Thanks for reading so far. I am reworking the story. In the meantime, you might enjoy www.slowdownnow.org where you can sign up on my story reminder list.
Christopher Richards
AKA Brandon Mulligan Green
Friday, March 2, 2007
Monday, January 29, 2007
Part 14: The Lost Mashie Niblick
[This is an ongoing story. You might want to start at the beginning]
Gutta & Percha Ltd. made equipment for the refined golfer. Both Archibald Gutta and Cuthbert Percha were getting on in years, and were somewhat hard of hearing. But even as they got older their skill only improved. Life is like that.
Archibald was a master tailor. G & P’s Splendidly Expensive line of hand-made golf trousers had a demoralizing effect on those that didn’t wear them. They were trousers that improved posture, confidence, and self-esteem. No two pairs were alike. Some people believed that it was the trousers alone that could win a game.
Polly, Archibald’s sister, was the brains behind the operation. When she was young, she had learned the secret ritual of hopscotch: mysteries only known to girls. She had always loved secrets, and that was a good thing because much of what went on in the shop was secret.
Cuthbert Percha was a master tinkerer. His specialty was the contents of the golf bag—and not all of those things could strictly speaking be said to be clubs. His mission in life was to create the perfect golf club. He had made every item in the bag that was given to Jimmy Braithwaite before he went to play in the Blunder all those years ago. Cuthbert liked his work.
Archibald shook his head as he reread the note Amanda Bassington had left for them that morning. It was a long order, and the first item read, one pair of enormous yellow trousers, Splendidly Expensive, with balancing thread and sundry extras.
“Balancing thread!” said Archibald in disbelief. “How does Ms. Bassington, a vicar’s daughter, know about balancing thread?”
“Who’s dead?” said Cuthbert climbing up the ladder from his underground workshop.
“No one’s dead. It’s Amanda Bassington. She wants some enormous yellow trousers made with balancing thread.”
“Such a nice girl, I shall miss her. How did she die?” said Cuthbert.
“She was in here this morning. She’s not dead. She wants BALANCING THREAD.”
“Good heavens! She was just in here this morning. Golf accident was it?”
Archibald showed him the neatly written order.
“Balancing thread? How does a vicar’s daughter come to know about balancing thread? No wonder she came to a bad end.”
Archibald shrugged his shoulders and wrote in large letters on the note, SHE’S NOT DEAD.
“Oh! I am glad. Such a nice girl; and very pretty too.”
“And she got Ned Barker to agree to play in the Blunder!”
“What a talented woman!”
“A woman with hidden depths,” said Archibald. “Balancing thread: who would have thought it!”
It’s best to keep quiet about balancing thread in Lower Bottom if you want to keep the peace. Although Gutta & Percha made their Splendidly Expensive line of golf trousers with it, they would be the last people to say so. Any garment made with balancing thread can make even the most clumsy and inept golfer move with grace and aplomb. But it is difficult to come by, and looked upon with suspicion by some.
There are stories of people who have concocted an inferior product that has caused the wearer to swagger uncontrollably. Balancing thread can have unforeseen consequences.
“All of this is for Ned Barker,” said Archibald. “We don’t have much time. I can see that it’s going to be a long night for Polly and me. How much of this equipment do you have, Cuthbert?”
It was at that moment, Cuthbert noticed a pair of legs descending from the street into the shop.
“Hello,” said Ned. “Am I in the right place?”
Gutta & Percha Ltd. made equipment for the refined golfer. Both Archibald Gutta and Cuthbert Percha were getting on in years, and were somewhat hard of hearing. But even as they got older their skill only improved. Life is like that.
Archibald was a master tailor. G & P’s Splendidly Expensive line of hand-made golf trousers had a demoralizing effect on those that didn’t wear them. They were trousers that improved posture, confidence, and self-esteem. No two pairs were alike. Some people believed that it was the trousers alone that could win a game.
Polly, Archibald’s sister, was the brains behind the operation. When she was young, she had learned the secret ritual of hopscotch: mysteries only known to girls. She had always loved secrets, and that was a good thing because much of what went on in the shop was secret.
Cuthbert Percha was a master tinkerer. His specialty was the contents of the golf bag—and not all of those things could strictly speaking be said to be clubs. His mission in life was to create the perfect golf club. He had made every item in the bag that was given to Jimmy Braithwaite before he went to play in the Blunder all those years ago. Cuthbert liked his work.
Archibald shook his head as he reread the note Amanda Bassington had left for them that morning. It was a long order, and the first item read, one pair of enormous yellow trousers, Splendidly Expensive, with balancing thread and sundry extras.
“Balancing thread!” said Archibald in disbelief. “How does Ms. Bassington, a vicar’s daughter, know about balancing thread?”
“Who’s dead?” said Cuthbert climbing up the ladder from his underground workshop.
“No one’s dead. It’s Amanda Bassington. She wants some enormous yellow trousers made with balancing thread.”
“Such a nice girl, I shall miss her. How did she die?” said Cuthbert.
“She was in here this morning. She’s not dead. She wants BALANCING THREAD.”
“Good heavens! She was just in here this morning. Golf accident was it?”
Archibald showed him the neatly written order.
“Balancing thread? How does a vicar’s daughter come to know about balancing thread? No wonder she came to a bad end.”
Archibald shrugged his shoulders and wrote in large letters on the note, SHE’S NOT DEAD.
“Oh! I am glad. Such a nice girl; and very pretty too.”
“And she got Ned Barker to agree to play in the Blunder!”
“What a talented woman!”
“A woman with hidden depths,” said Archibald. “Balancing thread: who would have thought it!”
It’s best to keep quiet about balancing thread in Lower Bottom if you want to keep the peace. Although Gutta & Percha made their Splendidly Expensive line of golf trousers with it, they would be the last people to say so. Any garment made with balancing thread can make even the most clumsy and inept golfer move with grace and aplomb. But it is difficult to come by, and looked upon with suspicion by some.
There are stories of people who have concocted an inferior product that has caused the wearer to swagger uncontrollably. Balancing thread can have unforeseen consequences.
“All of this is for Ned Barker,” said Archibald. “We don’t have much time. I can see that it’s going to be a long night for Polly and me. How much of this equipment do you have, Cuthbert?”
It was at that moment, Cuthbert noticed a pair of legs descending from the street into the shop.
“Hello,” said Ned. “Am I in the right place?”
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Part 13: The Lost Mashie Niblick
[This is an ongoing story. You can listen to the first parts, and read the story so far by clicking on the first post to the left.]
Ned did not see the squadron of sheep land on the village green outside Gutta & Percha. But if he had turned around, he would have see five sheep make a perfect landing. Of course, these were no ordinary sheep. Although they often liked to stand in fields acting sheepish and munching on grass. They thought it good for their image.
There were rumors of experiments at Blunder Hall. The wise woman had seen sheep flying loop-the-loop over her cottage on the other side of the valley. Many of the villagers didn't believe her. Some thought that she wasn't so wise, and others were afraid of her so-called halitosis. However, she had the sweetest of breath once you got to know her, and her recipe for jam that was without equal.
Fifty years before, Sir Grandsire-Blunder had indeed converted the some of the original stables to a laboratory. At first his experiments were modest. He had successfully bred chickens to produce golf-ball like eggs. His prototype had hatched in mid-air. Although he found such developments disconcerting, he hadn't given up.
Not all of his experiments were entirely successful, and some he'd done on himself. But when he first experimented on Fluffy, a sophisticated sheep to begin with, he was happy to have created a worthy putting opponent. He’d published an article in Beginning Brain Surgery for Fun. But once the sheep had any contact with the game of golf, their intelligence grew. Golf is like that.
In the course of Sir Grandsire’s modifications, he had inadvertently enlarged the mirror neuron in the sheep’s brains. Now they were not just empathetic toward each other, but telepathic. Just a look could say it all. Fluffy had had quite enough of Sir Grandsire's tinkering. Fluffy was a sheep of dignity, thought, and action. She had taken it upon herself to teach four of her flock how to fly; and they had learned well.
And it was Fluffy who now put the letter addressed to Ned Barker, The Lost Mashie Niblick, Lower Bottom, in the red pillar box at the edge of the green.
Ned did not see the squadron of sheep land on the village green outside Gutta & Percha. But if he had turned around, he would have see five sheep make a perfect landing. Of course, these were no ordinary sheep. Although they often liked to stand in fields acting sheepish and munching on grass. They thought it good for their image.
There were rumors of experiments at Blunder Hall. The wise woman had seen sheep flying loop-the-loop over her cottage on the other side of the valley. Many of the villagers didn't believe her. Some thought that she wasn't so wise, and others were afraid of her so-called halitosis. However, she had the sweetest of breath once you got to know her, and her recipe for jam that was without equal.
Fifty years before, Sir Grandsire-Blunder had indeed converted the some of the original stables to a laboratory. At first his experiments were modest. He had successfully bred chickens to produce golf-ball like eggs. His prototype had hatched in mid-air. Although he found such developments disconcerting, he hadn't given up.
Not all of his experiments were entirely successful, and some he'd done on himself. But when he first experimented on Fluffy, a sophisticated sheep to begin with, he was happy to have created a worthy putting opponent. He’d published an article in Beginning Brain Surgery for Fun. But once the sheep had any contact with the game of golf, their intelligence grew. Golf is like that.
In the course of Sir Grandsire’s modifications, he had inadvertently enlarged the mirror neuron in the sheep’s brains. Now they were not just empathetic toward each other, but telepathic. Just a look could say it all. Fluffy had had quite enough of Sir Grandsire's tinkering. Fluffy was a sheep of dignity, thought, and action. She had taken it upon herself to teach four of her flock how to fly; and they had learned well.
And it was Fluffy who now put the letter addressed to Ned Barker, The Lost Mashie Niblick, Lower Bottom, in the red pillar box at the edge of the green.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Part 12: The Lost Mashie Niblick
If it were for her, he would do it. He would save Lower Bottom from extinction: he would do anything. Ned was as much surprised as she at this impassioned declaration. He took on the look of a tomato, and she breathed deeply.
It was only later, as he clutched his hot water bottle in bed that night, that he realized the full horrible implications. He had agreed to play golf on the Old Course against Rodney Dribble Grandsire, grand-nephew of Sir Grandsire-Blunder.
Amanda had gone into more detail but his head began to swim. Whenever Ned became overwhelmed he always thought his happy thoughts; and that made him feel better.
He felt so much better that he’d forgotten all about it by the time Amanda had shown up early the next morning for his next lesson.
Lesson two had gone well. Ned still managed to get flustered in the presence of the lovely Amanda. But now he felt like a new man as he walked out of the Lost Mashie Niblick after an ample lunch; and the ministrations of Marion Crumpetworthy.
He stopped in front of a display of jam in the shop window of The Everything Shop. Jam jar after jam jar was piled in a pyramid in front of a wall of jam jars of every size. A small sign said, “We Sell Jam.” Ned was about push open the door, when he was seized by the arm. It was the long arm of the law in the shape of Constable Morris, the village policeman.
“Not in there, sir,”
“Ah!” said Ned “Have I done something wrong?”
“Not yet,” said Constable Morris getting off his bicycle. “Are you Ned Barker staying at the Lost Mashie Niblick over there?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so. There’s not much that goes on around this place that I don’t know about. You see I thought you were going in there,” said Constable Morris pointing to the shop.
“I was, I was just curious…” said Ned.
“I understand sir, what exactly were you curious about?”
“That jam,” said Ned turning around to face a shop with an empty window and a small sign saying, Closed for Lunch.
“Jam, sir?”
“That shop was selling jam.”
“It looks empty to me,” said Constable Morris. “But you say you saw jam?”
“Yes.”
“I see,” said the policeman making a note in his book. “A word of advice: be careful. Now that should straighten you out. Off you go.”
Ned turned the corner and stepped down into a small shop with a sign hanging over it that said Gutta & Percha.
It was only later, as he clutched his hot water bottle in bed that night, that he realized the full horrible implications. He had agreed to play golf on the Old Course against Rodney Dribble Grandsire, grand-nephew of Sir Grandsire-Blunder.
Amanda had gone into more detail but his head began to swim. Whenever Ned became overwhelmed he always thought his happy thoughts; and that made him feel better.
He felt so much better that he’d forgotten all about it by the time Amanda had shown up early the next morning for his next lesson.
Lesson two had gone well. Ned still managed to get flustered in the presence of the lovely Amanda. But now he felt like a new man as he walked out of the Lost Mashie Niblick after an ample lunch; and the ministrations of Marion Crumpetworthy.
He stopped in front of a display of jam in the shop window of The Everything Shop. Jam jar after jam jar was piled in a pyramid in front of a wall of jam jars of every size. A small sign said, “We Sell Jam.” Ned was about push open the door, when he was seized by the arm. It was the long arm of the law in the shape of Constable Morris, the village policeman.
“Not in there, sir,”
“Ah!” said Ned “Have I done something wrong?”
“Not yet,” said Constable Morris getting off his bicycle. “Are you Ned Barker staying at the Lost Mashie Niblick over there?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so. There’s not much that goes on around this place that I don’t know about. You see I thought you were going in there,” said Constable Morris pointing to the shop.
“I was, I was just curious…” said Ned.
“I understand sir, what exactly were you curious about?”
“That jam,” said Ned turning around to face a shop with an empty window and a small sign saying, Closed for Lunch.
“Jam, sir?”
“That shop was selling jam.”
“It looks empty to me,” said Constable Morris. “But you say you saw jam?”
“Yes.”
“I see,” said the policeman making a note in his book. “A word of advice: be careful. Now that should straighten you out. Off you go.”
Ned turned the corner and stepped down into a small shop with a sign hanging over it that said Gutta & Percha.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Part 11: The Lost Mashie Niblick
[This is a story. You can start with the first part on the right-hand menu]
“Few in the village have heard of the Old Course,” says she, “and those that do dare not mention its name. Our village only exists at the pleasure of Sir Grandsire-Blunder who lives in the Manor.”
“Every ten years about the feast of Saint Wedge, Lower Bottom must send a golfer to play in the Blunder on the Old Course. Failure to do so, and the village disappears from the minds of all who have been here; and their golf game suffers. What is more, the village itself will cease to exist. Ned, we need you.” Amanda looks at him.
“But why me?” says he.
“Golf is in your blood. Look at what just happened in the practice area. And you are a relative of Jeffrey. You are still wild, but we have two days in which to get you ready. The Blunder is not without danger. ”
“Oh! You mean it could rain?”
“It could," says Amanda, looking out of the window to where dark clouds are gathering on the horizon. "But, not all golfers who have gone to the Blunder have come back. There is talk of sand traps so deep that players can't find their way out. Others, when questioned about the hazards of the course, will not speak of them. And then there is Sir Grandsire-Blunder himself, ancestor of the Grandsire Triplets.”
“Is there anyone else who can help you?” says Ned, looking into the fire, “Danger isn’t really the thing I am good at.”
“I believe in you, Ned,” says Amanda, patting him on the knee.
“Ah!” says Ned, ever wanting to impress her.
"So will you help us?" asks Amanda.
“Few in the village have heard of the Old Course,” says she, “and those that do dare not mention its name. Our village only exists at the pleasure of Sir Grandsire-Blunder who lives in the Manor.”
“Every ten years about the feast of Saint Wedge, Lower Bottom must send a golfer to play in the Blunder on the Old Course. Failure to do so, and the village disappears from the minds of all who have been here; and their golf game suffers. What is more, the village itself will cease to exist. Ned, we need you.” Amanda looks at him.
“But why me?” says he.
“Golf is in your blood. Look at what just happened in the practice area. And you are a relative of Jeffrey. You are still wild, but we have two days in which to get you ready. The Blunder is not without danger. ”
“Oh! You mean it could rain?”
“It could," says Amanda, looking out of the window to where dark clouds are gathering on the horizon. "But, not all golfers who have gone to the Blunder have come back. There is talk of sand traps so deep that players can't find their way out. Others, when questioned about the hazards of the course, will not speak of them. And then there is Sir Grandsire-Blunder himself, ancestor of the Grandsire Triplets.”
“Is there anyone else who can help you?” says Ned, looking into the fire, “Danger isn’t really the thing I am good at.”
“I believe in you, Ned,” says Amanda, patting him on the knee.
“Ah!” says Ned, ever wanting to impress her.
"So will you help us?" asks Amanda.
Thursday, January 4, 2007
Part 10: The Lost Mashie Niblick
The empty afternoon clubhouse smells of pine cones from a roaring fire in the old stone fireplace. Amanda and Ned are seated at a wicker table and Arthur has just brought afternoon tea and scones. Amanda pours.
“Thank you Arthur,” says she.
Arthur makes an almost imperceptible bow and glides out of the room.
“Ned, how much do you know about Lower Bottom?” she says.
“A few stories. I thought the place was a legend, but I appear to be in it.”
“Yes, but what have you heard?”
“I heard it’s a village that if you go looking for it, you’ll never find it.”
“Quite right,” says Amanda, putting a spoonful of clotted cream on her scone.
“And it’s a place that only a few can see.”
“All true,” she says. “But what about the golf?”
“Any person who ever plays at the Lower Bottom Village Golf Club has the ability to influence the flight of a golf ball just by thinking.”
“You have been well informed. But influencing a golf ball by thinking is a terrible responsibility, only the most pure of heart can bear. Ned, we have called you to Lower Bottom for a reason. We can’t keep you against your will; and it is your decision to help us, or not," she cocks an eyebrow, and continues, "Your Grand-uncle Jeffrey helped us once. We know that you too have what it takes to save us.”
“Save us?” Ned sits upright in his chair, almost dropping his cucumber sandwich.
Amanda looks over her shoulder at the door to make sure they are alone.
“The hill at the back of the Lost Mashie Niblick leads though the woods to an overgrown thicket, or that’s what most people see. But there are others who can see the opening that leads to the ruined Blunder Hall and the Old Course. Have you heard of it?”
“No,” says Ned.
“Thank you Arthur,” says she.
Arthur makes an almost imperceptible bow and glides out of the room.
“Ned, how much do you know about Lower Bottom?” she says.
“A few stories. I thought the place was a legend, but I appear to be in it.”
“Yes, but what have you heard?”
“I heard it’s a village that if you go looking for it, you’ll never find it.”
“Quite right,” says Amanda, putting a spoonful of clotted cream on her scone.
“And it’s a place that only a few can see.”
“All true,” she says. “But what about the golf?”
“Any person who ever plays at the Lower Bottom Village Golf Club has the ability to influence the flight of a golf ball just by thinking.”
“You have been well informed. But influencing a golf ball by thinking is a terrible responsibility, only the most pure of heart can bear. Ned, we have called you to Lower Bottom for a reason. We can’t keep you against your will; and it is your decision to help us, or not," she cocks an eyebrow, and continues, "Your Grand-uncle Jeffrey helped us once. We know that you too have what it takes to save us.”
“Save us?” Ned sits upright in his chair, almost dropping his cucumber sandwich.
Amanda looks over her shoulder at the door to make sure they are alone.
“The hill at the back of the Lost Mashie Niblick leads though the woods to an overgrown thicket, or that’s what most people see. But there are others who can see the opening that leads to the ruined Blunder Hall and the Old Course. Have you heard of it?”
“No,” says Ned.
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
Part 9: The Lost Mashie Niblick
It was with the grace of something very graceful that Amanda Bassington addressed the ball. Her backswing seemed to hang in the still air. Rooks were cawing in distance. Her club head drove the ball into the back of the net with a ththththwawaeacrack!! She smoothed out her Jaeger wool jacket.
“Ned, now you try,” said Amanda.
This performance had both impressed Ned and worried him. He had not shown himself to be as poised as he would have liked, and this demonstration had rubbed it in.
He had never seen a golf club quite like the one Amanda now handed him. He felt surprisingly hot, then surprisingly cold, and then slightly less-surprisingly warmer again.
“That’s right! Your grip is perfect,” she said looking at the way he was holding the club.
No longer had Ned any hint of ungainliness. He eyed the ball with the confidence of someone who was very confident indeed.
But, to Ned, the event was a blur. He remembered finding himself in the classic follow-though, looking at a hole in the net.
Those observing closely would have notice the ball had a slight red shift as it reached the speed of light and disappeared. The next instant, in another universe, a golfer just found what he believed to be his ball.
Amanda was breathless. And then she radiated joy. “Oh Ned!” she said, as she slapped him on the back and sent him sprawling face down in the grass.
“Ned, come with me to the clubhouse. I am going to ask something of you. I hope you are kind.”
“Ned, now you try,” said Amanda.
This performance had both impressed Ned and worried him. He had not shown himself to be as poised as he would have liked, and this demonstration had rubbed it in.
He had never seen a golf club quite like the one Amanda now handed him. He felt surprisingly hot, then surprisingly cold, and then slightly less-surprisingly warmer again.
“That’s right! Your grip is perfect,” she said looking at the way he was holding the club.
No longer had Ned any hint of ungainliness. He eyed the ball with the confidence of someone who was very confident indeed.
But, to Ned, the event was a blur. He remembered finding himself in the classic follow-though, looking at a hole in the net.
Those observing closely would have notice the ball had a slight red shift as it reached the speed of light and disappeared. The next instant, in another universe, a golfer just found what he believed to be his ball.
Amanda was breathless. And then she radiated joy. “Oh Ned!” she said, as she slapped him on the back and sent him sprawling face down in the grass.
“Ned, come with me to the clubhouse. I am going to ask something of you. I hope you are kind.”
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