Sentence The Seventysecond
Both Daphne and Maude woke expeditiously early on a fine morning in late Spring, or early Summer, quite dependent on how one divided the Seasons across the calendar, when the sky was so wide and blue that each felt she could sew a Sailor's Shirt from it's fabric; barely a trace of haar was left fading into the dunes and the whole world could be seen shimmering in the heat of the sun; “this is,” declared Daphne, with as firm and vigorous a voice as Maude had ever heard issuing from between her lips, “a fit day for the Links,” and despite herself, well, almost despite herself, Maude could only agree, for, as she confided in a brief call to Theresa, not yet back in Maude's round bed, but rather, ensconced in her cousin (and, naturally, Maude's niece also) Rosie's cottage in the Campsies, if one really has to walk across a sandy field hitting at white balls with sticks and trying to poke them into tiny holes dug out of a billiard table, it's probably as good as it's ever going to get; but who's going to have to carry all those sticks about – and Teri suggested that there'd probably be some unemployed youths hanging around the clubhouse hoping to be engaged for a round as Caddies, at which Maude wondered where Teri got her information from and concluded it was probably from some of the Elinor Glyn books she had been reading on her Kindle, for the scene she conjured up was definitely pre-war and more likely to be pre-Great War than Second, Wodehouse, she decided, that world of flannelled fools and bright young flappers, so she bade Teri farewell and prepared herself for 'The Great Outdoors'; and so it was that Maude and Daphne found themselves in a kind of Paradise, one that they had never dared to anticipate: for today was the one day of the Quarter when the particular course recommended by Tuffy Ladywood and Lettice Pumpherston, the two more sporty members of The Famous Five, hosted it's Lady's Day – with an absolutely strict and sacrosanct injunction that ONLY Ladies may set foot on it's Tees, Fairways, Bunkers and other Hazards, and Greens; an injunction which applies to Club Stewards and Servants, Players and their Caddies, and any casual observers who may wish to enjoy the pleasures of watching muscular womanhood whacking balls all over the place; and The Ladies saw, and it was Good; now, Daphne and Maude had invited their new friends Phemie Lauder and Izzy Dalkeith to join them on this glorious day, but after the exciting game of Monopoly the four had enjoyed into the wee small hours, before Phemie and Izzy had left for Izzy's flat nearby, and they arrived looking slightly dishevelled and hung-over, and for the first time since all four had met, the two local girls were barely able to string two or three words together, until Maude doled out a stiff Irn Bru and Cognac straightener to everyone – and Maude and Daphne having done their homework and established that there were various options for four players to partake of the game of golf and Daphne, affecting the casual nonchalance of the connate, as though skill at golf was inherited like a predilection for Lapsang Souchon or the ability to construe an entire Dinosaur from it's fossilised toe-nail, casually asked Phemie if she preferred a Four-Ball or a Scotch Foursome, at which Phemie chuckled and said she'd only ever played Pitch-and-Put before and Izzy admitted that while she was a dab hand at crazy golf in the Public Park, she'd no idea about this strange game they were going to undertake; so after a quick confab it was agreed that for this first round, as they were none of them particularly proficient, they would each play their own balls, score their own cards and whoever won would stand the rest a drink in the Clubhouse afterwards; and they could work out some kind of Handicap for any further rounds they might manage over the period of Daphne and Maude's stay in Gullane; the locals were impressed with Daphne's decisiveness and four hands shook each other, shoulders were embraced, cheeks were pecked and, being good sports all, they genuinely wished each other “best of luck” and made their way to the first tee; It was from this point that the four friends, and Maude in particular, began to experience distractions the like of which they had never suffered for many a long year: not only were they all fine specimens of womanhood themselves, but they had also secured the services of four strapping girls as their Caddies; and – it seemed – all around they could see other Lady Golfers in scant apparel, addressing balls, taking fearsome swipes, bending over, squatting, striding along fairways or climbing in and out of Bunkers, and they all suffered lapses in concentration; to such an extent that after only six holes they felt extremely frazzled and decided to call it a morning – repair to The Jolly Boatman for lunch and return later, refreshed and invigorated to tackle the full 18 holes, and out of a sense of fairness and sportsladyship, they took their Caddies with them; and that was when Jubbly Johanssen appeared, an
old friend of both Daphne and Maude - “oh, please, leave out the 'old' for goodness sake” she said as they introduced her to Phemie and Izzy - and the sight of her quite revived the Honeymooners, for they hadn't seen her for yonks, absolute yonks, since, in fact, the day she'd run off with her daughters' Nanny and had last been seen boarding a flight to the Seychelles, hand in hand with the young girl; where had she been, what had she been up to, with whom, what was she doing in Gullane with a man in tow – well, glued to her side, actually – and she carelessly introduced him as her orthotist, and the Ladies look at her shoes and couldn't think of any reason why an orthotist would provide shoes like them, before Jubbly realised what she had said and explained that he was a highly skilled gastrointestinological surgeon who had been having some problems with the BMA and was temporarily resting, but that, as a close friend, he had removed an enterolith from her intestines, but she really didn't want to say more about it at lunchtime and Daphne asked if Jubbly was convalescing, for she was surely not here for the Golf, so soon after a major procedure and a Birdwatching Holiday would seem too passive, for one of her temperament “no, no,” she assured them, “I'm just back for the Divorce Hearing in the Family Court tomorrow, and you'll never guess who Angus has representing him,” at which the Ladies cried, do tell, do tell, and Jubbly told them; both Daphne and Maude were shocked at the gall of the man, for Angus was very senior in The Royal Bank and not short of a penny or two, and in fact he could quite easily pop back after hours and print himself a few million and nobody the wiser; but Jubbly was still speaking of the Advocate retained by her husband, “it's that man Elginbrod, that slimy toad-faced bag of shite, and do you know what he's just done,” and this time she didn't wait for them to respond, but continued, “he's only just gone and copyrighted the use of the Royal We, the Individual Plural – so that if ma wee Carmelita wins a game of Dominoes and jumps up chanting 'We are the Champions' she'll have to pay a Royalty to that inflated Balloon in a wig and gown – he's nothing but a sick-faced nyaff – ah mind him frae University,” she said, rather slipping into the Glesca Patois of her native Partick, “he copied work straight oot o' books and submitted it as his ain – and when he was challenged, produced some affidavit that said it wis his ain copyright and the Professor had tae back doon – that wis afore we fund oot aboot the unnerhaund buying up o' copyrights and patents in just aboot onything that wisny double-sealed in a strong-boax and drapped intae Loch Ness, and come to thon, you dae ken that Nessie belangs tae him as weel,” at which there were gasps and tutts all around, and someone asked if the Ladies wanted Elginbrod sorted out, no questions asked – it seemed to come from an inoffensive looking wee man in a piebald Gannex mac that looked as if he'd bought it when Harold Wilson was PM and had worn it every day since; Phemie whispered to Daphne that he was Father
Finnegan, the Roman Catholic Priest at Our Lady of Longformacus and that he was believed to have some contacts among the Ice Cream Industry, at which Daphne nodded a 'thank you,' then shook her head in a 'but not this time, though we'll make a note of your kind offer in case circumstances change,' and Father Finnegan nodded back, gave Daphne a conspiratorial wink, sipped his pint of Guinness, and drew his index finger across his throat.
Both Daphne and Maude woke expeditiously early on a fine morning in late Spring, or early Summer, quite dependent on how one divided the Seasons across the calendar, when the sky was so wide and blue that each felt she could sew a Sailor's Shirt from it's fabric; barely a trace of haar was left fading into the dunes and the whole world could be seen shimmering in the heat of the sun; “this is,” declared Daphne, with as firm and vigorous a voice as Maude had ever heard issuing from between her lips, “a fit day for the Links,” and despite herself, well, almost despite herself, Maude could only agree, for, as she confided in a brief call to Theresa, not yet back in Maude's round bed, but rather, ensconced in her cousin (and, naturally, Maude's niece also) Rosie's cottage in the Campsies, if one really has to walk across a sandy field hitting at white balls with sticks and trying to poke them into tiny holes dug out of a billiard table, it's probably as good as it's ever going to get; but who's going to have to carry all those sticks about – and Teri suggested that there'd probably be some unemployed youths hanging around the clubhouse hoping to be engaged for a round as Caddies, at which Maude wondered where Teri got her information from and concluded it was probably from some of the Elinor Glyn books she had been reading on her Kindle, for the scene she conjured up was definitely pre-war and more likely to be pre-Great War than Second, Wodehouse, she decided, that world of flannelled fools and bright young flappers, so she bade Teri farewell and prepared herself for 'The Great Outdoors'; and so it was that Maude and Daphne found themselves in a kind of Paradise, one that they had never dared to anticipate: for today was the one day of the Quarter when the particular course recommended by Tuffy Ladywood and Lettice Pumpherston, the two more sporty members of The Famous Five, hosted it's Lady's Day – with an absolutely strict and sacrosanct injunction that ONLY Ladies may set foot on it's Tees, Fairways, Bunkers and other Hazards, and Greens; an injunction which applies to Club Stewards and Servants, Players and their Caddies, and any casual observers who may wish to enjoy the pleasures of watching muscular womanhood whacking balls all over the place; and The Ladies saw, and it was Good; now, Daphne and Maude had invited their new friends Phemie Lauder and Izzy Dalkeith to join them on this glorious day, but after the exciting game of Monopoly the four had enjoyed into the wee small hours, before Phemie and Izzy had left for Izzy's flat nearby, and they arrived looking slightly dishevelled and hung-over, and for the first time since all four had met, the two local girls were barely able to string two or three words together, until Maude doled out a stiff Irn Bru and Cognac straightener to everyone – and Maude and Daphne having done their homework and established that there were various options for four players to partake of the game of golf and Daphne, affecting the casual nonchalance of the connate, as though skill at golf was inherited like a predilection for Lapsang Souchon or the ability to construe an entire Dinosaur from it's fossilised toe-nail, casually asked Phemie if she preferred a Four-Ball or a Scotch Foursome, at which Phemie chuckled and said she'd only ever played Pitch-and-Put before and Izzy admitted that while she was a dab hand at crazy golf in the Public Park, she'd no idea about this strange game they were going to undertake; so after a quick confab it was agreed that for this first round, as they were none of them particularly proficient, they would each play their own balls, score their own cards and whoever won would stand the rest a drink in the Clubhouse afterwards; and they could work out some kind of Handicap for any further rounds they might manage over the period of Daphne and Maude's stay in Gullane; the locals were impressed with Daphne's decisiveness and four hands shook each other, shoulders were embraced, cheeks were pecked and, being good sports all, they genuinely wished each other “best of luck” and made their way to the first tee; It was from this point that the four friends, and Maude in particular, began to experience distractions the like of which they had never suffered for many a long year: not only were they all fine specimens of womanhood themselves, but they had also secured the services of four strapping girls as their Caddies; and – it seemed – all around they could see other Lady Golfers in scant apparel, addressing balls, taking fearsome swipes, bending over, squatting, striding along fairways or climbing in and out of Bunkers, and they all suffered lapses in concentration; to such an extent that after only six holes they felt extremely frazzled and decided to call it a morning – repair to The Jolly Boatman for lunch and return later, refreshed and invigorated to tackle the full 18 holes, and out of a sense of fairness and sportsladyship, they took their Caddies with them; and that was when Jubbly Johanssen appeared, an
old friend of both Daphne and Maude - “oh, please, leave out the 'old' for goodness sake” she said as they introduced her to Phemie and Izzy - and the sight of her quite revived the Honeymooners, for they hadn't seen her for yonks, absolute yonks, since, in fact, the day she'd run off with her daughters' Nanny and had last been seen boarding a flight to the Seychelles, hand in hand with the young girl; where had she been, what had she been up to, with whom, what was she doing in Gullane with a man in tow – well, glued to her side, actually – and she carelessly introduced him as her orthotist, and the Ladies look at her shoes and couldn't think of any reason why an orthotist would provide shoes like them, before Jubbly realised what she had said and explained that he was a highly skilled gastrointestinological surgeon who had been having some problems with the BMA and was temporarily resting, but that, as a close friend, he had removed an enterolith from her intestines, but she really didn't want to say more about it at lunchtime and Daphne asked if Jubbly was convalescing, for she was surely not here for the Golf, so soon after a major procedure and a Birdwatching Holiday would seem too passive, for one of her temperament “no, no,” she assured them, “I'm just back for the Divorce Hearing in the Family Court tomorrow, and you'll never guess who Angus has representing him,” at which the Ladies cried, do tell, do tell, and Jubbly told them; both Daphne and Maude were shocked at the gall of the man, for Angus was very senior in The Royal Bank and not short of a penny or two, and in fact he could quite easily pop back after hours and print himself a few million and nobody the wiser; but Jubbly was still speaking of the Advocate retained by her husband, “it's that man Elginbrod, that slimy toad-faced bag of shite, and do you know what he's just done,” and this time she didn't wait for them to respond, but continued, “he's only just gone and copyrighted the use of the Royal We, the Individual Plural – so that if ma wee Carmelita wins a game of Dominoes and jumps up chanting 'We are the Champions' she'll have to pay a Royalty to that inflated Balloon in a wig and gown – he's nothing but a sick-faced nyaff – ah mind him frae University,” she said, rather slipping into the Glesca Patois of her native Partick, “he copied work straight oot o' books and submitted it as his ain – and when he was challenged, produced some affidavit that said it wis his ain copyright and the Professor had tae back doon – that wis afore we fund oot aboot the unnerhaund buying up o' copyrights and patents in just aboot onything that wisny double-sealed in a strong-boax and drapped intae Loch Ness, and come to thon, you dae ken that Nessie belangs tae him as weel,” at which there were gasps and tutts all around, and someone asked if the Ladies wanted Elginbrod sorted out, no questions asked – it seemed to come from an inoffensive looking wee man in a piebald Gannex mac that looked as if he'd bought it when Harold Wilson was PM and had worn it every day since; Phemie whispered to Daphne that he was Father
Finnegan, the Roman Catholic Priest at Our Lady of Longformacus and that he was believed to have some contacts among the Ice Cream Industry, at which Daphne nodded a 'thank you,' then shook her head in a 'but not this time, though we'll make a note of your kind offer in case circumstances change,' and Father Finnegan nodded back, gave Daphne a conspiratorial wink, sipped his pint of Guinness, and drew his index finger across his throat.
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