Royal West Norfolk - idiosyncratic to a T
Posted by Jamie on 6 November 2010 | 1 Comments
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Royal West Norfolk,
Brancaster,
links,
England
The world of golf is, in a word, idiosyncratic. Trotting the globe, moving from club to club, you come across some interesting sights; some interesting people; and of course some interesting golf courses. Royal West Norfolk (or ??Brancaster?, among the well heeled) just about takes the cake. The sort of place that when I visit, I??m thinking ??how the hell am I going to describe this place to our readers?? With great difficulty, is the answer.
Tucked somewhat out of the way up on the north Norfolk coast, the village of Brancaster is a bonnie wee one. I suspect it??s been a summer or weekend haven for the Upper Crust for many moons. We caught it on a gloomy October day, but no doubt on a late summer afternoon Brancaster is as nice a place to sip a cold lemonade as anywhere. If I ever go back I??ll let you know.
To get to the golf course you roll through the village and along a sandy looking, reed lined road. The course gets cut off by high tides! I made sure to check with our host ?? Chris ??Burlando? Burland ?? that we weren??t expecting to be snookered. All Quiet On The Western Front, thankfully. Suppose it would??ve been a good story (you can walk back across even at high tide), but on balance a spanner we could do without at this stage in the game.
The Tank and its cargo arrived at the club before Burlando & Son, so we popped into the clubhouse for a bit of a gander in the interim. Well, what a sight. From the outside it has the innocuous enough appearance of a traditional golf clubhouse. Indeed it??s rather attractive. The interior on the other hand is something to behold. Reputedly the most spartan in the Western World. Until recently there was only one shower. And it poured out only the most refrigerated of cold water. (Now there are three ?? although they don??t look any more modern than the original!). In keeping with the boarding school theme the locker room is as rustic as your brain could possibly comprehend. It had the atmosphere of a rugby changing room: concrete floor and all. Your every move creates an echo.
Through the way the bar / sitting room is equally amusing. An open fire raged in the corner. Much wood lines the upper echelons of the walls. Mahogancy I suppose. I counted 32 titled gentlemen on the first board of past Captains (out of 60 odd) - The Earl of This, The Duke of That, Major Somebody, Admiral Nobody, Lieutenant Colonel My Initials Are Longer Than Yours, Sir I Don??t Care Because I Have The Best Title... And so on and so forth. Just as delightful was the members?? suggestion book, which looked like it may have been uncovered in the same haul as The Dead Sea Scrolls. I wish I??d had a few more hours to flick through it??s banter.
Enter Burlando & Son. Looking Dandy as Norfolk gentlemen should (in fact Burlando Senior??s a Bristolian and David grew up near Cambridge). There could be no mistaking the fact that Burlando was the father of Junior Burlando: if I may say, one and the same person save for a few years in Senior??s case. Quite uncanny. We sat and chewed the fat ?? quite literally ?? over a bacon buttie and coffee. Then decided it was time that we played some golf (after all the necessaries were taken care of, of course ?? signing in, etc).
Burlando??s dog inevitably joined us. Though I??m sure she??s a loved and loving member of the Burlando family, I found her to be a snob. Not once did she fire me a glance; and when I approached her for a pat, she turned away in disgust. No fraternising with Kiwi commoners apparently. Her loss.
The course? You won??t be surprised to hear that it was Idiosyncratic in the most extreme sense of the word. A double fairway to begin. Railway sleeper bunkers guarding every green / postage stamp. The odd blind tee shot. Not a lot of rough, but plenty of wind which made putting less than straightforward. Goldy and I paired up together perhaps for the first (and last) time, and 3 putted our way right through the front 9 to find ourselves 3 to the bad. Giving 11 shots to the Burlando Company might also have had something to do with it. It was something of a Mickelson and Woods pairing though, if you get my drift. Two strong personalities. Had we been less inclined to laugh at ourselves one might??ve thrown t??other down one of those railway sleepers into a deep pit of sand ?? such was the calamity of our golf.
Burlando & Burlando were an interesting pair. Junior??s about to finish his MBA at Henley, and is working with some friends in recruitment. Sounds like an interesting gig, almost the archetype of business ?? being a middle man; putting A in touch with B and taking a cut. Not sure I??d fancy it though. In any case given we were playing foursomes I got a good chance to bend David??s ear about it ?? and about the merits of an MBA ?? and found his chat to be not unhelpful. By the very nature of the format I had little to do with Burlando Senior and That Black Labrador Bitch, but Goldy assures me they didn??t run out of things to talk about. Foursomes is such a social game, I??ve really come to love it.
The Kiwis after something of a resurgence took out the match on the 18th much to everyone??s surprise (not least mine). I walked off the course wondering if I??d ever play a golf course like Brancaster again. Unique doesn??t quite cover it. I also wondered whether its poor conditioning actually served as part of the charm of the place, rather than as a black mark. On reflection I think so.
In the hut we were introduced to a few dandy souls. Burlando pointed out a few Knights of The Realm too, which impressed me less than it might others. One such Sir was bladed on the shoulder for looking after Liz??s estates for her, whatever that means. I suspect it doesn??t mean he was the gardener.
Burlando then took it upon himself to do a very helpful thing indeed. He had an agent recover my sports jacket from the men??s locker room at Golf de Chantilly, where I??d left it a week or two ago. Chris?? pal Arnaud was heading over for the weekend, so Chris had me draw a diagram of where I??d left it, which he scanned and sent on. The Recovery Mission I??m glad to report has been successful ?? which will please my Grandfather because it was his jacket and a good one at that. So thank you Chris, and thank you Arnaud. Burlando incidentally also teed up a knock at Hunstanton for us the following day, at short notice ?? so the man really has been a Knight In Shining Armour (more impressive than that other gardener fella...).
An interesting foray into the Norfolk wilderness. Like Muirfield, Brancaster is a polarising place. More often than not I fall easily into the ??Ayes?, but in this case I??m going to sit on my fence and ponder. For a while.
Thank you Burlando & Burlando for your hospitality, and for your help with The Recovery Mission. Much obliged chaps.
JP
