Free Mr. Rosenblum's List: Or Friendly Guidance for the Aspiring Englishman by Natasha Solomons Page B

brief moment, even Jack wanted to go back to London, and thought with a pang of his friend Edgar and their evenings together playing backgammon. In fifty years of friendship, Edgar had never once shouted at him and, God knew, he sometimes deserved it. At that moment, Jack decided this golf course was for Edgar and for everyone who had been banned from the other courses. Basset would not stop him from obtaining the last item on his list; he must be resolute. He stared at the man swollen with anger before him, and concentrated on the little wiry hairs sprouting from his nose and ears, the green eyes and the thinning blond hair. Basset exuded self-assurance; he was the leader of this tiny piece of England. From his muddy boots to his red-veined nose Jack Basset was an Englishman. And Jack Rosenblum wanted to be part of his village – he was going nowhere.        
      Jack swore to Basset that he wouldn’t lure away the farm boys with promises of riches until after the harvest was in. The farmer grunted a grudging assent, and led his friends away. Retreating into his study, Jack poured himself a medicinal whisky, and breathed a heavy sigh. It was June and, according to the leather-bound copy of the Encyclopædia Britannica , the boys would be busy until late September. Jack was sorely disappointed; the coronation of the new Queen was set for the following June and he was resolved on having the finishing touches completed well before then. He would invite a selection of gentlemen – Mr Austen as well as Edgar Herzfeld – to partake in a small tournament dedicated to Her Majesty. He could already see the gleaming silver cup laid out on a long table covered with a white cloth and piled high with bottles of champagne, trays of sandwiches, pickles and poached salmon. If the men only began in October, they would barely have started the course before winter arrived, and he knew from reading Tom Morris that new grass had to be planted in mild weather, for when the ground froze they could do nothing at all. At present, the fields were full of meadow flowers and long grass and it would need a great deal of mowing to transform them into greens like those at St Andrews.
    Jack made a decision and, needing someone to announce it to, walked into the kitchen where Sadie was carefully flouring her hands. Throwing open the door with a bang, he cleared his throat.
    ‘I am going to build the course by myself.’
    Sadie looked at him in wonder, eyebrows knitting together in doubt but Jack met her pessimism with drama and held his arms aloft.
    ‘With these two hands I shall dig my way to victory!’
    Sadie shook her head in contempt and brushed her fingers through her hair leaving two white streaks of flour like badger stripes.
    ‘My mother warned me that craziness ran in your family. I should have listened but no, I was young and foolish and easily impressed by your red bicycle and your thick hair.’
    She gave a rueful cry and turned her back on her husband. He waited, disappointed by her unsatisfactory response and then retreated in silence.
     
    Over the next month, his study metamorphosed into a labyrinth of plans, maps, drawings and letters. He joined Stourcastle library and ordered every title on golf that he could find. They lay stacked in tottering piles across the floor, partly submerged by detailed drawings of various Scottish, English and American courses. He was captivated by Bobby Jones’s account of the transformation at Augusta. There were botanical sketches of the flowers he had used and detailed layouts of the planting and water features. Jack wondered if he could divert a river too – perhaps dam the Stour and make it flow over Bulbarrow and across his course; it looked so beautiful in the pictures and, according to Bobby Jones, it was not difficult.
    Jack decided that the course at Augusta was man’s perfection of nature. Jones was an omnipotent magician; at his command woods vanished, hills subsided and valleys rose.