Green Fees - Tales of Barndem Country Club

by Brian Alford

  “In box, special golf balls. Impossible to lose.”

  “Impossible to lose?”

  “No, see, each ball have transmitter inside which can be detected by this machine.”

  Six pairs of eyes fixed on a small device being held by the leader. As the leader prodded a small red button the device flashed and buzzed alarmingly, and a small arrow on a dial flickered.

  “If I press button 1, direction and location of golf ball 1 is shown.”

  In unison a cry of amazement was raised. “Ah!”.

  “If I press button 2, direction and location of golf ball 2 is shown.”

  Once again the approval was voiced. “Ah!”

  “If I press button 3 ….”

  But enough was enough. One of the less tolerant members of the group interrupted with an indecipherable oath which essentially said shut up and could they get on with it.

  Each man took a ball and the long process of teeing up, practice swings and driving began. Every drive was met with enthusiastic applause with much bowing and shaking of hands. George continued to watch the whole procedure with disbelief as finally the group set off down the fairway. Shaking his head George returned to the tractor and hitched up the mower in preparation for taking it out onto the course. “There’ll be trouble for sure.”

  Each of the Japanese set off in the direction indicated by the beeping, flashing box held in the hands of the group leader. From the speed with which the Japanese managed to complete the first hole the device appeared to be a success and the Japanese were soon assembled on the second tee ready to continue. As with most golf courses Barndem was designed in a circular pattern such that the last hole approached the first. At Barndem the last two holes ran parallel to the first two such that the seventeenth green was adjacent to the second tee on which the Japanese playing ritual was taking place.

  On the nearby seventeenth green four lady players were attempting to putt but the noisy presence of the nearby Japanese was proving to be a distraction. Worse was to come when the leader prodded his detection device to locate the first ball. Suddenly the green side sprinkler head popped up and burst into watery life drenching the lady players. Horrified though not realising that their machine had caused the problem the Japanese rushed to the green waving their hands towel to offer the ladies.

  The first to arrive had a fair command of English though his words were somewhat ill-chosen. “Ladies to please take clothes off and dry with towel.”

  Horrified the woman tried to fend off the unwanted attention. “What? Go away you horrible little man.”

  By now towels were being feverishly rubbed on the lady players despite their protests and flying arms and fists. After a long struggle with the confused Japanese the women finally manage to break free and flee in the direction of the changing room.

  Close by George had witnessed the whole scene with great amusement from the vantage point of his tractor. “I said there’d be trouble.” With a twinkle in his eye he reached for the sprinkler system remote control and entered the code to stop the errant sprinkler. The puzzled Japanese became even more puzzled as the ball detecting device began to buzz frantically. With a self-satisfied chuckled George drove off to a remote part of the course to resume mowing operations as far away from trouble as possible. At least, that was the plan, but the best laid plans…

  Unfortunately for George the Japanese continued to make unusually fast progress and managed to catch up with him at the ninth hole, the most distant hole on the course. George was busy on the green cutting a new hole when a ball landed only a few feet from him. George was furious. He had placed the large red flag along the fairway to signal that he was working on green. This flag was a signal to any approaching players and meant they should either wait or bypass the hole. Everybody knew this and the dire consequences of disobeying were common knowledge. George had a very short fuse and a ferocious temper when roused.

  Incensed and fuming, George stood up to prepare himself for a slanging match with the perpetrator of the offence when suddenly the ball started to beep. Looking first puzzled, then in disbelief and finally with glee, George checked that the Japanese were out of sight, picked up the ball and tossed it away from the green and into a nearby stream. “That’ll teach the little buggers.” He glowed with great delight, a facade that quickly passed as an excited figure approached the green. It was the figure of the Japanese who thought he had made the green. He bowed uncertainly to the gruff looking man standing on the green.

  “Excuse venerable sir, you see ball?”

  “Not me gov’nor, baint be no balls ‘ere.”

  With that George shrugged his shoulders and continued finishing the new hole. The holder of the ball detector arrived and after feverish consultation with the distraught player activated the device once more in an attempt to locate the missing ball. Chuckling quietly to himself George looked sideways to catch a glimpse of the men. In an instant his face turned to one of horror as his nearby parked tractor started up and began to move on its own. Jumping up as quickly as his aging bones would allow George set off in pursuit cursing loudly.

  By now all the Japanese had arrived and stood and watched with awe. A voice was heard from amongst their group, “Look no hands. Clever these British!” As one they applauded as George disappeared into the distance chasing his runaway tractor pausing only to acknowledge the applause, or had his wild gestures meant something far less friendly?

  There was a sure and certain inevitability that something would happen when the Japanese party neared the back garden of Justice Rate. Justice Rate and Barndem where the epitome of antipathy and yet somehow the two were always drawn together. In blissful ignorance Justice Rate was sitting in his garden listening to the radio. Over a long period he had come to terms with his dislike of Barndem and chose his sojourns into his much loved garden carefully to avoid confrontation. Under normal circumstances this was a good time of day to be out in the garden since the course was usually quiet. Justice Rate of course knew nothing of the special party and was relaxing to the restful music.

  Suddenly the radio started emitting beeping noises and burbled Japanese voices. Leaping to his feet Justice Rate picked up the distressed radio and shook it violently, an action that was observed with great interest by the Japanese. As the party leader continued to fiddle with the ball detector Justice Rate became more and more angry until finally he threw the small radio over the fence. It landed near the Japanese party still emitting unearthly sounds. A curious member of the party picked up the innocent receiver and examined it. With a contemptuous shrug he tossed it away.

  And so ever onward the Japanese party moved causing chaos wherever they went. Even the local moles were not immune from them. On the eleventh fairway one of the special balls headed towards a mole hill and disappeared from view. Anxiously the Japanese party clustered kneeling down around the hill wondering what to do. Whatever rules they were supposed to be playing by appeared not to cover this situation. As the detector continued to be still disparately prodded the beeping from underground could be heard getting louder and louder. Finally the ball popped out of the ground followed by a very angry looking mole.

  Perhaps it would best serve the interests of fostering good relations if the various other mishaps were not documented for posterity. So we will ignore the encounter with the courting couple in a deep bunker on the twelfth hole. Suffice it to say that their relationship suffered a considerable setback but it was believed that with time and careful nursing the young man would recover from his injury. We will also ignore the misfortunes of the local doctor’s spaniel which to this day still cowers in terror whenever it sees a Japanese anywhere near. It would also be best to ignore the panic arrival of the local police at a wood cutting mill that bordered the Barndem estate when something had mysteriously set off the security alarm. However there is one more incident of note which transpired on the last hole.

  The eighteenth and final hole at Barndem brings the golfer back to the clubhouse pa
st the car park. Had the original designer of Barndem predicted the advent of the motor car he would not have conceived such a layout. Inevitably there were frequent incidents where wayward drives landed on a parked car and much bitter enmity resulted from the irate owner. Netting had been erected to protect the vehicles but this had not prevented the really wild shots from clearing the netting and inflicting damage.

  There was little danger of the Japanese causing any damage to cars since they did not hit the ball hard enough or far enough to clear the low netting. Never-the-less their impact on the parked cars was equally dramatic if not more so. Pausing in the middle of the fairway near the car park the party leader prodded the detection device to locate yet another lost ball. In the car park all the car alarms began to sound at once in a cacophony of noise.

  Ahead on the green the noise disturbed Henry, Bill, Vic and Bob who were just completing their round. Henry’s fragile state had added to the typically lethargic approach the men had to playing and they had taken much longer to finish than usual. So much longer in fact that the notoriously slow Japanese had almost caught up with them. From the last green there was a short walk back along a path which runs parallel with the eighteenth fairway. The path and therefore the returning golfers were protected by a line of tall shrubs which formed and almost impenetrable thicket.

  For Henry this thicket was an occasional source of balls lost by other golfers and he always kept a keen eye open. After all balls were not cheap and the price of a new ball would go a long way towards the cost a whisky. As the men walked back along the path, Henrys’ sultry demeanour suddenly changed when he spotted a shiny new ball nestling on the edge of the path. Bending down Henry quickly scooped up the ball and shoved it into a pocket of his golf bag. As he moved further along the path a strange beeping sound began to emerge from his bag. Placing the bag on the ground and listening carefully Henry was startled by the sudden arrival of the six Japanese who came headlong towards him brandishing a club each. Though not sure quite what was going on Henry decided his best course of action was to flee and began to run off in the direction of the clubhouse closely pursued by the Japanese.

  Due to Henry’s dalliance Bob, Vic, and Bill had left him behind and not witnessed the mishap. As they gathered in the bar for the post-game tipple they showed no concern for the fact that Henry was missing. He was always last to arrive. It gave someone else a chance to buy the drinks. However ten minutes had passed and the trio were becoming concerned. It was time for a second drink and Henry had still not arrived. There was every danger Henry would be obliged to buy the next round.

  Bob looked anxiously around the empty bar. “Where is Henry?”

  Bill shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps he’s still out on the course looking for the ball he lost.”

  A loud commotion caught their attention and they all turned to look out of the spacious clubhouse windows. Past the window ran Henry being closely pursued by the Japanese still brandishing clubs. About a minute later Henry and the Japanese were to be seen running in the opposite direction being followed by the tractor still being pursued by George. As the melee moved on down the course the water sprinklers burst into life one by one. Chaos reigned, all thanks to the wonder of technology.

  19

  Golf has often come under the doubtful scrutiny of environmentalists concerned at the high levels of herbicides, pesticides and chemical fertilisers needed to keep the grass green and the wildlife at bay. There is little doubt however that the run-off of harmful chemicals into the water system is far less from golf courses than it is from high intensity agricultural land. The commissioning of a study to substantiate this belief would upset the powerful farming lobby, the land exploiting barons who own most of the farmland in England. Golf courses provide a refuge for a large variety of animals, birds and insects which are forcibly and cruelly driven out of agricultural farmland. True some creatures such as squirrels and moles prove to be a destructive nuisance to the beloved turf and trees and are pursued remorselessly. But wherever man interferes with nature, there is always an imbalance.

  Considerable concern has also been expressed at the way the English countryside, indeed large tract of European countryside have been and are being turned into golf courses. In some countries the constant thirst of the grass gives rise to concerns about water shortages.

  Prime agricultural land has been sacrificed to satisfy the seemingly insatiable demand for golf. Estimates suggest the golf courses occupy a half a percent of arable land in England. And yet there is much to support the contention that cultivated green, wooded golf courses are the salvation of the countryside. How else could the maintenance of such land be funded? Could we really expect European Community funds to allow agricultural land to lie fallow for decades? It is surely far better that the land is put to some use before the developers move in. At least a golf course is still green and alive. And it could in theory be turned back to productive farm land.

  Fundamentally the problem remains that the land is cultivated for golf courses for exclusive use of the few. Golf is not cheap and takes a considerable time to play. Typically door to door five or six hours are required for a round of golf assuming only a sparing visit to the bar for a tipple. It is this fact that was golf that originated the idea of the sporting widow, the golf widow. Though the golf widow may despise the lure of the game that attracts their partners for large portions of the typical weekend, in truth it has proved the salvation of many otherwise foundering relationships. Faced with the prospect of having to spend two whole days in each others company, many couples would soon be at each others throats. Many a wife has been know to contend that at least their husband was playing a round rather than playing around.

  For the likes of Henry, Bill, Bob and Vic golf serves a profoundly useful and fundamentally essential purpose. In their declining years it provides an interest in life, it provides friendship and exercise which will help stave off the creeping frailty and problems of age. Though the body inevitably declines in old age it does not have to decline at the rate so typical in many old people. This unnecessarily rapid decline is due primarily to inactivity. Even in the very young, muscles and tissue waste if not used. Consider the couch potato modern teenagers for whom even a walk upstairs is tiring. The human body was built for movement and without it simply dissipates.

  Lack of activity is also responsible for the terrifying decline in mental faculties so unnecessarily common in the elderly. An active brain is healthier and lives longer than a brain which has switched off from life. Deprived of stimulation the brain begins to shut down. Golf provides food for thought and food for the brain.

  Henry lives alone but when he is sick he will not suffer alone and in silence. There will be friends to help. And when he finally passes away his body will not be left for weeks or even months until a curious gas meter reader calls the police. Henry will be missed the following day when he does not arrive for his daily tipple.

  For Henry and many like him golf means life and living. It means not being alone. It means having friends who care. Subsidised golf for OAPs would seem a far wiser move than building yet more expensive institutions which prove to be little more than places old people go to die. People do not go to a golf club to die, they go to live. You have to be alive to be a cantankerous old bugger like Henry. The Japanese invasion may be a bone of contention to the staid older members of Barndem like Henry but at least it provides a stimulus to what could otherwise be cruelly wasted retirement years.

  So we will leave the members of Barndem to continue to try to sort out some sort accommodation with the Japanese. That they will there is no doubt, much as they came to terms with the American invasion of sixty plus years ago. The Americans left to be replaced by the Japanese. But there is a nasty rumour about a French water company taking over the local water board and looking for corporate membership of a golf club. Surely Barndem could not possibly sink to the depths of allowing in interlopers from the European Union? But that is a story for anoth
er time.

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  Grosvenor House Publishing Ltd

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  All rights reserved

  Copyright © Brian Alford, 2013

  The right of Brian Alford to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with Section 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  The book cover image is copyright to Brian Alford

  ISBN 978-1-78148-255-1 in electronic format

  ISBN 978-1-78148-821-8 in printed format

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