by Brian Alford
As usual Henry was indulging himself in a tale of his golfing exploits and also as usual his fading memory could not quite recall the actual truth of what happened. Bill shook his head in disbelief. “Fifty foot my arse.”
Henry was adamant “Straight up, fifty foot if it was an inch.”
“More likely missed by fifty foot.”
An amused Vic joined the fairy story conversation. “That’s English feet is it Henry?”
“Of course its English feet, what other type are there?”
Bill turned in serious explanation to Vic. “Could be Japanese. Japanese feet are smaller than English. Fifty Japanese feet would be less than fifty English feet.”
Henry thumped the bar. “Fifty, twelve inch, bloody English feet!”
Bill made a gesture with his hands indicating a length of about four inches. “If you say so.”
“I do. And you can stop that stupid gesture!”
Across the room the fourth member of the permanent alliance, Bob was studying a large poster on the notice board inviting guesses as to how far the new Club Captain will hit the ball during the driving-in ceremony. Bemused and scratching his head Bob called across to Henry. “Henry! You haven’t put your guess down yet. First prize is a bottle of Scotch you know! It’s not like you to miss the chance of a free bottle of Scotch.”
Henry waved a reassuring but unsteady arm. “I know, I know, I’m just waiting to see how the weather turns out. So I can allow for the wind.”
Bob was still concerned. “Well you’d better hurry up. Says here he’s teeing off at twelve.”
Henry fell off the bar stool and tottered towards the poster closely followed by Bill and Vic. Placing a pair of ancient and battered spectacle on his nose, Henry perused the notice. “Alright, what have we got? Two ‘undred bloody yards, what pillock put that down?”
Vic gave Henry a withering look. “This Pillock!”
“Ah, right, well, just kidding.” Henry peered over the top of his glasses. “Seriously though, what makes you think he’ll get even close to two hundred yards?”
“Because this pillock played with the new Captain yesterday and he was driving about two hundred yards. Might this pillock enquire what your guess is going to be?”
Bill snorted with derision. “Well if his estimate of the length of his putts is anything to go by it’ll be miles out!”
Henry took the pen Bob was holding and began to write on the notice. “Huh, we’ll see.” Satisfied he stood away in triumph. “There you go, seventy one yards exactly.”
Vic was puzzled. “Seventy one yards?”
“To the inch.”
“Is that English or Japanese yards?”
Henry attempted to return the same withering look that Vic had just given him. The effect was more comical than threatening as his face twitched uncontrollably. “English yards of course!”
Bob’s curiosity could be contained no longer. “Do the Japanese have yards? I know they drive on the same side of the road as us.”
Bill looked at him with mocking. “Only dock yards.”
“Oh.”
Henry placed an arm on Bob’s shoulder and started to lead him back to the bar. “Take no notice Bob, they’re both pig ignorant. Come on, we’ve just got time for another round before the fun starts.”
A helpless but willing victim Bob followed. “Do you think I should have allowed for the wind Henry?”
“Only if its blowing.”
Bill and Vic followed the two men as if on automatic. They played golf as a group, drank as a group and seemed always to move as one. Where one went the others followed. Even the urges of their bladders seemed to coincide. A useful coincidence since the call of nature did not interrupt their conversation.
Bill looked at Vic and winked. “Talking of wind Bob, Henry’s been telling us about his fifty foot putt, haven’t you Henry?”
Bob was impressed. “Fifty feet, wow! That’s well, a long way.”
Bill made his previous four inch gesture. “Yes, fifty feet.”
Bob thought long and hard before the penny dropped. “I didn’t know we had any fifty foot long greens.”
Vic laughed not so much at the remark but at the strange expression on Bob’s face. “We don’t. Henry’s discovered virtual reality.”
Henry thought again about attempting another withering look but as his glasses once again began their downward descent decided against the idea. “We going to have this bloody drink or not?”
Vic took a step back. “Your round is it Henry?”
Bill drew in his breath loudly and noisily. “Can’t be. He’s too eager. He’s only eager when someone else is paying.”
“Oh stuff you lot, I’ll buy my own!”
An irritated Henry stormed off towards the bar watched by an anxious Bob. “What’s up with Henry?”
Vic rested a reassuring hand on Bob’s shoulder. “Alcohol deprivation, terrible thing to see. It plays funny tricks on the mind doesn’t it Bill?”
“Yes, makes you imagine that two foot putts are fifty foot.”
“And worst of all, it can lead a man to violence.”
“Especially when he is frustrated by never having money to buy any.”
Bob was distraught. “Gosh! Poor Henry.” Quickly he followed Henry to the bar. “Don’t get violent Henry. I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Eh? Oh right, thanks Bob.”
“My pleasure Henry. My pleasure. Its very bad for your blood pressure getting violent.”
“Violent? What do you mean? Who’s getting violent?”
Vic and Bill joined the others at the bar, where Vic looked anxiously at Bob. “No one. Bob was just talking about all the violence on television, weren’t you Bob?”
Bob was becoming confused. “Was I?”
“Yes, you heard him didn’t you Bill?”
An emphatic nod from Bill. “Certainly did. Heard what?”
Vic turned his eyes to the ceiling in frustration. “Heaven help me. Its like talking to children. We were talking about … oh forget it.”
Bob was still confused. “How big is a Japanese dock yard?”
Vic’s eyes widen in disbelief. “Pardon?”
“You said Henry’s putt was fifty Japanese docks yards long. I just wondered how long that was.”
“I didn’t say anything about Japanese dockyards.”
Bill was vainly trying not to laugh. “No, that was me. They’re just a bit shorter than a metric mile.”
“Gosh that is a long way.”
Vic let out an exasperated breath. “Hopeless! I think I’ll go outside and see what’s going on before listening to you destroy my brain. See you chaps at the first tee.”
A short while later, the members of Barndem were to be found clustered around the first tee on which stood the new club captain Chris and the man affectionately known as Wingco. Wingco had been a senior officer in the RAF though it was unclear as to exactly what rank he had reached. The suspicion was that he had been promoted by a well meaning commandant just before he retired to enable him to be granted a larger pension, but nobody dared to ask. As honorary and life long club president, Wingco was acting as master of ceremonies. “Ladies and gentlemen, could I have your attention please?”
Not more than ten feet away Henry was whispering to Bob and just getting to the punch line of some risky joke. In truth Henry did not know how to whisper. Whether it was just his noisy nature or lack of control over his vocal chords, Henry’s whispering was audible to most ears however distant. Wingco looked disapprovingly at them. “U-hum! I know I said ladies and gentlemen but that does include you Henry.”
Henry looked up and almost became embarrassed. “Sorry Air Marshal.”
Bob continued to look at Henry in a puzzled and expectant manner. “And then what happened?”
“Later! The Air Marshal wants to speak.”
Turning to look at Wingco Bob realised that everyone was watching them and took two embarrassed steps back in an attempt to hide
in the crowd as Wingco continued.
“Thank-you. Right, well as you all know today is the first day in office of our new captain and in keeping with tradition I am going to invite Chris to perform the driving-in ceremony. Now I know you’ve all got a little bet on how far Chris is going to drive but I want no putting off or nobbling, let us give the man a fair chance. OK Chris take it away.”
A hesitant and nervous looking Chris stepped up to a ball that had been teed in advance and took a few practice swings. As Chris continued nervously to set himself, Mr Soyoung, the elderly, well dressed Japanese businessman at the centre of the recent troubles, began agitatedly tugging at Wingco’s arm and whispering in his ear. Wingco frowned and looked uncertainly at the demonstrative man. “What, you mean now?”
Soyoung nodded enthusiastically as the frown on Wingco’s face deepened. Slowly he turned the frown in the direction of the still fidgeting Chris. “Oh I see! Chris, sorry to interrupt but Mr Soyoung was rather hoping that you would do the drive as we discussed the other day. You know uh …”
Horrified, Chris recognised the significance of the strange upward gestures Wingco was making with his hands. “What, now?”
“I’m afraid so yes.”
In desperation Chris looked towards Soyoung who once more nodded emphatically and repeated the upward hand gestures of Wingco. Chris managed to force a smile in return and pulled Wingco to one side and whispered somewhat more successfully than Henry.
“Wingco, I can’t. Not with all these people watching. Can’t you negotiate with him? Tell him I’ll do it another time. Tell him, I suffer from vertigo. Tell him we need a special licence or something. Tell him anything.”
“Sorry Chris, but he insists.”
“But I insist too. I insist that I don’t want to do it.”
“But you did agree.”
“When we were negotiating the corporate sponsorship deal yes, but I didn’t think it was meant seriously. Besides, I did not agree. I just didn’t disagree. You know how these damn committee meetings go, chaos.”
“It’s for the sake of the club. He is our new sponsor after all and we can’t afford to upset him. Think of the money.”
“You don’t want to upset him? What about me?”
“Chris, I don’t want to pull rank on you, but dammit, it is your duty.”
Realising that as their voices had been raised and that everyone was now listening, Wingco smiled at the anxious Soyoung, who bowed in return. Resigned to his fate, Chris dropped his shoulders, approached a large vehicle parked at the back of the tee and climbed carefully and reluctantly on board. Slowly the platform rose lifting the furious Chris until he was about 12 feet above the ground.
The watching members were dumbstruck. All except Henry, who was never lost for something to say even if only an oath. “Bloody hell !”
An indecipherable utterance was heard from Chris as he settled down to hit the ball. Once again Soyoung began tugging at Wingco’s arm and whispering. Chris was resigned. “Um, yes, well if you say so, of course. Er, Chris.”
“Yes! What now!”
“Mister Soyoung would just like to take a photograph of you.”
“A photograph? I suppose he insists?”
“I’m rather afraid so.”
“Anything else? Would he like me to do a tap dance or juggle some golf balls? Anybody else got any requests?” Chris turned to address the amused gathering and in the process nearly fell off the slightly shaking platform. “Oh bugger! Tell him to bbb … hurry up.”
Fuming, Chris posed addressing the ball as Soyoung took the photograph. A blinding flash from the camera dazzled Chris who began to sway on the platform. After a short stagger watched with horror by the crowd, Chris steadied himself but facing the wrong way, facing in fact directly at the crowd. As he settled down to hit the ball the crowd dropped to the ground in panic; all except Henry who was looking down the fairway in eager anticipation, unaware of the danger. Bob tugged at Henry’s trouser leg. “Henry, get down.”
“What?” Turning, Henry spotted the prostrate crowd and instinctively followed suit. “Bloody ‘ell!”
From his safe haven on the ground Wingco shouted to the squinting Chris. “Er, Chris.”
“What is it now?”
“It would be preferable if you could hit it down the fairway. It’s in that direction.”
Wingco pointed to the fairway. Trying to follow Wingco’s directions Chris shook his head and squinted more keenly to focus his eyes. Opening his eyes wide in shock Chris adjusted his position and settled down yet again to hit the ball. The relieved crowd all stood up but kept their attention focused intensely on Chris. At last the ball was struck and it sailed toward a large oak tree a short way down the fairway. Instantly the official measurer set off in pursuit with his measuring wheel and a few minutes later over an intercom the yardage was announced as exactly 72 yards. Henry’s broad grin became a yell of ecstasy as the news was announced. “Yes!!”
Bill and Vic look suspiciously at each other and Vic is moved to ask, “So how did you know?”
“A-ha! I just happen to know that his wife bought him that driver some time ago and he’s had nothing but problems with it. He doesn’t use it normally but as his wife is watching he wouldn’t dare not use it. I also happen to know that every time he uses it he hits that tree which is exactly seventy one yards away, Q.E.D.”
“But you were a yard out.”
“How was I to know that they were going to use that bloody platform? That’s behind the tee.”
Henry’s triumph is interrupted by an impatient cry from the platform. “Wingco, any chance of getting me down now?”
“Right, of course, Mr Soyoung if you would be so kind.”
Wingco gestured downwards with his hands and the eager Soyoung began fiddling with the motorised controls of the platform. After several unsuccessful minutes it became apparent that something was wrong; the platform was stuck. Henry became impatient. They were wasting valuable drinking time and he had a bottle of Scotch to collect. “Bugger this performance, who’s for a drink?”
Bob had emerged from the crowd following his earlier embarrassed retreat. “You’re not feeling violent again are you Henry?”
“Look here, what is all this about me feeling violent Bob?”
“Vic said that you ….”
Vic coughed. “Thanks Bob. Yes well perhaps we should leave them to sort this out.”
“Before you become violent.”
“I do not get violent!”
“That not what Vic …..”
Again Vic coughed to avoid further embarrassment. “Thank you Bob, it’s our little secret eh?”
“Ahh, I see. Its alright Henry, your secret’s safe with us.”
It was Henry’s turn to be confused. “Secret? What secret? Look here, what’s going on?”
Hastily Vic led the men towards the clubhouse leaving behind the chaotic scene around the first tee. Restored to the clubhouse bar the four men sat in their usual positions in the corner. A round of drinks and change of scenery had diverted Henry’s mind away from the talk of his becoming violent and he was once again holding court. “It’s a bit worrying these new Japanese sponsors. Where is it going to lead? I mean, look at that farce out there. Soyoung’s motorised platforms. The captain’s driving-in ceremony is part of club tradition. How can they change something that has been going for fifty years? I tell you, it’s not on.”
Bill was nodding approvingly. “For once I agree with you Henry. It’ll be bean shoot and rice flavoured crisps behind the bar next.”
Vic pursed his lips carefully considering his comment. “I hate to see traditions change as much as you but we’ve got to face reality. The club needs the money and sponsorship is lucrative. The only alternative is to put up membership fees or increase the bar prices, and you wouldn’t like that would you Henry?”
“No certainly not! But we don’t need hundreds of little yellow perils running riot all over the course.”
“Won’t it? What about the other day when Soyoung’s mob had their company competition?”
“That was the green keepers fault for running his tractor over one of their golf balls. You know what a cantankerous soul Geoff is. He probably did it on purpose.”
“They threatened him with violence.”
“They did not threaten him with violence. They simply wanted to play the ball from where it was lying.”
“Yes, but as he had just extracted it from the tractor cutting blades it was lying in his hand! Dammit, they wanted to play it from his hand.”
“It was just a little misunderstanding.”
“Little misunderstanding? Trying telling that to the green keeper.”
“I think I’ll pass on that until he’s calmed down a little.”
“Well you won’t catch me having anything to do with them.”
“Not even if they offer you a drink Henry?”
“Bloody cheek! I do have my principles you know.”
Bill could not contain a chuckle. “Yes, principally, who’s going to buy the next drink.”
“Huh! Its the start of the rot. You mark my words, one day they’ll take over altogether. There’ll be no place for you lot.”
Bill was still chuckling to himself. “I can just picture it. Coming in here in ten years time to see the place full of Japanese and Henry sitting on his own in the corner. You’ll have to learn Japanese Henry. Otherwise how else are you going to con them out of a drink?”
“You can mock, but it could happen.”
Vic waved an admonishing finger. “Don’t be silly. They’ve only got a limited number of corporate memberships. Any increase would have to be put to a vote of the members.”
“Would that include the fifty corporate Japanese?”
“Of course. They pay their subs so they are entitled to vote.”
“There you go then. We’re lucky to get fifty members turning up to any meeting. Soyoung’s mob could out vote us.”