Thursday, 6 April 2017


There were Royalist/Fascists in the woods on the Upper Course...
A BUF Contingent of Major Straitt Jackett's Royalist/Fascist Alarm Company (Alan)

and proper (unallied, unalloyed and unapologetic) Fascists advancing across the rough of the Lower Course:
BUF Blackshorts are, as usual, urged on by Eustace Spode (JP)

.and foreign Fascist/Royalists setting off towards the Central Tee of the Upper Course, accompanied by stirring, but rather confused, war cries of "Alfonso XIII and Edward VIII....oh, and not forgetting the Caudillo, of course. Yes, him aswell. And certainly not forgetting His Holiness. Goodness me, no. Never that.. Anyway - Onward! Hurrah! Arriba! Espana!, Inglaterra!"  
J's Anglo-Spanish Nationalist Monarchist Catholic Contingent advance carefully from their tee. Such caution
may have been a clever strategy to avoid early casualties, or merely a product of a certain political confusion.

Confusion was as foreign as any Spaniard to that redoubtable Anglican cleric, the Bishop of Lichfield, His forces advanced from a southern corner of the Upper Course in the God-given certainty that this very day he would be blessed with the County Cup. "God, Country and the Archbishop of Canterbury! And remember the Armada!"
The Bishop of Lichfield's Anglican Field Force get under way (Tim)
While on the green fields of the Lower Course, his fellow Anglican, The Blessed Lady Rita Talbot-Ponsonby, immaculately coutoured as ever by Worth in a long greatcoat ("dove grey, darling") and campaign cap ("so fetching!"), knew that there could be only one winner of this all-play-all tournament: 
The immaculately clad Lady Rita Talbot Ponsonby brandishes her pistol with customary fervour (Rita)
but there were more, and even more irregular forces in play.... [to be continued]


Twelve experienced AVBCW commanders (well, more or less), and but a single opering strategy - concentrated area bombardment of the hapless Central Tee Defenders and then a simultaneous sprint towards the nearest green and it's fluttering red flag -

Inspector Knacker of the Herefordshire Police Watch Committee consults his 
Sergeant on the absence of cover around the Lower Course Central Tee......
....but it is already too late. The sky darkens above his brave police section...
...with predictably explosive consequences!
On the Upper Course, Ben Hogan's Friends of Herefordshire Golf
mill around their Central Tee in sudden fear...
as the sky darkens suddenly above them....
...and they suffer exactly the same fate.
Who were these deadly assassins, so careless of the gentlemanly code of Golf and so accurate with their 18 pounder fire? Who were these brave types who ganged up upon the innocent Central Defenders, pitching heavy artillery against small arms - and with such immediate and devestating effect? [to be continued]

Wednesday, 5 April 2017


And from all corners of Herefordshire (and in some cases, well beyond), they gathered at the Hereford Golf Course (otherwise known as the Burley Gate Village Hall). Twelve players. Three tables. One County Cup. A watching world. A befuddled Sir Alan McGuffin and his confused Club Committee. The Spring Big Game 2017 (colloquially known as "The April Fools Day Massacre") was finally on....and the action about to get explosive

Referee Roo had produced a Programme and Rules Playsheet.
Nothing but the best for those ready to risk all for the County Cup.
Referee Clive had produced the supremely valuable County Cup
(and Winner's Medal, oh yes!)

Tim kindly loaned a superb scratchbuilt Clubhouse complex (where Nick's palm trees peep out to the right)
...and where Sir Alan McGuffin and his confused Committee anxiously waited by the 18th Green.
On the Lower Course, six challengers abandoned their golf clubs and shouldered a mixture of rifles, shotguns, sub machine guns - and more. Tank engines were revved, shells slotted home into their breeches, last cigarettes were puffed anxiously...

The "Lower Course" (Table One) looking south 

....while on the Upper Course, the same minutes ticked away in a smiliar anxious uncertainty. There were Anglicans. There were Fascists. There were Albertines. There were Local Defence Volunteers and Field Forces and Criminal Thugs (masquerading as the Burghill & Tillington Cricket Club). There were Chinese Christian Converts and Rorke's Drift Re-Enactors. Some had brought Big Guns, others Armoured Cars or motorised Anti Tank Rifles. Crucially, as only the fairways and greens counted as "roads" and the tables had acres of free space, nobody had actually thought to bring (the usually useless) cavalry. Nobody had even brought Mounted Infantry, save the wily J and his Spanish Nationalist Monarchist Catholics....
The "Upper Course" (Table Two) looking north

A shout of "Fore!", the traditional golfer's warning, and universally misinterpreted. A storm of fire and sudden movement. On the Lower Course, the Herefordshire Police Watch Committee (tasked with defending the critical Central Tee) bemoaned the absence of cover. On the Upper Course, Ben Hogan's Friends of Herefordshire Golf (with a similar defensive task) looked up anxiously as the sky above them suddenly darkened..... In front of the Clubhouse, Sir Alan McGuffin cradled the County Cup and cursed the inevitable imminent destruction of his beautiful course...[to be continued]