Outback Weather (6)
“The Charity Golf
Day”
IT WAS THE annual Charity Golf
Day. The grand opening in fact, of what was hoped to be a yearly
event; all proceeds to the local hospital.
Envisaged, planned, established and
proudly run by Sam Giles, who also appointed himself as barman of the
marquee! (In reality a large canvas awning attached to the side of
his workshop).
An agreement had been negotiated
between himself and ‘Mine Host’, Ted Davis, the “all round” publican
of the local hotel, to share the time equally, such that each would
have free time to participate in the game.
At conception, there was no golf
course within reasonable distance of “Slade County” suitable to hold
the event. This minor obstacle was solved late one afternoon over an
ale or two with his neighbour, Jim Slade. Between them, Jim being
equally enthusiastic, they mentally laid out a nine hole course
encompassing their adjoining properties, but with start and finish
near Sam’s workshop.
The plan was that the participants
play nine holes twice, once in the morning and again in the afternoon,
which would leave a generous Gap in between for rest, refreshments and
a light luncheon, kindly supplied by the Ladies Guild.
The topography, as it turned out
was ideal for such an event, and a few months of agricultural
reshaping, each to his own, produced nine tees and nine greens,
complete with bunkers, five by Sam and four by Jim.
There still remained one final
problem - that of mowing the fairways. Neither of them had the
equipment needed, but a caffeine tabled conference with ‘Mine Host’
who was known to be influential when it came to council matters,
winked, smiled and said: “Leave it with me. The Mayor is a keen
golfer.”
Three days later Sam was advised
that a deal had been struck! The council had deemed the event a
good cause and would provide the machinery and manpower free of
charge, if, in return, they could have use of the course for their
annual picnic, also free of charge!
And so, it was full steam ahead.
The chosen day arrived, mild and
sunny. Golfers, amateurs, and no hopers wandered in with an
extraordinary array of clubs and buggies. One of the first to arrive
was Ron Davis, nephew of ‘Mine Host’ carrying a five iron in one hand,
a putter in the other and one solitary golf ball in his back pocket!
“Why burden oneself,” he smiled at
Jim’s open mouth. “I figure that’s all I can use any way”, and placed
a donation in the charity box.
That word “donation” had been the
subject of a lengthy discussion between the neighbours - Sam, whose
whole idea it was, wanted to charge a fixed entry fee, while Jim
preferred the open donation.
“Charging a fixed fee, Sam, makes
it hard on those doing it tough, and there are a few of them about at
the moment with the drought hanging on, and makes it cheaper for those
better off”.
“What are your thoughts there Jim?”
“Everybody, Sam, likes a fair go,
and a fair go is not a fixed fee. The people in this town are
friendly, honest and generous, especially if there’s someone in need”.
“I’ll agree there. I couldn’t name
anyone who’d let you down”.
“That’s my point. This is a good
cause, one in which everyone benefits at some time or other and I say
everyone will respond accordingly. I reckon you’ll get twice the
money if it’s just a plain donation. The ones who can’t afford much
will pay the same as you’re fixed fee, and those better off will give
generously.”
Sam said nothing, gave it a minutes
thought and then tentatively: “just maybe it will work”.
“Sam, let’s try it. If it doesn’t
work I’ll make up the difference myself! That’s the faith I have in
this town”.
“You’ve got me there Jim, and you
know I wouldn’t accept your offer. But there’s one thing I’m not
goin' to budge on, and that is all donations remain anonymous.
If you agree to that I’ll go along with you.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,
Sam”.
“And while we’re at it”, Sam
continued, “There’ll be no prizes or trophies, no free drinks for a
hole in one and no winners or losers. Keepin' score will be optional
too, that way everyone plays for the enjoyment of the day”.
A notice had been erected near the
first tee informing entrants of the conditions as debated, and also a
brief description of the course:
Just as a few early golfers were gathering around
the first tee, where Jim had stationed himself to introduce and couple
the singles together according to their abilities, the Mayor, complete
with accomplice, blustered in, dragging an obese bag and buggy
containing a plethora of clubs. He brushed aside those around the
tee, and at the same time announcing that he would officially open the
course by driving the first ball down the middle!
He preceded this stroke with an unusually short
speech which left nobody in doubt of his contribution to the day’s
event, and he was away!
With serenity more or less restored, Jim settled
into his task. A steady trickle of participants flowing on to the
course gave him a feeling of satisfaction and high hopes of a
successful outcome.
But trouble was not far away.
Glancing down the fairway, he realized that
nobody was moving. Somewhere there was a hold-up. He was just about
to send Sam off to investigate, when Warren, ‘the state’s most
eligible bachelor’ came panting across from the ninth tee. “We’ve got
a problem” he exhaled, “Old Ted Bandy took too big a swing at the long
4th hole and put his back out. He’s stuck just out of sight, in the
middle of the bend, as stiff as a statue! No one can play a ball for
fear of hitting him”.
Jim, doing his best to temper his mirth down to a
smile, said: “we’ll have to move him right away, Warren. I suggest you
slip across to Sam and borrow his tractor –it’s still got the
carry-all hooked up from yesterday –and take someone with you to help
lift him on. Go slowly so he can hold on to the railing, and back him
into the shed through the rear doors. David the Chiro, is due here
shortly. I’ll bring him over as soon as he arrives”.
The players began to move again just as
the tractor
came into view and trundled slowly up to the shed with Ted, stiff as
cement, holding the rail as if his hands were welded on.
“Don’t you go wandering away now Ted”, Jim
ragged, “I’ve got the ‘bone bruiser’ coming over right now. He’ll fix
you up in no time, and then you can go back and finish the round”.
“The reason I’ve locked myself up”, Ted smiled
through his agony, “is that I’m a left hander and someone must have
slipped me a right handed ball, ‘cos my back just got confused and
couldn’t handle it!”
Jim departed just in time to see the Mayor
putting out on the 9th hole. Sam, being on the spot, wandered over as
the pair filled in their scorecards.
“Well Mr. Mayor, how did you handle the course”,
he smiled.
This brought an immediate response.
“Look at that”, he puffed, slowly waving the
figures under Sam’s nose. Nine holes for a 42!”
Sam paused, digesting the card before responding.
“Hang on a minute. Accordin’ to this you only
played eight holes. You never played the water trap.”
“Yes, well we couldn’t find it, so we played the
sixth instead, twice!”
“What you’re really sayin’ is you left out one of
the hardest holes and replaced it with the easiest one, the one with
no bunkers”, Sam offered, trying to keep his reply light-hearted.
“It’s not a competition”, the councillor
blustered again, inserting his card in a rear pocket, “and don’t forget I’m
here as a goodwill gesture. Let’s all enjoy a cup of coffee – on me”,
and headed for the marquee.
During a lull, Jim wandered into the marquee to
remind the publican that it was time to start his round if he was to
be back for the lunch break.
“I’ll be right there Jim, and my nephew will be
joining me as adviser”, he winked. “He’s also handy behind the
counter!”
Sam was busy helping the ladies prepare and
arrange a belly busting array of country style lunches, certainly
sufficient for the extended break.
Jim left them to it and returned to his post.
Some time later David reappeared.
“Ted is OK again now”, he confided, “and I have
left him resting near the coffee machine. He’s determined to finish
his round, but I suggest he play spectator for a while, and pick it up
late in the day”.
“I’ll keep an eye on him”.
“That job has taken an unexpected chunk out of my
day Jim, so I’ll just play one round and, as Warren might say, ‘defongerate”.
“That’s fine. How about I team you up with the
vicar? He’s only got time for nine holes as well.”
“Okay with me Jim. He’ll probably beat me
anyway.” And so they chatted into the distance.
Spanners, playing with two of his cronies, came
up to the ninth green looking very bedraggled.
“Strewth”, Sam cried from inside the canvas,
“what happened to you? I know golf’s a wet weather game, but you’re
drenched from head to foot! You look like an atheist who took the
shortcut”.
“I slipped over getting’ me ball out o’ the
creek”.
“You mean the water hazard”, Sam corrected him.
“The creek”, he repeated with emphasis, “but I’ll
go along with the ‘azard bit. You should ‘ave a plank or two across
it, or a couple o’ tinnies tied up”.
“Next year Spanners, I promise, I promise”.
Sam watched his sodden friend head for the
workshop where he knew there was a towel, a basin and dry overalls
hanging from a nail behind the door.
After this, everything seemed to settle into a
sort of routine. The marquee began to fill as the course emptied of
players, and as the noise rose. It was a busy time for the volunteer
helpers, but eased off as the afternooners wandered out to do battle
with the ball once more.
The second round had all the pointers of being
incident free, and Jim and Sam settled themselves into a couple of
chairs beside the ninth hole to greet each of the golfers on
their return.
“I had a quick thumb through the donation box
while you were busy Sam, and even you will be surprised at the
generosity people have shown”.
“That’s thanks to you for talkin’ me out of a
fixed price”.
“I should also mention, Sam, that I couldn’t help
but see a few names on the cheques, but no one is going to find out
from me who gave what”.
“I know that”.
“By the way, did anybody get a hole in one?” Jim
queried to change the subject.
“Officially ‘no’, but unofficially, ‘yes’!” He
paused for a moment then continued. “Just between you and me, the
vicar had a hole in one at the water hazard. Rather appropriate if
you think about it! David told me, but insisted I keep it quiet.
Apparently he wanted to make David swear an oath of secrecy”
“What for, I wonder?”
“David named it an ‘Act of God’, but the Man of
God insisted it was a fluke, not skill or divine intervention, and
didn’t want the notoriety”.
"Good in him", Jim remarked,
"practising what you preach!"
Bill Smith, playing a foursome had a $50 bet
going with his partners. Alas he came unstuck on the last hole by
landing his ball behind a large tree, then playing it out and straight
into the bunker. As they were leaving the green he shocked everyone
by announcing in a loud voice that he was not going to pay up! He
paused for a moment for effect and then to the relief of all, “I’m
going to put it on the bar and the drinks are on me. That way, some of
it goes to charity!”
For this he received a few hearty pats on the
back.
The marquee gradually filled once more as players
concluded their 18 holes -last to finish being old Ted Bandy, who had
waited for the course to clear before completing the nine holes. His
tee shot to the green was perfection; that left handed ball landing on
the fringe and rolling to a finger’s length of the hole. Walking very
erect and steady, with Warren trailing as caddie, he putted out to an
ovation from the gallery that Tiger Woods would have envied.
The 19th hole, which had been ajar for
most of the day, was now wide open, the area full of handshakes, lies
and post mortems.
Sam, standing high on a ladder, managed to get
enough attention to first thank the ladies of the Shire for their
generosity both in time and financial contribution, in providing the
food, and then for the volunteers who worked all day behind the
scenes. Next, he expressed his gratitude to the publican, ‘Mine Host’
for donating both his time and profits to the cause.
But most of all”, he concluded, “The biggest
thanks must go to all you good people who played the game and gave so
generously to make the day a success”.
The crowd began to clap, but Sam’s next sentence
brought it to a halt.
“And now for the bad news”. His eyes scanned the
gathering, who were wondering what was coming.
“The bar will be closin’ in 30 minutes!”
He descended to three rowdy cheers. Jim shook
his hand. “I knew it would be a success when everyone but Spanners
was coming up to the last hole laughing
Yes, the title tells it all. It was the annual
Charity Golf Day!
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© F. L. Kemsley
2007
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