Green Fees - Tales of Barndem Country Club
Page 13
There were various explanations as to why Lovers Brook flowed with salt water. The most plausible was that lying not far from the West coast of England Barndem had once been actually on the coast and there was evidence to suggest that the land could even have been under water. Over the millennium as England tilted on its axis raising the West coast and lowering the East, Barndem had been raised and effectively moved inland. However, underground there were almost certainly rock salt deposits and it was these that polluted the water of Lovers Brook.
What this reasonable and comforting theory failed to explain was why only Lovers Brook was affected and none of the other streams which flowed across the course. Barndem being the cradle of superstition and mystery that it was, there was another explanation. And as with all folklore the story fitted the facts much more accurately than any scientific explanation.
John Brocklebank and Isabel Longbarrow had been childhood sweethearts since, well, since childhood. As they grew and matured so did their mutual affection and it was generally assumed that one day they would marry. Indeed while continuing to observe all proprietaries they effectively lived as man and wife from the age of sixteen. John’s parents had died in the great plague leaving him sole heir to a small cottage on the edge of the Barndem estate. Given the affection they held for each other and their promise to wed it therefore seemed only natural when Isabel moved in to join her betrothed. There she bided her time until they both reached the age of eighteen which was considered by all the correct and appropriate age to marry.
In fact the cottage John inherited was a tied cottage which meant that he was obliged to work on the massive Barndem estate for three days of every week. For the remaining two or three days of each week John earned a comfortable living either by paid work on the estate or on one of the neighbouring estates. This obligation to Barndem was a small price to pay for what was an easy and comfortable life with security of tenure and employment.
Though in the metaphysical sense John was a free man his life was not his own, it was governed by the traditions of being a tied worker. Those traditions governed many things including his choice in marriage. When a tied worker had selected a partner it was customary to obtain permission from the estate owner since the partner would obviously be living in estate property. When the time came for John and Isabel to wed John sought an audition with the then estate owner to obtain permission. This formality was lent a distinctly mercenary appeal since it was customary for the intended couple to receive a significant present from the estate owner usually in the form of some livestock such as a milk cow.
But fortune did not favour John. The estate owner had plans for the cottage which meant that the removal of John was essential. Refusing permission for John to marry was seen as a way of persuading John to leave. An alternative choice of spouse was offered to John in the certain knowledge that he would refuse and in that refusal would go his rights to the tied cottage. The estate owner could not stop John from marrying his choice nor could he evict John without just cause. However it was his peculiar and invidious legal right to refuse permission for John’s wife to live in the cottage.
So it was that John and Isabel had to leave the cottage and roam the countryside homeless and penniless in search of work and accommodation. Such was the persuasive power and influence of the vindictive estate owner that neither John nor Isabela could find employment. Even the neighbouring estates which had gladly employed John before refused to accept him. Destitute and with failing health the couple took to sleeping in the many woods in and around Barndem until they were discovered one day floating in one of the streams that crossed the estate.
To this day Lovers Brook has been bereft of life as the salt tears of the two lovers flow in an eternal stream. And not a drop of water from the brook has been used to sate the thirst of the Barndem estate.
9
Salmonella Sandwich
When it came to money, Henry lived from day to day. It was not a philosophical decision; he was not a hedonist. It was simply that he had no choice. Henry had no savings and only a paltry state pension to keep him going. There was a small legacy from an uncle but it was only paid once a year and had diminished in value over the years. For the most part the legacy went to pay off Henry’s debts and so keep him solvent, but only just. Over the course of the year Henry’s debts would slowly mount and the legacy would arrive just in time to keep the wolves away from his door. Or rather, the money would allow him to throw them some scraps of meat and delay any further action temporarily.
Worrying though this situation would be to most people it did not concern Henry. As long as he had enough to drink then he was content. The fact that this meant he was constantly reliant on the charity of others did not worry him either. And in times when the charity was not forthcoming there was the slate behind the bar. An accumulating liability the slate was one of the debts cleared annually with great reluctance by the legacy. What was worrying about Henry’s fiscal situation was that there was no contingency. If Henry suddenly needed to find cash in a crisis then he could not. Still, why worry about something that has not happened? Something was bound to turn up.
Bill and Henry had been sat at the bar in virtual silence for over an hour. Long periods of silence were not unusual but this one was different. It was a particularly long period and from Henry’s demeanour there was obviously something worrying him. Bill placed a friendly hand on Henry’s shoulder. “What’s up Henry? You’ve hardly said two words all morning and you look really fed up.”
“Don’t ask.”
“Forgive me if I misheard but I thought I just did ask.”
Henry continued to stare blankly at the bar in front of him. “Life, that’s what’s up.”
“Ah, I see. Money troubles eh?”
“How did you guess?”
“Only two things get you down Henry, money and gout. And as you seem to be walking alright at the moment it’s got to be money.”
“Oh.”
Another silence began only this time it was quickly broken by an expectant Bill. “Oh. Is that all you’ve got to say?”
“I told you, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Not even if I buy you a drink?”
“I resent the implication that I can be bought. I do have principles you know, despite what you might think.”
“Of course you do and I didn’t mean to offend you. Let me buy a drink anyway. It’s my turn.”
Bill shuffled along the bar to where Colin was standing reading a newspaper. Leaning over he whispered quietly in the club steward’s ear. “Do you know what the matter with him is?”
Colin shrugged his shoulders and shook his head in reply. “No idea, but the peace and quiet is nice. And he hasn’t complained about the Scotch.”
“That’s what we all like about you Colin, you’re full of sympathy. It’s one of the big attractions of this place.”
“My job is to serve drinks not act as unpaid counsellor. Especially as far as that miserable bugger is concerned.”
“Well you can do your job and get us a couple of stiff whiskeys then.”
Picking up the drinks Bill shuffled back to where the disconsolate Henry was still brooding. “There you go.”
As Bill placed the drink down on the bar, Henry drew a deep breath and began to speak. “Well if you really must know, its my roof. It needs repairing.”
“Your roof? What your house roof?”
“What bloody roof do you think I’m talking about?”
“Alright, I was just checking. What about your roof?”
“It’s partially collapsed. One of the timbers is rotten.”
“Oh, that’s bad luck. But why so glum you can get it repaired?”
“How am I going to pay?”
“Can’t you claim on the insurance?”
“What insurance?”
“Your house insurance.”
“Insurance costs money.”
“Ah! Now I see your little problem.”
“What about getting a loan from the bank?”
“I’ve tried that. They don’t want to know. I’ve got no credit rating and my poxy pension is not enough income to satisfy their stupid repayment calculations. When they worked out my rating for a loan I came out on the bottom of the scale.”
“Mm, I can imagine. Why don’t you get a job?”
“I’ve retired. Besides which who would employ me?”
“Be an independent. Work for yourself. There are lots of things you could do.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know. Use your imagination. I tell you what, I’ll bring you in one of those trade papers all about home businesses and franchises. I still get it out of curiosity and you never know when it might come in handy. Like now for instance.”
“Thanks but it’ll be a waste of time.”
“That’s it Henry, always look on the bright side.”
“What about my roof? It can’t wait while I spent ten years earning the money to pay for it to be fixed.”
“That’s simple. Cover up the hole with sheet plastic. That should be sufficient for a while. In fact I’ll even supply you the sheeting. I’ve got some from a job I had done on my place a few years back.”
It was all getting a little too complicated for Henry. “Oh, right. Thanks.”
Bill frowned in deep thought and suddenly stood up. “Hang on. I do believe I’ve got one of those magazines in the car now. Be back in a minute.” With that he disappeared leaving Henry to ruminate alone.
Upon Bill’s return they studied the trade magazine and after a while and considerable encouragement from Bill, Henry was beginning to show some interest. A small franchise seemed to be the answer, something that did not cost much and that Henry could do whenever he felt able. Supplying goods of some shape or description appeared to be the best option. They ruled out nappy supplies, Henry hated children, pet food, Henry hated animals, bottled water, Henry wanted nothing to do with weirdos. And so the list went on. For every suggestion Henry had an objection.
Finally from a long list one was found to which Henry could find no positive objection, sandwiches and light snacks. It was perfect. There was no initial franchise start-up cost, all the goods were supplied from a regional warehouse and did not need to be paid for until the following month. The advertisement claimed there was a minimum fifty per cent mark up on the goods and a guaranteed start up base of customers. So it was decided that Henry was to apply for a Quick Nibble franchise.
Quick Nibble primarily supplied the lunch time market, catering for the army of hungry mouths that appeared between twelve thirty and one thirty every weekday. However, there were other areas that welcomed pre-packed sandwiches such as golf clubs and some of the local public houses. These were much more Henry’s market than the hurly burly of offices and shops.
A week later it was done. Henry had contacted Quick Nibbles, signed up for a franchise and started work. Things went surprisingly well and Henry soon began to build up a small business. The biggest drawback was the fact he had to remain sober during the morning to enable the deliveries to be made. But once the short daily chore was complete Henry quickly made up for lost time especially now he had new found wealth.
Never having been one to save, Henry could not acquire the habit and much of the money from the enterprise disappeared as fast as it was earned. The roof fund was not growing very quickly. An acceleration of business was called for which meant finding more customers. Accordingly he expanded his circle to include some of the local shops and offices. Increased business had the dual effect of increasing his profit and taking up more of his time. The latter meant that he had less free time in which to spend his earnings.
Henry also devised another scheme to increase the profitability of his business. Cutting out the middle man and making some of the sandwiches himself increased profits significantly. He could acquire the raw materials cheaply and once he got into the swing of it the making of the sandwiches became fairly easy. But as with everything Henry did, things were not quite that simple.
Bill had been keeping a detached and watchful eye on Henry’s activities. As instigator he felt a certain obligation and it suited Henry to have someone with whom he could talk. Soon the habit developed whereby Henry would give a daily report to his mentor and in return Bill would give him the benefit of his experience in small business trading.
One particular day after Henry had given his report something was still troubling Bill. “Henry, can I ask you something? These sandwiches, you get them from a central supplier correct?”
“Sort of.”
“What does sort of mean? Either you do or you don’t.”
“Well sometimes I do sometimes I don’t.”
“Instead of talking in riddles, let me try to make it simple. Do all your sandwiches come from the franchise supplier?”
“Well, no, not all. I make some myself.”
“You make some yourself?”
“Yes, it works out cheaper. The supplier charges me fifty pence per sandwich. By buying the ingredients myself I can make them cheaper.”
“These ingredients: where do they come from?”
Henry knowingly tapped the side of his nose. “Secret sources.”
“Isn’t this in contravention of the terms of the franchise?”
Henry shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know, don’t care. What they don’t know can’t harm them. I still buy lots of things from them.”
“And just what are these secret sources?”
“Well now if I told you that they wouldn’t be secret would they?”
“True. But they are approved sources are they?”
“Approved?”
“Yes, approved by the Department of Health.”
“Goodness knows. I can’t be doing with all that mumbo jumbo red tape.”
“Not even if you end up in prison for selling dangerous food?”
“I don’t sell dangerous food.”
“Colin, have you got that newspaper you were showing me earlier on?”
Colin carried the paper to where they were sitting and handed it to Bill. Ever eager to find out what was going on Colin lingered in anticipation. Bill scowled disapprovingly at him and he retreated a safe distance along the bar. Bill showed the front page to Henry. The headline read:
FOOD POISONING EPIDEMIC
An outbreak of salmonella food poisoning which hit Barndem recently has now reached epidemic proportions. The origin of the poisoning remains a mystery but health authorities believe they are close to identifying the source. It is suspected that the problem could lie with either fast or cook chilled foods.
In the meantime the Department of Health advise everyone to be cautious about the food they buy and to ensure that it is cooked correctly.
Henry gave the headline a cursory glance and returned to his drink. Determined, Bill shoved the paper in front of him. “I don’t suppose you know anything about this do you Henry? I mean, not that I’m suggesting anything but this outbreak does seem to coincide uncomfortably with the start of your enterprise.”
“Huh! Bloody cheek. Let me see that.”
Henry studied the article intently. Near the end of the piece mention was made of a building company where there had been a number of cases which were under investigation. As he read this Henry became agitated and began to sweat nervously.
“Something wrong Henry?”
“Bloody hell!”
“I take that to mean yes.”
Henry threw the paper onto the bar. “Bloody hell!”
“Interesting reading was it?”
“Bloody hell!”
“Are you going to manage to say something a little more intelligible or is ‘bloody hell’ all we’re going to get out of you?”
“Bloody hell! I’m in trouble. What am I going to do?”
“I think you had better explain
; slowly and preferably omitting the swearing.”
Henry’s explanation was a staccato burble but it transpired that he had been supplying one of the local shops with sandwiches. It also transpired that the shop was opposite the entrance to the building company mentioned in the article and was therefore a popular with the employees. Beef and mustard were the favourite and to save money, Henry had been obtaining the beef for the sandwiches from a tout at the local market. The gentleman in question sold his wares from the back of an unmarked blue van.
Bill shook his head in despair. “You’re going to have to get the sandwiches back.”
“How are we going to do that? It’ll look suspicious when we take them back.”
“I’m not sure about this ‘we’. It’s not my problem Henry. You sold them.”
“Yes but, but, bloody hell, you wouldn’t abandon a friend in trouble would you?”
“No, but I do try to steer clear of idiots.”
“Oh come on Bill think of the times I’ve helped you out of a fix.”
“Quite frankly I am more likely to remember the times you got me into a fix. It seems to me that it is me always getting us out of a fix you got us into.”
“So you’ll help then?”
“It would seem to be pre-ordained somehow. I suppose you could argue that this was my suggestion so I do bear at least a small passing responsibility. I suppose it serves me right for not realising that you would make an almighty mess of it. When will I ever learn?”
Henry appeared not to hear Bill’s self chastising. “Good. What do you reckon we should do?”
Resigned to his fate Bill shook his head in despair. “Someone will have to buy them back. That way no one will be suspicious.”
“But the shopkeeper will recognise me. You’ve got to do it.”
“I had a nasty feeling I wasn’t going to be able to keep out of this. Alright I’ll do it but you’re paying. I’m definitely not paying for your iffy sandwiches.”