Golf in the Wild – Going Home – the final chapter

Chapter 12 – Newcastleton and Allendale (the old course)

The last is a downhill par 4, with the road to Carrshield and out-of-bounds to the right. It is reachable in one by those of a certain skill level and physical disposition. So, allow me this final luxury. A long drive, straight down the middle, leaving a short pitch to the green. In the dim light I lose sight of the ball, but you always know when you have struck one sweet and true. I cannot spin the ball by design, so my pitch lands short and runs on a few yards to within feet of the pin. Standing over the birdie-putt, the twilight is enhanced by the yellow light shining through the clubhouse windows. I am distracted by the shadowy outline of three figures gathered in the centre of the room and miss the simple putt. A man in his late twenties, wearing a heavy tweed suit, an elbow on the table, a cigarette raised to his face. Smoke obscures their features.

The woman, in a utility dress, is deep in conversation, forever breaking the silence, while a small girl with a serious expression looks on earnestly. I should cross over and join them, but not just yet. I am going home. I have no idea what happens next.

… It’s not far, just close by, through an open door. I am going home.

Two Tribes – Tales of Warkworth – Part Two

This post ‘reprinted’ from Richard Pennell’s excellent Substack site – Stymied

I knew Robin Down was some kindred spirit from our first interactions; always looking beneath the surface of this game, and pulling up gems for the rest of us to ponder. So it was a delight to share his company for a few precious hours, and a further delight to read his gorgeous prose and hear it leap off the page in his voice.

What follows is therefore the first guest post on Stymied; an idea I’d been toying with, and now, halfway through his wonderful “Golf in the Wild”, it feels an honour to share his own reflection on a shared morning of golf at its best. We hope you enjoy it!

Richard Pennell, of Stymied fame.

Warkworth in a Winter Light

I have walked away from accidents on four wheels that would have been fatal on two. On this point alone, I will concede, my mother was right. I never received teenage advice, just maternal edicts – you are not having a motorcycle. Truth be told, my mind was elsewhere, focussed entirely on the equally fatal world of 1960s and 1970s Grand Prix racing. It was much later in life that her commandment was finally ignored, at an age when she was gone, and the teenage concept of immortality had been replaced by a strong sense of self-preservation.

Riding a motorcycle demands absolute concentration. It needs a light touch, co-ordination, mechanical sympathy, and spatial awareness. Riding through bends relies on acute distance estimation – enter one properly, it holds you in its arms (John Berger). On warm tarmac, at any speed, the heart sings.

If you believe the stereotypes, they are two tribes who never meet – those clad in greasy leathers and those in pressed check pants. Except, many motorcyclists wear textiles and, dare I admit, I have been known to play golf in jeans. I have my feet planted in both camps and the two endeavours are not as dissimilar as you might imagine. They require different skill sets but the mental approach is the same – staying in the moment, extended periods of deep concentration. Let your mind drift with club or bars in hand and, you will be visiting the rough. They both make you better drivers.

It was one of those misleading days in February when a bright light on the North Sea intimated too soon, the prospect of spring. From the high ground of the clubhouse at Warkworth, there is an uplifting panorama in an early morning light: high dunes, Alnmouth to the north, Amble to the south and, floating on a shining sea, Coquet Island, and its lighthouse. It makes the heart sing.

I am here to meet Richard Pennell, the man behind the excellent Stymied, a golfer’s blog – musings on a mysterious game. Both golfers, both compulsive writers, there is immediate common ground. The rambling, dangling conversation is reflected in the quality of the golf. Breaking all the rules about staying in the moment, our discussions run wild and free. It is a different sort of golf on this day where the company takes precedence over any thought of a good score – ugly distractions such as handicaps are not even mentioned. It makes for a thoroughly enjoyable and memorable round. The winter rules at Warkworth demand that balls landing on the fairway must be lifted and placed in the semi-rough to protect the course – for much of the round this has little impact for either of us.

Warkworth is played on three levels – the first, from the highest tee, takes aim at one of the two lowest greens. It is a glorious drive south into a bright winter sun. The ball disappears in flight, but the landing stage is generous and wide. A shanked pitch is the consequence of distraction and a too long winter break. The second plays north behind the high dunes to an obscured green – it is as good an opening to a golf course as any in Northumberland. In summer, the third is a dogleg right, climbing to the middle level, but in winter it plays straight and shorter before climbing to the fourth tee and the high plateau where the rest of the course is laid out. By the fourth tee, we are on full song – the joys of golf in wild places, the compulsion to write, travel and the passing of time. No subject is out of bounds.

I try not to think about it, I try not to let the old man in, but I am envious of Richard’s young years and his early introduction to the game – “my parents had somehow thought of a golf lesson as a short-term option for this energetic child”. By contrast, “I came to the sport late in life and like many of my contemporaries regret the years lost to other less rewarding pursuits; getting married (twice), having children (three) and consuming alcohol (too much)”.

It is another area of common ground between the diverse tribes. Motorcycle and golf manufacturers and the various administrations fret constantly about attracting a younger audience, but here’s the secret – none of us is getting any younger, today’s family man with too many commitments and too little time is tomorrow’s pensioner. In short, give the old guys and gals a break, try occasionally to nurture the converted. Not only does it make financial sense, but it is good for this aging demographic – anything that gets you out of the house, gets you talking, walking, riding – and thinking enhances physical and mental well-being. Anything to reduce our dependence on over-stretched health services must be good – to repeat that well-worn adage – you don’t stop riding because you get old, you get old because you stop riding.

On the golf course, you can keep playing for as long as you can keep moving, and even then, there are a variety of devices to ease the joints – the progression goes something like: carry bag, trolley, electric trolley, golf buggy, palanquin. The decision to hang up the helmet is a little more serious and complex.

I have always had a desire for speed. Even the early years on a pushbike were about how fast, not where or how far. Throughout fifty plus years of car ownership, the same principle has applied. In the right sort of four-wheel vehicle, you directly connect with it—you become part of the machine—but this in no way compares with life on a motorcycle. John Berger continued riding into his nineties:… except for the protective gear you’re wearing, there’s nothing between you and the rest of the world. The air and the wind press directly on you. You are in the space through which you are travelling. Your contact with the outside world is more intimate. On four wheels you can become part of the machine. On two wheels you are the machine.

By some margin, my favourite motorcycle books are written by Melissa Holbrook Pierson, author of The Perfect Vehicle and The Man Who Would Stop at Nothing. Melissa puts in words the unique sensations of being on two wheels and why, for the initiated, it is so important, so addictive. There is a quote that once heard, never quite goes away – I’m not going to be riding into my seventies, probably some people do, but perhaps they shouldn’t. And, yet, I am, with no thought of giving up – the stable of bikes is getting bigger, not smaller, the desire for long distance riding ever stronger. In an attempt to combine both passions, this summer I will ride to the Lofoten Islands to play golf under a midnight sun. The ferries and hotels are booked, I am going, but I am acutely aware this will be another season gone.

Melissa shares this anxiety … those ever-shorter leases on fine weather that blaze by and melt into cold. And it hits you: You will not get to go everywhere on a motorcycle that you want to. Motorcycling causes dreaming. Like a virus causes the flu. It makes you imagine far reaches, and long to get to them. Nor will I get to play golf in all the wild places of my imagination. As Melissa so succinctly puts it, we are riding towards the end and we both ache for another lifetime. In an exchange of emails, she reflected further: “It occurred to me how time slightly alters even a continuously pursued endeavour; in other words, motorcycling offers new significance on top of its old pleasures depending how old you are. This is just one of the reasons I have become fond of saying ‘Motorcycles are magic.’”

So many miles, so many golf courses, so little time.

Holes four through nine are played out across the top level where interest is added by a deep ravine which must be crossed at holes five and seven. There is the threat of deep rough on the seaward side of the outbound holes but aside from the ravine, the inward stretch is straightforward, but no worse for that. The greens are perfect and true and this in early February.

Richard makes for good company; educated, interested and interesting. I was recently asked who would make up my perfect four-ball – I chose Alice Cooper, Barack Obama and Bob Dylan, not for their golfing prowess but for the prospect of their conversation. Not for them, lives half lived. By contrast, a professional raised with the dedication necessary to succeed in the modern world of sport, is likely to have a limited world view – one such pro golfer proudly proclaims to have never read a book.

As we approach the 18th, Richard notices my bag tags. Alongside my home club, Allendale, there is Traigh, on the Road to The Isles and, Durness, as far northwest as you can go in mainland Britain and still play golf. They feature in Golf in the Wild and both clubs have been supportive of my book – more importantly, they are magnificent courses in remarkable settings. Richard is distracted by thoughts of driving to these wild extremities, so much so that his chip to the green is thinned into a waiting bunker. He makes cheerful reference to lack of concentration and what might have happened had he been on two wheels.

And by this observation, I know he has been paying attention. And this is what we do, we listen; we listen for stories; we listen for the perfect whipcrack as the ball finds the sweet spot on the face of the club; we listen for the delicious pop, bang, crackle of a Ducati V-Twin on the over-run.

Robin Down – golfing and riding in the wild.

Learn more about “Golf in the Wild” and “Going Home” via Robin’s website: https://golfinthewild.org.uk/.

A Kindred Spirit

Tales of Warkworth Part One

By Richard Pennell

Once again, word of mouth opens a gate I’d have otherwise walked past. A free morning on this winter golfing pilgrimage, towards the shore that peers out at the North Sea and Holy Island; a chance to retreat into golf, and writing, and to meet fresh horizons with that energy that always accompanies “the new”.
I ask a few people for ideas for this vacant slot, and Warkworth is one of a few in contention. I call, eager to speak in person, and the conversation that follows tells me that this is the sort of place I should be seeing. For the person on the other end of the line is friendly, funny, welcoming.

… from Warkworth GC

 

I ask a few people for ideas for this vacant slot, and Warkworth is one of a few in contention. I call, eager to speak in person, and the conversation that follows tells me that this is the sort of place I should be seeing. For the person on the other end of the line is friendly, funny, welcoming.

And it is a chance to connect with another soul touched by golf, whose writing on these same themes beguiles me. R’s path to his golfing prose is different from mine, but we have each arrived in a similar place – the game an avenue for a deeper exploration of who we are; the lives we’ve led. Before we meet, we’ve spoken a little on the phone, and exchanged a few messages, but nothing can compare with the freedom golf provides for this sort of relaxed conversation.

Continue reading on Substack by clicking here

Centrefold …

Years go by I’m lookin’ through a girly magazine
And there’s my homeroom angel on the pages in-between
My blood runs cold
My memory has just been sold
My angel is the centerfold
Angel is the centerfold

The J. Geils Band

It was never an ambition, but here I am, a centrefold in Northern Golfer – the general consensus seems to be that keeping my clothes on was a ‘good idea’.

An expletive may have sneaked into Golf in the Wild – Going Home, but there is no inappropriate imagery.

So begins …

… the ongoing and, seemingly endless task of getting the sequel in stock with booksellers and golf clubs.  To some extent, I have a head start compared to the first book.  I have contacts who have generously agreed to take the sequel without first seeing the book.  These good and helpful souls include:

Allendale Forge Studios – re-opens tomorrow, 1st March 2022 (stock will be dropped off mid-morning)

The Gale Centre at Gairloch

The Dornoch Bookshop

Durness Golf Club

Forum Books, Corbridge

and, needless to say, there is a generous supply at Allendale Golf Club – Neil, our secretary and greenkeeper will happily sell you a copy on request (he has the key to the store room where they are stored).

More outlets will be added soon – when they are, they will appear on the Purchase page.

Copies can also be ordered from Amazon if you think Jeff Bezos is short of a bob or two.

Pages for purchasing from Europe and the U.S. will soon be added to the purchase page.

Roxie Rogers

It was a delight to meet the multi-talented Roxie Rogers from Nashville at Allendale GC this morning – artist, singer, designer, writer and avid 12 handicap golfer – https://roxierogers.com/

It was interesting to find out that Roxie became aware of the course from my article in the Northumbrian magazine which I think was published as long ago as 2016.  These things have a shelf-life well beyond anything we imagine; more evidence that trying to understand the benefits and long term consequences of any form of PR is an almost impossible task.

Roxie and her partner increased the US footfall by 40% this year, following in the footsteps of the Dutton Brothers in May.  This in turn has resulted in an interview about Golf in the Wild and Allendale at the US website, Golf Club Atlas.  I will update this post with the link when it is published over the next few days.  As Roxie, said – the world is just getting smaller and smaller.

Roxie Rogers

Roxie Rogers

A great pleasure …

… to meet the Dutton brothers, all the way from the US to play Golf in the Wild at Allendale.  From left to right Jeff from Montgomery, Alabama, Mike from Brunswick, Maine and Andy from Wayland, Massachusetts.  Once again the course was looking at its best – all credit to Neil, Ian and the weather gods.  Pictured at our version of the Grand Canyon 😉

002-Duttons-FB-1200x800

Alnmouth Village Golf Course

The course, squeezed between Alnmouth’s main thoroughfare and the beach is a fine place to play the game and  claims  to be the oldest 9-hole links in England.    Established in 1869, it was designed by the famous Scottish golfer Mungo Park, winner of the 1874 Open Championship at Musselburgh.  The first five holes follow the shoreline before climbing up to the dogleg 6th – it is here, the course runs parallel with the Foxton’s par 5 16th, close enough to say hello to fellow golfers.  The proximity of the courses is more than an accident of geography. The story is told on the Foxton’s website:

In 1905 the course (Alnmouth Village) was extended to 18 holes to obviate a certain amount of undesirable overlapping which occurred on the nine hole course. The extension completed under the direction of Willie Park went northward towards Foxton with the distances between holes on the new course constructed very considerably and requiring sterling golf. The opening ceremony of the new course was performed by the Duke of Northumberland and was followed by a challenge match between the international champions Harry Vardon and J H Taylor.

In the late 1920’s the Duke of Northumberland was approached and consented to lease a further piece of land in order to make a new 18 hole course. A survey of the land was made by Mr HS Colt the famous golf architect and his report was published in the Newcastle Journal on the 4th July 1929. The land surrounded Foxton Hall, one of the historic residences of the Percy family, which was to be used as the clubhouse. The adoption of the Foxton Hall scheme was reported on the 10th December 1929 with the new club to come into being on the 1st January 1930. The new course where we are today, was opened on the 9 May 1931, but sadly the 8th Duke of Northumberland died suddenly in August and was therefore not present to witness his vision.

In 1936 Alnmouth Village Golf Club was formed and took over the running of the old links. Since that time the clubs have maintained their historical links and still play a number of special combined competitions.

From a magnificent high-level tee, with a view that encompasses the full length of Alnmouth Bay, Coquet Island and beyond, the 7th returns the golfer to the sea-bound links, a descent of some 50+ feet.  The ball stays air-bound for an eternity as it eventually plunges earthwards adjacent to the third green bunkers or beyond – an immensely satisfying drive!

A nine-hole course with such a fine location and history, it seems inconceivable that it will not find its way into the pages of Golf in the Wild, Going Home.  It is just a matter of a small diversion as the reader is led back to Allendale.

The view near the 4th tee

The view near the 4th tee

Approaching the 5th

Approaching the 5th

Brave walkers!

Brave walkers!

Allendale and Traigh

I had thought publishing Golf in the Wild was the end of a long journey but it turns out it was just the beginning. The slow, arduous distribution and PR process has already introduced me to some very supportive people from out-of-the-way places. Last weekend the good men of Traigh (see chapter 7) visited Allendale and were as enthusiastic about our course as I am enthusiastic about theirs. David Shaw Stewart produced an impromptu watercolour of Allendale’s signature hole, the 17th – Grand Canyon, in celebration of a grand, if windy and cold day out. I am proud to be mentioned and wish I had the talent to reciprocate.

 

The Grand Canyon