Green Fees--Tales of Barndem Country Club

by Brian Alford

  It took a monumental effort of co-ordination for the swaying glass in Henry’s hand to meet the equally swaying bottle. The Japanese slowly and unsteadily raised the bottle until it was completely upside down but nothing came out. Henry slapped the man heavily on the back. “Oh bugger, the bottle’s empty little friend. Never mind you come with me and I’ll show you where we can get another one.” Standing or rather swaying to his feet Henry grabbed the arm of the Japanese and dragged him off towards the bar.

  From a nearby table Wingco had been watching events with great and troubled interest. There had been a lot of noise and in particular the often elevated voice of Henry could be heard. However all had seemed reasonably calm and while ever that uneasy situation continued he had been content to let well enough alone. However the strange sight of Henry dragging one of the Japanese away from the table was worrying and warranted investigation. Approaching the table, Wingco viewed the empty seat with great concern. “Where’s trouble?”

  Vic nodded his head in the direction of the large bay window which gave a panoramic view of the course. Two figures could be seen locked arm in arm staggering down the course and singing none to melodiously.

  Saki in the morning, Saki in the evening, Saki at supper time, I love good old Saki, I drink it all the time.

  At least that is what they should have been singing but to the untrained ear it sounded something undistinguishable.

  Vic laughed at the wide eyed look of disbelief on Wingco’s face. “It seems like your evening has been quite a success.”

  Bill agreed. “Yes, Henry has found he has something very important in common with our new members.”

  Wingco’s eyes were still full of disbelief even though he was frowning quite painfully. “What’s that?”

  Vic and bill answered in unison. “Booze!”

  Though common opinion held that the evening had been a success it was never repeated. Time and familiarity increased the harmony between the traditional members and the Japanese. After all, the Japanese were extra­ordinarily generous especially to their special friend Henly. And as long as this generosity continued Henly was friendly and welcoming. Indeed he developed a new personality trait, tact.

  Covens Meet

  Behind the thirteenth green at Barndem there is a large patch of wild and rugged undergrowth. So thick and dense is the impenetrable growth that any balls hit through the green were lost forever. In anger at having to lose two penalty shots for a lost ball, many had tried to rescue their lost projectiles but all in vain. Each effort simply resulted in considerable discomfort for the searcher from the assault of brambles, nettles and various assortments of other strange and spiteful plants.

  Over the years the area had defied all attempts by the greenkeeper and his staff to eliminate the eyesore from the otherwise manicured and well tended acres of Barndem. Herbicides, weed killers, fire, axes, digging had all been tried with reasonable immediate and short term effect. But on each occasion, inevitably, inexorably and rampantly the undergrowth had sprung back and grown to its former sinister glory. It was as if any assault merely lopped off the top of a vast underground growth. Indeed it seemed at times as if the cutting back only made the resultant growth more vigorous than before.

  So it was that the patch was left in peace to find its own equilibrium. The growth never ventured from the sanctuary behind the green and sensible Barndem members never ventured into the undergrowth. In latter times even the Japanese who never admitted to a ball being lost, soon learnt to leave Covens Meet alone.

  Covens Meet had a history as dark and mysterious as the plants that grew there. Mandrake, Foxglove, deadly nightshade, nettle, Monkshood, all made their home here amongst the thorny spires of bramble and mayflower. It was as if someone had assembled every plant which had some mystical or spiritual association; if it was also poisonous then so much the better. So dense was the growth that no sunlight penetrated to the ground and so fungi of every shape and form thrived in the cool environment adding further to the sinister effect. And yet the mystique ran deeper than the botanical. There was an aura about the place which dissuaded golfers from lingering too long on the green. Covens Meet seemed to be looking, watching, like some sleeping menace. Whatever the weather there always seemed to be a cold damp wind blowing across the green from the direction of the undergrowth.

  In part the answer was to be found on the thirteenth green itself. To save the green from being spoilt by the occasional flooding of nearby Lovers Brook it was built about three of four feet above the surrounding area. The sides of the elevated green were constructed from ancient rocks which had been unearthed on the site when the course was being built. Long and arduous investigation by the local historical society had uncovered the fact that the site had once been a druid circle.

  Some centuries later the circle had been adopted by local witches as a coven. Stories abounded of pagan rites and ritual human sacrifice but such is the colourful and usually inaccurate folklore of English history. The witches practiced for many years until they were unearthed during the murderous mediaeval witch hunts. All the witches were seized, tried and burnt at the stake in their own stone circle which was then dismantled to prevent any further use.

  Cold scientific reason suggested that the profusion of such sinister plant life was due to the plants and herbs used in both druidic and witchcraft rites. The seeds of the plants would have been laid down in the soil over a long time and some seeds were known to be capable of lying dormant for very long periods. Once re-established, the plants produced new seeds in abundance. Attacks on the plants such as cutting down, poisoning and fire could therefore destroy the plants but not the sleeping seeds. In fact the brief glimpse of rain and sunshine afforded by the destroyed canopy was just the spur they needed to spring to life.

  Most Barndem members had a different explanation. Druidic circles were always built on point of peculiarities in the Earth’s magnetic field. These points where the Earths magnetism was distorted held profound mystical association. At these points of disorder, dark forces could survive in an otherwise orderly world. The points held a strong attraction to all forms of life but most especially to those that engendered mystery and fear, druids and witches, spiders and snakes, mandrake and deadly nightshade. To the deeply superstitious members of Barndem Covens Meet was a manifestation of childhood fears and ancient beliefs.

  Whatever the real truth, Covens Meet lay quietly sleeping in the hollow behind the thirteenth green and everyone respected its peace and privacy. Covens Meet was a memorial to the past and a reminder that there is another, darker side to life.

  6

  Beating the Boundary

  The origin of the ceremony of beating the boundary lies in the mists of time. In the Dark Ages, Barndem was a baronial estate bestowed on the then baron as a reward for services to the King. It was not recorded what those services were but they were almost certainly something to do with battles on mainland Europe and in particular France.

  To wage battles against continental enemies English Kings had to buy the services of loyal supporters and their troops. Ranking fairly low in the pecking order of English nobility barons tended to be closest to the peasants that formed the mass of actual fighting troops. This made them extremely useful people for the King to entertain when a war was to be waged. A baron providing a large number of efficient fighting men could expect great rewards if victory was secured. As for the fighting troops, their reward was the security of continuing their slave labour on the lands bestowed on the baron. The alternative was destitution, poverty and certain unpleasant death from illness or disease.

  In the unstable climate that prevailed it was necessary for the Baron to patrol the borders of his land to ensure that his claim was upheld. As the Dark Ages emerged into the light the claims and rights to Barndem became enshrined in deeds of covenant. But there were clauses, in particular the covenant required that the claimant to the land should walk the boundary each year. In effect the boundary of the barony w
as to be re-marked each year or the rights to the land would be forfeit and returned to the King.

  This ritual was particularly important in the days before land enclosures when the land became fenced in and boundaries clearly discernible. Boundaries had no obvious markings save for the odd foot path and cart track and were delineated by imaginary lines drawn between significant features such as cottages or large trees. The annual beating of the bounds ritual was a restatement of those boundary lines. On his journey round the boundary the Baron would be accompanied by a party of knights just in case there were any disputes. The enacting of the ritual was signalled by the beating of drums during the sojourn and the whole effect was to impress fear and respect into the local peasantry that worked the land. It was a less than subtle reminder of who was in charge.

  As time went by and society became more stable and less dangerous, the annual ritual of beating the bounds decreased in significance. The boundaries of the Barndem estate became clearly marked and beyond dispute. Beating the bounds became an occasion for feasting and frivolity with the estate workers and local villagers joining in the fun. Following the laying of the golf course and as the numbers of estate workers decreased fewer and fewer took part in the ritual and it became less of an event more a necessary chore. Though in more recent times the ritual had lost all relevance there was still the deed of covenant hanging like the sword of Damacles. However ancient and apparently irrelevant the document, it was still in effect. In theory the Barndem trust could lose what remained of its land if the ritual were not performed each year. Certainly the trustees were not prepared to risk such an eventuality and each year a party of volunteers was assembled to perform the ritual.

  Usually the ritual passed without incident. Each of the pubs that bordered the boundary was prepared for the special visitors and given fine weather the walk afforded a pleasant tour of the local area. Drums had been dispensed with which meant that the ritual really should have been renamed walking rather than beating the boundary. Instead only the quiet chatter of the Barndem party could be heard as they trod the boundary. In truth the ritual had simply become a pub crawl.

  An unlikely party of nobility gathered in the car park. On this occasion fifteen Barndem members had turned out to undertake the journey round the boundary. Though Wingco could have passed reasonably well as an impersonation of the baron there must have been grave doubts about the suitability of Henry, Bill, Bob and Vic as latter day knights. But they were willing and that was all that mattered.

  Beating of the bounds had to be enacted to honour the terms of the covenant and as long as the participants were connected in some way with the Barndem estate then their suitability or otherwise as noblemen was not important.

  The original baronial party would have taken two days to walk the boundary, with the party staying overnight in a suitable hostelry. It was rumoured that these occasions were one of the sources of the numerous bastard children of the Baron. Centuries of hardship and mishap had seen Barndem shrink to the point where the ritual would only take about three hours. The fact that it actually took in excess of twelve hours was due to the proximity of a number of local public houses. Many had formerly been estate cottages and the occupants had brewed various dubious beverages over the centuries. Though the beverages were primarily for personal consumption there had been a discrete and moderately lucrative trade in the surpluses.

  In more recent times the illicit activities had become legal with the granting of licences to the tenants, no longer estate workers but tenant landlords. Thankfully for the health of the local community home brewing had given way mostly to the sale of the local Barndem brewery ales.

  In order to maintain interest in the beating of the bounds it had effectively been turned into a pub crawl. The challenge was to visit every one of the twelve pubs and still complete the walk. Such a challenge made the choice of the likes of Henry eminently sensible. The ritual called for members who could hold their drink and still manage to stagger on.. Though Henry was prone to undergoing considerable and often offensive personality changes under the influence of drink, he could be relied upon to finish the course. More especially since the course finished back at the clubhouse bar.

  From the cark park at the golf club the first desti­nation was the appropriately named Barons Arms. The round stone building had once been the armoury for the Baron and several large forges were used to produce the weapons of war. Much of the original building still remained as it had been built from large stone blocks hewn from the surrounding hillsides. It was something of a mystery how the builders had managed to move such large blocks, but however it had been achieved it was worth the commendable effort. The building remained as a monument to those distant days even though its function was for much more peaceful purposes..

  As the landlord of the Barons Arms was a keen historian and eager to be involved in the ancient tradition the party were assured of a warm welcome, and indeed such was delivered. There did however promise to be a problem at the second port of call. Some years earlier there had been an altercation between the landlord of the White Horse and Henry following Henrys’ insinuation about the strength of the Scotch. While Colin the Barndem club steward was more or less obliged to tolerate Henrys’ continued insinuations, the landlord of the White Horse was not. In fact he had taken great personal exception to Henry’s remarks and banned him from the pub.

  Slowly the party crunched across the gravel forecourt of the White Horse and came to a halt as Wingco stood blocking the entrance doorway. “You’d better wait out here Henry. We’ll bring our drinks out.”

  “Stuff that. I’m going inside.”

  Wingco placed an arm across the doorway to emphasise his point. “But you’ve been banned.”

  “He can’t do that. Its a public house.” Following the enthusiastic reception at the Barons Arms and a lengthy dissertation by the landlord on the historical significance of their walk, Henry had entered the spirit of the purpose of their journey. “Beside, I’m a traveller and he can’t refuse to serve me.”

  “I’m afraid he can. The White Horse simply holds a licence to sell alcohol. It does not qualify as an inn. Under the terms of the alcohol licence he can refuse to serve you.”

  “Right, we’ll see about that! Stand aside.”

  Henry roughly pushed Wingco aside and barged into the small lounge of the pub. With equal haste the rest of the party followed, some eager to stop a fight others shamefully hoping to witness one. Behind the bar stood the landlords’ wife. She had been expecting the visit and beamed a large welcome from her ample face.

  “Good day gentlemen. What can I get you?”

  Henry frowned fiercely. He had been expecting trouble and the friendly welcome had totally disarmed him. As he stood vainly trying to readjust his brain to the unexpected circumstance, the strange look on his face and his continued silence worried the landlady and she addressed Wingco.

  “Is your friend alright?”

  Wingco looked cautiously at Henry. “Mmm, yes I think so. Its difficult to tell sometimes. I hope its alright his coming in here only we couldn’t really leave him outside.”

  The landlady looked embarrassed. “Oh, I am sorry, I didn’t realise he was, well you know…” She gently tapped her head with the forefinger of her right hand.

  Realising the significance of the gesture, Henry exploded in anger. “I am not stupid woman!”

  Sympathetically the landlady placed a hand on Henry’s arm. “No, of course you’re not dear. Now you just sit down and I’ll bring you a nice drink.”

  Just as Henry had begun to calm down the landlord appeared. He recognised Henry instantly. “Oi! You! Out!” He emphatically pointed to the door through which they had recently entered.

  Suddenly the landlord yelped in pain. The landlady had just stamped on his left foot to silence him. “Oi, you, out. What sort of monosyllabic nonsense it that to yell at one of our guests?”

  With an approximation to a nimble jump the landlord moved s
everal feet away from his wife, or more particularly away from her lethal right foot. “Guests? Call that prat a guest?”

  Moving over to her husband the landlady whispered in his ear with just an occasional nod of her head in the direction of Henry. Looking over at Henry the landlord eyed him with great suspicion. Henry returned the look with a wink as he raised his glass to drink. Not convinced by his wife’s explanation the landlord stood glaring at Henry until the good lady pushed him round the corner of the angular bar to the public bar next door.

  There was a single occupant of the public bar, but an occupant of considerable consequence for Agnes Strump was an extremely large woman with a personality and manners to match. For many years she had been the district nurse and was famous for her no nonsense approach. Her patients had always done as they were told, or else. Agnes enjoyed her drink and was a familiar sight sitting in the public bar of the White Horse drinking a pint of beer and smoking small thin cigars. She was a great favourite with the landlord and he was glad of the diversion from the problem in the lounge bar.

  However the comparative peace and calm enjoyed by the landlord in his conversation with Agnes was not to last. It was interrupted when Henry entered the bar on his way to the toilet. As with most pubs of the style of the White Horse the toilets adjoined the public bar and were accessed via two ancient bare wooden doors with a simple M and W engraved on them. It appeared that the White Horse did not cater for ladies and gentlemen just men and women.

  With speed of thought driven by malice the landlord quickly suggested to Agnes that Henry needed some assistance in his visit to the toilet. The implication was that Henry was a little simple and not easily able to cope. Still as eager as ever to help Agnes leapt off her stool and darted towards Henry. Grabbing his right arm she began to lead him towards the toilet.

  “Come on my boy. Let’s be having you.”