Green Fees--Tales of Barndem Country Club

by Brian Alford

  Chris had been wallowing in the mire for nearly two hours before the first members of Barndem arrived at the course to play. As usual it was four Japanese who worked for Soyoung. So enthusiastic were they for the game that they always played the first nine holes before going to work. The second nine holes were completed at a more leisurely pace later after work.

  Usually the course was deserted when the foresome played, a combination of the earliness of the hour and the desire of other Barndem members to avoid them. This morning was different for as they walked onto the seventh tee to prepare to play they noticed something odd in the pond some 50 yards along the fairway. Whether an accidental or deliberate omission, no one had told the four that on the longest day the seventh hole was out of play. Established Barndem members were aware of the ritual of Sids legacy but had failed to pass on the knowledge to the enthusiastic new recruits.

  After much excited debate the four men raced from the tee to the edge of the pond and stared at the back of the sitting captain. One of the men yelled and a startled Chris turned sharply falling further into the water. He was not best pleased.

  “You stupid bloody…..”

  The sight of the startled Japanese faces tempered Chris’ language and he motioned for them to go away. After a huddled exchange the four began to wade into the water and towards the furiously gesturing Chris. As they grabbed his arms and started to pull him out of the pond Chris shouted angrily. “Bugger off. Leave me alone you stupid bloody little…” The rest was reduced to a mumble as one of the men grabbed him around the head and began to tug.

  As luck would have it at that moment Wingco was returning to perform his two hourly check that Chris was still complying with the requirements of Sids legacy. The sight that greeted him as he came over the brow of the hill that led down to the fifteenth hole and Pooleys Pond caused him to stop and stare in disbelief. Since the four men excitedly tugging Chris were small in stature, his first thoughts were that Chris was being mugged by four youths. As he quickened his step and came closer to the fracas it became clearer what was happening and he broke into a trot to reach the pond as quickly as possible.

  In his loudest and most authoritative voice Wingco ordered the four men to stop and get out of the pond. Whether they actually understood the command or not they obviously understood the tone and intent and obeyed immediately. One by one they emerged from the pond and stood dripping on the edge as Wingco explained that Chris was performing a ritual of honour. How much they understood of the explanation was not clear but the words ritual and honour seemed to hit the right note and the four men turned and bowed repeatedly to Chris. Satisfied they departed chattering excitedly and leaving a trial of muddy water behind them as it squelched out of their shoes.

  Relieved Wingco checked with Chris that all was well and started to make his way back up the hill to the clubhouse. He had managed to climb about about half way up the hill when he was stopped in his tracks by a loud shriek from the direction of the pond. In horror Wingco watched as one by one the Japanese teed off and hit their balls over the pond in which a petrified Chris cowered helplessly with his arms covering his head.

  By the time Wingco had pacified Chris, satisfied him that no more Japanese fourballs would be let loose on the course that day, and returned to the bar it was mid morning and the Barndem regulars had arrived. Somehow, despite the presence of such as disruptive members like Henry, the lounge bar seemed like a sanctuary of sanity compared to what he had witnessed on the course. Ever alert Vic was the first to spot the visibly shaken man enter the lounge.

  “You alright Wingco. Nothing wrong out there I hope?”

  “No, well not now anyway. At least I hope not. But then, oh perhaps I shouldn’t. No, I’d rather not talk about it.”

  Vic looked baffled. “Well you can’t put it any clearer than that. Yes or no would have done.”

  “Sorry Vic. Its just that, well I really think we should review the advisability of Sid’s legacy. One day someone will come to harm.”

  At this comparatively early hour Henry was sufficiently sober to take an interest in the world around him. Wingco’s appearance had also just reminded him of his promise to Chris. “How’s Chris doing?”

  “I’m not sure whether he’ll last the day. He had a rather unpleasant fright earlier on.”

  “He’ll be alright. We’ll see him through. I’ve volunteered to take him some provisions, poor sod.”

  Vic leaned his head to one side and looked slyly at Henry. “This unusual magnanimity wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that your slate appears to have been wiped clean would it Henry?”

  “That’s none of your bogging business.”

  “Well no, not if it means you’re going to buy the next round. I’m quite happy to drop the subject. But tell me something this we who will be seeing Chris through, you couldn’t be a little more specific could you?”

  “We have to stand together through these little trials and tribulations.”

  Vic placed an open hand on his chest. “So by we you actually mean us.”

  “Well, yes.”

  “So you get your slate wiped clean and we have to do the dirty work. Or am I missing the point?”

  To everyone but Henry it was obvious that Vic was trying to irritate Henry into action. The plan had apparently worked as Henry slid shakily off his stool. “You can please your bloody self, but I’m going to take the poor sod something to eat and drink.”

  Wingco had been deep in thought but the sudden movement of Henry brought him back to earth. “Its alright Henry. I’ve already got that in hand. I’ve asked Colin’s wife to put together some supplies on a tray for me.”

  Henry beamed with relief and tried to climb back onto his stool. “You have? great!”

  Vic shook his head in disbelief and looked at Bill in dismay. Bill winked back. “But it still needs someone to take the tray to Chris doesn’t it Wingco?”

  It had been Wingco’s plan to perform the duty himself but he was still shaken after the incidents of earlier. At that moment he would gladly let someone else go. “Yes, that would be nice Henry thank you.”

  Henry had not quite managed to regain his seat on the high stool and stood glaring at Bill. “Something wrong Henry? Don’t want to give the idea a slating do you?”

  Not quite able to follow the horseplay Bob had been quietly contemplating. Something was worrying him deeply. “Something is puzzling me. If the captains got to remain seated in the pond all the time what does he do about, well, you know.”

  Bill interrupted the stunned silence. “Blowing his nose?”

  “Well yes, and other natural things.”

  “Like?”

  “Well, I’d rather not say really, but you know what I mean.”

  “I’m sure he’ll manage somehow. Eh Wingco?”

  “Oh yes, These things are discussed before the event.” Wingco turned to the frowning Henry. “I really think its time something was taken to Chris, if you’re volunteering Henry.”

  “Oh he’s volunteering, and for purely altruistic reasons eh Henry?”

  “Bugger off!”

  Bob suddenly waved a finger in the air. “Incontinence pants.”

  This unusually loud outburst from Bob startled Wingco whose nerves were already a little more ragged than usual. “Eh?”

  “Incontinence pants, Chris could wear incontinence pants.”

  “That’s really worrying you isn’t it? Its nice of you to be so concerned about Chris’s comfort”

  “Oh I’m not worried about Chris. Its more the creatures and things that live in the pond. I mean its not right if the water gets polluted is it? Sid’s revenge was not meant for them was it?”

  Wingco was becoming confused. “Polluted with what?”

  “You know, with Chris sitting in it.”

  Bill was enjoying the chaotic course of the conver­sation. “I see, so you’re suggesting that Chris is dirty eh? Just you wait till I see him. I’ll tell him.”


  “Oh no. I didn’t mean…..”

  “We know what you meant. You were casting assertions on Chris’ personal habits. And him, up to his private assets in muddy water not able to speak for himself. Shame on you.”

  “No, I didn’t mean…”

  Wingco had had enough. “Gentlemen please. This is a serious matter. If you are not going to take the tray I will have to.”

  Bill stood up sharply. “No, we’ll do it.”

  Vic frowned. “We?”

  “Yes, you wouldn’t want to miss this would you?”

  “No, I suppose you’re right. Its not often that Henry is given to acts of kindness and charity.”

  The motley relief party gathered by the kitchen door of the lounge and waited while steward Colins’ wife brought the tray of provisions to them. By general agreement it was thought unadvisable for Henry to carry the tray. He had a long and infamous history of being accident prone. Henry attracted accidents like moths are attracted by a light. Somehow events always seem to conspire perfectly and with a precision of timing that was uncanny. Coupled with Henry’s blustering, act now think later approach to life these factors were a recipe for disaster. As Bill had once quipped, life was full of accidents just waiting to find Henry and it was Bill who stepped forward to carry the tray.

  Chris viewed the arival of the delegation with a confused mixture of pleasure, doubt, relief and irritation. It was nice to have company but in truth, preferring to endure his trial alone, the fewer people he saw that day the happier he would have been. But at that moment he was hungry and would certainly welcome a stiff drink to help bring back some life to his cold and numb lower regions.

  With a note of challenge in his voice, Bill handed the tray to Henry. “There you go Henry. Its all yours. Off you go.”

  Henry viewed the pond with distaste and puffed noisily. “I’m not bloody going in there.”

  “Well how are you going to get the tray to him?”

  “He can come and collect it.”

  “Oh no, Sid’s revenge is quite explicit. He’s got to remain seated all the time.”

  Bob was making strange motions with his hands, motions somewhat akin to smoothing out bed clothes or a table cloth. “I’ve got an idea, we could build a sort of raft and float it across to Chris. And then when he’s finished he can float it back to us.”

  There was a silence while the others tried to decide whether the idea was sensible or ridiculous. It was one of those occasions when everyone was waiting for everyone else to speak first. The silence puzzled Bob. “Sorry, it was just a suggestion.”

  Henry was the first to speak. It was he after all that stood to benefit from any plan that saved him from the muddy water. “Brilliant idea. Well done Bob. Let’s do it.” Henry spun his head back and forth looking about him. “Er, what are we going to use to build the raft?”

  Bill grinned mischievously. “Why don’t we just try floating the tray itself across?”

  It had been a flippant suggestion but Henry was convinced, anything other than the murky water. “OK, I’m game, let’s give it a go.”

  Henry grabbed the tray from Bill and with unusual delicacy gently lowered it onto the surface of the pond. The tray floated uneasily on the slowly rippling water as the watching men held their breath. Gesturing meaninglessly at Chris, Henry gave the tray a sharp shove in the direction of the wallowing captain. “Don’t move Chris. Its on it way.”

  As the tray floated slowly and precariously across the pond a small brown creature suddenly leapt onto it causing the tray to rock unsteadily. Pooleys pond was home to a variety of wildlife including several toads. Settling comfortably on the gently moving tray the toad started to croak loudly and to the horror of the watching men other toads started to appear and leap onto the tray.

  “They’re having a bloody party!” Henry fumed.

  Bill was helpless with laughter. You’ll have to go in now Henry and rescue the tray from the toads.”

  “No I bloody won’t.” With that Henry picked up some small pieces of branch that had fallen from a nearby tree and began throwing them in the direction of the tray. The ripples set up by the splashing missiles caused water to lap over the sides of the tray which slowly began to sink.

  Bill stood to attention and saluted. “Aren’t you going down with the ship the Henry?”

  Sitting helplessly in the middle of the pond Chris watched with dismay and growing anger as the tray slid gently below the water. But worse was about to come. The last stick thrown in by Henry had landed very close to Chris. Unfortunately the stick had been spotted by a retriever dog which up until that moment had been walking calmly with its owner along the public footpath that ran near to the eight fairway and the pond. With one bound the retriever leapt into the pond, paddled over to Chris and mistaking the irate captains furious gestures as a game attempted to climb onto him. Chris fell backwards under the water while the dog paddled off back to its frantically calling owner. Sitting upright again Chris’ eyes bulged with rage as he looked towards Henry who was standing hand over mouth dumbstruck. “You stupid prat, bugger off and don’t come back.”

  Henry needed no second invitation to leave and departed as rapidly as his aging legs would carry him up the hill back to the clubhouse. Wingco meantime was trying to pacify the angry man for the third time in the space of a few hours while Bill and Vic discretely withdrew dragging the curious Bob with them.

  Wingco watched as the last light of the setting sun dimmed in the sky signalling an end to Chris’ ordeal. Carefully and with great relief he helped the cold, wet and miserable captain out of the water and onto dry land. At least it would have been dry land if Chris had not been dripping water all over it. Slowly and in silence the two men climbed the long hill back to the clubhouse.

  Showered, changed, fed and restored once more to the warmth and security of the clubhouse Chris mellowed quickly and soon returned to his usual amiable self. “I’m sorry about swearing at you Henry. I know you meant well. I was rather upset.”

  Henry slapped Chris on the back a little too forcefully for the still shaky man. “That’s all right. Let me buy you a drink. As I said earlier we must all stick together.”

  Bob had been nervously fiddling with his empty glass for some time, a sure sign that something was on his troubled mind. “Er Chris.”

  “Yes Bob.”

  “Did you wear anything special while you were in there.”

  “Anything special?”

  “Yes, you know in case you needed to, well you know, do anything?”

  Slowly it dawned on Chris what Bob was talking about. Shaking his head he turned to leave. “You guys worry me some time.” But Chris’ misfortune was still not at an end. At that very moment the four Japanese who had tried to pull him out of Pooleys Pond had just entered having finished their evening nine holes. Spotting Chris they surrounded him and vigorously shook his hand and bowed. With that several more joined in until Chris was engulfed in excited chatter and handshaking. Wingco started as he heard a shrill cry reminiscent of the one he had heard earlier, “Ahhhh! Leave me alone!”

  And so thanks to Sids legacy and the subservient adherence of yet another captain to the terms of the legacy, Barndem was able to survive yet another financial year. There was however the faintest of hopes that the terms of the legacy could be overturned. One of the new generation of Barndem members was something in the European Union. His job in Brussels, though vague and abstract by description brought him close to the vast mountains of legal documentation that churned out of the much despised and mistrusted organisation. He had been charged with the responsi­bility of determining whether the ritual of Sids legacy contravened human rights. It did after all form a sort of torture and though the captain volunteered he was effectively forced into the ritual.

  During the vindictive draughting of the terms of his legacy, Sid Pooley could not have anticipated the European Union or its powers to intervene where it was not wanted. If the test case was successful there wo
uld be dark rumblings from the Barndem Church cemetery where Sid had lain enjoying his revenge in peace and contentment.

  11

  Debentures

  Debentures are a peculiarly English invention. They are a creative way for a club or organisation to obtain money without giving much away in return. The dictionary defines debentures as an acknowl­edgment of indebtedness but this is indebtedness that there is absolutely no intention of being repaid. This makes debentures a sort of perpetual IOU without strings.

  During its formative years Barndem initiated a debenture scheme whereby one hundred carefully chosen local worthies were invited to buy into Barndem. In truth the worthies were not quite so worthy since with so much interest in the club, bribery was rife. With the money raised from the debenture scheme Barndem was able to purchase the freehold of the land on which the course was built thus ensuring the absolute future of the club. Originally the debenture conferred two special privileges, lifetime membership with no fees to pay and a vote at the annual general meeting. Over the years the privileges had been extended to include, priority for tee-off times during busy periods such as Sunday mornings, a personal locker in the changing rooms and most recently a named parking space in the car park. Privileges were jealously guarded by debenture holders sometimes to the extent of hostility. A fiercely competitive game had implemented an equally fierce class structure.

  An ideal method of raising a large sum of money quickly, the debenture system had left an uncomfortable legacy. It meant that there were 100 members who did not make any financial contribution to club funds. This was a serious blow to cash flow about which Barndem could do nothing.