Green Fees - Tales of Barndem Country Club

by Brian Alford

  There are two objections to playing away from home. First there is the green fee to pay, a charge levied by a course which grants permission to play. In a sense this is money wasted since membership subscriptions will already have been paid to join the home club. Membership fees entitle the member to virtually unlimited golf. Paying to play somewhere else does not therefore seem a financially sensible idea. There is another important financial consideration, green fees can easily be the equivalent of half a dozen stiff whiskys or a bottle or even more.

  Second, and an equally cogent objection to playing away, concerns attitudes. Barndem members did not welcome visitors, in fact they had been known to display considerable hostility towards them. And yet for Barndem, in common with many clubs, the revenue from green fees was a significant cash bonus. In truth visitors should have been welcomed as beneficiaries. The fact that they were not points to the reception Barndem members could expect when visiting other clubs with equally unfriendly natives. Playing away from home could sometimes present a harrowing psychological experience.

  Now, to avoid any possibility of confusion it should be pointed out that the term playing away from home when applied to golf has nothing to do with adultery. The expression does not have the same meaning as it does to those men who are unable to restrict their carnal urges to the confines of the home. There is however a certain similarity in the feeling of betrayal that the loyal Barndem member feels when playing another course. The feeling of having selfishly abandoned a loved one for another. But at least the Barndem member feels some remorse, unlike the two-timing low-life gigolo who cares nothing for the feelings of others.

  It is rarely appreciated just how much effort goes into the organisation of something as apparently simple as a day trip. Certainly few of the participants appreciate the effort. However meticulous the organisation it only takes one individual to upset everything and they don’t even have to try very hard. Just being themselves is sufficient for however clever the organisation it cannot cater for the peculiarities of every individual.

  The Barndem away day had been organised with the usual efficiency. The coach had arrived on time and amazingly the whole party had actually assembled at the club despite the earliness of the appointed hour. Even Henry had somehow managed to drag his frame out of bed at an unaccustomed hour and propel his car to the club, albeit somewhat precariously. Henry felt that the effort deserved some sort of reward and made straight for the bar where he sat and tried to fully waken his dull senses. A couple of stiff drinks and the world seemed a much more inviting place.

  Meanwhile at the coach, the party had boarded and a head count was being taken. When the count revealed there was one short Vic volunteered to locate the errant member. Truth to tell locating Henry was not a difficult task since as Vic knew, there was only one place he was likely to be found. Vic poked his head round the door to the clubhouse lounge and shouted to the quietly contemplating man at the bar. “Buck up Henry, the coach is leaving soon.”

  “Ah, It can bloody wait. I remember the bloody coach driver from last time. Bloody lunatic. I need a couple of drinks to be able to face his driving. Bloody dangerous he was.”

  Unfortunately for all concerned Henry had reached the state of inebriation which saw him belligerent and aggressive. He had not quite had enough to dull his senses and enter the calm almost contented state which made him seem almost human. It had been while in this state during the previous away trip that he had nearly come to blows with the coach driver. No one ever found out what the argument was about but it took considerable force to restrain Henry and even more considerable persuasion for the coach driver to continue.

  The memory of the fracas was still in Vic’s mind. “Its a different driver this time. He’s not quite so old and doddery as the other one. Now do come on or we shall leave without you.”

  Henry slid off the bar stool and staggered grudgingly towards the door. In Henry’s case playing away from home meant leaving the blessed sanctuary of the bar for unknown pastures. Away days were no fun for the serious drinker, there were too many unknown factors. Did the club they were visiting have a bar? Would they be allowed to use it or would it be members only? But at base Henry’s main source of funding Vic, Bill and Bob were all going on the trip and without them he would be facing a long and very lonely day. Besides playing was not compulsory and typically Henry slept in the coach whilst the others trudged round the course.

  Outside in the car park the coach gleamed in the early morning sunlight. It was one the ultra modern types of touring coaches complete with toilets and catering facilities. The sight of this impressive conveyance lifted Henry’s spirits; it had possibilities. Standing by the door to the coach Vic chided Henry to hurry up, a pointless waste of energy since he continued to shuffle across the car park at his own speed.

  “For goodness sake Henry, we should have left ten minutes ago.”

  “OK, I’m coming. Don’t be so bloody impatient. We’ve got all day.”

  Stepping up inside the coach Vic turned to help pull Henry on board. Angrily Henry rebuffed Vic and shook his arm free. “I’m not bloody helpless.”

  Vic stood aside while the ill-tempered man clambered on board. Henry swayed uncertainly and looked about him. His attention settled on the young man sitting in the drivers seat. He squinted at the sight of the neatly tied pony tail and large gold earring. “What’s this? A bloody woman driving?”

  “Shh. Be quiet Henry. You’ll upset him.”

  “Him? Him? Look at that hair and ear ring. What is he some sort of poofta?”

  Hurriedly Vic bundled Henry to the back of the coach where Bill and Bob had reserved seats for them. The idea was to keep Henry as far away as possible from the driver. They may not be able to prevent an exchange of words but the distance should at least prevent physical contact.

  “When you’re quite ready gentlemen, this poofta would like to get going. And if there’s any nonsense back there I shall come and sort you out. Especially the fat drunkard at the back.”

  Henry was outraged. “Who does he think he’s bloody talking to? I’ll bloody sort him out.”

  Henry made a vain attempt to stand up but was thrown back violently into his seat as the coach pulled away quickly. A further attempt to stand was stifled by the restraining hands of Vic and Bill and with a bluster and snort Henry settled back into the seat. To the great and thankful relief of his companions Henry was soon asleep and the short journey to their venue passed off in welcome peace.

  Crowchurch Golf Club lay about thirty miles from Barndem and was a popular venue for away days. It had traditions almost as long as Barndem and a membership which had close parallels. Affinity between the two clubs ran deep. Crowchurch too had once been a farm estate and early rivalry between the clubs had percolated down through time. A warm reception was always meted out to Barndem and similarities in the course made it feel vaguely comforting to the visitors. A trip to Crowchurch was a safe away day.

  Barndem and Crowchurch had been playing what were euphemistically called friendly matches for over a century. But the problem with Crowchurch was that they were obsessive about winning. So much so that what should have been a friendly relaxing occasion often turned into a seething feud with tempers only barely kept in check. One particularly unpleasant meeting had resulted in a formal agreement on the actual format of the meetings between the two clubs. It was felt that a formal framework would remove areas of contention and make for greater harmony. The morning session was singles matches in which every member of the visiting party played. Matches went out in pairs of two so that each pair could observe the other and ensure fair play. To complete the scrupulous fairness of the format an independent scorer was provided for both pairs. The afternoon session was pairs in the standard four ball format. This was meant to represent a lower key competition making allowance for the age of the participants which in general was definitely well past the first flush of youth.

  All things considered the morning went off
very well and with hardly an incident. One of the things to be considered was Henry. In his continued foul mood there was much concern as to how he would behave, especially given the dark history of matches between the clubs. In an attempt to break Henry out of his depressing malaise Vic and Bill had foolishly promised him a bottle of Scotch if he won his match. In his youth Henry had been a useful golfer. Having grown with the game his degenerating frame had shaped itself with the typical golfers lower right shoulder and twisted hips. With this strange physique he was still able to play a good game given the motivation and a reasonably sober state. When Vic and Bob challenged him, Henry was most certainly and uncomfortably sober and a bottle of Scotch was more than sufficient incentive.

  With such an incentive Henry’s match was a particularly unpleasant affair with accusations of cheating and foul play. Vic and Bob should perhaps have seen this inevitability but it was doubly foolish of them to have challenged Henry with such a prize. He was not down to play in the afternoon series of matches and therefore had ample opportunity to start on the bottle of Scotch so fiercely won. Too late Vic and Bill realised that their gesture meant that they would soon be coping with an extremely drunk and potentially uncontrollable Henry.

  Sure enough, eagerly grabbing his prize during the lunch interval Henry sneaked away and sought refuge in the coach as afternoon play commenced without him. Settling into a comfortable seat at the front of the coach Henry began to enjoy the fruits of his victory. He had just begun to slip into a more mellow and contented state when his peace was disturbed by a figure entering the coach. It was the driver who, returning from a crafty and strictly forbidden pint, and noticing the door of the coach open, had decided to investigate.

  The way Henry was dozing sprawled across two seats gave him the appearance of someone not in the best of health and the driver became concerned. “You alright mate?”

  Henry woke with a start. “Mmm? Who’s that?” Squinting painfully he recognised the young man. “Oh its you. Just having a little snooze.”

  “Been overdoing it eh? Lucky you I’m not allowed to drink on the job.”

  This plaintiff cry seemed to strike a chord with Henry. Anyone barred from drinking for such a stupid reason deserved his sympathy. With perhaps a residual tinge of reluctance he thrust the bottle of Scotch in the young mans face. “Would you like a drink?”

  Cheerfully and a little too enthusiastically for Henry’s liking the driver took the bottle from his wavering hand. “Cheers. What’s your name by the way?”

  “Henry.”

  “Henry, good, well my name’s Justin.”

  “Justin? Damned funny name for a bloke.”

  “I’m inclined to agree with you but I was too young to argue at the time my parents gave it to me.”

  “Yes, I suppose so. Well come on then drink up.”

  “Oh, yes, right.” Justin took a long swallow which caused his eyes to light up and his cheeks to flush. With a heavy blow of breath he passed the bottle back to Henry. “Phhh, great! Well Henry, you’re not such a bad chap after all. Despite being a fat old drunkard.”

  “Huh!” Henry looked the young man up and down suspiciously as he took another gulp from the bottle.. “So what’s with this ear thing and the pony tail? Are you some kind of poofta?”

  Though Henry did not notice a sly smile appeared on the drivers face. He sat down in the seat on the opposite side of the aisle from Henry and leant over to talk more confidentially. “No, I’m what is called a transvesty.”

  “A what?”

  “A transvesty.”

  “What the hell’s that, some kind of vampire?”

  “No it means I’m a little bit of this and a little bit of that.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You know, part bloke, part woman.”

  Henry’s mouth dropped wide open in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. I’m having an operation next week to give me some breasts.”

  “Breasts?”

  “Yes, breasts. You know those things that…”

  “Dammit, man, I know what breasts are.”

  “I can set you up with an op if you like. I know this bloke does a good line in breasts. And cheap.”

  “No bloody fear!” Henry placed the bottle to his lips once more and paused deep in thought. Lowering the bottle he looked suspiciously at the smiling Justin. “Here, I’m not going to catch anything drinking out of the same bottle as you am I?”

  “Cor, well, you can never tell. Never share a bottle without taking precautions, they say. You do take precautions don’t you?”

  “Precautions? What precautions?”

  “Its amazing what gets transmitted by saliva you know.”

  Henry seemed suddenly to have gone off the idea of drinking any more and handing the bottle back to Justin staggered out of the coach to get some fresh air. At least that is what he told Justin. What he actually wanted to do was get away from this really weird person. If, in his haste to escape, Henry had cared to look back he would have seen Justin chuckling impishly as he watched Henry disappear.

  As if to redress the balance of the unusual harmony of the morning confrontation between the two clubs, the afternoon matches went as badly as the morning had gone well. Crowchurch began the afternoon three points down following Henry’s sterling battle and an unusual degree of bad fortune in two other matches. Something strange had happened to two of the Crowchurch players which only came to light during the lunch interval. They had both fallen victim to mis-scoring due to the confusion of the scorer. Mathematics was not one of Bob’s strongest subjects and giving him four cards to mark was ill-advised. However, having signed their cards the Crowchurch players had to accept the result. Golf was after all a game for gentlemen. But the lingering anger meant that the afternoon started on a bitter note.

  The afternoon sessions were four balls which offered the unscrupulous golfer far greater opportunities for personal interpretation of the rules. Not to put too fine a point on the matter, four balls offered the opportunity for cheating. But Crowchurch were not so blatant as to cheat openly. Theirs was a much more subtle approach. It was almost legal.

  All clubs have what are called local rules. These are rules which are additional to the standard rules of golf and apply to the particular course. They are intended to cover peculiarities and odd conditions of the course. The seventh hole at Barndem was a typical example. A local rule allowed for anyone landing in the infamous bunker known as Jobe’s Grave to remove their ball and drop it elsewhere without penalty.

  Visiting players must take steps to acquaint themselves with local rules before commencing play and this is usually achieved via the acquisition of a card when the green fees are paid. On the card the holes are described together with any local rules that apply.

  But the story does not end there. There are also temporary rules which are in effect for a limited period. If for example in a particular area of the course the grass is being resewn or re-laid then a temporary rule will be in effect such that balls landing in the area must be removed and played from a spot nearby.

  In keeping with other clubs, Crowchurch had local rules and by gentleman’s agreement these were normally explained to the Barndem players by the Crowchurch members during play. However the misunderstanding surrounding the morning score cards had seen the abandonment of all gentlemen’s agreement and Crowchurch began the afternoon bent on revenge. Having quickly convened a secret meeting during the lunch break they had trumped up some temporary rules to give themselves an advantage.

  What Crowchurch had plotted was a scheme whereby whenever one of them played a ball into trouble they would claim local rules to move it. However the rules were carefully chosen to ensure that Barndem players could not capitalise on them. Amongst the most successful and perplexing scams was the protected species rule. This alleged that a particular thicket or coppice of trees was held to contain a protected animal which must not be disturbed. It also appeared
that Crowchurch had recently been blessed with the growth of some extremely rare species of wild orchids which had to be protected. It was quite amazing how many of these orchids were to be found on the course. At least the Crowchurch players managed to find them and the Barndem players foolishly bowed to their greater knowledge of such things. It was after all quite touching to find golfers so keen on plant and wildlife, especially when it could not easily be seen.

  Crowchurch could almost have got away with the scam had it not been for over enthusiastic use. It seemed that for every shot there was some rule which allowed the Crowchurch player to move their ball but not the Barndem player. As each match progressed round the course suspicions began to grow and with them tempers. Every match ended in acrimony and stated or implied accusations of cheating.

  More by design than accident, Vic and Bill had been paired together and it soon became apparent to them that something doubtful was afoot with their opponents. After a quiet consultation with each other they decided that they were not prepared to let the blatant cheating upset them and continued to play their normal game in silence. If Crowchurch wanted to win so badly then so be it. It was however an uncomfortable and displeasing experience and it came as considerable relief when their match ended and they were able to escape.

  As Vic and Bill walked quickly away from the dubious opponents and back to the clubhouse, they noticed Henry sitting quietly on a wooden bench seat near the clubhouse. As they approached the pair sensed something was not quite right. It was unusual for Henry to be awake and be so quiet. They would have expected to be loudly greeted by Henry with, in all probability, an inquiry as to who was going to buy the first drink. Yet he sat staring at the grass in front of him.