Golfing Around the World
FORE ! !
We were dining one night in Colombo Harbour. The "IMPERATRICE" was just getting under weigh for the next stage in her voyage round the world. As usual I had just caught the last tender from the shore to the ship, by the narrow margin of a few minutes, and I suppose, having regard to the tropical heat and my hurry, I was mildly flustered as I took my seat opposite a sedate though genial elderly citizen of the U.S.A. It was a cosy little alcove with oak-wainscoted walls on the port side of the saloon, and the mellow glow from the shaded lights on the tables was agreeable to the eye, and the exotic perfume of the tropical flowers soothed the senses.
"Well", said my friendly American "What have you seen in Colombo ?"
I told him I had just returned from a perfectly delightful afternoon's golf.
"Golf" he said, and his voice had a distinct rasp in it. "Golf. What a misuse of time."
Of course I ought to have felt guilty, here was I supposed to be seeing the world with all the advantages of special guides and personal conduction, with most carefully thought out and efficiently organised excursions to every point of interest. Clearly I ought to have seen this temple or that shrine, or have been hustled round the town in one of the Cruise motors at a speed whioh almost precluded one from seeing anything at all. I had done none of these things, I had merely played golf. Instead of a sense of mild shame which I should have simulated, I had a feeling of sheer superiority, and I felt that here was a challenge that I would take up.
I would prove, to my own satisfaction at all events, that the ideal way of seeing the world was to do the things one would naturally do at home (when on a holiday) and instead of seeking new experiences, pursue one's normal inclinations and cheerfully receive such impressions as fell across one's path.
I told my friend I preferred my method of seeing a foreign country, and would eagerly matcb my impressions with his. He declined the combat, but in the account that follows I am still arguing my point.
Now I have no pretentions to be a golfer, and if I can bring my handicap under double figures I am well content, but I thoroughly enjoy the game and admit its enduring satisfaction. Here, where I write is but a drive and a chip to the actual spot where Mr. John Ball played the most superb brassie shot in the history of golf.
One down and two to play against Mr. Mure Fergusson, his ball, a guttie, lay some 40 yards short of the formidable cross bunker guarding the "Dun". His opponent (in the final of the Amateur Championship) had played correctly short as was proper in guttie days at the "Dun"
With 'Johnny' it was neck or nothing, and with that peerless swing timed to perfection away flew his ball, long, low, rising surely with a clean carry over the bunker dead straight on the pin. He won the hole, squared the match, and finished one up at the Royal, which was then the home hole at Hoylake.
The finest, bravest shot I have ever seen played.
Another decisive history making putt, a twelve footer, went down within a full drive from this spot. Mr. Charles Hutchings had finished the morning round, also in the amateur final, against Mr. S.H.Fry some eight holes up. ln the afternoon hole after hole had been taken from him until he bad an exiguous lead of dormy one. Fry had holed his putt for a perfect four, and looked like going to a victorious nlneteenth. Hutchings squared himself to the ghastly ordeal in the presence of a thousand spectators, struck the ball firmly into the hole, and won the championship at the age of fifty-three.
Hoylake was thrilled as never before or since, and amid scenes of wildest enthusiasm the victor was oarried shoulder high into tbe Club House. He had done more than win a game of golf, he had rejuvenated the world; and secretly today every wielder of a club under the age of sixty firmly believes himself to be a potential champion.
It seems fitting therefore in this atmosphere, amid these favourable surroundings, that this little book should be essayed.
True, if my dinner companion at Colombo was discouraging, other compatriots of his were more than friendly. When I tentatively suggested the idea of describing my experiences they fairly shouted. "Golfing round the World !! Gee !! Thats some book ! Get busy with it Sonny, we'll be there. Say !! is'nt that great !!! ?
Furthermore at Rokkosan near Kobe some of my own fellow Britons charged me squarely:- "Look here if you write a book about this mind you send us a copy".
It is because I ahould hate to disappoint these gentlemen that I attempt the following pages.