Green Fees - Tales of Barndem Country Club

by Brian Alford

  This year there was to be a fundamental break with tradition, for the first time in its history, a foreigner was to represent Barndem. Though since the influx of Americans during the war Barndem had always had foreign players, none had ever been invited to represent the club. This time however, amid considerable ill-feeling and controversy Barndem was to have a Japanese player in shape of Soyoung. So pleased and enthusiastic was Soyoung to be playing that he had organised special jumpers to be worn by the Barndem team. Unfortunately when the jumpers arrived it was found that the Japanese manufacturers of the woollens had spelt the club name as BRAMEN. So as not to upset Soyoung the Barndem members were obliged to don the jumpers, but they never lived down the name of bra men.

  Amongst the dignitaries invited to play in the challenge match was the local mayor. Mayor Callard was a keen golfer and would dearly loved to have become a member of Barndem. However his political affiliations were not seen as suitable for a Barndem member to hold and his repeated applications were refused. As mayor he received an automatic invitation to the Barndem Challenge Match despite his distasteful political opinions. The only problem for the Barndem organisers was who would volunteer to play with him; Mayor Callard was not a popular man. No one was quite sure how he had achieved the office of Mayor, but it was definitely not by popular vote. Positive voter indifference was a more likely explanation.

  After long and heated debate the Challenge organisers resorted to the time honoured cop-out of a lottery. The names of the participating Barndem members were placed in a hat and two were drawn at random. Wingco winced visibly when Henry’s name was drawn. He was sorely tempted to defy the taunting vicissitudes of fate and draw another name but the other organisers were amused by the prospect of the match. The often disagreeable Henry seemed a perfect choice to match against the permanently disagreeable Mayor Callard. There was an ironic symmetry about the pairing and what fate had thrown together let no man put asunder.

  In fact the match turned out to be surprisingly amicable. Henry’s simple and blunt manner seemed to blend well with Mayor Callards’ earthy politics. Bigotry is a universal language and leads either to open hostility or considerable mutual accord. Fortunately for all concerned the latter prevailed and their conversation flowed easily from young pooftas with pony tails and earrings to the travesty of women being allowed to roam the course, embracing on the way their mutual dislike of foreigners. Their conversation enjoyed positive reinforcement, with each trying to outdo the other with the intensity of their disparaging remarks.

  Mayor Callard was nothing if not shrewd and was gradually persuading Henry to support him in his next bid for membership of Barndem. An application required the support of ten members and to date Mayor Callard had struggled to find more than four or five Barndem members willing to be associated with him. As a typical and accomplished politician Mayor Callard made many promises to Henry which were appealing but sufficiently vague as to defy later positive definition. In return for his sponsorship of the Mayor Henry was to receive com­mensurate consideration for services rendered. He was to be the recipient of benefit-in-kind for his charity. But it was the promise that their friendship would be fluid that attracted Henry most. He took this to mean the promise of free drink. In Mayor Callards’ mind it meant that their relationship would ebb and flow as expediency demanded. As a typical politician he was expertly accomplished in the use of words and abuse of friendship.

  Accordingly the thirteenth green was reached with the two men in great harmony. Both saw promise in their unlikely alliance. Mutual exploitation has formed the sound basis for many doubtful friendships and theirs was no exception.

  One of the strange quirks of golf to the outsider is that however much the players chatter as they walk a stunned silence falls when one of them lines up to play the ball. Even the most uncontrolled verbiage ceases when the act of playing is about to happen. In this verbal silence all the sounds of nature can be heard, the wind rustling in the trees, the birds singing and in the case of the thirteenth hole the gentle lapping of the nearby Lovers Brook.

  Leaning over his ball ready to putt the Mayor was disturbed by a rather more unnatural noise. A strange strange rumbling sound could be heard from the ground just behind him. As the noise grew louder and louder the ground began to shake and the Mayor wobbled from side to side like he was standing on an express train going over a bad section of track. The ground on which he stood began to rise slowly as a large dome formed. Suddenly the dome burst and a mass of water shot upwards from under the ground. Mayor Callard was thrown high into the air and landed in the midst of Covens Meet the thicket of wild growth of nettles and brambles.

  Covens Meet did not welcome such rude intrusions and the plant life stung and scratched the Mayor as he struggled to escape. The more he struggled the more pain was inflicted on him. Finally pulling himself free from one particularly nasty bramble the Mayor crawled out of the thicket to be confronted by Henry. Somehow he had managed to contain the laughter that was threatening to burst out of him. Even if the midst of disaster Henry could remain calm if the prospect of free drink were at stake.

  Covens Meet was slightly lower than the nearby green and Henry reached down to help the fallen mayor up the bank. “Here let me help you. What a terrible experience. What you need is a stiff drink.”

  As Henry led the mayor past the bubbling hole by the side of the green he nodded ruefully. “I think you’re right. I’ve had enough golf for today.” He paused to look back at Covens Meet from which he had just extracted himself.. “You know Henry, that is a very strange piece of undergrowth. Its quite unpleasant. Why isn’t something done about it?”

  Henry shook his head and sucked in a long breath. “Covens Meet. No one dare touch that. Its not natural.. You interfere with it and it will get you. You were lucky to get out of there alive.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? I was bloody unlucky to have been thrown in there in the first place. What do you think caused it?”

  Henry pointed to the bubbling hole and the remains of a sprinkler head. “My guess is that it was the wonder of Japanese technology.”

  Incautiously curious the Mayor moved towards the water hole to have a closer look. Just then a huge bubble belched out the hole soaking him once again. With undignified haste and in something close to panic Mayor Callard ran off towards the clubhouse. From the shouted good-bye it was clear to Henry that the Mayor was in no mood to be buying drinks and he cursed his luck. As the oath left his lips a gust of wind rustled the undergrowth of Covens Meet causing Henry to shiver. A drink was definitely in order even if he had to buy it himself.

  Mayor Callard subsequently decided that becoming a member of Barndem was perhaps not such a good idea. There were some who held the belief that incident was Barndem trying to eject an undesirable from its grounds. It was certainly a remarkable coincidence that the Mayor should just happen to be standing at that exact point at that exact time. Weight was added to the belief by the fact that the unfortunate mayor was dumped in the mysterious Covens Meet. But there was a more scientific explanation. It transpired that Henry had been standing on one of the watering system sensors and as a result it had generated a bad signal to the controller. The system had decided that the green on which the Mayor was lining up to putt was desperately dry and so had diverted the entire water supply to the one point. The resultant pressure produced spectacular and unfortunate results.

  When news of the mishap reached Soyoung he was mortified and no effort was spared in reviewing the watering system. Once again the course was thrown into turmoil as workers buzzed about being driven by the maniacally shouting Soyoung. There was no doubt that the Japanese would eventually find a solution to the erratic system. It was a question of honour and their continued presence at Barndem. At worst the Luddites would win the day, the computer ejected, and the system could revert to manual control. In the meantime, as one observer put it, the sprinkler system perfectly mimicked the rain, unpredictable and always arriv
ing when its not wanted. The less charitable were happy to note that the famous Japanese technology was not quite so clever after all. It was never noted what Mayor Callard thought but there definite whispering sound from Covens meet, or was it the wind?

  18

  Beep, beep

  Seated on bar stools at the clubhouse bar, Bob, Vic, Henry and Bill were enjoying an early pre-game tipple. Henry was feeling the worse for wear having had rather more to drink the previous night than even he was used to. His plutonic friendship with the Japanese had reached such heights that he had been the welcome recipient of excessive quantities of Scotch. The after effects of the Japanese generosity were having a major detrimental effect on his well-being. In particular his throat was sore and there was the most unpleasant taste in his mouth. Taking another drink Henry screwed up his face in displeasure.

  “Cor, what have you been doing to this Scotch Colin?”

  Colin was determined not to rise to the bait of his adversary. “Did you order Scotch? Sorry, could have sworn you ordered Whisky.”

  Bill was enjoying Henry’s discomfort. “You sure its not a touch of post over-indulgence affecting your taste buds Henry?”

  Henry tasted the Scotch again. “No, there’s definitely something wrong with the Scotch.”

  Colin lowered his voice to a mutter. “More likely there’s something wrong with the prat drinking it.”

  The muttering had not escaped Bill’s attention. “Sorry Colin. You were saying something?”

  “I was saying I hope you lot haven’t forgotten that you are supposed to tee off by 11 today. Captains orders.”

  Somehow golf did not appeal to Henry today and he certainly did not relish the thought of an early start. “Why? What’s going on?”

  Colin shrugged his shoulders and continued wiping a glass he had been toying with for some time. He frequently used this gesture so that he could linger with the members but appearing to be busy drew no attention. This was how he became the font of all gossip. “Some important visitors playing or something.”

  Henry scoffed. “Important visitors? I heard it was something to do with those bloody Japanese.”

  Bill grinned ruefully. “But I thought they were your friends. You seemed very friendly with them last night.”

  “Just fostering good relations.”

  “More like drowning good relations. Anyway, come on drink up, unless of course you want to leave it.”

  “What? No bloody fear!”

  Henry finished the drink and the four men departed to the locker room. They were perhaps a little more sober than usual but that situation could be rectified later.

  It was practice for George the green keeper to park his tractor near the first tee. There was a convenient parking area just behind the tee partly sheltered by bushes and here he could tinker with the ancient tractor for hours, apparently busy but actually quietly ruminating to himself. George was an introspective character who kept himself very much to himself. Or rather he would like to keep himself to himself if the members would only let him.

  George had been green keeper at Barndem for longer than anyone could remember and had effectively inherited the job from his father. No one really recalls how he was appointed. He just sort of assumed the role on the death of his father. It was a poorly paid job with questionable conditions so finding anyone else willing to do it would have been difficult. George was willing so the job was his. He was part of the fabric of the course.

  One of the great joys of his work was that he spent most of the time on his own apart from the occasional encounter with a golfer out on the course. Apart from that his thoughts were his own and he was left to work more or less unsupervised. There were occasional brief and pointless discussions with the green committee but George always somehow managed to ignore everything they said and carried on as normal. As long as the work got done nobody worried and nobody really noticed George was there.

  His deliberations were interrupted this particular morning by the arrival of Wingco looking rather anxious. “Morning George. How’s it going?”

  George had a local accent which he cultivated to extremes in a deliberate ploy not to be understood. That way if he didn’t want to converse with anyone, which was most of the time, he could utter some indecipherable curse and walk away. The club president however was not someone he could simply ignore. “Mornin’ Winkee. Baint goin’ tu bad thankee.”

  “How about the new sprinkler system, any problems?”

  “Baint be no trouble. I jus’ switches it on and them little things pops up all over a place. Like magic it be. Trouble is, makes t’ grass grow like buggery.”

  “No unexpected happenings?”

  “No, no more ‘appenings thank Gawd. ‘part from grass growing like buggery and…”

  “Good. That’s a relief. I just thought I’d let you know that there is a small party of Japanese visitors playing this morning.”

  “Japanese? Oh no, I ‘ates them little devils.”

  “You hate everyone George.”

  “I ‘specially ‘ates them though. Little b-bb-beggars. One o ‘em only wanted to play a ball out a me ‘and.”

  “Yes, well….”

  “Golf mad them is. And thems takes ages a play. I ‘as to turn me tractor off and wait for ‘em a pass. ‘Specially after they tried to ‘it the ball out a me ‘and. Bloody mad them is.”

  “I’ve had a word with Mr Soyoung about that little incident. It won’t happen again.”

  “Bloody right it won’t ‘appen again. I ain’t standing for no nonsense. Dangerous enough with them other old idiots without them perishin’ little devils. Should never ‘ave let ‘em in. Bloody dangerous them is. Ain’t we got enough on ‘em already? All this ‘ere spon’ship money an’ I still got this ol’ tractor ‘ere to do with.”

  “George please! This is a special one-off. A big Japanese company may be sponsoring the pro-am this year and we thought we’d let some of the executives play a round to keep them sweet.”

  “Play a round? Them’s more likely to start a bleedin’ war. You know what the members thinks on ‘em.”

  “Well the members will just have to bite their tongues. Now I don’t want any trouble, so I would like you to keep an eye on them for me.

  “If you says. You pays me wages, but baint my job a nursemaid them little devils.”

  Wingco noticed the approach of the four men. A reluctant Henry had finally been coaxed a out of the locker room. Frowning deeply Wingco pointed at the approaching men. “It’s not the Japanese I’m worried about.”

  Anxious to avoid the inevitable vitriol Wingco swiftly departed back to the clubhouse leaving George muttering to himself. George had become so engrossed in the conversation with Wingco that he had no time to make his usual escape from the men and was obliged to exchange niceties. For George this was an effort. Even the grunts that served as a reply to the jovial greetings of Bill, Vic and Bob, were an effort. As for Henry, he never spoke to anyone unless there was a possibility of a drink and George was rumoured to be tee-total which made him very strange indeed; certainly a man to be avoided.

  Henry selected a club almost at random from his bag and waved it around in an effort to mobilise his reluctant body. “So what’s the stakes today?”

  Vic shook his head with a mixture of disbelief and dismay. “Here he goes after our money again. You really should consider giving gamblers anonymous a call Henry.”

  “Golf’s not a gambling game.”

  “It is the way you play.”

  As ever Bill was eager to join the joke. “Yes, a life or death gamble. Think you might be paying a call on any of the fairways today Henry? You know just for old times sake. Makes things so much easier you know and just think of all the time and effort George here expends on keeping the fairways nice and trim. Seems a shame not to use them.”

  “How would you like my club to pay a call on your cranium?”

  Bob was fretting. “You’re not getting violent again are you Henr
y?”

  Henry fumed and banged the ground with his club. “Dammit Bob, I do not get violent!”

  George was annoyed by the abuse of his beloved turf. “Oi! Oo mine moy tee. Bloody ‘ooligan.”

  Fortunately for the sake of peace and harmony George’s accent was so strong Henry could not understand a single word and turned to Bill for a translation. “What did he say?”

  “He said we had better get a move on before the Japanese arrive on the tee.”

  Something told Henry that this was not a strictly accurate translation but there was little point arguing and he stepped forward to play. One by one the four men teed off and walked down the fairway in the various and diverse directions of their efforts. Soon they were out of sight as George settled down once more to his tinkering and awaited the arrival of the guest players.

  A combination of the warm midday sun and the long wait caused George to fall asleep and it was some time before he was disturbed by the excited chatter of the expected guests. Waking with a start he saw a group of six Japanese golfers clustered on the first tee preparing to start. George watched with increasing curiosity as their chatter seemed to revolve around a box being held by one of them. This man seemed to be the leader of the group as the others paid much attention to his words. George’s command of the Japanese language was as profound as any other English man or woman, but he continued to watch their erratic movements with fascination. Fortunately however in the spirit of courtesy Soyoung had instructed all employes to speak English when in the confines on Barndem.

  “What does honoured fellow golfer have in box?”