Green Fees - Tales of Barndem Country Club

by Brian Alford

  Mary was the only daughter of Daniel Tobias a long time member of Barndem. Knowing that his only child would be left to the mercy of the harsh world upon his death, Daniel Tobias had brought Mary up to be strong and independent. He had provided for her financial well being and though she was not exactly wealthy Mary could afford to bide her time until the right man came along. That at least was Daniel’s intention; Mary had other ideas. Upon his death in 1920, there being no son to succeed him a new member was invited to join in his place at Barndem. This displeased Mary intensely and she laid vociferous claim to succeed her father as a member of the club. It was not that she actually wanted to play golf, it was a matter of principle. Her father held a debenture for the club and membership was hers by right.

  In a simplistic and inane reaction the members agreed to a man that what Mary needed was a mate and a good seeing to. A home to run and some kids to look after would have put paid to her ridiculous notions. It was not that Mary hated men, in her eyes they were an unfortunate necessity. Independence was a fine ideal but in her day there were only two types of independent women, rich widows and whores. The problem for Mary was that most of the eligible young men were bores and louts and the only men who took her fancy were either poor or too shy to approach her. Though she was outspoken Mary was sensible enough to realise that a woman approaching a man would be mistaken as being of doubtful moral virtue.

  Mary pressed her case for membership of Barndem and after several months sustained and unsuccessful campaigning she resolved to take more decisive action. Canvassing the willing support of some fifty local women Mary organised a protest. At first it was peaceful and persuasive rather than active but when her patience was finally exhausted Mary organised the ultimate in sacrilege, a sit down protest on the eighteenth green. Being genteel ladies the women brought with them chairs on which to sit, a move which particularly raised the hackles of the members as they contemplated the damage being caused to the surface of the green especially by the ladies of a less than sylph like stature.

  In mediaeval times the men of Barndem could have called upon the services of the visiting witch hunter and had Mary declared a witch thereby eliminating the problem. But in the enlightened 1920s considerable more stealth and ingenuity was required. It was decided to call in the local constabulary to remove the women from the course. Duly summoned the police sergeant and two of his stoutest constables arrived at the scene to carry out the eviction. Unfortunately all three servants of the law were perplexed to see that among the company of women squatting on the green were their respective wives. This cast a new and dangerous light on their actions. A move against a bunch of protesting women they could handle, but a move against their own wives was an entirely different matter.

  Ever the man for compromise and a quiet life the sergeant felt obliged to inform the members of Barndem that upon careful reflection, in his considered opinion the golf club was private ground and that as the women were not disturbing the peace or otherwise breaking the law in any obvious way there was nothing the police could do. Given its status in the local community it was inevitable that several Barndem members were serving magistrates. Confirmation from these worthies that the sergeant was correct if somewhat cowardly effectively eliminated any physical action to remove the women.

  In the days that followed the women took turns to ensure that there was always a large presence. Having failed in their cowardly attempt to persuade the local constabulary to do their dirty work the members of Barndem began a campaign of verbal coercion, followed by abuse and insults. When the women still remained firm less subtle tactics were used. In the dead of night under cover of darkness several members crept up on the women and threw buckets of water over them, gun shots were fired over their heads, and two dogs were released to wander among the terrified women.

  Such cowardly action simply acted to stiffen the resolve of the women. What had started as a small principle now took on the status of a battle. As a counter measure the women started to bring their children who, to the horror of the members were to be seen playing with the sand in the bunkers. Things reached rock bottom for the members when one young child suffering a stomach bug was seen desecrating the bunker at the back of the green. Action against militant women was one thing but even the obdurate members of Barndem drew the line at children and finally, after two weeks the committee acceded to the inevitable and offered Mary membership.

  It is not recorded whether she actually played. The chances are she would not have been able to find any suitable clubs since the fashioning and wide spread availability of ladies clubs came some years later. There was also the problem of finding a partner with whom she could play. Singles were strictly forbidden at Barndem and Mary was effectively blacked by every bitter and petty member. Mary being beyond such spite would never have lowered her standards and break the rules by playing solo. This actually came as considerable relief to the Barndem committee who would not have welcomed the prospect of having to haul Mary before them for a disciplinary hearing. Having been heavily defeated once, their chances of success in another skirmish with Mary did not seem very good.

  So it was that the eighteenth hole became known as Mary’s Stand. At first the title was a sarcastic and bitter term used by the members, a stern reminder to the still largely masculine domain of the potentially awesome power of womankind. But as time softened the memory and the number of women members increased it became more of an affectionate symbol for a bygone era and a gentle reminder to the men of the power of womankind if not treated with caution.

  13

  The 40D Cup

  Though it was several decades before the victory won by Mary Tobias saw any significant numbers of women members at Barndem, once the door was opened it was inevitable that one day ladies would have an important influence within the club. In the main this influence was necessary, however unwelcome, to move Barndem from a hell-raising drinking mans club to a more sober and respectable institution.

  In every almost every respect the ladies mirrored the male members. There was a ladies committee, ladies representative on the greens committee and handicap committee, a ladies captain and after yet another long and unpleasant struggle, a ladies afternoon. Every Thursday no men were allowed to tee off from midday until five o’clock. This concession was hard won compensation for the fact that ladies were barred from playing on Sunday mornings when the course was an exclusive male preserve, the last vestige of male dominance. Sunday morning was after all the time when all good ladies should be at home been preparing Sunday dinner for their men.

  With this compromise the battle between the male members and the slowly growing ranks of lady members had ceased and an uneasy harmony persisted. If the opposing parties never met, there was no chance for any lingering ill feeling to surface. What antipathy still remained surrounded mainly the conduct and behaviour of the men on the course.

  But the real source of ill-feeling was the continued assumption of superiority of the male golfers, though there was one occasion when this assumption was put to the test in a most colourful fashion. In particular their language continued to be a source of annoyance to the women players.

  Though Thursday was ladies day it never interfered with the daily ritual of Henry, Bob, Vic and Bill. They could enjoy their pre-game tipple and tee off before the curfew time of midday. Their round would then be completed before the women returned to the clubhouse for afternoon tea at about half past five o’clock. The only small inconvenience was between half past five and seven. Though they were not specifically banned from the bar during this period, the thought of all the women players drove them to one of the local public houses.

  If the weather was inclement on a particular Thursday afternoon some of the ladies would still gather in the clubhouse lounge. Tables would be re-arranged, playing cards produced and deadly serious games of bridge ensued. It was on one such weather effected day that the infamous and subsequently embarrassing challenge to the Barndem male was laid down.<
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  Despite the poor weather Henry, Vic, Bill and Bob had managed to complete their daily round, or most of it. The torrential rain has caused Lovers Brook and Pooleys Pond to flood rendering three of the holes unplayable. But there was nothing namby-pamby about them, not like the ladies who were in occupation of the lounge playing bridge. A drop of rain could not deter them, even if it was a torrent.

  One of the problems with bridge is that it needs four players. Real bridge players never play the bastardised version that requires only three players and a dummy hand. If therefore the number of ladies present did not divide equally by four there were always one two or three sitting out. Though a formidable golfer and resolute lady captain Lucy Wainwright was not a particularly good bridge player and was always content to sit out if the numbers did not add up. On such occasions she preferred to engage in a more interesting pastime, crossing swords with what she referred to as Henry and the women bashers. If the label was meant to have a musical association it was singularly inappropriate for when it came to the subject of women, Henry always sang the same off key song.

  “You do talk the most unmitigated tosh Henry. There are far more worse men golfers than there are women.”

  “And how to you come to that conclusion?”

  “There are more men golfers than women correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “What would you say, ten times as many?”

  “Who knows?”

  “Just for the sake of argument, let’s say ten times as many. Right, then if half of all golfers have a handicap of 18 or less, and before you argue, that figure has just been published by the Royal and Ancient. That makes ten times as many poor men golfers.”

  “Huh! You can do anything with statistics.”

  “Mmm, yes, even tell the truth.”

  “It stands to reason men are better golfers than women. After all golf was invented by men.”

  “There’s a lot in this world that’s been invented by men and most of it stinks.”

  Bill, Vic and Bob had learnt to keep quiet during these exchanges but just occasionally Bill could not resist joining in, especially if there was an opportunity to wind up Henry. “She’s on about your feet again Henry!”

  “Perish the thought! Henry’s feet are definitely not a subject for polite company.”

  “Bloody cheek. There’s nothing wrong with my feet.”

  Bill looked sneeringly down at the items in question. “Well its lucky for you the Good Lord put them a long way from your nose. Very wise.”

  Henry was not happy about the change of subject. He felt there was still a point to be made. “What about professional golf then? What women can match Nick Faldo or Jack Nicklaus or watsisname er, Woosman? Where is your female Woosnam then?”

  Bob was still thinking about Henry’s feet. “That’s not true you know.”

  Henry was confused. “Eh? What’s not true?”

  “That the Good Lord put feet furthest from the nose. You see we are supposed to be walking on all fours which means that our feet would be much closer to our nose.”

  Bill sensed yet further mischief to annoy Henry. “And our hands would also be feet?”

  “Right.”

  “So Henry would have smelly hands as well as smelly feet.”

  “Yes. I suppose then they would have to invent a new disease called athletes hand. If we were sheep it would be called foot rot. But we don’t have cloven hoofs. We do walk about on wet muddy grass though.”

  “Yes, but with shoes on. So just think, if we did still walk on all fours we would have to buy two pairs of shoes.”

  Irritated Henry blustered noisily. “When you two have quite finished. Don’t change the bloody subject. Lucy was about to explain how come there are more first class professional male golfers than women.”

  “Was I? I lost this conversation ages ago. Oh yes I do recall you making some crass suggestion as usual. Its quite simple. Men have the better opportunities. You just wait until women’s golf finally takes off, stops being the poor relative. Once women have the same opportunity as men then things will be different. True talent will show.”

  “Poppycock!”

  Vic was feeling left out and was becoming tired of Henry’s ranting. “No, Lucy’s got a point Henry. Take this club for instance. You could hardly say that women have equal standing. They are barred from the course on Sunday mornings and have to put up with cramped changing rooms. And if you’re being brutally honest most things are run for the benefit of the male members.”

  “Who built this bloody club? Men. Who contribute most to club funds? Men. Who…”

  “Drink most at the bar? Men.” Lucy pointed to the array of empty glasses on the bar near Henry.

  “Its you bloody women that drive us to it.”

  It was plain to Vic that the only way this conversation was going to continue amiably was for him to take charge. Henry was becoming distinctly unpleasant and in such a mood was prone to forgetting where to draw the line of common civility. “Don’t take this the wrong way Lucy, but what about the physical differences between men and women? Men are usually taller and stronger. And golf is a physical game. Do you really think there will ever be equality in performance?”

  “Well yes, we do have to play with an extra handicap.”

  Henry was still feeling belligerent. “Extra handicap, what extra handicap? It’s us that play with the handicap. You play off shorter tees. You don’t have to hit the ball so far. If that’s your handicap I’ll take your bloody handicap any day!”

  A menacing glint appeared in Lucy’s eyes. It was as if she had been leading up to this moment. “Is that so? OK, tell you what Mister superior male golfer, how about a challenge match and we will swap handicaps? You can play off the front tees, we’ll play off the back and you must carry our handicap.”

  “And what might that be?”

  Lucy cast him a cynical stare. “Are you scared to accept?”

  “Well no, but I think you should tell us what the handicap is first.”

  “That will be revealed on the day of the challenge. Come on Henry, it’s something every lady player has to endure so how bad can it be? Or am I right in my assertion that you’re all wind and you know what?”

  Bill sensed from Lucy’s demeanour that something wonderful was afoot. All that was needed was for Henry to be given a little push. “Oh yes, you’re right there. He’s definitely all that and more. He won’t accept the challenge.”

  Henry was corned. “Alright, sod it, you’re on.”

  “Ah, but I know you Henry, you’ll chicken out at the last minute. A timely attack of gout or something.”

  “No I won’t. And please don’t mention gout. Its a painful subject. I tell you what, if I bottle out, I’ll pay a forfeit. I’ll even let you name the forfeit. Well, within reason of course.”

  “OK, if you chicken out at the last minute you agree not to drink for a week?”

  “You’re on.”

  “Right, diaries out, let’s fix a date.”

  So the date was set for a week Friday. It was to be a match between two fourballs, ladies versus the a men. Without even asking their permission or agreement Henry nominated Bill, Vic and Bob as his partners. Vic and Bill looked at each other with deepest doubt but before they could object Lucy slammed her diary shut and marched away. Vic watched the smiling lady captain leave with a good deal of suspicion. He could not shake off the feeling that something deeper than the obvious was in hand. Lucy would not have thrown down the gauntlet without a good deal of confidence and certainty about the outcome. “I have the feeling we may live to regret this Henry.”

  “Pfff, No problem. It’ll be a walkover.”

  “Mmm, possibly. But for whom?”

  Bill too was beginning to worry and shared Vic’s reservations. “What do you reckon this handicap can be? Ladies clubs perhaps? They’re shorter than ours and it would make it difficult to play.”

  “No, I think it’s something much worse than that. Ou
r good lady captain was looking much too pleased with herself for my liking. I recognise that look of triumph, frightening somehow.”

  Henry was more concerned about his empty glass. “Ah tosh. It’ll be a doddle. Who’s round is it?”

  Vic gave Henry an unusually irritated look for such a normally placid man. “I would say its only proper that our team captain buys his men a drink eh?”

  Seeing the look on Vics’ face, for once Henry didn’t even bother to try to worm his way out and Barndem experienced the rare sight of Henry buying a round of drinks. Things has already taken an unusual turn.

  On the appointed day the four men saw no reason to change their pre-game ritual and met in the bar to indulge in a pre game tipple. Henry sat uncertainly but relaxed enjoying the soothing liquid. Vic and Bill were far from relaxed and kept anxiously looking at the clock waiting for the fateful hour and the arrival of Lucy and her three lady playing partners.

  Henry could no longer stand the doom laden silence. “Cheer up you miserable lot. Its not the end of the world.”

  Bill certainly had the look of a man expecting the end of the world. “Its times like this when I wish I had taken up crown bowls.”

  “You worry too much. We’ll walk all over them. Stupid women don’t stand a chance.”

  Vic spotted the punctual arrival of the lady captain. Complete with entourage in tow, she exuded the image of a latter day Bodicea leading her troops into battle. “Shhhh, Lucy’s here.”

  “OK Henry it’s nearly two o’clock you ready?”

  “Yup.”

  Rummaging in a large sport holdall, Lucy produced a small silver cup and placed it on the bar. “Just to make it official I’m going to donate this little cup which will be awarded to the winners.”