Green Fees - Tales of Barndem Country Club

by Brian Alford

  No doubt the verbal tirade would have continued for some time had Bill not intervened. “Come on Henry. It could have been worse.”

  “Worse! How could it have been worse?”

  “Well, at least we stayed dry.”

  Henry pounded the water with his fists splashing himself even more. “Why you….”

  “Henry, calm down. You’re splashing water on us.”

  “I’ll splash more than water on you in a minute. Get me out of here!”

  Bill and Vic leaned over and helped the angrily muttering Henry out of the ditch. After a considerable struggle the buggy was also extracted and Henry placed back onto it. He glared defiance at the others and dared them to even think about trying to get on board with him.

  Back at the clubhouse, Wingco and Colin were taking a deserved break after having completed a brief inventory of the bar. Wingco found it strange they were alone since by now Vic, Henry, Bob and Bill had normally completed their round and would be expected to be found in the bar. “Where are the terrible foursome today?”

  “Still out playing I presume. Henry’s got gout so they’re using a golf buggy to get him round. Perhaps they’ve been having problems with it.”

  “A buggy you say?”

  “That’s what I was told. Makes you shudder just to think of it eh?”

  “Certainly does. I had a lift off Henry once. His driving is quite frightening. He seemed singularly lacking in control both of the car and himself. Goodness knows how he’ll manage a golf buggy.”

  As Wingco spoke Colins’ attention was drawn to a distant sight outside on the course. With a grin of sheer pleasure he pointed in the direction of the lounge window. There out on the course they could see the buggy with a wet Henry on board being pushed up the fairway by the others.

  Another observer had also seen the sorry sight. George the greenkeeper had viewed the motley band with idle curiosity and amusement until he recognised the buggy. Horrified he walked quickly towards the struggling crew.

  “What you dunna moy buggy?”

  Vic looked apologetically at the distraught man. “We, um, had a little mishap I’m afraid.”

  “Mis’ap? Wot kind of mis’ap?”

  “Well, I rather suspect that there may be some water in the motor.”

  When George got excited his accent broadened to the point where he became almost impossible to understand. “Bloody ‘ell. What’s t’owner gonna say? ‘im left it wi’ me a service an’ now you’s gorn an buggerit. The’ll be ‘ell a pay. You daft buggas. Can’t trust ee with nothin’ I can’t. Bloody ‘ell if I don’t get in a trouble o’er it. Stoopid damn blasted ….”

  Vic interrupted to prevent the verbal abuse become too severe. “We really are most terribly sorry.”

  “Terribly sorry? Oi’ll giv’ee terribly sorry. Yous jus waits ‘ere an oi’ll get me tractor and tows it in.”

  George was not normally given to quick movement, nothing in life was that important or deserving of undue haste. His motion was more a sort of slow but inevitable momentum. However on this occasion his movement back to collect the tractor was definitely unusually fast as was the speed with which the tractor appeared and flew down the hill towards the buggy and its anxiously waiting attendants.

  As George hitched the buggy to the tractor, muttering bad temperedly to himself, Henry continued to recline in the buggy resting his sore foot. Vic was a trifle concerned at what would ensue when George began to tow the buggy up the hill.

  “Don’t you think you had better get off Henry?”

  “What and walk up that hill? No chance, I’m staying put.”

  “I’m not sure that’s wise. I think we’ve upset George enough for one day.”

  “Bugger George. I’m comfortable here and it helps my gout to put my legs up.”

  Vic continued to protest. “Yes but….”

  At that moment the tractor roared into life and lurched up the hill jerking the buggy behind it. Henry yelled in pain as the bumping jarred his sore foot. If George heard the cries, which was unlikely above the noise of the tractor, he chose to ignore them. And if he had heard them he would no doubt have taken great pleasure in Henry’s discomfort.

  With undue haste and with considerable discomfort to the volubly complaining Henry, George drove up the hill and back towards the sanctuary of his shed. It was not so much concern about his moonlighting maintenance activities being found out, these were already well known. It was concern for his reputation. He was understandably anxious that no one should see what had happened to the buggy left in his care.

  Reaching his shed George brought the tractor and its load to an abrupt halt. Henry howled in pain and uttered oaths which are best left unrecorded. With the tractor silenced George could not fail to hear the abuse being hurled at him by the distraught buggy passenger.

  “Wot ‘id oo call me?”

  “You heard you stupid bastard! Now get me out of here.” Somehow Henry’s bad leg had managed to become entangled with the steering wheel of the buggy and he could not move without a good deal of pain.

  “Oi’ll be buggered if I’s gonna ‘elp you. Rude bugga.”

  With that George stormed off leaving Henry still raging. “What? Come back here immediately!”

  Henry’s continued, heated protests fell on deaf ears and after a few minutes he resigned himself to his fate. George was either ignoring him or had gone off somewhere and he would have to wait until someone came by who could rescue him. As he sat miserably contemplating his fate he pondered the thought of his three companions who were in all probability enjoying a warming tipple in the bar. What he wouldn’t have given for a drop of the precious liquid so tantalisingly out of reach.

  Lost in visions of golden liquid and feeling distinctly sorry for himself Henry suddenly noticed three boys walking across the car park and heading in his direction. As they approached, he supposed that there was some­thing vaguely familiar about the boys, especially the tallest of the three. He could not quite place the familiarity but Henry felt a vague feeling of unease as the boys stood staring curiously at him. It was the tallest boy that spoke first and Henry’s unease was confirmed.

  “‘Ere, ain’t you that miserable old git that threatened us the other day?”

  Henry recognised the lads whom he had caught sneaking onto the course and stealing the balls from the twelfth green recently. Angrily Henry had brandished a club at the boys who rapidly disappeared into a nearby thicket. “You only got what you deserved.”

  “You was threatening us wiv a club weren’tcha?”

  “Never mind about that just give me a hand out of this cart.”

  “Piss off you silly old sod!”

  “Why you cheeky little… just wait ‘till I get hold of you!”

  “Huh! Looks like you ain’t going nowhere Grandad.”

  Flabbergasted, Henry watched as the three urchins huddled together and began an excited discussion. With a slap of hands all three agreed on a plan and moved menacingly back towards Henry. To his relief they appeared not to be about to confront him but instead walked to the back of the buggy. Twisting as best he could to see what was happening Henry’s relief gave way to panic. Two of the boys had started to push the buggy while the third had sneaked round the side, released the hand brake and grabbed the steering wheel. Slowly at first but rapidly gathering momentum the boys pushed the buggy across the car park towards the exit. Loudly though Henry protested it was all happening too quickly for him to prevent it. Within seconds the buggy was out of the exit and with one last mighty shove the boys pushed it onto the road.

  As luck would have it the road sloped away from the entrance and down towards a hill. Once on the slope and aided by the boys last heave, the buggy began to roll down the hill and pick up speed. On board Henry desperately wrestled with the steering wheel and struggled to extricate his trapped leg in order that he could reach the brake peddle.

  Some four or five hundred yards down the hill Henry managed to free his leg and
with a yell of pain stamped his foot on the brake peddle bringing the buggy to an abrupt halt and toppling it onto the side of the road. Unfortunately his sojourn had been observed with great interest and curiosity by two policemen sitting in their patrol car parked in a layby. Switching on the engine they drove to where Henry lay prostrate on the road with the buggy on top of him.

  One of the policemen got out of the car and approached the groaning Henry. “Having a spot of trouble are we sir?”

  “That’s a damn stupid question you pillock!”

  “There’s no need to be offensive. We merely came over to see if you were alright.”

  “No I’m not alright. Don’t just stand there help me up.”

  Leaning down to help Henry the policeman sniffed suspiciously. “Have you been drinking sir?”

  “What of it?”

  “Well if my suspicions are correct then you are drunk in charge of a motorised vehicle sir.”

  “Tosh! The damn thing’s bust. It won’t go. I was pushed down here by three….”

  “Yes,. yes, I’m sure you’re right but we can go into that later on. For now I’d like you to take a breath test.”

  “Bugger off!”

  “If you won’t co-operate then I’m afraid we shall have to arrest you for obstruction.”

  “Bugger off!”

  “Now then are you willing to co-operate or must we take you in sir?”

  “Bugger off!”

  “That’s a rather limited vocabulary you have sir. I take it that you are refusing to co-operate and so I must inform you that I am arresting you for obstructing a police officer in the course of his duty.”

  The policeman waved to his colleague who extricated himself from the car and joined the confrontation. With a struggle the policemen manhandled Henry into the back of the police car and took him to the local station.

  Much of what ensued at the station is best left to the recollection of the few police that had the misfortune to be present at the time Henry was brought in. Suffice it to say that Henry was not best pleased with events and after much abuse and protestations was locked in a cell for overnight keeping. The following day Vic and Bill arrived to take charge of the insufferably bad tempered Henry. Vic had also arranged for the hapless buggy to be retrieved and returned to George in an even worse state than before. After much heated and unpleasant discussion Vic agreed to pay for the damage and the subject was hurriedly hushed up.

  Unfortunately for Henry the subject did not end there for he had been charged with being drunk in charge of a motorised vehicle. It was several weeks later that he was summonsed to attend a hearing at the local magistrates court. Vic, Bill and Bob accompanied Henry to ensure firstly that he arrived and secondly that he remained in a passably calm state of mind. A close approximation of civilised normality had been achieved by the time Henry answered the call of his name.

  Inside the court the civility was wrecked in an instant. On the bench was Justice Rate and the sight of the onerous man changed Henry’s disposition in an instant. At the sound of the name Mister Henry Munroe, Justice Rate looked up from the bench and smiled. Though a placid man by nature, Justice Rate was not exactly at peace with the world and this was reflected in his general demeanour. It was therefore unusual to see him smile. As he viewed the man that sat before him now he beamed a broad smile of pleasure and excited anticipation. So odd was the smile that the clerk of the court shivered at the sight. As a man unpractised in the art of smiling, Justice Rate looked menacing when he smiled.

  With circumspect procedure the charges were read. An Ill tempered Henry blustered a not guilty appeal and the policeman who had arrested him described the graphic detail of their encounter. Several times during the officers report Henry muttered “Tosh!” at considerably more than a whisper until chastised by Justice Rate. When finally the evidence was complete Henry was invited to speak on his own defence. It was not the most eloquent of explanations and caused a great deal of confusion in the minds of those listening including Justice Rate. Finally the Justice felt compelled to stop the incoherently blubbering Henry.

  “If I may intervene.” Justice Rate tried to sound authoritative but was gleaming with pleasure which rather spoiled the effect. “Now let me see if I’ve got this right Mister Munroe. You were sitting in this er, golf buggy, and three boys pushed you out onto the main road? You were in charge of the buggy?”

  “Yes, I mean no. I was the passenger. I was not driving. Well…”

  “You don’t seem very clear. Are you a little confused about events? Perhaps you had indeed had a little too much to drink?”

  “Bloody cheek! I’m not confused. Its just that you asked two questions with different answers.”

  “I see. Well let me try again. I’ll try to make it easier for you. You were sitting in the buggy yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you were alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Therefore, as sole occupant of the vehicle you must have been in charge of it.”

  “No.”

  Justice Rate shook his head in despair. “Well that makes sense. Would you care to explain? Just for the record you understand. It would be nice to have an accurate record, if that is possible. I do so hate loose ends.”

  Henry was becoming extremely agitated. Justice Rate was trying his patience. He raised his voice and blurted out a reply to the sarcastic request. “I was stuck in the buggy. I could not get out. My leg was caught. I was trapped in the infernal machine. If it hadn’t been for those three little bastards …”

  “I think we get the picture thank you. And, um, there’s no need to shout, I’m not deaf. I can hear your words perfectly well, I’m just having a small problem understanding what they mean. So what you are trying to tell us is that the buggy was in charge of you?”

  Henry thought hard and finally raised a finger in triumph. “Yes. That’s it exactly. The buggy was in charge of me. There was nothing I could do. I had to go wherever the buggy went and …”

  Justice Rate coughed. “You have a valid point Mister Munroe don’t spoil it by going too far.” A note of sadness entered his voice as he shuffled two sheets of paper. “Luckily for you your story, or at least as much of your story as I have been able to comprehend is corroborated by two statements I have here. Both state that you were incapacitated at the time and that the buggy was in fact inoperable. There is no mention of three boys but as you have been truthful about the rest of the story I am disposed to believe that you are being truthful about that part.”

  Henry was puzzled. “What the hell are you talking about? Are you suggesting…”

  Justice Rate coughed again and peered over the top of his glasses. “Thank you Mister Munroe. That will do! Against all my instincts I am actually trying to help you.”

  Justice Rate motioned to the prosecution council and the puzzled man approached the bench. After a brief conversation and much waving of hands and shrugging of shoulders by the solicitor he returned to his seat.

  Intense as his hatred for Barndem was Justice Rate was above all a fair man. Deep in thought he drew several deep breaths before speaking. “Unfortunately, it seems to me that Mister Munroe has been an unfortunate victim of circumstances. Drunk or not he was on private property and did not drive the machine onto the road of his own volition. We can hardly convict a man who has been forced into a position of illegality by the reckless action of others. In view of these circumstances I am moved to dismiss the case. You are free to go Mister Munroe. But let me caution you. If you ever appear before this court on a similar charge woe betide you.”

  Henry was annoyed “What? You stupid old…..”

  Justice Rate had risen and turned to leave. Though this was not the last case he felt in need of a breath of fresh air. He had heard what Henry had called him but decided to ignore it and behave with decorum. That seemed to be the only victory he would gain from this disaster.

  The buggy was soon mended and returned to its owner without further mish
ap. Henry forgot his discomfort. Even his gout subsided. The only unhappy man was Justice Rate who had suffered great pain in dismissing the case. Thereafter he would muse to anyone who would listen on the injustice of life. What was the point in being a magistrate if he could not dispense justice?

  Lovers Brook

  Lovers Brook begins in the depths of the Earth and bubbles to the surface at the edge of a sloping coppice of trees near the twelfth tee. From here it meanders lazily and eccentrically across the twelfth fairway and on past the thirteenth tee before finally disappearing into the eerie darkness of Covens Meet.

  At first glance there was nothing to distinguish this tract of water from the numerous other streams scattered around the rambling course. For the most part it was about six feet wide and four feet deep with three feet of sparkling clear flowing water.

  But Lovers Brook was different. There was a noticeable absence of vegetation along its banks. With other streams there was a twice yearly ritual cleaning to be carried out to remove the plant life that thrived in the clean water and along the cool banks of the streams. Without this clearing the streams would have flooded and spoilt the hallowed grass. But this ritual was not necessary with Lovers Brook. It remained clear of unwanted growth because its water was salty.

  There was also another oddity about Lovers Brook. Unlike the other streams which were also fed by underground streams and springs, it never dried up even in the harshest of summer droughts. Over the years this had been a source of frustration to the green keepers of Barndem. While the fairways and greens had been dying through lack of water Lovers Brook continued to taunt with its endless flow of poisonous water. For the salt water of Lovers Brook was deadly to the grass and could not be used to irrigate the precious acres. This was why the thirteenth green had been raised to protect it from the occasional flooding of the stream. Without this precaution the grass would surely have perished as the stream overflowed its banks.

  Quite how and why the low lying Covens Meet at the back of the thirteenth green managed to survive the flooding was a mystery best left unsolved. Somehow the thicket not only survived but actually flourished on its poisonous watery supply.