The Best Golf Stories Ever Told Read online

  During the week of the meeting the weather had been perfect. The heat was terrific, so much so that most of the golfers were forced to carry sunshades and use them between the strokes; and it was quite a common and amusing sight to see the competitors and referees trying to keep cool by sucking lemons on the way round. Unfortunately, owing to the continued dry weather, the Aberdovey links were not seen at their best; but nothing could have exceeded the friendliness and kindness of the officials of the club. The holes are long and sporting, and afford ample scope for fine play. As there were no regular caddies belonging to the club, the authorities gave the school children a fortnight’s holiday; the schoolmaster became caddie-master, and all the little girls and boys caddied indiscriminately. Another unusual feature of the meeting was the beautiful singing of the fishermen in the evenings. They came round to the different houses and sang the old Welsh and English songs in perfect time and tune. The Welsh are renowned for their music, and certainly these fishermen bore witness to the truth of the report.

  In 1902 the championship meeting took place over the links of the Deal Golf Club. As the links were within such a short distance of London and were easy to get at, the entry list was a very long one, the total number of players being well over a hundred. The majority of the best-known lady golfers were present, and there were also several new aspirants for championship honours. Notable among these were Miss Glover, the Misses Park, Mrs. Mungo Park, and Miss Buckley. Miss Glover, the Misses Park, and Mrs. Mungo Park were all Scotch representatives, and had the free, easy style characteristic of the players of that country.

  The Misses Park had been present at the open meeting at Ranelagh the previous month, and had there given evidence of their fine form. Miss M. Park, although quite young, plays a beautiful game, and with a little more experience in important matches will probably make a successful bid for fame. Miss Glover has an exceedingly graceful swing and is an exceptionally long driver; she successfully overcame her opponents in the first few rounds, but about the fifth met Miss May Hezlet, and, not playing anything like her usual game, sustained defeat. Miss M. Graham, the lady champion, had some very close matches. In the fourth heat she was opposed to Miss M. Park; both played excellent golf, and after an exciting struggle, Miss Graham proved successful by one up. In the fifth round the latter was opposed to Miss E. C. Nevile, and, after a give and take match, was defeated by a putt on the last green. In the fourth round Miss Rhona Adair and Miss May Hezlet were pitted against each other, and somewhat to the surprise of the majority of spectators, Miss May Hezlet won by three up and two to play. In the fifth round the match between Miss Whigham and Miss Dod excited considerable interest. Miss Whigham played absolutely perfect golf, and if she had kept up that form throughout the rest of the meeting, no one could have withstood her, and she would most certainly have carried off the blue ribbon. As it was, in the semifinal heat against Miss E. C. Nevile she did not play quite so perfectly, and Miss E. C. Nevile, who is not a player to give away a chance, and who was also in exceedingly fine form, made the most of her opportunities, and defeated her by four up and two to play. In the other half of the draw Miss May Hezlet overcame Mrs. Mungo Park by six up and five to play. The final round thus lay between Miss E. C. Nevile and Miss May Hezlet. They had a most exciting encounter, in the midst of which a thunderstorm came on, accompanied by torrents of rain, which drenched players and spectators. Miss Hezlet led going out, but coming home Miss E. C. Nevile had the advantage, and at the seventeenth tee they were all square. The seventeenth fell to Miss Nevile, and as at the eighteenth hole Miss Hezlet missed her drive, victory seemed certain to be on the side of the former. One can, however, never be certain of anything in golf. And although Miss Hezlet played two more on to the green, Miss Nevile by an unfortunate stroke got into the bunker and lost the hole. The nineteenth hole resulted in a half in four, and at the twentieth Miss Nevile’s ball stopped on the lip for a half, and so she lost a splendid match, and Miss May Hezlet became champion for the second time. The feature of the 1902 championship was the great number of exceedingly close matches which took place; the majority were only decided on the eighteenth green, and several after extra holes had been played. Another point of interest was that it was the first occasion on which Haskell balls were used by the majority of competitors; and to this fact were partly due the exceptionally fine driving and brassey shots displayed by the ladies.

  In 1903 the Royal Portrush Golf Club was the scene of the most important event in the year to lady golfers, and for the second time the competition was played on those links. The course had been greatly changed since 1895, and this time the event was played practically over the full men’s links. There was, therefore, ample scope for fine play, and the holes proved a thorough test of good golf. The absence of the Misses Whigham and the Misses Park was greatly regretted, but a larger number than usual of Irish players took part.

  During the meeting Miss Rhona Adair carried off all the honours and played in superb form. The champion, Miss May Hezlet, was defeated, after a good match, by Miss M. E. Stuart on the last green. In the semifinal heat the latter came against Miss Rhona Adair, and a terrific encounter took place. At first it seemed to be almost a walk-over for Miss Adair, as she led on the outward holes, and at the tenth was in the comfortable position of four up. From that point, however, Miss Stuart made a splendid effort, and playing perfect golf managed to reduce the score to all square and one to play. Both made good drives at the last hole, but Miss Stuart missed her approach, and so lost the match. It was no mean performance to make such a match and play such an uphill game against so formidable an adversary as Miss Adair, and Miss Stuart is to be congratulated on her plucky fight.

  In the other half of the draw Miss Macbeth and Miss Walker Leigh were opposed to each other. The latter is a thoroughly good golfer whose name is very well known in Ireland. The former comes from the Lytham and St Anne’s Club, and had entered for the first time. She is a fine player and, with a little more experience, is likely to come well to the front. They had an exciting match, and it was only on the twentieth green that Miss F. Walker Leigh eventually gained the victory.

  In the afternoon a large crowd of spectators assembled to watch the final round between Miss Adair and Miss Walker Leigh. The former played faultlessly, never giving her opponent a chance, and eventually won the match, so gaining the honour of being Open Champion for the second time. Miss Adair is far and away the most consistent lady golfer in the world: she never seems to be out of form, and the more she is pressed— which only occasionally happens—the better she plays.

  iStockphoto/Thinkstock

  THE STORY OF MY RETURN TO GOLF

  J. GORDON MCPHERSON

  On New Year’s Day the writer played golf on the Braids for the first time, and for the first time has touched a club for fifteen years. The day, the place, and the survival had, therefore, an unusual association. During that interval he had been accustomed to look at his old weapons of war, with the same personal fondness that a veteran angler studies his deadly hooks. That mid-spoon—a rare old Hugh—which Major Boothby gave him for its remarkable powers of letting the donor have a chance of holing from its approach stroke! That split-ash-shafted grassclub (also a half-century Hugh), which could jerk a ball out of a cup with a force not unlike that given by the black-headed weapon of Captain Stewart! And so on! The glory of play seemed to have departed by the depressing isolation of a country parish work; and the happy reminiscences of the brilliant work done by the several clubs seemed to be all that would be left to a once very keen player.

  However, golf never dies. The player may be for a time in a coma; but let the name be spoken, and once again he revives to the enthusiasm. On Hogmanay it was arranged that a great match be played on the Braids next day between the Rev. Mr. Wood of Blackfriars and Mr. Grinder the Mathematical Master of James’s Square, against Mr. Weaver the artist, and the writer. Each was to take his several way to the green. The writer raked up the very obliging M‘
Ewan of Bruntsfield for a set of clubs, coat, and hat. He got a flat toy-driver compared with his own upright firm swiper, an old Jackson for a mid-spoon, a capital cleek, and the beautiful iron which once did such deadly work in the hands of the late Davie Park at Musselburgh. No coat was to be got; and even the wideawake had to be retained. Little did he know that his sprigless boots would bring him to grief on the icy slopes.

  The first forenoon of the year was piercingly cold, and the roads were covered with ice. The Pentlands were streaked with snow, which had gathered in the clefts; the sky was leaden and repulsive; yet the hearts of the warriors were not daunted by Nature’s terrors. It is a hard walk of two miles from Bruntsfield; and even after leaving the main road for the scene of action the steep ascents told severely on the soft frame, untrained for much walking. How in the world the old players can get up for a game is a mystery! Yet golf is generally a craze with veteran players.

  We met at the temporary Club-house, and chaffed each other into the martial fire. On to the starting-point we went; but alas! there we found a score of balls “teed” to give the players precedence. New Year’s Day had brought out a galaxy of golfers. But what a prospect before us! The damper—in the shape of a chill after the brisk walk—was on us; and a slight refresher had to be taken in order to give us patience as well as courage. A good deal of teasing went on among the good-natured players— among whom were competitors of the Thistle Club—as to the handicap absurdity. “A’ve eicht,” said a keen-looking old man, “but that’s mair nor A need, ony wye.” “The Scratch’ll be oot the day, wi’ the frost on the grund,” remarked a cautious player who had been out a hole or two in the morning. “The thing’s moleskin,” another cried; “it’ll mak’ ’s mair even, at ony rate.”

  A strong sense of justice prevailed on the whole. Good humour blended with anxious keenness. At last, after about an hour’s waiting, Messrs Wood and Weaver struck off. Hanging over the ball is not for edification; accordingly the shots were not brilliant. But what was our surprise to find, after we went over the hill, that half a dozen couples were waiting to approach the hole. Two out of these players were taking a swing to keep up the slowly dying heat, and we noticed the easily recognised St Andrews style. Thirty years ago was it when we last saw them at the Madras College, St Andrews; but the swing was equal to the masonic pass-sign to bring us together. Here were actually Bob Harvey and Davie Lynn in the flesh—both playing scratch. To while away the time at the several holes, we had a crack about the days of old:—

  “Oh, through the twilight of autumnal years, How sweet the back-look on our first youth-world! ”

  At length we were allowed to approach. Mr Grinder’s practice for some days helped him to make a brilliant cleek-stroke. “Now, Doctor,” said Mr Weaver, “there’s a chance now to distinguish yourself.” Davie Park was taken. But, oh! what a funk! The hand had lost its cunning. The flinty ground sounded like iron with the stroke; but “Ichabod” seemed written on the player’s face. “What a skuttle!” remarked Bob. “What’s cum ower ye? Ye’ve surely been jerkin’ wi’ Robbie Paterson or Cawnel Young.” These and other remarks did not at first tend to mend matters.

  But an old golfing hand will die hard. He won’t give in. Up the Redan slope of ice he played from the tee. Alas! he has to use a tee now; the day was when he preferred the slightly raised piece of grass. He excused himself, however, by reflecting that the ground was like ice, and he might break M‘Ewan’s favourite. Off went Weaver; but Wood shouted, “Just wait; you may get the ball back to your foot yet.” And true it was; this ball had not reached the top, but tottered down with ever-increasing momentum. Again we wrought away on the putting-green in semi-despair. Even the iron would not hold in the ball. The only advantage of storming the Redan is to test the golfer’s head and feet on a New-Year’s morning! A few went up with bent legs and in-toes; but there “the sinner cannot stand on slippery paths.”

  The terrible congestion at the first three or four holes soon opened up, and the play became a little more bearable and safer. At the turning hole, two genial friends were waiting for us. “Just look at the scenery!” cried out Russell, in unrestrained rapture. And true was his remark. For round us lay a stretch of land and sea rarely equalled of its kind in this country. Inchkeith encircled by the deep blue sea, the shores of Fife in the distance, Arthur’s Seat so massive in its lion mould, the valley on the right looking gloriously level in wooded beauty from the precipitous height, the colossal buildings of the metropolis, gold-tinged by the rays of the sun that had overcome the clouds, and like a man of godlike mien had stretched himself free from surrounding encumbrances. “Barron,” remarked the more logically prosaic Wood, “ask Russell to tell you about the witch that lived in the cave under Blackford Hill—over there—about the third century before our era!” “None of your nonsense,” Weaver replied; “why chaff the recognised antiquary? Do you not know that longforgotten lore has for him a passion far exceeding the golfer’s enthusiasm?” “Play on,” broke in the practical Grinder; “we’ll do for you now! We’re all square.”

  But the ups and downs of the game need not be here recorded. A century afterwards some historian might be anxious to know the feats performed, or the sweet words uttered in a smothered voice as mistakes were made; but this account is not for such as he. One fortunate thing, the artist was not beaten; and he has been since studying for a statue the pose of the writer when he made an unconscious fluke.

  The Braids must in the spring-time be a glorious parading ground; but they can never make a golf-course. The Town Council might do something to level the putting-greens here and there; but there is too much of the element of equalising lottery to make the game appreciated by good players. In fact, play there is a caricature of the game. The less we have of the chance element the better. Still, as Musselburgh is becoming honeycombed with bunkers—doubly tormenting and unfair with the present left-handed course—and other greens are not so easily reached, the Braids are useful, especially for the dwellers of the fashionable south-side. If a county hotel were built there, the attraction might increase; for it is hard for some to have their two-mile walk home again, after the fatigue of the ascents and descents of the successive Alma heights, without some little refreshment. Surely Sir Wilfrid Lawson, if a golfer, would stretch a point for that boon to so many thirsty souls!

  One never-to-be-forgotten incident must be recorded. That New Year’s night was dedicated to a gaudeamus in honour of the match. None will fail to remember with glowing delight the brilliant speech which Mr Hamden made when congratulating the victors, in the enthusiastic welcome which he gave to the golfing Ulysses who once more had put on his armour in search of the Golden (“golfing”) Helen.

  Hemera/Thinkstock

  THE STORY OF THE BIRTH OF THE GAME OF GOLF

  GARDEN GRANT SMITH

  The early history of golf, like that of most other ancient sports, is obscure and fragmentary, while its origin, buried in vague and voiceless prehistoric times, can only be guessed at.

  No doubt it all began in a very simple way.

  Far back in the dark ages, a warrior was exercising himself with his club one day, in time of peace. Seizing a round stone or block of wood, he hit it so hard and so truly that it flew over the neighbouring trees. After smiling complacently on his club, in pleased astonishment at the result, he hastened round to the other side to search for the missile. Having found it, he repeated the performance, and it is easy to picture him challenging his brother warriors to do the like. Easy also it is to fancy their attempts, the success of some, the failure of others, and the applause or jeers of the onlookers. After the longest hitter had in this manner established his reputation, certain cunning men of the tribe— men who had failed in the far-hitting contests—came to him and said, “Behold! we see that our brother is strong, and that for strength there is none like him. And strength, truly, is a great thing, but so also is judgment, and he that hath strength without judgment is but as the ox that goeth in th
e furrows. Now, therefore, let our brother hit the stone so that it passes only between these two trees, or that it flies only to a spot which we have marked out behind the trees, and there remains, and lo! we will lay the odds of six to four against him.”

  In some such manner, doubtless, was the first game of golf initiated, compact of strength and skill, a relaxation for the warrior’s mind, “tired with war’s alarms,” and a method of keeping his body in condition against its renewal.

  Seriously speaking, it is difficult to discover which nation may lay claim to the credit of inventing golf. People have been known to affirm that the game was played by the early Italians, and there are others who contend that the Dutch are our true golfing parents, sundry works of art being produced in support of both these contentions. The Italian myth has been exploded, as the drawing on which the theory was founded, was discovered, after all, to be a representation of a man slaying an ox, and not, as was at first enthusiastically supposed, the presentment of an early golfer hitting at a ball. The Dutch pictures remain, but it must be confessed that they are more of a testimony to the Dutchman’s skill in art than a proof of his knowledge of golf, for the game, as he depicts it, is a very poor affair indeed. In one case it appears to be a sort of hockey, and in another it bears a strong resemblance to croquet, while it was obviously a matter of complete indifference what sort of ground it was played on. In addition, it must be remembered that, as various ancient records and statutes show, golf was played in Scotland at a much earlier date than the first Dutch pictorial representation of the game. Moreover, the Dutch were an artistic people and the Scotch were not, and it is absurd to argue that because the Dutch were artists and made pictures of the game, that therefore they were the first golfers. As well might it be claimed for them that they invented skating, bowls, and many other pastimes, which are represented in scores of Dutch pictures, but which have been common to many European countries for centuries.