And Thereby Hangs a Tale (15 page)

Not that he had any idea who Harry Vardon was.

Robin didn't go back to the beach that afternoon,
but instead paid a visit to the local library, where he went straight to the
sports section. As he could only take out two books on his library card, he
needed to be selective.

After much deliberation, he removed from the
shelf, Golf for Beginners and The Genius of Harry Vardon.

Back at home, he locked himself in his
bedroom and didn't reappear until he heard his mother calling up the stairs, 'Supper,
boys', by which time he knew the difference between a putter, a cleek, a
niblick and a brassie. After supper he leafed through the pages of the other
book, and discovered that Harry Vardon hailed from Jersey in the Channel
Islands, which Robin hadn't even realized was part of the British Empire. He also
found out that Mr Vardon had won the Open Championship on six separate
occasions, a record that had never been equalled and, in the author's opinion,
never would be.

The following morning, Robin returned to the
beach. He placed the book on the ground, open at a photograph of Harry Vardon
in mid-swing. He dropped the ball at his feet and managed to hit it over a
hundred yards on several occasions, if not always in a straight line. Once
again he steadied himself, checked the photograph, raised his club and addressed
the ball, an expression regularly repeated in Golf for Beginners.

He was about to take another swing when he heard
a voice behind him say, 'Keep your eye on the ball, my boy, and don't raise
your head until you've completed the shot. That way you'll find the ball goes a
lot further.' obin Ne comp Ain Ne comRobin obeyed the instruction without
question, and was indeed rewarded with the promised result, although the ball
disappeared into the sea, never to be seen again.

He turned to see his instructor smiling.

'Young man,' he said, 'even Harry Vardon
occasionally needed more than one ball. You have potential. If you present
yourself at the Southend Golf Club at nine o'clock on Saturday morning, the
club's professional will try to turn that potential into something a
little more worthwhile.' Without another word the gentleman strode off down the
beach.

Robin had no idea where the Southend Golf Club
was, but he did know that the local library had always managed to answer all
his questions in the past.

On Saturday morning he took the number eleven
bus to the outskirts of town and was waiting outside the clubhouse a few
minutes before the appointed hour.

Thus began a hobby which turned into a
passion, and finally became an obsession.

Robin joined his father as an apprentice at Chapman's
Cleaning Services a few days after he left school and, despite working long
hours, he could still be found on the beach at six o'clock every morning
practising his swing, or putting at a target on his bedroom carpet late into
the night.

His progress at Chapman's Cleaning Services and
at the town's golf club went hand in hand. On his twenty-first birthday Robin
was appointed as a trainee manager with the firm, and a few weeks later he was
invited to play for Southend in the annual fixture against Brighton. When he stood
on the first tee the following Saturday, he was so nervous he hit his opening
shot into the nearest flower bed, and he didn't fare much better for the next
nine holes. By the turn, he'd left it far too late to recover and was well
beaten by his opponent from Brighton.

Robin was surprised to be selected the
following week for the fixture against Eastbourne. Although still nervous, he
put up a far better performance and managed to halve his match. After that, he
rarely missed a first-team fixture.

Although Robin began to take over many of his
father's responsibilities at work, he never allowed business to interfere with
his first love. On Mondays he would practise his driving, Wednesdays his bunker
shots and on Fridays his putting. On Saturdays his brother Malcolm, who had
recently completed his apprenticeship with the firm, kept a watchful eye on the
shop while Robin kept his eye on the ball, until it had finally sunk into the eighteenth
hole.

On Sundays, after attending church -- his mother
still wielded some influence over him - Robin would head for the club and play nine
holes before lunch.

He wasn't sure which gave him more
satisfaction: his father asking him to take over the business on his
retirement, or Southend Golf Club inviting him to be the youngest captain in
the club's history.

The following Christmas, his father sat at
the head of the table as usual, puffing away on his cigar, but it was Robin
who presented the annual report. He didn't rub in the fact
that the profits had almost doubled during his first year as manager, and nor
did he mention that at the same time he'd become a scratch player. This happy
state of affairs might have continued without interruption, and indeed this
story would never have been written, had it not been for an unexpected
invitation landing on the club captain's desk.

When the Royal Jersey Golf Club wrote to enquire
if Southend would care for a fixture, Robin jumped at the opportunity to visit
the birthplace of Harry Vardon and play on the course that had made him so
famous.

Six weeks later Robin and his team took a train
to Weymouth before boarding the ferry for St Helier. Robin had planned that
they should arrive in Jersey the day before the match so they would have enough
time to become acquainted with a course none of them had played before.
Unfortunately, he hadn't planned for a storm breaking out during the crossing.
The ancient vessel somehow managed to sway from side to side while at the same
time bobbing up and down as it made its slow progress to Jersey. During the
crossing, most of the team were to be found, a pale shade of green, leaning
over the side being violently sick, while Robin, oblivious to their malady,
strolled up and down the deck, enjoying the sea air. One or two of his fellow
passengers looked at him with envy, while others just stared in disbelief.

When the ferry finally docked at St Helier, the
rest of the team, several pounds lighter, made their way straight to their
hotel where they quickly checked into their rooms and were not to be seen again
before breakfast the following morning. Robin took a taxi in the opposite
direction, and instructed the driver to take him to the Jersey Royal Golf Club.

'Royal Jersey,' corrected the cabbie
politely.

'Jersey Royal is a potato,' he explained
with a chuckle.

When the taxi came to a halt outside the main
entrance of the magnificent clubhouse, Robin didn't budge. He stared at the
Members Only sign, and if the driver hadn't said, 'That'll be two shillings,
guv', he might not have moved. He settled the fare, got out of the cab and
walked hesitantly across the gravel towards the clubhouse. He tentatively opened
the large double door and stepped into an imposing marble entrance hall to be greeted
by two full-length oil portraits facing each other on opposite walls. Robin
immediately recognized Harry Vardon, dressed in plus fours and a Fair Isle
cardigan, and carrying a niblick in his left hand. He gave him a slight
bow before turning his attention to the other picture, but he did not recognize
the elderly, chisel-faced gentleman wearing a long black frock-coat and grey
pinstriped trousers.

Robin suddenly became aware of a young man
looking at him quizzically. 'My name's Robin Chapman,' he said uncertainly, 'I'm...'

' -- the captain of the Southend Golf Club,'
the young man said. 'And I'm Nigel Forsyth, captain of the Royal Jersey. Care
to join me for a drink, old fellow?'

'Thank you,' said Robin. He and his opposite
number strolled through the hall to a thickly carpeted room furnished with
comfortable leather chairs. Nigel pointed to a seat in a bay window overlooking
the eighteenth hole, and went over to the bar. Robin
wanted to look out of the window and study the course, but forced himself not
to.

Nigel returned carrying two half-pints of shandy
and placed one on the table in front of his guest. As he sat down he raised his
own glass. 'Are you a one-man team, by any chance?' he asked.

Robin laughed. 'No, the rest of my lot are probably
tucked up in bed,' he said, 'their rooms still tossing around.'

'Ah, you must have come over on the Weymouth
Packet.'

'Yes,' said Robin, 'but we'll get our
revenge on the return fixture.'

'Not a hope,' said Nigel. 'Whenever we
travel to the mainland we always go via Southampton. That route has modern
vessels fitted with stabilizers. Perhaps I should have mentioned that in my
letter,' he added with a grin. 'Care for a round before it gets dark?'

Once they were out on the course, it soon
became clear to Robin why so many old timers were always recalling rounds they
had played at the Royal Jersey. The course was the finest he'd ever played, and
the thought that he was walking in Harry Vardon's footsteps only added to his
enjoyment.

When Robin's ball landed on the eighteenth green
some five feet from the hole, Nigel volunteered, 'If the rest of your team are
as good as you, Robin, we'll have one hell of a game on our hands tomorrow.'

'They're far better,' said Robin, not
missing a beat as they walked off the green and made their way back to the
clubhouse.

'Same again?' asked Nigel as they headed
towards the bar.

'No, this one's on me,' insisted Robin.

'Sorry, old fellow, guests are not allowed
to pay for a drink. Strict rule of the club.'

Robin came to a halt once again in front of the
large portrait of the elderly gentleman.

Nigel answered his unasked question. 'That's
our president, Lord Trent. He's not half as frightening as he looks, as you'll
discover tomorrow evening when he joins us for dinner.

Have a seat while I go and fetch those drinks.'

Nigel was standing at the bar when a young woman
came in. She walked briskly across and whispered something in his ear. He
nodded, and she left as quickly as she'd arrived.

From the moment she entered the room to the
moment she left, Robin had been unable to take his eyes off her. 'You didn't
tell me you had a goddess on the island,' he said when Nigel handed him another
half-pint of shandy.

'Ah, you must be referring to Diana,' he
said as the young lady disappeared.

'An appropriate name for a goddess,' said Robin.
'And how enlightened of you to allow women members.'

'Certainly not,' said Nigel, grinning. 'She's
Lord Trent's secretary.' He took a sip of his drink before adding, 'But I think
she's attending the dinner tomorrow night, so you'll have a chance to meet your
goddess.'

When Robin returned to the hotel later that evening,
only one other member of the team felt able to join him for dinner. Robin wondered
whether the rest would have recovered sufficiently to be standing on the first
tee by ten o'clock the following morning.

Though in truth, he was already thinking more
about tomorrow evening.

Southend somehow managed a full turnout by
the time the chief steward asked the two captains to tee up at the first hole.

As the visiting captain, Robin struck the
first ball. Five hours later the score board showed that the Royal Jersey had
beaten Southend Golf Club by four and a half matches to three and a half. Not a
bad result, Robin considered, given the circumstances, but then he'd never
played a better round in his life, which may have been because Diana seemed to
be following Nigel around the course.

Another home advantage.

After a few drinks in the clubhouse, with no
sign of Diana, the Southend team returned to their hotel to change for dinner.
Robin was the first one waiting in the foyer. Nervously he touched his bow tie
after he'd checked with the receptionist that three taxis had been ordered for
seven o'clock.

Robin didn't speak on the journey back to the
Royal Jersey, and when he led his team into the dining room, Nigel was waiting
to greet him. Diana was standing by his side.

Lucky man, thought Robin.

'Good to see you again, old fellow,' Nigel said,
and turning to Diana, he added, 'I don't believe you've met my sister.'

'You're going to do what?' said his father.

'I'm going to move to Jersey, where I intend
to open a branch of Chapman's Cleaning Services.'

'But I always thought you planned to open a second
branch in Southend, while I took over the main shop,' said Malcolm, sounding equally
bemused by his brother's news.

'You'll still be taking over the main shop, Malcolm,
while I open our first overseas branch.'

Robin's father seemed to be momentarily struck
dumb, so his mother took advantage of this rare occurrence. 'What's the real
reas-on you want to go back to Jersey?' she asked, looking her son in the eye.

'I've found the finest golf course on earth,
Mother, and if they'll have me, I intend to become a member and play on it for
the rest of my life.'

'No,' said his mother quietly,
'I asked for the real reason.' The rest of the family remained silent as they
waited for Robin's reply.