In all the years of caddying between those of us gathered in the Moroccan Bar late on Monday night last in Versailles, the "digs" situation had never been so bad. You see our residence for uncountable French Opens and Trophee Lancomes, the Algerian owned "Rose Blanche" had shut down. With 140 caddies travelling every week and as many as 80 Tour Productions (tv) staff present some weeks, booking hotel rooms has become difficult. What we try to do is find modest lodgings within walking distance of the players' hotels. This way we can get to the course in the official golf transport.
Due to the popularity of Versailles as a tourist stop, the relative lack of affordable hotels and a special conference on Wednesday night, the transient tolerance of an habitually mobile group was tested. At dawn and dusk the streets of Versailles were silhouetted with caddies trundling their suitcases to yet another menage for a night's rest.
Back in the Moroccan bar the only solace at 11 p.m. on Monday night seemed to be that they served the cheapest glass of beer in town. A clutch of travel fatigued caddies sitting on their suitcases were greeted with good news on the accommodation front. Out of the airless gallic night appeared a saviour. A room had become available at the Ibis, another at the Royal (regal in name only) and a third at the Palais (palatial by its proximity to the real Palace).
"Man in the Pub" sighed a gasp of relief having conquered one of the week's obstacles, now all he had to do was find a bag. He, along with about half-a-dozen others, had made the trip across the channel without prior working arrangements.
By early Tuesday morning "Man in the Pub", "The Boy Wonder" and "Chris the Lip" along with some others were glazed for a long day "on the spit". "The Spit" is a term used in the caddie shack for the bagless but hopeful, caddies looking for work. What happens is that the bagless caddies congregate in the most visible area by the car park, where they can see and be seen. So when the players arrive outside the main entrance, the cads can dismount the spit and trot towards potential employers, huffing and snorting in anticipation of a bag.
One caddie went to California a few years back to work in the LA Open at The Riviera Country Club. His uncle lives in LA and he gave him the use of his XJS Jaguar for the week. So when the caddies "on the spit" at Bel Air saw him rolling up to the clubhouse on the Tuesday morning, rooftop down and elbow balanced delicately on the door, they edged forward in anticipation of a potential bag. When they watched him produce a pair of well worn trainers out of the car boot they backed away in embarrassment. The spit can lead to an impaired thought process and unlimited optimism, to the point where a fellow caddie resembles a potential liberator from a roasting.
By the end of a long day exposed to the sun you can clearly tell if the "pig" has roasted or not by the colour of his face. "Roasting" then is the term for an unsuccessful bid for work, resulting in a crispy red look by Wednesday evening, when the last realistic chance of a bag has gone. Of course if the weather isn't so good it's more difficult to spot the "roasters". A couple of those on "the spit" ended up bagless at the Lancome. The best the roaster can do in this situation is set up work for a future week. Some consolation for an expensive week.
The bus journey to the course at St Nom La Breteche from the Sofitel in Versailles should have taken about fifteen minutes. A futile ten minute detour to the Trianon Palace hotel has persisted for as long as I can remember at the Trophee Lancome. Our own Monty was residing there last week, making his impression on the World's golfing map.
With the cheapest room in the residence at 2,600 Francs and the most exclusive reaching 6,500 Francs, it was understandable that any client paying those prices for a hotel room didn't want to sit in a 50-seater bus full of caddies. So every day we trundled up the Boulevard de la Reine, a tree-lined avenue leading to the Chateau de Versaille's gardens and the Trianon, wondering if anyone was going to make Lancome history, make this detour worthwhile and board the bus as a resident of this regal establishment. The record remains intact, it was chauffeur driven courtesy cars only for this clientele.
Franck Provost, a top Parisian hair stylist, had a complimentary salon set-up at the clubhouse. Hoping to give some French flair to the tour pro's tresses. I have never seen so many well coiffed caddies before.
The courtesy was extended to the toters. By the end of the week a similarity in hair styles was apparent along the row of bag carriers at the back of the range: Closely cropped skulls which I doubt will feature in Franck's Winter promotion photographs. He did add a certain "je ne sais quoi" to a normally unkempt crew though. Vive la Similarity.
