Captain's Day Read Online Free PDF

innocence.
    “ I am not going to have my day spoiled by the likes of you or by anyone else.”
    Dawson affected surprise. “How could we be spoiling your day, Mr Captain?”
    “ Because Fidler claimed you knew he always plays Top Flight fours, that’s why. And knowing you two as I do I have no doubt you do.”
    Dawson now gave up all pretence of innocence. “Christ we only did it for a bit of fun, Mr Captain. It’s only a laugh.”
    “ A laugh?” echoed Mr Captain. “A laugh, Mr Dawson? Today is Captain's Day. There's nothing to laugh about.”

Up ahead of them Arbuthnott, Chapman and Bagley had reached the first green, but not of course by the same route, as is almost always the case with the average club golf threesome. Credit must be given to Arbuthnott for getting there in the regulation two strokes, whilst both Chapman and Bagley had arrived there in the non-regulation, though more regular, three strokes. On arriving at the green, and now well out of Mr Captain’s hearing, Chapman returned to the topic they had been discussing when they’d last been together on leaving the tee some ten minutes previously. “It's Captain's Day for God's sake,” he railed. “Women have no right to be on the course at all on Captain’s Day, let alone be entrusted with the measuring.” He shook his head, bewildered. “I don't know, they put up a notice saying they don't want you to swear and then they allow women on the course at the same time as men and give you the best bloody reason in the world for swearing!”
    “ We can take it you won't be volunteering to do the measuring on Lady Captain's Day then, can we Gerry?” said Bagley.
    “ Only if it's for a wooden overcoat for one of them. Then I’d be there with my tape measure and a choice of coffins at the drop of a hat, a sarcophagus if they want one.”
    “ Because they’ll probably be expecting the gentlemen to reciprocate.”
    “ Well they can expect all they want as far as I’m concerned,” said Chapman, dismissing the whole sorry business from his mind and turning his attention to the more important matter of the forty feet left to right downhill putt he was faced with to save his par.

    Frank Galloway, Mike Hanson and Richard Irwin had just left the locker room and were about to make their way to the first tee when Fidler hove into view, hurrying in the direction of the pro’s shop. Hanson stopped to greet him. “George! Glad I bumped into you.”
    Fidler stopped and glared at him, still boiling with rage from his contretemps with Dawson and Elwes. “What?” he growled.
    “ The thing is my sister has bought me a dozen golf balls for my birthday and they're Top Flight fours; and you always play Top Flight fours don't you, so I was wondering if we….”
    Hanson didn't get any further as without warning Fidler grabbed hold of the front of his sweater and pulled the much shorter man up onto his tiptoes. “Are you in on this with those two pillocks back there?”
    “ Wh…what two pillocks back where?” spluttered Hanson, struggling in a vain effort to release himself from Fidler's grip.
    “ Fucking Dawson and fucking Elwes.”
    “ Careful George, Mr Captain might hear you,” warned Galloway, nodding towards the first tee only some fifty yards distant.
    “ Fuck Mr Captain,” said Fidler, having in the meantime made the decision that if he was to be hauled before the General Committee on a charge of swearing he might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. He tightened his grip on the struggling Hanson then thrust his face closer until their noses were almost touching, a position that did little to endear itself to Hanson as Fidler's nose had a dewdrop on the end of it which he feared might drop off and land on the new pink and grey diamond-pattern lambswool Pringle sweater Tobin had just sold him. “Well?” said Fidler.
    “ No. No of course not,” bleated Hanson. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
    Fidler knew he couldn't prove