Sunday October 24 was not a good day for two members of the puregolf2010 party. Because they had been led astray in London by a group of kiwis. Yours truly, sitting here sober and smug, decided for the first night in puregolf history to pike, which proved to be a sensible, perhaps even mission critical decision.
So as the car pulled away from Clapham Junction there was not a lot of chat as we made our way to destination Walton Heath the New Course. I was behind the wheel ?? it was a matter of necessity.
The Walton Heath Golf Club has been outstandingly kind to us the last 2 weeks. When we played the Old a couple of weeks back, the assistant professional James said to not hesitate to contact him if we were looking for a place to play when we were back in the area. And so we did and the new course was arranged although unfortunately we didn??t manage to time it so that James (a half kiwi a bit like us) could join us.
After playing the Old course off the purple tips we sensibly made the call to have a whirl from the white tees today. Any further back and JP wouldn??t have mustered the strength to get it to the fairway on the first hole (the fairway on the first is about 50 yards from the tee). JP called on my finest banter to get him around the course, and after an initial slump through the first 6 holes during which he realised his preparation for this match was poor even by JD??s standards, we managed to both thoroughly enjoy the course.
The New course is easier than its elder brother and the heather is not as prominent. The bunkering is also much friendlier and the wind was benign today compared to our last foray here. It is a magic piece of land Walton Heath. The two courses roll in and out of one another and you??re continually passing other golfers, dog walkers and joggers on the property. It never feels crowded though, just popular. Pace of play is not an issue here either ?? before we went out a group of gentlemen came into the pro shop saying ??good day out there lad, and we got around in under 3 hours too??. No messing about in that four ball. Fast golf is good golf.
heather galore on the stroke one 5th - the best hole on the course doglegging right, the cross bunkers below just short of the green, visually intimidating but should not come into play if you steer clear of the heather.
Walton Heath is the final qualifying course for the US Open. The US Open has very few automatic qualifiers and so the qualifying is a huge part of it. Seasoned professionals still take the time to go through qualifying the gain entry into the tournament. A few years back one such seasoned pro qualifying here and went on to win the US Open at Pinehurst #2 ?? Michael Campbell. Now there is nemorabilia about Cambo??s feats up on the clubhouse walls. A good kiwi moment.
Now you??re probably wondering whether JP was still standing come the 10th hole but first I will digress to our manager / physiotherapist Bart who was also a little off top form. In fact, really, Bart was not up to much today, so we opted to park the Tank in the far corner of the public car park out of view across the road where Bart fell into a deep slumber only to be woken by the boot opening and clubs pouring in some 3 hours later.
above - the par three 10th hole
Now JP was very much still standing by the 10th hole and it seemed his complete lack of sleep had not affected his short game whatsoever. In fact he was dancing around par for most of the round after it took him a couple of holes to realise how to muster the strength to swing the club ?? if you were watching him for the first time you??d think he was like one of those annoying schoolboys who had so much talent only to be distracted by pubs and women. JP??s been flushing it for weeks now and judging from today nothing could stop him as he nonchalantly knocked it around in +2, beating me (grinding away and loving the track) by a stroke. The only putt he missed all day was a 6 footer on the last for birdie, although even after then JP, who is never ever happy with his putting did admit to ??a good day on the greens??. I think Loren Roberts would have said the same after that performance.
Golf finished with the 18th hole that mirrors the par four on the Old, it was back in the car, driving (again by necessity) with two tired lads sleeping their way through the 3 hour or so journey to Dover, where we realised the nearest hostel was back in Canterbury, turned around, booked ourselves in and Bart & JP hit the hay (for 12 and 14 hours respectively). I chatted with a Canadian chap called Nenad traveling Europe by himself. I could relate to him after ding the same for 6 weeks a few years ago. It??s a strange sensation having nothing planned, no-one to spend time with and the world at your feet to explore. Nenad said, London by yourself - so many people but one way to feel very alone ?? which I could relate to, it??s not a place that has a great pull for me,
Putting up the photographs above I realise that may well be our last heathland experience for the year. This style of golf has become one of my favourites - it is distinctive in it's own right like the sandbelt courses in Melbourne, fun to play and the heathland courses have generally been extremely well designed and maintained. I hope to one day come back to this part of the world to try out this genre again!
So all in all this Sunday was a Long Day but it??s all part of the fun. Thanks to Walton Heath, and James when you make it back down to NZ we??ll finally have a game!
I remember it dawning on me several times this year that life is full of contrasts. Our topsy turvy existence lends itself particularly well to learning this lesson. Sometimes we wake up in a car and not an hour later are on the receiving end of six star hospitality at one of the world??s great golf clubs. Other times everything appears to be going to plan, only for a rogue spanner to be thrown in the works. One never knows what??s around the corner. Nor does two. Three occasionally has a useful insight.
Ivinghoe and Brian Haworth??s hospitality have made for a wonderful experience over the past couple of days. Paying a visit to a humble club with salt of the earth members can be far more fun than dropping in to an exclusive club with members whose noses are up each other??s posteriors. Then again we have hardly found any clubs ?? even those with the most stuffy of reputations ?? to be terse, condescending or pretentious. Quite the opposite, actually. Often those perceived as being the most elite comprise members just as down to earth and engaging as those at the other end of the spectrum. In some cases, more so.
And so it was at The Berkshire. Perched on prime land adjacent to Sunningdale, Swinley Forest and other prestigious hangouts, The Berkshire keeps good company. The club has a huge red brick mansion of a clubhouse (which, I must say, reminded me of a school ?? a nice one, of course) and two fine Herbert Fowler courses (Red and Blue). The Red Course is perhaps better known than its brother, for it is one of the few courses in the world that have six par 3s, six par 4s and six par 5s. We played the Blue, which was a gentle and delightful affair; similar in nature to The New Zealand Club.
Our host was one Charlie Jamieson, who I can count with confidence among the most interesting and kind people we??ve met this year. The sort of guy who by his very nature commands instant respect and admiration. Charlie??s a member of The Lucifers Society who, loosely, are a great bunch of like minded individuals ?? businessmen, professionals, etc ?? that through golf maintain ties with the Commonwealth. As I understand it, they??ve all worked overseas in Australia, NZ, Canada, HK or wherever; and, having been enriched by their experiences, they extend the hand of friendship through golf to other Commonwealth nationals. A noble and commendable endeavour indeed.
Charlie??s responsible for organising The Lucifers?? trip to New Zealand this coming February, and so it??s perhaps not surprising that our paths crossed. In recent months I??ve been corresponding with him by email and in that time he??s been kind enough to fix a series of games for us with other Lucifers. (Incidentally, a side note: the founders wanted to call themselves The Match Society but that name was already taken so...the common (only?) brand of matches (as in the ones that make fire) at the time was Lucifers...hence The Lucifers). He and they really have been very kind to us.
On a bright, fresh Saturday morning we did the usual routine of wandering between pro shop and breakfast bar, looking for someone who looked like they might be called (in this case) Charlie Jamieson. Fortunately he??d been on this blog at least once, and knew what we looked like. Surely being a trio of bright eyed bushy tailed Kiwis in scruffy gear we stick out in places like The Berkshire, anyway. Because Charlie hadn??t brought a pal, he invited Bart to play too. In an instant Bart was transformed from the kid who gets picked last at football to the kid who??s just won a trip to Disneyland in a radio competition. Just Thrilled, he was. A nice moment.
As I wrestled with a couple of golden retrievers by the putting green Charlie disappeared and reappeared, this time furnishing us with cards and stroke savers. No excuses then. Like Royal Lytham and Walton Heath (Old) the course begins with a long par 3, which forces one??s concentration. Or at least it should: I still managed to end up in the deep greenside bunker with little hope of making a three. From memory Michael was the only one who didn??t drop a shot ?? all the best rounds start with bogeys anyway...
Being married to a Kiwi (an Aucklander, no less) Charlie probably knows Nu Zillin better than us, but he humoured the three of us by asking the odd question about what The Lucifers might do in their ??days off?. Again I caught myself. When asked about my adopted homeland I get probably more excited than I should. Mike??s quipped on a number of occasions this year that I should be on the Tourism New Zealand payroll (I should, by the way, John Key, if you??re reading this). Truth is I can??t help it. I LOVE NEW ZEALAND. And so, non-Kiwi friends, when you come down to our neck of the woods allow me the pleasure of showing you around. Because I like doing it. And I??m currently unemployed (NB. I still don??t charge, don??t worry).
Some good golf and some bad golf was played, but that doesn??t really give you any insight. I mean to say it was one of those rounds where you??re really just walking around bouncing sound waves off each other and there happens to be the odd golf ball struck in between exchanges. A sign that the conversation was interesting and no one was under par.
What followed the golf was quite extraordinary. (At the time) The best shower in England (question mark as to whether it??s since been overtaken by Royal St Georges). Then surely the best golf club lunch in England (although New Zealand would push it close). It was one of those blissful two hour windows of life that regrettably you can never get back ?? but if you could, you??d relive over and over. A Crabbie??s ginger beer in the bar; a 3 or 4 course silver spoon lunch ?? each plateful more mouth watering than the next (although the treacle tart wasn??t on); then coffee and mints back in the bar. I won??t labour the point, but folks it truly was heaven.
We left Charlie??s company feeling like we??d just caught up with an old friend. Then, as soon as Charlie??s wagon pulled out of the driveway another friend rolled in. Fitzy! Bart had left his camera and jacket in Fitzy??s bag when caddying at New Zealand on Thursday, and the big man had been kind enough to pop round to drop the gear off. Chins were wagged for a few minutes; resolutions were made to put on a dinner when he??s back in NZ next year for the World Cup; then ?? Fitzy never being one to miss a photo opportunity (poser!) ?? we, as the Germans say, made a picture.
Epic, epic day. Thanks Charlie for your hospitality ?? thoroughly enjoyed your company. And thanks to one Sean Fitzpatrick for popping by with a rather necessary puregolf2010 utensil. Champions, the both of you.
JP
After our whirlwind journey on the continent, a couple of nights in a township North West of London called Tring, playing the local course called Ivinghoe beckoned as an appealing note on our excel spreadsheet. It signaled the chance to spend two nights in one place, relax and play a local short course with good people who were eagerly awaiting our arrival. Two nights in Tring also meant we periodically had escaped the wrath of the M25. Perfect.
Brian & Dominique Haworth were our hosts. They welcomed us into their quaint cottage, which once used to be part of the local granary and still features a 17th century well inside the house! Brian has been a very enthusiastic supporter of puregolf throughout the year and so we were very much looking forward to staying with him, talking some golf and having a whirl at his local course that we??d heard so much about in previous email correspondence.
For two nights in Tring we were made to feel very much at home and we even had the chance to catch up on the odd blog post (we haven??t had much time for this recently). One thing that stood out in residence was the sheer quantity of golf stuff dotted around the house ?? from books to instructional videos to beautiful photographs and even the odd traning club. Brian has come to golf late in life but has caught the bug hard! With some success might I add as he is the current senior club champion at Ivinghoe. The three of us lads enjoyed his collection as JP and I both buried our heads in a book or two (particularly of the top 500 golf holes in the world ?? and signed the page of our favourites (6 Royal Melbourne (JP) and 6 NSW for myself). Bart sat for hours taking advice from Tom Watson on the big screen how he could improve his short game. Brian and Dominique, thank you very much for having the three of us stay it was a great couple of nights.
Now Brian had a cunning plan about how to make our day at Ivinghoe extra special. We were to play with the local course record holder, Matt Culley, and members were challenged to donate to The First Tee for every hole that either JP or I beat Matt. Brian, an advertising executive, also coined our visit a ??course record attempt?? which was, in a word, optimistic.
So when we hit off on the downhill 250m par four first hole there were a crowd of local punters watching and I??ll admit to a few nerves. Think the others were about the same as we all (except for Bart) hit some self conscious shots well away from the out of bounds on the right.
Matt Culley is a 20 year old lad who currently holds the Ivinghoe course record of 59. Before you get too excited about us playing with the next Justin Rose (which Matt may well yet become) the par around Ivinghoe is 62. It is a short course built on a small plot of land which is pitched at quite a slope away from the clubhouse and has 9 holes, 5 of which are par threes with four par 3??s thrown into the mixer as well. It is a workingman??s course where you can pay and play 9 holes for a mere 6 quid, and today was doing a roaring trade ?? it is good to see golf is alive and well in England.
The Culley family own the course ?? a dream of Matt??s grandfather some decades ago. Now there is a solid membership playing here, a course that is in good condition and a bar that has a real buzz and quite possibly the best golf club chef we??ve encountered this year.
First I??ll mention the golf and how it took all of 5 minutes for Brian to realise that his course record was safely intact. Ivinghoe is a tricky course and what it lacks in length it makes up for around the greens. Each of the 9 greens is small, undulating and if you possess a short game like mine you??re better off sticking to the pool table in the bar. I had Brian on the bag giving me a few local pointers but as we all know even with the best of intentions it??s not always that easy to follow the instructions! JP on the other hand was in his element getting up and down from all over Ivinghoe and carrying the match so that we had 9 wins over Matt and JP beat him overall by a couple of strokes. In all over 100 pounds was raised which was a very generous.
As for the course record ?? JP wasn??t too far away shooting +1 ?? a Top Effort considering there are three incredibly difficult par threes which, played twice, have ruined many a round according to Matt & brother Tom (a very good punter). Bart made up the four. After the round he was back to Brians and watching instructional videos from Tom Watson and Seve on how to improve your short game. Need I say more. He also brought his first set of irons?
From the course we were straight into the clubhouse playing pool with the locals and enjoying a pint of Cornwall Ale. I steered clear of the pool table preferring to chat with some local members down enjoying a quiet beer on their Friday afternoon.
Now to Bob the chef who looked like a chef and boy could cook like a chef. I asked him ??what do you recommend???. He scowled and said ??it??s all good and cooked fresh??. I thought, hmm that doesn??t help. Needless to say when my Cajun Chicken came out I was taken aback by how damn good it was. Bart??s steak looked perfect and JP was waxing lyrical about his bangers and mash. We got some snaps with Bob behind his bar, and I may have even sneakily topped up my Guinness as we were all smiling for the cameras. Crafty.
We thanked the Culleys and headed back to Brians where a special guest was coming round to visit ?? Jamie Lyle, the Son Of. So we sat and heard a few golfing stories about life growing up with the Scottish Champion. After another cracking dinner we were off to the local watering hole in Tring where we met up with Matt & Tom Culley for a debrief and Jamie Lyle had a couple of pints with us too. Although it was a different story for the lads who had been targeted by a dozen cougars and were doing their utmost to escape?
So much happens in our worlds that on days like this it is impossible to encapsulate it. But the day at Ivinghoe was a goodie thanks to the cunning plan of Brian Haworth, Brian & Dominique were cracking hosts and the Culley lads good craic and we hope to have a hit with them again one day in NZ. Until next time..
How apt that we should pay a visit while in the Surrey ??hood to The New Zealand Club. An illustrious and quite brilliant club it is too, if I may say so. It gets better: the Secretary upon hearing of our impending visit shoulder tapped a recent visitor to the club, to ask whether he??d be free to make up a four. He graciously accepted. His name is Sean Fitzpatrick. And he??s a living legend.
With a membership scroll of six score or so (give or take), TNZC is a very small, discreet and private club. I??m not going to tell you just yet where the name comes from, because we were teased on the day and I??m going to afford you the same frustration. The first explanation I received from the Secretary was that the front nine taken as a whole forms the shape of the North Island, and the back nine of the South. Of course that was fallacious but I was gullible enough in the moment to swallow such a plausible explanation wholeheartedly. Fool.
??Fresh? after a few minutes sleep ?? after jetting in from Amsterdam the night before ?? we awoke once more at DC??s place in Radlett. DC was in Hong Kong but his wife Jill and son Tommy looked after us handsomely for the brief duration of our (second) stay. The return leg of The Amsterdam Mission had gone smoothly until the last hurdle, when we were directed by a BR staffer to the wrong train which didn??t stop at our station. A cold 25 minute wait at Westhampstead wasn??t ideal but it could??ve been worse. Anyway we awoke back on English soil and set sail for a slice of home. Well, sort of.
Changing his boots in the car park by his big black Mercedes was our man (??call me Fitzy boys?). Taller than I expected. Instantly endearing human being too. It??s amazing how Kiwi you become when after months on end away from Aotearoa you run into a true blue Kiwi ?? an All Black captain, no less ?? with a thuck Aughkland acceent. By Jove it was cold. As in, Baltic. The frost lying atop the ground was as thick as a Bible printed single-side 1UP. Which is how it??d be printed (in colour too) at Bell Gully, where paper and ink live in unimaginable abundance. Yes you, David Coull.
Around the bend, by the clubhouse, were our host ?? the charming Rupert Beaumont ?? and the Good Secretary, Roger. Standing freezing their testicles off (like men, granted). Pleasantries exchanged; quickly into the sheds. One of my favourite of the year, I??d like to say up front. Genuinely a relic of another age, when men were men and frosts were frosts. Each locker bears several crossed out names of tenants gone by; there??s an open fire in the bar and the lounge that looks like it hasn??t been sat in since the Titanic left Belfast (in perfect working order, no less, the Nor??n Irish will tell you); and there are more black Labradors walking around than people. Oozing charm and hospitality.
We had coffee while Jack began his retreat. At this point we talked around and around the inevitable question as to the club??s Nu Zillin Connection, but inevitably in smoke and mirrors fashion got nowhere. I began to wonder whether Rupert and Roger were of MI6 pedigree. They certainly cultivated an air of mystery. Fitzy played dumb too (I??m positive he knew).
Then, much to our surprise, we were led to the 1st tee while there was still 8 feet of frost lying. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Any other golf club in the world would??ve suspended play until Jack was no longer anywhere to be seen. Not at New Zealand. With frostbite attacking all 10 digits we made gestures resembling golf swings (perhaps not) and kicked off the light hearted satire that would be the Order Of Play. My partner Fitzy got stuck a little into the opposition right away and, more so, into me his partner! So I gave it back in Spades. It??s a miracle we were all still talking by the end. A few pep talks along the way (from The Skipper) steadied the ship intermittently. All good fun.
Rupert was a senior partner at a boutique firm called Slaughter & May for many years, and seems to have had a wonderfully challenging career in the law. It??s always great to hear someone wax lyrical about how fulfilling their working life has been ?? particularly 1. When it??s been a demanding one; and 2. When their career??s one you??ve already tried and...well...! Rupert??s admission that he only took up golf in recent years because he was always too busy to even consider it while working rang a familiar bell. Everyone strikes their own balance.
Fitzy spoke openly and frankly about his experiences: rugby and post-rugby (both equally interesting, I found). He and his wife now have a hospitality business and the big man also gives some of his time to motivational speaking, which obviously comes fairly natural. He casts a commanding shadow does our Sean. And hits a good ball too ?? absolutely burgling off a 12. Apparently Zinny??s not a bad marksman with a golf club too.
The course itself is a delight. That cow Heather makes another appearance and can, like grass, be found on every hole. Because trees also play an integral part in creating the atmosphere, it was a good while before the frost lifted. By the 9th blood was beginning to circulate through our vessels once more. A whisky coffee at the drinks cart might??ve helped. Rupert much to my astonishment opted for Bovril with a dash of sherry. Possibly the most disgusting drink I can imagine. I wouldn??t have dared friends in even the most senseless of games to take so much as a mouthful of this heathen tonic. But Rupert liked it, as did Bart (who was in his element caddying for Fitzy).
Goldy and Rupert (who together sound like a tap dancing or figure skating duo) won. There, I said it. Despite Fitzy??s fine play on the front nine we were pipped on the 17th. I did nothing all day save for make up the numbers. On one tee, SF: ??I??m just waiting for you to do something Jamie?. He wasn??t joking either. And so commenced a pep talk.
Something amusing happened in the locker room that I??m compelled to share with you. Full disclosure and all that. We were stripping down readying ourselves for a wash. Bart and I were last undressed. Bart turns to me and whispers, ??Can you believe we??re about to shower with Sean Fitzpatrick?!?. I nearly cried with laughter. Bart??s now known as GB; I??m sure you can guess what the ??G? stands for...
We were treated to one of the most fantastical lunches ever consumed. Even the Romans would??ve been envious of this symphony of fine fare. Our six sat smack bang in the middle of the empty dining room and were served silver spoon style by the very capable wait staff who??d probably see less customers in a given week than a curry stand at Venice Beach. Like Augusta, the members here get a sweet deal on wine, which is procured by the Secretary (I can??t give away his methods or I??ll be shot) - what an honour! We had a belter of a Beaujolais. It really was the full nine yards. I remember sitting there thinking, ??Where did it all go wrong?? The quality of the grub and refreshments was only matched by that of the company. A few hours that I??ll look back on fondly for many years to come (touch wood).
Oh, the story behind the name? The New Zealand Club? You??ll just have to wait a bit longer...there??s not enough mystery these days...
A sincere thank you to Rupert, Roger and Fitzy for making our day at The New Zealand Club one to remember, for a number reasons. Fitzy: if we ever play together again, I promise I hope that you??ll play better.
JP
After Chantilly we were supposed to be staying another night in France, with our pal Alfie Melville who planned to fly down for the occasion. However. As The French are prone to doing, they stroke. That is to say, there was a strike on, and the country was running out of fuel (at least Paris was). Alfie??s flight down was cancelled at the eleventh hour dam it all to Hell. Perhaps because he didn??t turn up they didn??t turn up, and so we played Chantilly unaccompanied. Then got on the road to Den Haag, since there was no reason to stick around. The offshoot of this debacle was that we had more time on Flight Day than expected, so awoke at friend Thijs?? apartment feeling a little relaxed.
Which is ironic and maybe a sign that we??re getting complacent about having golf organised. Because we had no game booked for the day. Naturally we got on the internet and found (with some difficulty, given the websites were written in Dutch, not our first language) the closest 9 holer, then made our way there. The address we had scribbled down seemed an improbable one, because we were smack bang in the middle of a bunch of houses with not a tree or grassed space in sight. Granted though this was Holland, where space comes at a premium.
We park up in an innocuous enough looking carpark, and are directed through steel gates into what appears to be a hockey complex. Several turfs are off to one side, a dirty canal to the other. I feel like one would feel walking around Piccadilly Circus with a snorkel and mask on ?? no one else has golf clubs on their back. Just hockey sticks. Lo and behold however the shed and adjacent driving range appear ?? phew... Having not phoned ahead, we walk into the bar ??cold? and ask politely to speak with the manager. A big guy sporting polo shirt and moustache appears; he??s friendly but not expecting what??s coming. I explain what we??re doing, and that having been fortunate to visit Kennemer and Noordwijkse while in Holland we??re hoping also to sample inner city Dutch golf before catching our evening flight. Guy processes the conversation for a moment and then fetches a couple of score cards (printed landscape on A4 in light of recent alterations that make the old card redundant). Result.
I??ve seen single holes take up more acreage than Golf Duinzicht??s nine holes. In fact the layout takes you to four different parcels of land, in each case separated by a path, a canal or something similar. Imagine making up a golf course that snakes through a school playground and you??re getting warm. Quite remarkable. Fun too. 1 plays away from the clubhouse into the corner. But the two holes you can see next to it are 8 and 9; the 2nd tee is a 300 yard walk back the way you came, past the shed, past a few hockey turfs and a large field. It??s a linking hole that plays across 150 yards of flat rugby pitch to a makeshift green under a tree and next to the out of bounds. Then you cross over a bridge; through a gate onto a new plot; and play the newly open 3rd and 4th, which are actually very good wee holes indeed. Highlights, in fact. Of course a third hole on the same piece of land would be ludicrous, so once more you cross the path to play 5 and 6. Then cross again to play 7 thru 9 taking you back to the clubhouse.
Not Pine Valley, but great for those learning the game or those with only an hour to spare. If they continue to build more holes like the new ones, it??ll soon be a sharp little 9 holer indeed. In the meantime, vive la difference! Inner city Dutch golf may have been cold and not quite the standard of the past couple of days ?? but it was good craic nonetheless, and enlightening to see how some people play the game. Good on ??em. Danke vell Golf Duinzicht!
JP
How my alarm clock could have the audacity to awaken me with such unthinkable crassness I will never know. But it did. Which is more than you can say for Slambino??s device, because the sloth slept right through it (how very un-NYC?). Our visit to Luzarches had been a short one but a happy one. Alas it was time for our American friends to return to the world of conference calls, while we set Snoop Dawg??s sights on Golf de Chantilly ?? our second and final stop in France. After the dream yesterday that was Golf de Morfontaine, Golf de Chantilly had big boots to fill.
The farewell was not as emotional as it might have been, because the lads are coming down our way in March. To play a couple of games of golf, of course.
Before long we found ourselves in the gorgeous town of Chantilly, scraping around for the golf club. In typically French manner it was to be found tucked away in the most discreet of hiding places, more or less like a secret garden. Like Ireland, the locals know where they are going so there??s no need for adequate sign posting.
I buzz the buzzer and explain in my best French that we??re teeing off at 9.00am with Monsieur Bob Roux. The gate opens. Bien. When we reach the office a disenchanted but striking young lady is sitting by a computer; and she glances my way. I ask whether Monsieur Roux has arrived ?? ??non? is the truncated and a tad frosty response. At this point I??m wondering what I??ve done to offend the officious official. (Still no idea).
Well, I??ll go and have a putt then, while we wait for Bob, I suggest. ??Bon.? 15 minutes later we??re wondering whether Monsieur Roux is going to turn up, so I return to the scene of Frosty Encounter Number One. This time the Madame is on the blower, and beckons me over: ??Monsieur Roux, pour tois.? (At this point I??ve neither met nor spoken to Bob before; the fixture was arranged by mutual pal: Alfie Melville of North Berwick).
[Following very brief small talk]: ??Jamie, it is IMPOSSIBLE for me to play today.? I see. (By now it??s 10 minutes past our scheduled tee time ?? which is largely immaterial because there??s hardly a soul in sight). ??I have too many surgeries and it??s impossible for me to play.? OK, no worries ?? I take it we won??t be seeing you and Isabel for lunch then either? ??Non, OK, aurevoir.? Ha! Don??t you love the French? Had the Madame not called I??m not sure that Bob would even have turned his mind to golf. When you can??t play, you can??t play, right? Unaccompanied it is then.
We sit down in the breakfast area; order a few baguettes with miniatures of Bon Maman strawberry jam; and café au lait pour trois. No Alfie and no Bob ?? just like that, our four ball becomes two. Silver lining: we can nip around quickly and get on the road to Den Haag early.
At Golf de Chantilly there are two courses: the more serious of which is Le Vineuil, a Tom Simpson layout (he also did Morfontaine and Ballybunion, to name a couple). Fortunately that??s the course we??re assigned, and before long we??re on our way (Bart??s on admin duties in the plush sitting room).
What an absolutely beautiful course it was too. Reminded me a lot of Somerset Hills in New Jersey, which is very much a favourite; the type of course you could play every remaining week of your mortal life. Some of the best greens we??ve been fortunate to play on ?? both in terms of conditioning and design. A stronger course than Golf de Morfontaine, and quite different in character. Quite Tillinghast-esque, in fact.
I??d say we were catching it at the best time of year too; the deciduous trees looking decidedly autumnal but still full of vie.
On the 5th hole we are waved through by a couple of jolly gentlemen ahead. ??Bon continuation? we are wished as we pass ?? what a lovely way of saying ??have a good round.?
Having been so pleased with Golf de Chantilly I thought I??d leave the club a present. That is to say I left my sports jacket hanging up in the locker room and didn??t realise until we hit Amsterdam the next day. I fired an email to the club but no reply has been forthcoming ?? probably because my correspondence was en Anglais, pas Francais. Maybe it??ll still be hanging up next time I??m there??
JP
We??re privileged to be having an abundance of special experiences this year. On some occasions though, it??s profoundly difficult when you sit down ?? laptop open ?? to know where to start. Sometimes I??m knocked for six and the euphoria freezes my typing hands. Day 290 was one such day. A surreal episode of fun, good food, even better company and inspirational beauty.
The day before we??d woken in Amsterdam; sight seen in Brussels; golfed in rural Belgium; and laid our heads to rest in the middle of Paris. Friends Slambino & Smythe (whom we met in Melbourne, then stayed with in New Jersey) flew over for the occasion. From New York, for a couple of days. As you do. They??d arranged a night in Le Meridien Hotel, a stone??s throw from the Seine (left bank). Snoop Dawg guided us without error through the manic streets of Paris ?? where, like Burning Tree Club, there are no rules (except in this case, look after number one) ?? and after a long day, we found ourselves in the lobby. ??Monsieur Sabino? to give him his proper name met us outside our 12th floor suite, that familiar voice reverberating down the hallway with ??88-1? (long story) as soon as we were within sight. Happy days. We sat in the hotel bar for a cheeky one then before long crashed out, knowing we had a big day ahead.
After what felt like 2 hours?? sleep the alarm did what it was supposed to do (which ironically is what I didn??t want it to do). Battle stations. Downstairs the lobby was alive with activity, and not short of glamorous people. It was quite a sight. Alas when the final troops gathered themselves people watching had to cease and driving had to commence ?? at this stage, just a couple of miles away to The Ritz. 25 minutes later we arrived, alive. But of frazzled nerve. Taking a motor car around Paris is a nigh on suicidal affair ?? insurance must be expensive. ??Twas however a bluebird morning so there was plenty to ogle at (in the way of jaw dropping architecture) as we putt putted tentatively along the cobblestones.
The Ritz? Just a good place to park your car (we didn??t spend a night there because...they were full). Our five wandered around the streets of Paris (which sounds so much more appealing when pronounced ??Par-ee?) en route to the Louvre. Of course we grabbed an espresso on the way, and did a bit of recon on where we might grab breakfast. That part of the city is breathtaking. I??ve never seen anything like it. So beautiful were the sights that I won??t try in vain to describe them ?? just check out the photos in Goldy??s video.
In The Most Tremendous Boulangerie De Le Monde we feasted, and feasted gooooooooood. A calorific paper sack was filled at Slambino??s instruction with baguettes avec fromage et jambon, brioches, pain au chocolat and so on and so forth. In fact I think that walk back to the car ?? past heavenly stone beauty ?? may be among the fondest of my short but getting longer life. puregolf2010 was in its element. Then of course we hovered around outside The Ritz while our Lamborghini (read: grey Opel) was fetched for us by the valet guy. Russian oligarchs and Saudi princes looked on quizzically as the five of us piled into something they wouldn??t let their deputy shoe polisher be seen dead in. To us underlings (I exclude our American friends from that description) it was luxury.
What should??ve taken 55 minutes took over 2 hours. Motorways were closed (without warning); the odour of road rage was pungent in the air; there were strikes on (how French); and general anarchy was the order of play. Given there are no tee times at Golf de Morfontaine though, we weren??t overly stressed. Our plan was to arrive, play the 9 hole Valliere course, have lunch and then take on the big course. Even taking the delays into account all was still Gravy. Through the petit rural villages north west of Paris we snaked. With contentment and wonder. And a slight apprehension that we may never find Morfontaine, which is notoriously difficult to locate, even with Snoop Dawg in your corner.
??Golf de Morfontaine? eventually revealed itself on a wooded bend in the road, more or less in the middle of nowhere. What happened next will be hard to appreciate for those who haven??t been to Morfontaine (which I expect is the very vast majority of you). But I??ll try for a moment to capture it. You creep almost nervously along a lengthy driveway, past a few holes on the back nine. The course looks sublime ?? like Sunningdale, except with a few distinctive boulders (some mid-fairway). An understated but elegant ivy dressed clubhouse appears in a clearing on the edge of a wooded hill (it??s all wooded, actually). There??s no sense of anticipation quite like it. I drop the lads off out front, then after parking the car walk with a deep sense of satisfaction up the pine needles and into the lobby. There I find Jean Dulout, the club manager whose family have been faithful servants of the club for generations. And friends of the Michel family (Betsy Michel being our very gracious host) for just as long.
Our lateness is not a problem. We remove our jackets, change into our spikes, and hit the putting green. As planned we will play The Valliere first, then have lunch. It??s an absolute delight. More severe than the big course, in the sense that the greens are like crumpled duvets left on the side of a hill. Perhaps not unfair, but certainly challenging. The footage will do the talking. After 5 holes something remarkably French happens.
Two relics of another age ?? gentlemen who no doubt played their part in The French Revolution; evidently members of the club ?? emerged from the direction of the clubhouse. One in his own cart; the other (the more French looking of the two, and that??s saying something) pulling a trolley. Because the greenkeepers have ?? sacré bleu! ?? had the Gaul to punch the 1st thru 3rd greens, these chaps decide they??d start on 6, which we were about to play. They gesture that they??d like to begin their round without delay by playing through. Of course being guests and of generally good nature we oblige. And observe. The ??cart? gentleman ?? who appeared the marginally more senior of the two ?? teed off into the heather, at least on the right hole. His chum blocks it down the 5th, some 50 yards off line. Fine. But then A FIGHT BREAKS OUT. The more French of the Frenchmen starts waving his arms around like a seagull on LSD, and blasting his mate who by this stage is seated. Who knows what happened (they were 50 yards ahead on a different tee block). Suddenly they start walking back towards the clubhouse at a sharp clip (by prehistoric standards) and en route past our bemused cluster wave some kind of gesture to carry on without delay. Hard not to laugh.
With time marching swiftly on we decide to call it a day on The Valliere and sit down to lunch. Inside the opulent but not decadent clubhouse we are seated by the kind faced Madame. Out on deck under ivy and stone are locals ?? some obviously not here for the golf but instead for a spot of brunch with their newspaper. Where better to sit for a few hours to while the day away? The menu is recounted en Francais, which presents problems for some. I ask, ??parlé vous Anglais Madame?? and receive a simultaneously direct and warm ??non?. Bart orders ??l??escallops? thinking this will be his first ever shot at scallops. Until his veal schnitzel turns up, that is. The fillet of beef (??griyade??) that Michael and I order is Out of This World; the Yankees order poulet and appear satisfied beyond all expectations. Life, my friends, was good. The fromage course added 6 inches to our waistlines, but it was worth it (I can still taste that sticky aged camembert...). Slambino being a man who likes to celebrate in style orders a bottle of red Bordeaux too. Hell, it was worth the significant respective trips just for the lunch.
Somewhat comatose after gorging ourselves we stagger to the 1st tee and get under way. The rest, all I can tell you, was trés magnifique. And then some. Watch the video and see for yourself. Tom Simpson at his very best. Playable but penal. Idiosyncratic. Idyllic. Fun. Surprising. All of the above. And having Slambino and Smythe ?? and Bart ?? to share the experience was a true pleasure. Kids in a candy shop. Thank you Madame Michel for allowing us this once in a lifetime experience. As I said months ago in a thank you note to our host at Cypress Point: my great hope is that one day I??m in a position to make possible for others experiences like this. Through all the ups and downs in life ahead, I??ll be able to look back on my day at Morfontaine and remember just how sweet life can be. Thank you. And thanks a million to Slambino & Smythe for flying over, taking care of us, and generally being two of the most brilliant human beings that we??ve been privileged to meet. You are gentlemen and friends. See you in February in Nu Zillin!
JP
12 photo captions from day 289 of puregolf2010 ?? the day we visited three countries.
1 (above). Our day began with a farewell to Thijs and his family in the fortified village of Naarden Vesting just out of Amsterdam. Thijs had left the car window down all night but being a safe town our golf clubs were still intact.
2. On road with Snoop Dog on directions we flew down to Belgium, along the Dutch roads which are without a doubt the best roads I??ve driven on this year and past the traditional windmills. European house music blaring we were full of energy.
3. We have a few hours in Brussels before our afternoon tee time so we head into the city, park the car and emerge from the empty car parking building (on Sunday morning everyone is in church) to the view above.
4. We quickly realise that we have no idea what is going on in this town. It??s colder than Antarctica and every item of clothing we??d managed to sneak through the terriers at the Easyjet counter have been put on. I get on the iPhone and flick an email to our host for the afternoon Chris.
5. Chris is a local guy working for Starwood Hotels. One of his colleagues, Brad, invited us for a game in Belgium a few weeks back but he was away for work with the timing. Chris lives locally so we convince him to get out of bed for a quick tour of the city before golf.
6. Chris takes us to the digs of the Royal Family in the centre of town. They are impressive, to the square (above middle) where we fit in with all the other tourists, and to the middle of the financial hub of Belgium (immediately above). Supposedly this is a very affordable capital compared to other European cities.
7. And of course we check out the famous statue of a little man urinating. We thought of our dear friend William.
8. Belgium is famous for its chocolates and whilst we walk past a number of shops and take the customary photographs we steer clear of them as JP is watching his weight. We do, however, indulge in other famous local fare ?? frites & mayonnaise and waffles.
<a href=http://www.tournette.tv/?TheVideo=662 target=_blank><img src=http://www.bezoom.be/admin/thumbnails/9/uk_15.jpg border=0></a>
9. It is time for golf. We are hosted at the Chateau de la Tornette Golf Course about 15 minutes south of Brussels. They layers are piled on as the mercury is maxing it out at about 4 degrees Celsius. This is a serious club with two courses, the English course ?? designed by Martin Hawtree, and the American course ?? designed by Bill Amich. We opt for the English design and nick ahead of some locals on the first tee. Rushing and without warming up we somehow smoke it down the middle and we??re away. This is supposed to be a video of the course I have borrowed from their website. "this pond plays host to many balls"
10. We are making it around. Everywhere the sky is grey but the four of us (Bart and I are paired against JP and Chris) are playing some decent golf here and there. JP is, customarily, rolling in putts left right and centre. It seems it doesn??t matter what country he is ?? unfortunately for Bart and I. The course is strong and this par five 12th hole beats us up. In particular JP who hits a pure shank towards the solo woman playing ahead of us about to tee off on the next tee. She, like other ladies on the course, has been squawking her way around the course as putts intermittently drop. They??re an enthusiastic bunch over here.
11. The round finishes and we sample some more local Belgium fare ?? a Duvel. This combined with some chicken wings sends us on our way content. Thanks to Chris for arranging our day.
12. The Duvel has put me to sleep in the back seat but ahead is Paris. And the next phase of our day as we try to navigate the traffic and then meet our third hosts of the day ?? Slambino & Smyth at ??le Meridian?? hotel in the centre of Paris. It??s too late for sightseeing but we catch up over a beer in the hotel bar before we retire to bed excited about the prospect of Golf de Morfontaine tomorrow.
Before we ventured across the North Sea into Holland, I??d heard of one Dutch golf club ?? Noordwijkse. Goldy??s mate Pete (who joined us for a spell in Ayshire some months ago) had sung its praises, Noordwijkse being the only place he really plays any golf in The Netherlands (as it happens, with a fellow Kiwi cricketer by the name of Darren). It sounded class. And difficult. So when Pete dropped Goldy a line saying he??d teed up a game for Saturday afternoon, there was an air of excitement to say the least.
The first couple of days on Dutch soil ?? aptly captured by Mike & Bart ?? had been phenomenally good. Interesting, fun and most certainly appetite whettening for a longer spell in this fascinating country. I??ll almost definitely live here at some stage. Everything about The Netherlands (Amsterdam, at least) appeals to me: the openness of the culture, its efficiency, the mind boggling engineering, the bias towards cycling, the social life, croquettes, the hockey culture, the fact that drivers obey the road rules, the cheese, the traditions and ?? if I may say ?? the beauty of the women! Heineken tastes better here too.
Pete??s hospitality has been legendary. He and lovely girlfriend Beth have graciously allowed the three of us to crash on floors and sofas ?? notwithstanding that there??s another mate from school, Rendall, who??s been squatting for six weeks! Pete and Beth then have been getting a taste of what it??s like to be foster parents (even though they??re only a year our senior). Anyway. A famous time has been had by all ?? dinner in, nights out, ventures to the local snack bar and to watch the local hotshot hockey players train ?? and huge thanks must go to Pete in particular for his support of puregolf2010. Mate, it??s hugely appreciated.
The Four Musketeers packed into the Opel (hired for us for the week by Pete) and zipped out to Noordwijkse, which is by the coast. On Quality links territory. Snoop Dog was our guide for the journey (Pete procured a Tom Tom ?? absolutely key ?? and set it to the Snoop setting). ??Take the Highway Cuuuubbbb...; Make a left and you??ll be Bona Fide...; Yea!, just like dat...? A new driving experience. ??Twas also my first experience of driving on ??the wrong side of the road? in a manual car (Dodgy, our US wagon, was an automatic). We got there in one piece. Along the way our eyes were glued to the typical Dutch landscapes peppered with windmills, canals, greenhouses and the like.
Jack made his presence known as we slipped hesitantly out of the car. Jack Frost, that is. It was bitterly cold. The walk through the car park up the hill to the clubhouse felt like Captain Scott??s trudge to the South Pole. Like y??er man, we weren??t properly equipped either. Having followed summer all year, this was a point in time when we knew life had changed. Still alive by the locker room: check.
Inside we met Darren, our host. ??Dibble? and Pete play a fair bit of golf together and on course are like a gammy married couple. Chirping at each other like sparrow chicks in an overcrowded nest. What else would you expect from two Kiwi strays on a spartan Dutch links? Peter and I were paired together in the ball toss, something that Pete would grow to resent as I 3 putted my way around the course. Justifiably. To be fair, we were all pretty guff ?? perhaps with the exception of Mike, at times. Not many birdies fell.
But boy did we shiver. Noordwijkse chewed puregolf2010 up and spat us out, so we cried too. Well, almost. What a wonderfully inhume start to a round. Hole 1 played straight into the teeth. 2 is a scallywag of a par 5; in fact that doesn??t cover it, 2 is more devious than an Ethiopian pirate. The only water hazard on the course is a red herring, in the sense that it??s less treacherous by a country mile than the other mischief that lurks in the deep. Who knew Dutch scrub could be so mean? In the conditions, driver + 4 iron + 2 iron didn??t get me there. Up and down got me a 5 though, and the honour of being the only player to finish out the hole...you get the picture. The 3rd and the index 1 4th continued in the same vein, not to mention the index 3 5th (which I didn??t finish out). Noordwijkse was taking no prisoners.
As we fended off the elements and tried to navigate the course without losing every ball in our bag, a fascinating discovery was made. Dutchies are cheap. Each time one of us ventured into the rough ?? which was often ?? we came across a Pinnacle Gold. They were everywhere. The excitement you feel when you see the light bouncing off a li??l white thing in a thorn bush is tempered when you know it??s going to be a Pinnacle. The lowest of the low. Dibble came up with a cunning trick. Off every tee he??d hit a Pinnacle Gold, then another Pinnacle Gold. Obviously the first ball he??d always come across was a PG, so that was his ??first ball.? Now, I??m not inferring that he was a CHEAT. Just that he came up with a stunning plan that guarded against the possibility he??d ever be playing three off the tee. That??s all.
Considering we were below sea level ?? being in The Netherlands ?? I felt relatively safe. Not once did I worry that the North Sea was going to rush over us and bring puregolf2010 to a sticky end. It was the thorn bushes that were giving me more cause for concern. And the ice in the wind. And my own worst enemy: myself.
In the safety of the clubhouse we perched ourselves in the seating area where Bart had set himself up for the afternoon. Cosy spot. A packed basket of fried small goods appeared in front of us (bitter ballen?), along with a round of Heinekens. There can be no better way to celebrate the end of a thrashing by Noordwijkse than this. In a word, content. Content. Replete.
Snoop then led the way once more, this time to the home of Thijs de Greeff, our hockey friend who joined us at Kennemer. Actually it was his mother and father-in-law??s house, in a delightful little town called Naarden Vestring. Thijs gave Goldy the street name but not the number, and Goldy didn??t ask for it. So we were walking around Markstraat asking for Thijs ?? a ridiculous episode let me tell you. Fortunately a generous restauranteur allowed us into his establishment, and the use of his phone (ours weren??t working by this stage, of course). Thijs appeared with Frans (father-in-law), and led us to their beautiful, beautiful Dutch home. Marjolijn cooked a stunning meal of meatloaf. It was a therapeutic evening of warm Dutch hospitality, family styles. After three 3 days of razzle dazzle with Boz, a quiet night with a glass of wine and home cooked food was bliss.
I could write a whole blog on Frans & Marjolijn??s hospitality, but will spare you the labour of reading it. Suffice to say there??s a porcelain bottle of Genever ?? which we signed and dated ?? waiting at their house for us, to be sipped upon our next return. This and other touching gestures (like gifts of logo??d golf balls and amusing speeches) made for an unforgettable evening indeed. Thijs in ever self-deprecating form was smashing craic too.
A day that will be etched in the memory bank until some bastard like Alzheimers robs it.
JP
Today we woke up with another blip on our radar. We had nowhere to play and we are in Holland: things could go very wrong.
Peter Borren was making noises about a par three course near the Amsterdam Arena. Like, right beside it. So without delay we jumped in the car and went a?? cruising. Boz??s blood pressure rose and rose as he became increasingly anxious about having a hand in The End of puregolf2010. We drove around the Arena and were not having any luck. Momo became increasing pessimistic. So we pulled into the service station to ask for help and directions. Luckily the lady in the line knew what we were talking about and let us know we were two blocks away from the Dorchland course, kindly pointing out that we had obviously driven past it a couple of times. Dutch humor is quite to the point.
The lads were met by a very beautiful Dutch woman (there are a lot of them) at the desk who hearing the story welcomed the boys onto the course at the relief of The Dutch Captain who by this stage had single handedly kept the tobacco business alive for another year.
The course, consisted of all par 3??s with the longest hole (4th/13th) being 140m and the shortest being 64m. It lined an urban set driving range where tat the golf school the local dutch folk can come and sit the test to get there ??golf license?. Yup, in Holland you need a license to get onto the local courses.
Although short, the greens were small and there was some good bunkering and mounding around the greens which punished an wayward shot. Jamie and I faced up Pete and Michael and after 9 we were convincingly 3 up and looking dominant. Jamie was shooting down the flag and I managed to help on a couple of holes. The back nine was another story. Coming to the 13th hole we had exchanged holes on 11 and 12 staying 3 up but we were shaky. Jamie and I both pulled 8 iron to knock it close to the back right corner of the of an angled green with a swamp hazard guarding the mid right side of the green and a canal running all along the left side of the tee all the way up to the green. Jamie stood up, confidently, and proceeded to hit a hook straight into the canal. I stand up and proceed to block my shot into the swamp. PB hits his wedge into the canal and then Michael gets onto the tee and puts it short of the green making up and down to take the whole. The 14thand second longest hole on the course at 130m was halved with 3s. 15th hole, Goldy stands up and stiffs it making a 2 and taking the hole. 16 is halved with 3s and with the momentum having been well and truly swung we approach the 17th with a 1up lead. Slightly nervous (as there is no way I want to lose to Mongit and Michael) I watch their tee shots on 17, a 66m straightforward hole. Boz smokes his wedge (same club he hit off every tee - animal) long over the back; Michael hit his to 30 feet with a winding down hiller ahead. Jamie stands up, confidently, puts a good swing on the shot and knocks his ball to 8ft behind the hole. I am given some relief by this and stand up to strike the ball. My swing is ok, I feel it go left, but it is not so bad and I am pin high with 10 feet to the hole. Michaels putt slips by and he takes a 3. I stand over my put which has a little left to right and have it slide by the left edge, gutting. But then Jamie stands over his put, he has the putting stroke the caliber of Stewart Cink, calmly rolls it in taking the match! Victory and bragging rights for the night ahead in Amsterdam goes to the good guys.
A big thank you from the boys goes out to the Amstelborgh Dorchland golf course for hosting them on such short notice and a thank you to Pete for turning up and participating?unsuccessfully.
Dag,
Bart
Michael here. Sorry Boz for being a rubbish partner in our match and thus subjecting you to Bart's banter on the blog. JP's blogging for tomorrow at Noordvijk where we'll have a rematch, so I'll share a couple of words now. Pete has been a cracking host in Amsterdam and it's been great to stay with an old mate from back home in NZ. We've had some serious fun on and off the golf course - a bit like the old days playing cricket together. Bpz and I played cricket and hockey together at school and for various clubs and we had a very good time. We were competitive as well, although now I leave the serious cricket to Pete who is a professional captaining the Dutch team whilst I've opted for a slightly different sport for a year... Pete has now joined us at 2 different times during puregolf2010. Which, 12 months ago, we would not have foreseen. Pete was on my couch in Wellington for a couple of nights and we were talking about 'the future'. I told him about puregolf. He laughed. You're dreaming mate. 12 months have passed now and looking back , 12 months ago I thought he was right - it is remarkable how this year has played out. Pete, and the wider Borren clan in NZ and abroad have been a big part of our year & Pete could go down as one of the MVPs of the year. Enough of that - but thanks again to Pete and Beth for having us all stay for a few nights. And Rendall - we'll see you in a few weeks back in NZ!!
- this is a note that Jamie wrote or the Kennemar club newsletter.
Geachte vrienden,
I??m Jamie Patton, one of two Kiwi lunatics playing a round of golf every day in 2010, around the world, to raise money for a kids program back home called The First Tee. (Yes, every day...). On Day 286 of our odyssey ?? which kicked off on 1 January in New Zealand ?? we had the pleasure of playing at Kennemer , our first stop in The Netherlands.
This year we??ve had the privilege of experiencing golf in many contrasting settings. Each country we??ve travelled through (New Zealand, Australia, USA, Scotland, Ireland, England, Wales, France, Belgium and The Netherlands) has opened our eyes to the fascinating world of golf: how its traditions can be at the same time so different yet so similar. Kennemer was one of the most interesting stops of the year, without question.
A friend of ours introduced us to the club, and we??re very grateful that he did. Thijs de Greeff came across to play hockey for our club in Wellington, New Zealand last year ?? and given he was such a great guy we??ve kept in touch since. (Thijs got six caps for the Dutch national team, and is also known as ??Wonderkid?). The arrangements were made through the incredibly hospitable Pieter Aalders, whom is the father of a friend of Thijs??. Pieter met us at the club before our tee off and welcomed us warmly to Kennemer .
Both Michael and I were immediately struck by the originality of the clubhouse ?? we??ve seen nearly 300 this year but none like yours! Both the thatched roof and the historic ambience of the club lounge impressed us greatly. As did the delicious coffee and sandwiches we were treated to by Pieter! After a nice chat around the table the time eventually came to make our way to the first tee. It would be just myself, Michael and Thijs playing ?? unfortunately Pieter had other commitments.
We have been fortunate to play several Harry Colt courses this year (most recently, Sunningdale (New), last week), so knew we were in for a treat when Pieter explained Kennemar is one of his Dutch masterpieces (the best one, of course!). Apologies were offered about the condition of the course ?? evidently the greens had just been punched and dressed ?? but we weren??t bothered one bit, and enjoy the course very much anyway. Playing all this golf we are able to see past a course??s condition to the quality of its design, which in Kennemer??s case is very high.
Other than Thijs, we were fortunate to spot another Dutch celebrity, in the form of a famous racing driver (whose name I can neither pronounce nor spell). We also heard the racing track in the distance, but rarely heard the sound of a birdie putt dropping ?? Kennemer 1: Kiwis 0. And the wind was hardly blowing too. While walking onto the 18th green Ronald the caddiemaster approached us with a book in his hand. It was a collection of the top courses in Holland ?? one of which of course is Kennemar; a gift from Pieter. We were so embarassed at this kind gesture, as Mr. Aalder had already been so hospitable before play. Suffice to say it rounded off what had been a wonderful experience, among the most memorable of an action packed year.
From Michael and me ?? a sincere thank you to Pieter Aalder and you, the members of Kennemer , for making our first stop in The Netherlands such an enriching one. If anyone is coming down to New Zealand in the near future, please feel free to contact us if you??d like a game of Kiwi golf! (Our contact details are on our website, www.puregolf2010, through which you are also able to make a donation to our charity ?? The First Tee ?? if you so wish).
Heel veel dank, groeten
Kia Ora. Today I??m blogging about the Marquess course at Woburn Golf Club.
Today??s antics are only partly about golf as this was an international travel day. A rare commodity in our year of golf and so bear with me ?? this blog will be golf focused and a video of the smooth logistics that drive puregolf2010 is below.
We??ve also had some feedback about our length of blog and thus I??m going to keep it short. Any other feedback is welcome ?? please email us. Although, to you 8 readers out there in the wide world of the web, be prepared for a few changes around this website in the coming months as we near the end of our adventure?..
So to Woburn. A renowned golf club to the North of London, outside the M25 but yet very accessible for the 1000 million people that live in this metropolis (judging by the swarm of cars that clog up the M25 each day). The words that I want to write about the congestion in London are unprintable.
Enough with the negativity and more about the course that has Mr Poulter on its books and which used to be run by a recent character in the puregolf story, Mr Eddie Bullock. During Eddie??s tenure here the Marquess?? course was built to complement the two existing courses ?? the Dutchess?? and the Dukes??.
We didn??t get a chance to walk around the Dutchess?? or the Dukes?? but from all accounts they are a seriously tough test of golf and you??ve got to be very very very straight. A good thing we were playing the Marquess I thought to myself!
The Marquess course is a little more open yet every hole is tree lined. It is a parkland course in the style of many we experienced in the US where the trees frame the holes but each hole is still designed around specific hazards, be they bunkers, undulations or ??feature trees??. In the words of a learned friend of mine, there are wide playing corridors unlike some claustrophobic and basic designs through narrow tree lined fairways in New Zealand. Feature trees frame many holes here such as the par five 7th where you choose your line on a split fairway with trees overhanging from the centre. But before this I had encountered my first ??feature tree?? on the first long hole, the par five second where a huge pine guarded the green repelling any shot coming in from the left hand side of the fairway and collected my ball fading to the pin and spat it back into the trees. Bugger.
[the par 5 7th hole]
On the second hole we were joined by Glenna who had kindly arranged for us to play here. Glenda is actually the daughter of Sir Michael Bonallack who can still be seen around here every now and again. Glenna has been working here for many years and was understandably very proud of the course. In true English style she??d also brought her dog out for a walk, but this dog was still in training and was jumping around on the lead like a schizophrenic monkey on E. In a few months time however, the dog will be as well trained as Martin??s from Sunningdale yesterday.
The course, designed by Peter Allis, Alex Hay and Clive Clark actually reminded me of a Tom Fazio design, which is a big complement as he??s the guy many courses who want to be world class normally engage. It has some atmosphere as the hole roll up and over the land and weave through the pine trees. The course is really well conditioned ?? we??ve been playing some winter golf of late but Woburn was a great respite from this and we had firm lies and the greens rolled pure.
In this autumnal weather the deciduous trees had turned the backdrop to the closing holes into an impressive array of reds and oranges. A beautiful yet bruising close to the course as a few long par fours leave you coming home in a puff.
My energy levels were ok today after a great sleep at DC??s and I snuck in 5 birdies for only the third or fourth time this year. JP and Bart were more afflicted by DC??s hospitality and the excitement that was building around our whirlwind visit to the continent.
So after about 3 hours we shook hands on the 18th, loaded our clubs up in the Tank and thanked the team at Woburn for having us. A great morning of golf and phase one of a very long day completed?
A club by the name of West Sussex has continued to appear on our radar in recent weeks. Until lately I??d never heard of it, I must confess. But there has been encouragement from various sources to play it, and eventually we caved in. I??m glad we did.
West Sussex is one of the few places in England (three, I think) ?? indeed the world ?? where only 2 balls may be played around the course in any given group. Either four golfers play foursomes, two play their own ball, or three play a ??Sunningdale foursome?. Rye and a club in Hertfordshire adhere to the same code, I??m told. The policy makes for rapid rounds of golf ?? sadly an ever dwindling phenomenon. Speaking to the pro afterwards we heard about how London-based members that used to hold two memberships (one in The City; one at WS) have given away their City club, because it??s quicker for them to drive 80 minutes south to West Sussex and nip ??round 18 than it is for them to drive 20 minutes and play Urban Jungle Golf. I hear echoes in the background of ??we could do with a West Sussex ??round ??ere too?.... Here here.
Happily the course is a very good one. Walton Heath meets Royal Melbourne meets Glasgow Gailes. (I know such crossings generally involve two parents, but I??m going to bend The Rools on this occasion to make my point. And because it??s my prerogative). Short; at times mild; traditional; aesthetically a feast fit for Louis XVI; and a million miles away from that big grey city up the road. Friendly folks too. Everyone we met was charming and genuinely interested in why we??d...well, you can guess...
Goldy and I played while Bart offered constructive words of abuse. And some not so constructive ones. Example: ??you swing it like Furyk you spectacularly untalented hobbit.? I threw him in a bunker after that one ?? and a deep one at that. Down in the bright white sand he looked like a clump of recently shaved facial hair determined to stick to the sink floor despite a fervent assault of tap water. After a few holes I just shut him out and haven??t listened to a word he??s said in the intervening week since. As we were always told, ??if you don??t have anything nice to say, don??t say anything at all.? Which in Scotland is tantamount to ??keep y??er moi shut.?
Here??s a photo of Goldy laughing at the inevitability of his entrance into the forthcoming bunker. And, below, of me having spotted a giant black squirrel in a tree (note the new clothes ?? a fresh shipment of goodies had just arrived from the good people at Ashworth that morning). Yet further below is a snap of Bart (looking especially Dutch) and Michael (shovelling pasta down his gullet lest he buck the trend and risk losing weight) on a bench by the 6th tee.
Matt at Cottesmore had built up the 6th to be ??the best par 3 you??ll ever play.? It wasn??t. It wasn??t bad, now, but it didn??t quite push my buttons. Below is a picture, so y??all can have a gander for yourselves. The 5th I found to be a much more enticing prospect. It too is pictured below.
Unusually we didn??t see many dogs being walked. Just old people walking their older friends. (The average member would be an octogenarian I suspect). Despite playing quickly though we managed to capture a few of the more bonnie views at West Sussex, which you can sample below should you have the inclination.
West Sussex it must be said has Atmosphere. An atmosphere of distilled relaxation. ??Tis not a championship course and not intended to be one. Just a delightful place for people who can??t hit the ball 300 yards (and those who can) to tickle it around. Yes, that??s what you do with your ball at West Sussex: you tickle it. Naturally it laughs back at you with the utmost gallus insolence. At least mine did.
If I may. Thanks go to one Tom McKenzie ?? a Dornoch raised golf course architect who plays golf at West Sussex when he??s not tinkering with other ones (e.g. Carnoustie, Lytham...) ?? for brokering this delightful visit. A quaint and enriching episode of puregolf2010, without doubt. Merci mon amis. And thanks of course, to West Sussex Golf Club for being such gracious hosts.
I find it hard to imagine that life could be any sweeter for an Englishman than to live and play his golf in Sunningdale.
The most affluent settlement I??ve seen since we left The Hamptons. By far. A club steeped with an atmosphere of, well, privilege. And two of the finest courses we??ve had the pleasure of playing this year. Sunningdale really is The Real McCoy; the most English of English clubs.
Our visit was graciously coordinated by a gentleman whom we met in the R&A Tent at The Open back in July. Marcus Ferguson Jones is a delightful gentleman, and happens to be a pretty sharp golfer in his own right. In fact he finished runner up in the Sunningdale Autumn Medal the day before our visit. When we met him up at St. Andrews, he had been up there trying to qualify as an amateur. Unfortunately Kingsbarns wasn??t kind (enough) to him, so he had to suffer the hardship of just watching the thing. Anyway, we met him over lunch ?? through a mutual friend ?? and before long he??d offered to tee up a game at his home club for us. Which happened to be Sunningdale. Lovely.
Actually Marcus teed up two games: on his counsel, we played both the New and Old. The New??s not that new, by the way. It was laid down by Harry Colt, who was the Secretary at Sunningdale after kicking off his career at Rye. The Old was the fine handiwork of one Willie Park Junior. I dare say there wouldn??t be another club in the world where the members can boast having both a Colt and a Park at their disposal. Apart from anything else, The Sunningdale Lot have 36 holes of dog walking paradise at their disposal too. We must??ve seen a dozen or so hounds of a dozen different flavours, out taking their masters for a stroll.
On this pristine Monday morning the ladies were playing a shotgun start invitational on the Old. Never in my life have I climbed out of the car to such a hubbub of pucker excitement. This was Their day. (Next door is the Sunningdale Ladies Golf Club; Sunningdale proper also has 77 lady members. This lot were from both clubs and beyond, I imagine). Each contestant was decked out to the nines in their Sunday (well, Monday) Best. And each spoke with a more Frightfully Frightfully brogue than the lady before her. No doubt they were all lovely human beings ?? every smile I shot off in the clubhouse was reciprocated ?? but I must admit the sense of occasion was almost unnerving.
Equally unnerving was the predicament I quickly found myself in. I??d arrived bursting at the seams and needing quickly to find a urinal. The pro gave me the code to the visitors?? locker room (upstairs, tucked away in the furthest corner from the stairwell), but it didn??t work. So I??m sprinting back down hill past paintings the size of a small house and into the pro shop, begging for the magic numbers. If y??er man doesn??t deliver second time around, I may be forced to dash into the bushes. Luckily he comes through and composure is restored.
Because there??s hardly another soul in the joint save for The Galvin Greene Brigade, there??s no hurry to tee off. I while away 15 minutes of Nirvana on the putting green ?? perhaps the most magnificent of the year. A brand new sleeve of Pro-v1s is popped to mark the occasion. One of our last sleeves, but there??s no questionning the decision; much as one may light up a Big Fat Cuban walking down the 18th of, say, Cypress or PV. Truly one of life??s pleasures. To one side is the grand old clubhouse; 15 yards away is the Old Oak (immortalised as the club??s infamous logo); at first base is #1 Old; between first and third and in the outfield are 35 holes of Golf Wonderland. The sun??s shining, the greens are rolling with absolute purity, and the odd putt is dropping. I could??ve left a happy man at this point.
Mike??s put together a video with shots of both courses, so I??ll let his iMovie wizardry do the talking on that front. Otherwise we??d all be here for days, wading through my lyrical wax. Suffice to say the morning round ?? a sharpish 3 hours playing around The New ?? was an enchanting experience. Between the heather, the pine, the bright morning sun, the perfect greens, the design, the atmosphere, the odd hound and, of course, the company, well...you get the picture.
Because Marcus couldn??t join us on the day, he organised for his father Martyn to accompany us around The Old. Martyn brought his pal Geoff along too. And Buckley, the most regal golden labrador in The Labrador Kingdom (likely that he??s of royal blood). Geoff??s a Heriots Old Boy, and spends 6 months of the year in Nu Zillin ?? so we had a fair bit in common from the get go. He??s also struggling with his putting at the moment, so we had more in common again... Our four had a pint in the members?? bar before play, whence we came across one Michael Lynagh who lives next door and who??d brought his father along for a game. The Lynagh Lads were in the group behind us, and played through at the 10th while we were ingesting possibly the most magnificent bangers and mustard ever consumed. And a gin and tonic (at Sunningdale, why not?). We spoke briefly at the time, but Goldy got a proper chance to speak with his childhood idol later on back in the bar. Tickled pink he was (Michael Goldstein, that is).
After nigh on every blow Buckley??s stick was hurtled off into the distance. Buckley would give chase and ?? with the prowess of a Golden Retriever ?? retrieve said stick, dropping it in front of Martyn. While one of us was over the ball, Buckley would lie down dead still, not so much as moving a lung until the shot was complete. He exhibited more discipline than a 14-year-old Chinese girl during exam week. On several tees Buckley would lead the advance party, darting forward onto the middle of the mown block; he knows when he gets ??a throw.? I forget which holes they were, but obviously he doesn??t.
puregolf2010 took on The Old Guard and (largely thanks to Geoff??s jetlag ?? he??d only landed 15 hours prior on the long haul from NZ) managed to come out on top. Of course we??d had the advantage of warming up in the morning. And being the gracious hosts that they were, Martyn and Geoff probably let us win too. In The Press ?? this time Geoff and I paired up ?? I ruined the makings of a happy friendship by missing a 4 footer for par on the last. My excuse being distraction a la Old Oak.
The afternoon was a rather surreal experience. Bart??s figure emerged from the trees on 17 (he??d just rejoined the tour after a 36 hour hiatus up the road in London); I??m glad he got a short glimpse into The Sunningdale Experience, because the purity of it all is difficult to capture. In the members?? bar we were summoned to have a ginger beer with a trio of gentlemen parked at the window seat. On the left was the most French Frenchman in Le Monde: beige blazer, open neck white shirt with collar turned up to the ceiling, brightly coloured handkerchief tucked with casual indifference into the breast pocket, round tortoise shell glasses and a mop of ruffled brown hair. Jacques, we will call him for now (I??ve lost his actual name). In the centre sat Nicholas Royds, who may well have seen Queen Victoria on the throne. (His surname sticks in the mind because his pals took us through some gag about how there??s haemerrhoids, steroids, and myriad other -roids, but only one Nicholas Royds). In his crisp green Pine Valley blazer Nicholas looked quite the picture. I suspect he??d be the sort of character that might frustrate one or two others, only in that he??s a member of both Sunningdale and PV but no longer plays golf! To the right was John, who belonged to the ??very old? Oxford & Cambridge Golf Society. An idiosyncratic threesome.
Happily we had the opportunity to thank the Secretary for his hospitality before leaving (he too was in the bar, entertaining a couple of guests). Nice guy. Then we took advantage of the best showers in Golf England (perhaps equal top with Goodwood) before leaving with heavy hearts. Sunningdale really is Another World, a world I could happily return to time and time again.
JP
Our daily golfing episode this fine late autumnal day was in ??down country?? well south of London in West Sussex at the Goodwood Estate. The Goodwood Estate has plenty going on as we learnt from one of the directors who arranged our golf here, Mr Eddie Bullock. More on Eddie shortly.
The Goodwood Estate is the home of the Duke of Richmond and the Earl of March who still pass their days in the huge manor that sits out across the fields from the clubhouse and is pictured below. The Duke still sits on the board overseeing the Estate, which is now a serious business with a significant turnover from a variety of assets such as the speedway, the racing track, rent from the Rolls Royce factory, from a serious food & beverage operation across a number of venues, and of course from the 36 holes of golf on the property.
The membership structure here is very progressive. In an attempt to connect with the younger and busier golfer, the membership fee for golf at Goodwood is very minimal and members then can purchase ??credits?? which they use up each time they wish to play golf. The amount of credits for a round varies depending on the popularity of playing on that day ?? there are ??peak?? times, ??popular?? times and ??peaceful?? times, each with cost a varying amount of credits.
Using a buggy is also part of the culture here and after seeing these classy numbers I can see why!! We resisted temptation to drive around the course but check out the carts pictured below. The buggys are modeled on an old form of transport that was used to get around the Estate. They??re so distinctive they pop up on all kinds of marketing about the Estate - a new point of differentiation!
Goodwood is also welcoming of the canine species as members! Upon arrival we saw a number of dog bowls in the foyer of the clubhouse and Eddie told us about how the dogs are actual members of the club with their membership levies going towards the local RSPCA. In true English style we saw a number of dogs walking around the course enjoying the course with their owners (obviously without the distraction of the annoying little white ball).
The clubhouse is very impressive too ?? a laid back affair where folk cruise around in casual dress, where phones are allowed and the casual atmosphere juxtaposes with the formal surroundings around. Walking around the Goodwood Estate made me think a little about the class culture that is very evident in England. It??s like you know your place in society & it seems like there is little optimism or ambition for change. I think this is a different attitude to the very egalitarian culture back home. And in NZ we simply don??t have properties like this nor Dukes or Earls inhabiting them. So, really, it is quite difficult to comprehend or understand the concept of serious ??old money?? that has been passed down through generations for hundreds and hundreds of years.
The buildings have been here for hundreds as years as well, and the clubhouse impressively glimpses through trees at you on the 18th green.
The course is a James Braid design that has been modernized over the years. Now the first 6 holes run through valleys where you often take aim at the huge grandstand in the backdrop. It was a tough walk as after putting out (often making a bogey) you have to walk back a fair way to the back tees and take aim again up the valleys, and into the breeze. It's a tough start, although we were given some respite due to the greens rolling a bit slower than usual and not being anywhere as tricky as I'd imagine them to be.
The course then climbs onto the hills with traditional doglegs and there are some impressive moments. The views out across the down country and towards the Chichester cathedral in the backdrop are awesome. And the redan style bunkering on the par five 11th, and then the short par three 12th (pictured below) were all class. The course then winds its way back towards the clubhouse, crossing underneath the road for a particularly strong finish through the trees.
As I said Goodwood is a progressive club, with a chilled out atmosphere that contrasts with it's rich history. Part of this may be down to the impressive man who is Eddie Bullock. In our 30 minutes or so with Eddie we not only learnt plenty about the Estate, but also of his history. Eddie is a golf professional but it sounds like he's had a successful career in golf club management, including quite some time at Woburn. Now he's involved in a few projects as a consultant helping a few courses, some to navigate through the tough and extremely competitive times in the golf industry. Next year Eddie is taking up the Captaincy of the British PGA and no doubt we'll be seeing him on TV once or twice handing over a trophy here or there. Bottom line is Eddie was a real gentleman and it looks like he and his colleagues at Goodwood are doing great things. Thanks to everyone for having us and making us feel incredibly welcome.
Chisholm Park
12 holes bart cape kidnappers christchurch christmas doak ed bayley hawke's bay heretaunga jane poole napier golf club new zealand puregolf2010 rangiora rarangi gc royal royal wellington the first tee the interislander waiohiki
