Mr. Rosenblum's List: Or Friendly Guidance for the Aspiring Englishman Read Online Free PDF Page A

current wait is approximately twenty-seven years.
Yours sincerely,
Edward Fitz-Elkington, Esq.
     
    It was hopeless. He could not produce the evidence of the professor’s letter without admitting that he had impersonated him, which he imagined the secretary would not take kindly. He did business with everyone: Anglicans, Catholics, socialists and even the odd agnostic, but they never became friends. He had known some of these men for fifteen years and for fifteen years they had enquired after the health and happiness of his wife, but they had never once suggested meeting her. He had never been invited to dinner at a colleague’s house. That was what restaurants were for, he thought grimly. They were for meeting with those whom you could not have to your house: actresses, Americans and those like him.
     
    Jack wrote one final letter to the Sanderson Cliffs Club, offering free carpets for all the buildings and enclosing a colour chart with the season’s latest range. Considering the scarcity of good carpets, in fact the scarcity of everything, Jack knew it to be a generous proposal – and he even had a precious letter of recommendation. He was more hopeful than he had felt for months because Mr Austen, a woollen merchant from Yorkshire, had actually offered to nominate him for membership. Jack was elated; this was fate. The Sanderson Cliffs was the perfect club; their course was legendary, the best in North London. Even during the war they retained twenty greenkeepers to nurture that perfect grass and, according to legend, they used tweezers, nail scissors and water imported from the Nile, so smooth were the greens. If he closed his eyes and looked into the future he could see his name in gold lettering on the polished boards: Mr J.M. Rosenblum, Captain.
    So optimistic was Jack that he finally bought a set of clubs. He had never actually played a single round of golf; he had never even been on a golf course, nor had he held a club, let alone taken a swing. He put on his Henry Poole suit and went to Harrods. He rode the elevator to the sports floor in a state of hushed reverence, and the shop assistant led him to the selection of golf clubs. The room was oak panelled with dim overhead lights, and in the gloom the steel of the clubs seemed to glow. Jack felt the sweat start to tickle his forehead. The assistant passed him a club.
    ‘Try this six iron. Beautifully balanced, sir. Specially designed to make striking the ball that bit easier.’
    Jack held it in his hands and he felt his throat catch. He hadn’t wanted anything this much since he was a small boy and had saved up for a bright red steam engine that really worked. The assistant passed him another.
    ‘This nine iron has fine grooves. Used by Bobby Jones himself. Top of the range with polished lightweight steel shafts. The newest technology. Very aerodynamic .’
    That was it. Jack had to have them.
    ‘Excellent choice, sir,’ cooed the assistant as he began to wrap them and Jack counted out the crisp pound notes. ‘Now, will sir require a new bag to put them in?’
    Jack selected one in a rich tan with a crimson stripe stitched along the side. He thought they were the most beautiful objects he had ever seen.
    The clubs rested in the corner of his office, still in their wrappings, propped up against a chair. Jack would sit behind his desk and gaze at them. Then, when he could bear it no longer, he would cross the room and reverentially pull out the nine iron or the sand wedge and grip it in his hands. After a few minutes – he never risked a swing, as he didn’t want a single graze on that metal – he would meticulously rewrap the club and tenderly place it back in the bag.
     
    On Friday, Mr Austen paid a call. He had been trying very hard to get Jack into the Sanderson Cliffs; he’d written a generous letter of introduction and had pointed out the usefulness of Jack’s offer of carpets. Waiting for an answer had been most unpleasant; while Mr Austen was