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.

On Chester Hill

The section on Lauder Golf Club in Golf in the Wild – Going Home, was written under lockdown and based on memory; from a time when business meetings in Edinburgh gave rise to drives up the A68, a hasty rush through the agenda and, with luck, time to call in at Lauder Golf Club on the return leg.  Surreptitious rounds, sneaked in during company time, were the sweetest of forbidden fruit.

With the aid of Google Earth, I resurrected the shape of the golfing landscape on Chester Hill, but certain features remained elusive, not least the clubhouse – how closely did it resemble the building opened on 20 July 1911 by Mrs Rankin of Allanbank. The original intention had been that Lady Lauderdale would be the guest of honour and declare the opening, but in a letter to the club secretary, she regretted her inability to attend due to the damp day and my not feeling very well. She continued in the manner of Violet Crawly, Dowager Countess of Grantham: I much hope that the clubhouse will be a great comfort to the community at large, and that it will be the means of bringing many visitors to enjoy the beautiful air and restful quiet of our pretty town and neighbourhood. I may be ambitious, but I hope in time to see a flourishing hydropathic, for I am sure that Lauder is an ideal place for invalids. Wishing you all success this afternoon.

The description of the building in the Berwickshire News & General Advertiser of 1911 seemed consistent with a hazy memory: The pavilion, a handsome erection, is quite an ornament to the course and will provide a great boon to all who are likely to use it. It comprises two spacious rooms (under twin elevations) … and there is a covered verandah running the whole length of the building. In early November, with the opportunities for two-wheeled excitement and golfing adventures diminishing, this demanded a ride north to investigate.

There are two approaches to the course – signposted from the south it takes you through a too-uniform, modern housing estate or, carry on a little further and turn left into Mill Wynd at the cruciform church with its 1830 watchhouse, built to guard against bodysnatchers.  This ‘invalid’ delights in the macabre, so I always choose the latter.  The entrance to the course is a just over a half mile up Chester Hill, with its surprisingly large car park, perhaps a legacy of the occupation by a Polish tank regiment during the Second World War.  The course was closed and occupied for the duration of hostilities, but it was a further sixteen years beyond the end of the war before golf was played again on Chester Hill.

The original twin elevations and veranda have survived fully intact, while the extension is in keeping with the original design, but for the squinting changing room windows. It is a fine building, entirely consistent with the scale of the golf course and its surroundings. The white clubhouse glowed under a low autumnal sun and I regretted the two-wheeled transport which did not allow the carriage of clubs – the view of the last, a glorious downhill drive was the source of my anguish.

Instead, I once again pondered the unlikely similarities of experience between the two tribes – those clad in leather and those in checked pants.  On the ride home, it became all too apparent – we do not like riding/driving into a low sun.  Deep shadows hide obstacles – bunkers/potholes; bright light in the eyes plays havoc with distance estimation whether braking or pitching into a green. Facing a low sun diminishes the experience for us all – the joy of intimate exposure to the landscape we are playing in or riding through.

The full story of Lauder and its golf course is told in Golf in the Wild – Going Home

Golf in the Wild – Going Home – Moray Coast

Chapter 9: In the early summer of 1914, Lieutenant Fred Ricketts, a member of the 2nd Battalion of the Argylls, and its army band were stationed at Fort George. An occasional golfer, Fred was playing Ardersier one bright morning when a sharp two-note whistle rang out across the course, swiftly followed by a wayward golf ball. The tuneful hacker had whistled B flat and G instead of shouting “Fore!”. According to Fred’s wife Annie, writing in 1958, the two-note warning with impish spontaneity was answered by my husband with the next few notes. There was little sauntering—Moray Firth’s stiff breezes encouraged a good crisp stride. These little scraps of whistling appeared to ‘catch on’ with the golfers, and from that beginning, the ‘Quick March’ was built up. Frederick Joseph Ricketts was better known by his publishing name, Kenneth J. Alford, the renowned composer of marching-band music. The short refrain that began on the banks of the Moray Firth in the days immediately preceding the Great War would become one of the most instantly recognisable pieces of band music ever written—the appropriately named ‘Colonel Bogey March’. The connection with the golf scoring term is not coincidental.

Golf in the Wild – Going Home – The Black Isle

Chapter 8:   The country lane winds its way south through Blackhill, Pitcalnie and Nigg to the end of the road at Nigg Ferry. It is here, during the summer months, that a small ferryboat crosses to Cromarty and provides a link between the Tarbat Peninsula and the Black Isle. The area immediately adjacent to the ferry landing has also changed out of all recognition. Face north from the jetty, and the land to the left was once dominated by the magnificent Dunskaith House, destroyed by fire in 1960. To the right is the collection of buildings that once formed the Nigg Ferry Hotel and, behind that, the rough ground that served as the golf links, variously known as Castlecraig, Nigg and at one time Cromarty Golf Club. The course has all but disappeared, except for imagined traces of tee boxes, fairways and bunkers—all that remains of the groundsman’s pains for the rest of time and a day.

The club was originally founded as a private 9-hole course in 1890. Storm-blown sand created what was thought by some to be the finest natural course in the world. A description is included in a 1904 edition of Golf Illustrated magazine:

The course lies along the beach, a magnificent stretch of sand, and is of great variety. There are many natural hazards. The turf is all that can be desired, being in the centre of a large stretch of bent. The greens remain much as they were formed by nature, only raking and rolling being necessary to keep them in excellent condition. Whin, broom and bent are the punishments of erratic players, but the good golfer can appreciate the exceedingly fine pieces of sandy turf. Large natural sand holes await the unwary on every hand.

The ten-minute ferry from Cromarty, encouraged golfers to cross the water from the Black Isle and visits by the Home Fleet to Invergordon every spring and autumn, meant the course was well patronised to the point of congestion. In October 1908 the proprietor, Colonel Ross, presided over a meeting to discuss possible course extension. Captain Evans of the Dreadnought had suggested that as it was probable the fleet would often be in the Cromarty Firth during the next few years, it would be a great convenience to the officers that the course be extended to eighteen holes. With the full weight of naval command behind the proposal, the motion was duly carried. The significant costs would be met by doubling annual subscriptions and it is expected that the golfing officers will heartily cooperate. Golf was a game for the senior ranks. There is no mention of access for naval ratings. Press images from the time show sailors in uniform, carrying bags for their superiors. They were known as ‘tar-caddies’.

The design of the extension was undertaken by Alexander MacHardy, Scotland’s forgotten, turn-of-the-century golf architect responsible for laying out a wide variety of Scottish courses across the Highlands (including Lochcarron4). The new layout totalled 5,055 yards and is described in detail by Alexander Polson, the Nigg schoolmaster, in his book, Easter Ross:

The holes provide plenty of variety, both with regard to length and difficulty. There are two splendid short holes surrounded by natural hazards, a ditch having to be crossed in each case. About eight of the holes may be reached by the long player with two strokes, but for the average player they mean three. Three of the holes are three-shot holes, the others being drive and iron or drive and pitch. The hazards throughout are natural, there being only one or two artificial bunkers.

Golf in the Wild – Going Home – Portmahomack

Chapter 7:  Edward Prince of Wales, as he was at the time, was reportedly introduced to golf in 1859 by his governor, General Robert Bruce, a member of The Royal and Ancient Golf Club of St Andrews (R&A) since 1834. Inspired by an exhibition match at Musselburgh, in 1861 his military association with the Grenadier Guards would take him to Curragh, Ireland, where the recently opened golf course was immediately adjacent to the camp. It is not documented if the future king found time for golf during his ten-week visit, but his extramural activities became infamous. A sexual novice, his fellow guards arranged an introduction to Nellie Clifden, a local ‘actress’ and possibly a Wren of the Curragh* who knew her way round the camp in the dark. The resulting affair soon became public knowledge as the guards’ tongues wagged and Nellie became known as the ‘Princess of Wales’. The scandal enraged his parents—Queen Victoria and her husband, Prince Albert—and steps were immediately taken to end the liaison. Prince Albert would die a few months later, a demise that Victoria blamed entirely on the anguish caused by Edward’s indiscretions—“I never can or shall look at him (Edward) without a shudder.”** The older generation should never interfere with youthful passion; the ghosts of forbidden fruit can haunt an entire life. If anything is to be learned from this story, it is this: when tempted by sins of the flesh, play more golf.

* Wrens of the Curragh were an outcast community of nineteenth-century Irish women who lived rough, brutally hard lives on the plains of Kildare. The name comes from the shelters they lived in, hollowed out ‘nests’ in the ground which they covered with layers of furze. Their number included unmarried mothers, free-thinkers, alcoholics, prostitutes, vagrants, ex-convicts and harvest workers. All of them women who had, in one way or another, put themselves beyond the pale of respectable society. ‘Songbirds on society’s margins’, The Irish Times, 13 October 2001
** Victoria, as quoted in Jane Ridley’s Bertie: A Life of Edward VII.

Golf in the Wild – Going Home – Bonar Bridge

Chapter 6:  At first known as the ‘Music Hall Founded by Andrew Carnegie’, it was subsequently changed to the ‘Carnegie Hall’, as the term ‘Music Hall’ had different connotations in London. It was discovered that foreign performers were turning down invitations because they thought the hall was intended for cheap variety artists.

The Beatles’ first tour of the United States started on 7 February 1964. On the 9th they appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show, on the 11th they played their first US concert at the Washington Coliseum and the following day they performed at the Carnegie Hall. They opened with a Chuck Berry song:

You know my temperature’s risin’
The jukebox’s blowin’ a fuse
My heart beatin’ rhythm
And my soul keep singing the blues
Roll over Beethoven
And tell Tchaikovsky the news

Music was one of Carnegie’s passions, along with golf and fishing. It is difficult to guess how he might have reacted to the popular music of the 1960s being played at a venue which bears his name.
Skibo Castle satisfied Carnegie’s sporting passions, and with the help of his wife Louise it also became a home for music. It was Louise who hired an organist to greet them with Beethoven’s Fifth as they stepped over the threshold of their new home. The organist became a permanent institution:

Every morning we come down to breakfast greeted by swelling tones, beginning with a hymn or chorale, and swelling into selections from the oratorios, etc. In the evening our musician plays for us on our fine Bechstein piano … *
It would seem that castle guests had no hope of lying abed. In addition to the swelling tones of the organ, a lone piper would circle the main house before sweeping through the downstairs hall, assuring that all were awake and primed for breakfast, and then returning at dusk to ‘pipe’ the guests to dinner. **

As well as revelling in her role as the sadistic host, Louise Whitfield Carnegie also played golf.

 

* Louise Whitfield Carnegie: The Life of Mrs Andrew Carnegie by Burton Hendrick and Daniel Henderson

** David Nasaw’s, Andrew Carnegie – Chapter 29 – We Now Want to Take Root 1897-1898.

Golf in the Wild – Going Home – Heading South

Chapter 5 – It is not clear how long golf was played across this testing terrain, but by December 1925 The Scotsman was reporting that Lybster Golf Club was seeking to re-establish the course at Black Park, as there had been for some time a strong desire to form a golf club for the use of the inhabitants and of summer visitors, and that, with that object, a sum of over £300, sufficient to meet the expenditure necessary to lay out a golf course, had been collected.

So once again golf would be played close to the steaming Coffee Pot, only this time it would be the railway that would eventually vacate the plot. Over time the course was reconfigured, such that the original clubhouse at the first green transferred to the old ticket office and the future of the building was guaranteed. Sadly, the platform is no more, but the stationmaster’s house remains, and as you play the top end of the course, you are traversing a cutting for the old line.

Golf in the Wild – Going Home. Chapter 5 – Heading South

 

Golf in the Wild – Going Home – Reiss Links

Chapter 4 – The Wick course follows a familiar links format: a north-heading outward eight hugging the landward side of the course, an east-facing ninth par 3 at its furthest reaches and a return nine running south and parallel to the mutinous sand dunes that divide the course from Sinclair’s Bay.  For those members or visitors short on time or energy there is a formally assessed 9-hole, par 35 course which goes north as far as hole five and returns to the clubhouse from holes fifteen through eighteen.
To play this nine is to tread similar ground to the original 9-hole course first established in 1870.
Succinctly named Angle, Cross, Long, End, Bent, Cable, Plain, Tower and Home, the poetry was reserved for the bunkers, not least the monstrous Hades which had to be negotiated from the second tee.
The July 1904 edition of Golf Illustrated describes it as a yawning sand bunker which necessitates a carry of about 140 yards. It is so close to the tee that there is no escape for a topped shot; in it must go, and the player who forgets that extrication is the first duty in a bunker and attempts the heroic is likely to regret his rashness. The carry is, of course, not too much for fair swiping, and once over, all that should remain is a careful approach.
Sadly, Hades is no more; at least not in this world. Also gone is a style of golf reportage that includes a fair swiping within its lexicon, even though it seems a more accurate description of my golf swing than any other I have heard.

Golf in the Wild – Going Home. Chapter 4 – Reiss Links

Golf in the Wild – Going Home – Further East

Chapter 3: Among the Skerray headstones is this touching tribute to another George Mackay, erected by his friends in London. Enough is known about young George to imagine his last days …

It was early morning, 12 April 1912. The house was slowly coming to life, and George was wide awake. In fitful excitement, he had hardly slept. Some last tearful farewells to the early morning maids, a final check that his tickets were secure in his pocket and quietly he slipped the safe moorings of 11 Queens Gate, Kensington, and his life as a footman. Emerging from the colonnaded porch, he touched the iron railings one last time, turned left, and then right onto Prince Consort Road, heading for Waterloo and the 07:45 train to Southampton. He was dressed in his Sunday-best suit and wearing a Sunday smile. He did not look back. The city was already bustling with the clatter of hooves and the too familiar smell of horse manure, soon to be replaced by the salt sea air he had known as a boy.

The young George had only just turned twenty, but already he had travelled far from his humble beginnings on a croft near Tongue, in Sutherland. One of twelve children to William and Christina Mackay, he was determined to better himself. Too often he had heard tales of regret, of lives half-lived in the bitter north. George, the Heilam ferryman, spoke of nothing else but his plans as a young man to travel to Canada and how he was persuaded to stay by the Duke of Sutherland. This George would not make the same mistake.
The third-class boat train from Waterloo pulled into Southampton Docks at 09:30, stopping at Berth 43/44. Clutching a small brown suitcase and ticket 42795, George alighted into the dockside sheds, crossed the road, controlled by a man with a red flag, and momentarily stood, awestruck by the sheer overwhelming size of the ship. It was beyond anything he could have imagined. Nothing like this was ever seen in the Kyle.

As a third-class passenger, George had a simple berth, shared with six other passengers. Keen to escape the claustrophobia of steerage and the company of strangers, many of whom could not speak English, he quickly found his way to the open decks. He was there when the ship cast off and was towed into the River Test by tugboats, there for the near collision with USMS New York, there when Cherbourg appeared on the French coast and there when the ship set sail for Cobh in the dim light of an April evening. All the while he grasped ticket 42795. It had cost £7 11s, all his savings, but he was bound for Rochester and a new life in Detroit. Of one thing he was certain: he was never going home.

Golf in the Wild – Going Home.  Chapter 3 – Further East

Golf in the Wild – Going Home – Reay

Chapter 2:  There is a wild beauty to this place which is quite different from the west. After the high uplands of Sutherland, Caithness is a gentler, flatter and a largely treeless landscape, where landmarks stand out like exclamation marks on the horizon. The golf course at Reay (pronounced Ray) owes its existence and survival to the occupants of Sandside House to the west and the Dounreay atomic energy site to the east. Both are visible from various parts of the course.
Thomas Pilkington, the St Helens glass manufacturer, acquired Sandside House and some of the surrounding estates in the late 1800s for use as a shooting and fishing retreat. Like many landed families of the nineteenth century, the Pilkington clan, relatives, friends and accompanying servants would up sticks from smoky Lancashire and spend the summer sporting in the far north. The contrast between industrialised St Helens and the wilds of Reay could not have been more pronounced. When not shooting, contemplating salmon or installing an early version of double glazing, Thomas’s thoughts turned to golf. Looking east from the upper, condensation-free windows of Sandside House, he would see the perfect location for his very own course …

Chapter 2 – Reay