic. With patience and steadfast loyalty they supported their friend in the face of any derision.

  Rumour had it that Vic had been something in the city. Quite what, the rumour failed to disclose and Vic certainly did not volunteer the information. Whatever he had been was in the past and it appeared that he would rather keep it there. A calm, thoughtful man, Vic took pleasure in watching from close range the antics of his companions. When their horseplay became excessive or Bob was becoming the subject of excessive teasing, it was Vic who restored a sense of reason and balance. To Henry the authoritative calm with which Vic viewed life was irritating. Life was a struggle; things were always going wrong, what right had Vic to be so damned calm?

  Bill was a stark contrast to his three companions. He had an innate sense of fun and always looked at life with a good humour. Before his retirement Bill had been a sales rep, a job which had seen him acquire his taste for Scotch, cigars and food. He had worked for many companies during the years and had built up a wide circle of contacts. Whenever anything was wanted Bill knew exactly where to go or who to ask. Though his dealings were not exactly illegal few club members who had begged a favour dared to ask questions. It would have been a futile exercise in any case since Bill was not known for giving straight answers to straight questions. His world was that of sarcasm and innuendo. He never told a lie, just avoided dealing with the truth. Though a harmless trait in itself it led to considerable confusion in Bob and frustration in Vic. Henry did not care as long as he had a drink.

  Barndem was home to Henry, Vic, Bill and Bob. Seated in the corner of the spacious clubhouse bar enjoying their favourite tipple, they could forget the troubles of the world. Here was a welcome and comfortable familiarity, and nothing was more comfortable than the corner at the far end of the bar that was the habitual resting place of the four men. This position afforded many precious advantages. It gave them immediate access to the bar but more than this, as the till was nearby it enabled them to catch the attention of the bar steward even when the bar was crowded. From this vantage they could look out of the large patio windows opposite and watch the golfers completing their rounds. It also provide a perfect view to observe everyone that entered the bar, friend or foe. If the former a greeting would be forthcoming, if the latter a deliberate snub would greet the new arrival.

  Though just another part of the clubhouse bar to the outside observer this special corner provided a
form of sanctuary for the four men. They did not own it. It was not theirs by right. They could not even claim squatters rights. It was theirs by mystical assumption. At times when they were not present the corner remained empty. Members entering the bar would view the attractive and comfortable corner and some unseen force would compel them to sit elsewhere. Whether it was witchcraft or some strange pervading aura that kept the corner free, Henry, Vic, Bill and Bob could always rely on their little corner of the world to be ready and welcoming.

  But all was not well at Barndem and their cosy world was under threat following the decision at an extra­ordinary general meeting to accept the offer of sponsor­ship from Mister Soyoung, a Japanese manufacturer of specialist vehicles. It had been an acrimonious and hostile meeting with opinion evenly divided between those in favour and those against. So even was the division that it was only by the casting vote of the Honorary President Wing Commander Philips that the resolution was passed. Following his casting vote a fight had erupted with the opposition claiming that the vote was not valid. It was the surprise and unexpected intervention of Henry that settled the matter. Keen to get back to the serious matter of drinking he had changed his vote to a yes which swung the balance in favour of acceptance. Fortunately for Henry his change of vote was lost in the confusion and few realised who the turncoat had been.

  Many club members were convinced that the vote had been a rigged by the committee and ill feeling persisted. This was most graphically illustrated in the club car park where the cars were always parked into two divisions lined up like troops waiting to do battle. On one side were the European cars and on the other the Japanese with the American cars mainly favouring the European camp. Further evidence of the rift could be found in the professional’s shop where a boycott by some club members of Japanese made golf clubs and accessories had forced the professional to carry duplicate stock.

  It was not the much needed injection of cash that was the source of contention. That this was necessary was plainly apparent. Barndem was in a poor state of repair. Many of the greens had suffered the ravages of both time and the local moles and needed relaying. An ancient watering system had similarly suffered and there was a desperate need for a new sprinkler system to protect the valuable grass during the summer months. There were also the pleas of the valiant greenkeeper for new equipment to be noted. His skills were more polished as a mechanic than a greenkeeper as he struggled to keep failing equipment serviceable. Without doubt Barndem needed much expenditure to restore it to former glory. It was not the capital but the source that caused the strife amongst the members.

  The problem lay in the fifty corporate memberships that had been granted to Mr Soyoung, chairman of the UK office of a Japanese corporation. This entitled fifty of his company employees to use the club facilities in return for considerable injection of capital in the form of sponsorship. Though a sound and desperately needed financial move it bit deep into the ancient prejudices of Barndem club members.

  For over one hundred years Barndem had been closed to outsiders. Membership had been based on recom­mendation with prospective members requiring to be sponsored by two existing members and subject to close personal and professional scrutiny. This made selection discrete and very particular. As a popular club with a long waiting list, membership was by invitation only and the principle of dead men’s shoes was manifest. Most of the younger members filled the position left by a deceased older member and were related in some way to existing or former members. There was a natural order to the process, an order which had stood the test of time and ensured continuity of tradition. With the entry of the corporate Japanese member, yet another bastion of the British Empire had fallen or rather had been blown away by the vote of some unknown turncoat. Barndem was never to be the same again.

  At first the presence of the Japanese was hardly noticed. An occasional fourball would appear on the first tee immaculately dressed and with equipment that was the envy of any passing member. However, the novel and amusing attraction of their excited chatter and frantic activity was soon to fade. It became apparent to any members unfortunate enough to be following a Japanese foursome that the speed of their shuffling and fidgeting was diametrically opposite to the speed of their play. Fast words and excited arm waving were not translated into action. After a long and noisy discussion about the type of shot to play and which club to use the ball was addressed and a miraculous transformation took place. The group would fall silent and the player about to strike would enter a trance. If it were not for the fifty of sixty movements of the head in the direction of the distant green, an observer could be forgiven for thinking the player had fallen asleep on his feet. It was as if the ball were being willed on its way in a tormented struggle of mind over matter; the nodded head movements an indication to the unresponsive ball to get moving.

  When finally the ball was struck the result, however bad, was greeted with admiration and praise by the other players. It had to be admitted, the Japanese were the most elegant mis-hiters of the ball in the world. If style and grace counted for anything they would be brilliant players but sadly the cosmetic illusion did not translate into execution. They had turned failure into a dignified art form. The proud mis-striker would stand solemn and erect with his right hand shielding his eyes as he looked intently in the direction of where the ball should have gone. Apparently satisfied he would bow to his companions and as a group they would proceed to the next ball where the whole process was re-enacted by the next player.

  It would be trite to call this behaviour a ritual. It was more a combination of a desire to gain the approval of their fellow players coupled with a desire to make the moment of being the centre of attention last. But also there were all the lessons to be remembered. As each player addressed the ball there were a hundred points to remember, left arm straight but not rigid, right hand grip stronger than the left, weight favouring the left side, left arm straight but not rigid, shoulders pointed at target, left foot turned out slightly, and on and on and …. All these tips for producing the ultimate golf shot took time to run through and each one had to be meticulously checked before striking the ball. Never once did it enter their heads that the resulting, inevitably and invariably wayward shot was due in the main part to of the morass of inhibiting information. Filled with such an excess of information the brain had little capacity left to perform the co-ordinated muscle movements necessary to strike the ball.

  The Japanese always played in fours and in blissful ignorance they were the beneficiaries of the archaic etiquette of golf which dictates that as a fourball they had the highest standing and were obliged to give way to no-one. They never lost a ball, or rather a ball was never considered lost. Logic dictated that if it was hit on the golf course then it must still be on the golf course. It was not so much Eastern philosophy as a matter of pride. However bad the golf, a player never lost a ball. Fortunately in most cases the shot was so bad that the ball never went far enough to be out of sight. But on the frequent occasions that a ball dared to stray the group could be seen thrashing about in the undergrowth as if hacking their way through a jungle.

  An acknowledged curse the Japanese four ball fast became something to be studiously avoided. Better to go and have another drink in the bar and delay the start of a round than to follow the curse. To label them an unnecessary evil would have been unkind for, infuriating as their behaviour could be the newcomers were always warm and charming. Their enthusiasm for the game was as unbridled as their generosity in defeat. With compromise a fragile peace settled around the influx of the newcomers. But worse, far worse was to come and the Japanese were about to make their presence felt dramatically.

  2

  Captains Day

  Each year Barndem appointed a new captain. Captains were never elected; they were a controlled succession of club worthies picked less for their golfing ability than for their social qualities. If the Captain had money then this added to his quali­fication for the post. A new captain appointed a vi
ce captain of his choice and the new right hand man was destined to be captain the following year. This tradition of social succession was the main reason why Barndem continued its outstanding failure in matches against other clubs. Golfing ability did not figure highly on the requirements for the job.

  Each captain held office for a year during which time they organised the one sided matches with other clubs and hosted most of the important social events. It should be mentioned in passing that there was also a ladies captain of Barndem. Appointed originally under suffer­ance and following the same tradition of succession for subsequent appointments, the current incumbent was expected to acknowledge the superior position of the male club captain. In practice an uneasy truce existed between the two captains and their encounters were strictly limited to committee meetings at which stand-offs were commonplace.

  Today was one of the most important in the calendar. It was captains day, a day for time honoured rituals and traditions. Captains day was the day on which long suffering golf widows and neglected families were allowed, under great sufferance, to attend the club. There were competitions and prizes and the golden opportunity to catch food poisoning from the dubious barbecue supervised with decreasing care as the drunken day wore on.

  One ritual that particularly captured the attention was that of the captains driving in ceremony. The first official duty of the new captain was to drive from the first tee in a latent form of macho marking of his new territory. A competition was held to guess the closest to the actual length of the drive. This competition was always keenly observed by Henry since the prize was always a bottle of the finest Scotch.

  But before any thought can be given to such com­plexities as guessing yardages the brain needed some lubrication and Henry, Bill and Vic were attending to this essential pre-requisite in their usual corner of the clubhouse bar. Henry was in prime position seated on a tall bar stool and leaning on the bar. Vic and Bill were on similar stools but a little distance from the bar itself.