The Team That Bowled at Hotham Springs

By Lucidus Smith

The Sport of Bowls, or to be more precise, Lawn Bowls, as played in many countries throughout the world, gives a lot of pleasure, sporting challenge and comradeship to a great many people of all ages and from all backgrounds.
Whilst this story is completely fictional it is based on some similar events which I and my bowling friends have experienced for ourselves in both Australia and the UK.
The story follows two main characters as they participate in an 'Open Pairs' competition and are then joined by another friend for a 'Triples' event and finally by a fourth friend for two 'Open Fours' tournaments.
We follow the highs and lows which bowls can bring, along with the good humour and banter which is ever present on the Bowling Green.
Some say that Lawn Bowls is a game for the older generation, but I prefer to think of it as a game for all generations, but in which the older generation can still hold their own (well sometimes at least).
I hope this book makes you laugh and entices you to try the wonderful game of Lawn Bowls for yourselves.
The cover photograph of the team was taken by - Frank Rowe

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504992367

Lucidus Smith

Lucidus Smith is British and was born in South London at the end of the Second World War. He is the youngest of four children, his father working as a wagon maker on the railways and his mother a housewife. He gave his heart to the Lord when he was eleven and was baptised with the Holy Spirit when he was thirty. He qualified as a Methodist lay-preacher in 1991 and during his years as a Christian has attended a range of churches which include Baptist, Methodist, Church of Scotland, Church of England, Christian Outreach Centre and various other evangelical house churches and fellowships. He left school at sixteen and first worked for a London Stockbroker's as a junior clerk and then joined a City financial group where he qualified as a Company Secretary. He next worked for IBM in a variety of roles for twenty years before going back to being a Company Secretary in 1991 with Lexmark International UK Ltd. He retired in 2001. He married Elizabeth in 1969 and they have three sons, all of whom are married and have children. Lucidus first started writing in 2005 on the premise that 'everyone has a book in them' and his first book, 'Blossom in Winter - Frost in Spring', was eventually published in 2010 and this book is now the twelfth that he has written and published.

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INTRODUCTION

The Sport of Bowls, or to be more precise, Lawn Bowls, as played in many countries throughout the world, gives a great deal of pleasure, challenge, frustration and comradeship to many people of all ages, who would probably be a lot safer if they stayed indoors and watched the television. But no, these intrepid bands of sportsmen and sportswomen, venture forth, whatever the weather, or their physical ailments (that some might be willing to share with you, if you are foolish enough to show even the slightest interest) to play for the honour of their club, team or association as competitively, yet sportingly, as they are able to.

Whilst this story is completely fictional some of the principal characters may slightly resemble certain gentlemen and ladies, who I hold in the highest esteem, that I have had the honour of bowling with in the past. Whilst being fictional the story is based on some similar events that both I and my friends have experienced ourselves or have been told about by other individuals, whose honour and integrity is beyond question (except when reporting back on fishing expeditions of course) with only the very slightest touch of the author’s own vivid imagination to round off a particular incident.

I well recall the first time I went to the Mandurah Bowling Club in 2001, to enquire about membership and had no sooner crossed the threshold of the clubhouse when I was greeted by a member on his way out with the immortal words, ‘Take your hat off you mongrel’ which, in my English naivety, I took to be some sort of Australian greeting that I had not encountered before. As I approached the bar, which appeared to be the centre of activity at that particular point in time, I encountered a sign pinned to a post which informed me that ‘No vests or thongs are allowed in the Clubhouse’.

Now to me, an Englishman, newly arrived in Western Australia (W.A.), a vest was an article of clothing which a gentleman might choose to wear underneath his shirt and a thong was a particularly scanty form of undergarment that a lady might choose to wear, so you can imagine my surprise to find that a Bowls Club had the effrontery to legislate on such intimate articles of clothing that their members might choose to wear next to their skin and out of view of the general public.

I have of course since discovered that because of the hot weather found in W.A. many men do indeed wear a vest without a shirt and that a thong is the local name for what we in Britain refer to as a ‘flip-flop’, it being a very popular form of footwear in Australia.

Anyway, to continue with my story, the barman duly asked me what I would like to drink, so on his suggestion, I ordered a ‘stubby’ of light beer and when it was served, took the opportunity to ask him whom I should speak to, with regard to club membership? He called over one of the committee members who happened to be in the club that day and within a very short period of time I was given the necessary paperwork to complete and introduced to one of their senior coaches, a true gentleman and a wonderful bowler, who went by the name of Roley.

Over the next six weeks Roley taught me how to bowl, explained the rules of bowls to me and, most importantly, taught me the etiquette of bowls and when he considered that I was ready to compete in my first game, he entered my name in the very next social game of bowls at the club.

The grounding Roley gave me in the basics of lawn bowls has stood me in good stead ever since and even to this current day people still compliment me on my bowling ‘action’, particularly the lady bowlers, for some reason! Over the years I have found that good sportsmanship and good manners are the hallmark of the vast majority of bowlers that I have played both with and against, particularly in the Murray district of Western Australia.

Some say that Lawn Bowls is a game for the older generation, but I prefer to think of it as a game for all generations, but in which the older generation can still hold their own (well sometimes at least).

I hope this book makes you laugh and entices you to try the wonderful game of Lawn Bowls for yourselves.

Lucidus Smith

CHAPTER 1

The Red Porsche

Where’s that Will Eaglesham? How many times have I told him not to park in my reserved parking slot? Come on Sylvia, where are you hiding him? I am going to sort this matter out, once and for all!

Calm down Arthur, if you get any redder in the face and hotter under the collar, I am going to need that ice pack again to cool you down, besides which, you know it’s not good for you, observed the plump, good natured, middle aged lady who was serving behind the bar at the Pinjarra Bowling Club, on that warm late summer evening in April1990.

You are probably right Sylvia, is that one for me? he asked, picking up a glass of his favourite beer that she had placed on the counter and drinking some before he spoke again, I needed that, so come on, where is that miscreant?

I am not hiding him anywhere Arthur, Will is not in the clubhouse tonight and in case you hadn’t noticed, the car in your parking slot is not a Chrysler Valiant Charger but a Porsche 911 which by some strange coincidence, just happens to be the same colour as Will’s car. It belongs to that good looking young man who is talking to Tiger at the end of the bar.

Does it indeed, well it’s high time that someone explained good manners to that young man, excuse me Sylvia, he said and drawing himself up to his full height approached Tiger and the young man in question.

Is this young man with you Tiger?

I suppose he must be Arthur, since he has very kindly bought me a drink and given me a good listening to for the last half hour. Why do you ask and what’s wrong with your face, you seem a bit redder than usual this evening?

Never you mind my face, firstly, I need to know if you have signed him in as a visitor this evening and secondly, I would like to know why you allowed him to park his Porsche in my reserved parking slot?

That old chestnut once again! I did tell them Arthur, when this whole subject of reserved parking slots for club officials was first debated in nineteen sixty seven, that it would bring nothing but confusion and arguments, but would anyone listen to old Tiger, of course not, ‘what does he know about cars and parking places, as long as he has a post to lean his old bike against’, that was what people said back then, but time has proved me to be right once again young Arthur, hasn’t it now? Come on, be honest.

Stuff and nonsense, just answer my question.

I don’t wish to interrupt you two gentleman in your discussion, said the young man, trying not to laugh, but I did explain the purpose of my visit to the lady behind the bar, who was kind enough to sign me in and if I have inadvertently parked in your reserved slot sir, I can only offer my apologies and will go and move my car right away, if you will just excuse me a minute gentlemen, with which he got up from his barstool and walked out of the back entrance of the club to the car park.

The two men watched him leave the club and then a placated Arthur asked, Did he tell you his name Tiger or why he is visiting Pinjarra today?

Raymond something or other is what he said and it appears that he is out here on holiday from England. I was in the middle of telling him about the trip that the wife and I made to England in nineteen fifty one and was just describing the coach trip to Eastbourne which we undertook on day four of our holiday, when you so rudely interrupted us.

Well he will never know how lucky he was that I came along just now, will he? The last poor soul you told that holiday in England story to, was stuck here buying you beers for ten hours; so would I be correct in thinking that you did not actually find out why he had come here today? And a simple yes or no would really be appreciated Tiger, as I need to know the answer to that question before he returns from the carpark or I die of thirst, whichever comes first.

Is that so? You know there are times Arthur when I wished I’d boxed your ears a lot harder for stealing my plums and apricots when you were a young lad.

That was forty years ago Tiger and you did a pretty good job of it back then as I recall, but before he returns did you find out why he is here?

Tell you what, you order me another beer and I will answer your question, think of it as compensation for my stolen fruit.

I have bought you enough beers in this club over the years to replace every tree in your orchard, you old miser. Sylvia love, can you give the Tiger here another beer please and put it on my slate.

No, said Tiger emphatically, as Sylvia started to pour his drink.

No! You don’t want a beer, exclaimed Arthur, hold on a minute while I ring the bell and make a formal announcement about this and by the way, if you think for one minute that I am going to buy you spirits, you can think again, old man.

Tch, tch, we are tetchy today, did the fox get at your chickens again by any chance? No Arthur, Raymond Nuttall did not tell me why he is here today and cheers, your very good health, said Tiger, raising his glass and winking at Sylvia.

After moving his car to an unmarked parking slot, Raymond came back into the clubhouse and was immediately spotted by Arthur who called him over to the table he was now sitting at and offered to buy him a drink.

Sorry about that misunderstanding Mr. Errr!

Arthur, everyone calls me Arthur, we don’t stand on ceremony at this club friend, so what do they call you?

Ray to my friends, nice to meet you Arthur and can I have a ginger beer please, as I have to drive back to Perth later tonight.

Arthur got them both a drink and then sat down with Raymond and after wishing each other ‘good health’ asked him what had prompted him to drive all the way from Perth to their bowling club in Pinjarra.

I have come here at the behest of my uncle Alan who was over here with his job between nineteen seventy five and seventy eight and who claims that he was part of a four man team who won a very prestigious bowling cup. As my uncle is not what you would call ‘sporty’ and this was the only cup that he had ever won in his whole life, he asked me if I would get a copy of the photograph that was taken at the time, for him to display in his study at his home, in order to dispel all of the doubts which have surrounded this particular claim to fame.

I don’t remember an Alan from England bowling in a competition at this club back then, what was his surname?

Smith, replied Raymond.

Smith you say, I thought Tiger said that your surname was Nuttall!

And so it is, my mother was his sister.

Oh of course, let me just ask the lads if anyone remembers him. Arthur stood up and walked over to the bar and sounded the large bell that was hanging there, which had the effect of immediately silencing all the conversations in the club, apart from Tiger of course, who had found someone else to relate his English holiday experiences to.

Excuse me gentleman and Tiger, my guest over there, who goes by the name of Ray Nuttall is here to find out about his uncle who claims to have won some sort of a trophy at this club in the mid to late seventies, so does anyone here remember a ‘Pome’ called Alan Smith?

There was a general shaking of heads and a murmuring of ‘never heard of him’ when a grey haired balding gentleman, who had been playing darts, walked over to Ray and asked him to stand up and said quietly, How is your uncle keeping these days and is he still playing bowls?

He is in very good health thank you sir and yes, he still enjoys his game of bowls.

Goodness me, you don’t just look like him, you sound like him as well. Would you mind shouting out one of your uncles bowling expressions for me please?

Yes, I would be happy to, if you tell me what to say.

The man whispered in his ear and then spoke to the people in the club and said, Just listen to what Ray says next, because I am certain that most of you here know exactly who Alan Smith is, you just know him by a different name; go on Ray.

Ray nodded, took a deep breath and shouted, Take a run at it and don’t be short this time Teddy! and as if in answer to his cry half the bar called back instinctively, You tell him A.J.

It’s nice to meet you Ray, my name’s Teddy Stephenson, your uncle and I were good mates when he was over here, but somehow we just seemed to lose contact with each other when he went back to England. Come and have a look at this picture which has pride of place by our trophy cabinet, see if you can recognise anyone in it.

They walked over to the picture together, followed by Arthur and half a dozen others who had fond memories of A.J. as they called him and watched while Ray studied the photograph. That’s him on the end and it looks like he is standing next to you Teddy and you and that other man are holding up a large trophy between you.

That’s quite right Ray, the other chap holding the cup with me is Larry Black who skippered the team and who is away on holiday at the moment and the fourth man is none other than Will Eaglesham, the very man who Arthur was blaming earlier for parking in his slot. Can you read what it says underneath the photograph?

Yes, it says, ‘The Team That Bowled At Hotham Springs – Men’s Open Fours Champions – April 1976’. So it’s true then, he really was part of a team that won a prestigious trophy, do you think I could get a copy of that photograph for him?

Well the photographer still lives in Pinjarra, so I will see what I can do for you, but it will probably take me a few days to organise things, if that’s O.K.

Yes that will be fine thanks. So how did you meet my uncle Alan and how on earth did he manage to get picked for your team, when he had never bowled in England, before his job brought him out to Australia?

It’s a long story Ray are you in a hurry?

I have got all night Teddy and I am all ears, so why don’t I get us both another drink and then you can tell me all about it.

The drinks were purchased and a quiet table away from the bar was requisitioned and Teddy started to tell Ray the full story of his uncle Alan and how he came to be part of ‘The Team That Bowled At Hotham Springs’.

CHAPTER 2

Spilt Drinks

Your uncle and I first bumped into each other at a fish and chip restaurant in Fremantle in February nineteen seventy six and when I said bumped into each other, I meant exactly that. He was carrying two lots of fish and chips back to his table outside the restaurant overlooking the harbour and I was carrying drinks for myself and my wife Dolly, back to our table which was also situated outside. Neither of us were particularly looking where we were going when A.J. tripped over someone’s foot and went flying into me, spilling the drinks over him, me and the owner of the wayward foot, who immediately jumped up from his seat and faced off with your uncle.

You called him A.J. again; no-one in England calls him A.J. so why does he go by that name over here? queried Ray.

Do you mind if I answer that question in a few minutes time Ray, as it is quite pertinent to the story?

Fair enough Teddy; pray continue with your tale!

"O.K. here I go, but let me just say that what I am about to tell you is as clear in my mind right now,