I??m not going to lie to you. I??d never heard of Hawke??s Bay Golf Club until Bart mentioned it. I mean, one might assume there would be such a club ?? but for whatever reason it had never come to my attention. Nor Michael??s, if I understand correctly. Bart however sweated and toiled for hour upon hour throughout his formative years at the practice ground, and as a result grew into the Tremendous golfer he is today. So it has a lot of fond memories for The Gaffer. And it was only natural that with two games to tee up in the area pre-Kidnappers, we??d pay a visit if they??d have us.
Mike and I rose at Dave??s place to a sun intent on streaming through defenseless windows. Toyed with the idea of kicking off proceedings by inhaling a morsel of Nadine??s infamous Christmas cake, but held strong. Dear friend Jimmy James Harper had invited us to bruncheon at his parents?? place over the hills, up in the Wairarapa. Always a lovely place to go. This time was no exception ?? parents Vicky and Grant, and sister Alice, were present and counted. For an hour or two we sat outside under shade while Jimmy did his best to burn our eggs. Hilarity was the name of the game though, when dear mother with a swing of her tongs spat bacon fat onto James?? pristine white t-shirt. A dummy was spat too, for good measure. Ah, frivolous familial quarrels ?? gotta love ??em.
Lamentably we had to Roll, before James murdered poor Vicky. Pleasantly replete and looking forward to a leisurely drive, we said our farewells and got moving. Next stop: Waipukurau ?? habitat of Bart??s mother Margie. Another mother, they??re everywhere. Poor Bart coughed and spluttered his way out of the back door to greet us; still heavily under the weather. Pneumonia or something of the like. ??Gay Bart? now renamed ??Sick Boy? (important to always have nicknames, for team building you see...).
The first thing I noticed on arrival was a striking poster, for an ??Ebony vs. Ivory? match on Waitangi Day (for you non-Kiwi folk, that??s 6 February, the date The Treaty of Waitangi was signed by Maori and the Queen??s representative back in 1840. Long story...). As you can see, the Ebony boys are also known as ??Da Bro??s? and the Ivory boys as ??The Pro??s?. Not the sort of poster you??d see in many golf clubs, but arguably an indication that race relations in this part of the world are healthy.
Sick Boy led us to the 10th tee to get under way. Over 400 metres of par 4, into a stiff breeze ?? a gentle start you might say. Or you might not. I was pleased to walk off with 5. Sick Boy must??ve been distraught to block his opening tee shot Out Of Bounds ?? in the sense that you always hope to play well at your childhood haunt. No doubt SB??s pummelled countless drives straight down the middle from an early age; perhaps the (self-imposed) pressure got to him.
You could see in Sick Boy??s eyes and tone of voice a hope for approval. This was a place holding cherished memories for him. Naturally any praise we heaped on the course would appease this tension, and on the other hand any criticism would cut deep. So when Goldy chucked his toys at low hung branches just in front of the 13th tee, the milk turned sour. For once I adopted the stance of observant bystander and didn??t add my 10 cents to the fire. Sick Boy ?? who let us remember was, at this stage, really quite Sick still ?? looked troubled to say the least. Fortunately it didn??t come to blows. Fortunately for Michael that is: Sick Boy though sick was still significantly bigger and stronger!
On a lighter note, Mike??s parents and grandfather arrived on the scene as we came up 18. Jeff couldn??t resist the invitation to join us for the front nine; and couldn??t believe it when Sick Boy told him he was ??sweet? to wear jeans! It looked very uncomfortable. And just plain wrong. But most would agree that uncomfortable golf is better than no golf at all ?? and anyway what else did Jeff have to occupy his time? Wine tasting? There would be plenty time for that over the next couple of days...
As we approached the 6th green a Maori chap, Charlie, pulled up on a bike. With a kind face, massive dreadlocks and a strong handshake he greeted Sick Boy, who was obviously tickled to see his old mate. All of a sudden Bart??s accent changed to one befitting of a TV weatherman, much as mine probably did when I was back in Scotland. In fact I began to question whether The Gaffer was indeed of Anglo Saxon descent, or whether he??d had a Michael Jackson-esque procedure carried out during his teenage years before we met him. I have no doubt that if a blind man was present he might??ve imagined two men of Charlie??s appearance ?? rather than Charlie and a pasty Dutchman! On an unrelated note, Charlie had carded 6 birdies that day ?? putting our meagre total to shame...
A barbeque dinner at the Goldsteins?? rented cottage amongst the vines followed. All of a sudden it was starting to dawn on me that The End was close...
JP
This morning - our last one in England - I'm rinsed. England I must admit has got the better of us, with darkening skies and dropping temperatures making us feel like we've aged 5 years in 5 weeks. The body's a' creakin'.
Bart is our physio. He was brought across to preserve and even improve our physical shape. The irony in all of this being that HE'S WRECKED ME! A couple of nights ago I pressed him for a few exercises, to at least postpone for a brief moment the constant bloating of my body into that of a middle aged man. So he gave me a rigorous regime of unnatural poses and the like - and since I woke up the next day I've hardly been able to move. Hitting the ball 150 yards and / or in remotely the right direction was an order too tall for me yesterday at Ganton. i only hope that this morning's foray to Bingley St Ives is less disgraceful.
With only a few days to go until our Dubai hop, we're rather exhausted. But, honestly, having a ball. Last night we had the pleasure of staying with the Tennant family, the middle son of which played cricket with Goldy in Wellington last year. What great people. And lovely to stay out on a farm after the urban madness that's been plaguing us. The air's therapeutic out here...
Now hopping in the car to drive 2 hours back west to Bingley. Then it's a mission over the border to the Land Of My Mother - Selkirk. Little brother Conor has come back to the homeland to play rugby, so I'm looking forward to hearing how his first 3 months have gone. And to seeing old family friends that he's spending a lot of time with. Likely to be a long day, but a good one. Might even catch up on a few course reviews along the way...
Have a good one y'all!
JP
Chisholm Park
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