THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO. LTD 39 PATERNOSTER HOW, LONDON, E.C4 6 OLD COURT HOUSE STREET, CALCUTTA 53 NICOL BOAD, BOMBAY 167 MOUNT ROAD, MADRAS

LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO. SS FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK 2ZI EAST 2OTH STREET, CHICAGO TREMONT TEMPLE, BOSTON 138-133 UNIVERSITY AVENUE, TORONTO

THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF

By H. N. WETHERED ftf T. SIMPSON

WITH A PREFACE BY J. C. SQUIRE

ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHORS

LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO. LONDON 1 NEW YORK < TORONTO 1929 Printed in Great Britain at The Westminster Press London, W.9 Authors' Preface truth about golf courses has a slightly different expression for every golfer. Which of them, one I might ask, is without the most definite convictions concerning the merits or deficiencies of the links he plays over? Freedom of criticism is one of the last privileges he is likely to forgo. This serves at least to prove that the subject is one of peren- nial and surprising interest; and we have tried to look at this architectural side of golf from several different standpoints. There is, for example, the traditional—what might be termed the classical view: and being ourselves catholic in feeling on the matter, we notice with regret the extent to which modern design tends to depart from the original Scottish models—a practice that may have injurious results on the intention and spirit of the game. Then, again, a golf course is a field of manoeuvre and action, employing, as it were, the military and engineering side of the game. It opens up a series of tactical and strategical oppor- tunities, the implications of which it would be well for every golfer to grasp, whether he happens to approve or disapprove of the conclusions we have ventured to put forward. It is important to emphasise the necessity for the golfer to use his head as much as his hands; or, in other words, to make his mental agility match his physical ability. Thirdly, there is the artistic side. No reason exists why a golf course should not decorate a landscape rather than dis- figure it. As in any other work of art, the strictest economy of means should be properly used; over-elaboration is destructive of unity. Vitality is another quality that is essential. Instinctively we feel that one course is alive, another dead and insipid, lacking energy of expression. We look for the unexpected note and a pleasantness of line. Every curve should have a spring in it, v b AUTHORS' PREFACE and no straight line should ever be quite straight. Generally the detection of these slight differences is purely a matter of feeling which once experienced is not likely to be forgotten. We have also dealt with the technique of design and con- struction. In that direction our labours have already met with some gratifying encouragement. A lady to whom the proofs were shown proceeded on the strength of the information they conveyed (of which she evidently fully approved) to remodel a private course of no very conspicuous merit by introducing some admirable dog-legged holes and a few other novelties that added considerably to the interest of the greens. No doubt her plans would have gone further still had they not involved the felling of valuable timber—a suggestion as to which was not welcomed with the same alacrity as the other improvements. But in spite of that serious difficulty the results were regarded favourably enough to justify the principles laid down in the practical chapters of the book and to relieve even a private course from its usual monotony. We are hopeful that improvements may be found possible on courses of even a larger scale. To the more serious essays a few of a more frivolous nature have been added, the majority of which fit reasonably into the architectural scheme without digressing too far into other realms of golf. And if in these we have been compelled to use the inevitable " we " more often than it would otherwise have occurred, it must be attributed to the necessities of a dual authorship, the difficulty being that if anything singular has to be said, it must unfortunately be said in the plural. H.N.W. T. S.

VI Dialogue by way of Preface [This is very near the conversation which led to the perpetration of this preface^ w. Why not do a preface to our book? MYSELF It's ridiculous: I am the World's Worst Golfer. Apart from which, I never play the game. T.s. That may be the explanation. MYSELF On the contrary, the more I played it, the worse I should get. W. Everybody feels like that: what about this preface? T.s. There's no reason why you shouldn't apply your brains to golf architecture simply because you can't play the game. MYSELF Oh, certainly not! The best critics of painting couldn't paint a haystack, and a man with no arms and legs might easily be a magnificent judge of cricket. W. Why not do this preface, then? MYSELF Well, really, I'm shy about it. T.s. Why? MYSELF For two reasons, if you want to know. In the first place, there are people who may see this book who have played golf with me. How on earth can they take me seriously? It's quite obvious that my name must be absolutely ruinous to your book. w. We've dealt with that already. If you are all that you say you are, you cannot play golf at all. What has that to do with the design of courses ? They all know you are intelligent. What does your manual skill matter? We're talking about the design of golf- courses and the history of the game. This has nothing to do with your inability to swing properly or make a long carry. Do this preface! vii DIALOGUE BY WAY OF PREFACE MYSELF But you haven't listened to the other reason. I am a professional man of letters. T.s. Well, what of it? MYSELF You don't appear to realise the situation. I have already written on poetry, prose, the drama, the novel, the essay, history, biography, civilisation, theology, the Fourth Dimension, India, Russia, the Chartists and birds. There must come a point, you know. Versatility is very much out of fashion: in this regard I cannot even pretend to be versatile: my ignorance of golf is beyond your belief. T.s. You know what an eighteen-hole course is, don't you? MYSELF Yes, roughly. T.s. You have played over a number? MYSELF Yes, and if you really want to know, three weeks ago I was playing in. a foursome at that place near Phila- delphia—Pine Valley. W. Is it as bad as they say ? MYSELF I don't know what they say, but it is. When I came in, the intelligent and charming negro bar-tender asked me how many balls I had lost. I said six. He said that I'd got off more cheaply than some.

Monologue by way of Preface WENT there with a foursome best ball. My partner and old friend is not a Tiger, but a hybrid with something of I the Tiger in him: that is, on bad days he goes round in the middle eighties and on good days in the middle seventies. At Pine Valley, on this occasion, which was a bad day for him, he was round in 130. If, after this, you go on pressing me, you may do so; after all, in spite of much good advice, I myself go on pressing. MONOLOGUE BY WAY OF PREFACE There are ever so many redeeming features at Pine Valley, which Americans know as Old Man Par's Home Course. Only one man has ever gone round it in par figures, and it may be long before his achievement is equalled. It was con- structed, a few years before the war, by the late Mr. Crump, a wealthy amateur, who died shortly after his work was com- pleted. His object was to make, regardless of expense, what he considered a perfect golf-course. He called in Mr. H. S. Colt, of Sunningdale; all the finest holes in the world were studied, and some copied; the most diabolical use was made of the natural features, hills, woods, and lakes, of the terrain; and no expense was spared. It was enjoyable to contemplate the fruits of such intelligence, industry and expenditure. It was enjoyable, also, to contemplate the scenery. There cannot be a lovelier golf-course in the world. Mr. Crump took a tract of hilly forest, interspersed with blue lakes, haunted (at any rate now) by swans and wild duck. He cut trees and grubbed roots with such cunning that almost every fairway runs through an avenue, wide or narrow, of woods. In a general way, from any tee one can see nothing of the course except the previous green; the rest of the view consisting entirely of trees—which, when I was there, were almost violently vivid in their spring leafage. It was pleasant, outside the club-house, to see a tall pole with a bird-cote on it, in and out of which the purple martins slipped and flitted, beautiful birds like our own, but with the odd American difference which seems to mark every- thing over there which is akin to anything here. It was delight- ful, at the first lake hole, to stand on a bosky height with a wooded slope below one, then a wide sapphire water, then a steep hill, up which one was invited to drive. Prospect after prospect, aquatic or mountainous, was admirable: they cul- minated in that late hole when one stood at a great height and was invited to drop a stopped shot of about two hundred yards on a small green, surrounded by lake, like " sweet Catullus' all-but-island." The grackles and robins (slim birds both, ix MONOLOGUE BY WAY OF PREFACE like our starlings) were everywhere; something had been learnt when one had been informed that the chickadee is a kind oi tit, and that the pair of large, ominous, carrion-seeking crea- tures which vanned round and round overhead were Turkey buzzards. But the Golf . . .! I was thinking all the time of the conversations I had had with the authors of this book— and with a certain Tiger who shall not be named. I believe that Mr. Tolley returned an 87 on this course, and that other men, equally famous, have deemed it better to make no return at all. What might, ideally, be done is attested by a best-hole card, bearing the name of a Mr. Hamilton, which hangs up on the club notice-board: if Mr. Hamilton could do every time the best he has ever done at each hole, he would be able to give the Venerable Par about a stroke and a half a hole. What is more normally done by good players is better reflected by Mr. Bernard Darwin's record. He delighted him- self, and gave the Elderly Par a jolt, by doing the first seven holes in fours: he then crashed so badly at the short eighth (where the green is a piece of land entirely surrounded by bunkers) that he gave up, and relieved his feelings in a memor- able sentence. " It is all very well," he remarked, " to punish a bad stroke, but the right of eternal punishment should be reserved for a higher tribunal than a Green Committee." That course, in fact (to use our authors' term), is Penal in the highest degree. Almost every carry is a long one; in several places a not-too-bad drive lands one in deep water; in most of the others anything but a perfect drive means a sojourn in a bunker; the bunkers are vast (one of them, which covers the whole fairway laterally, must be sixty yards long), and there is never an easy way round involving a stroke sacrifice. It is not only a Tiger's course, but it is a course which even the Tiger can only cope with when he is at the top of his form. As a Museum Piece it is magnificent. There is no reason in the world why there should not be one or two such courses in a Continent: courses where scorpions are substituted for whips MONOLOGUE BY WAY OF PREFACE and the Rabbits are flayed alive. But if such things were general, the Rabbits would give up golf: and one tendency visible to-day is a tendency to ignore the Rabbits, either deliberately to ignore them or merely to forget them. The Rabbits pay for the upkeep of most of the world's courses; but they do not design the holes. Theirs not to reason why a particular bunker has been scooped out of the grass: theirs merely to get into it—and to finance their own undoing. This has been borne in mind by the authors of this book. As I see it, Mr. Simpson (than whose no finer intelligence has been applied to Golf Architecture) surveys his acreage of land, and says to himself, " How can I lay out a course of eighteen holes with these desiderata in view: that (i) every hole shall be interesting; (2) the maximum of variety shall be provided; (3) the natural beauty of the country shall be im- paired as little as possible; (4) a premium shall be put upon good golf, and (5) the course shall be equally interesting and amusing to the first-rate and the second-rate golfer, each on his own respective plane ? Surely these aims must be approved by every person of intelligence who applies his mind to the subject! Yet how often does one find that one or more of them has been completely ignored! There will be hole after hole similar to each other. There will be a stretch of holes which ask for a mere series of straight plugs along the fairway, with fortuitous bunkers scattered about without rhyme or reason, and sometimes without any warning of their existence, and sometimes so absurdly placed that nobody ever goes into them, or even has his course governed by them—mere extra penalties for extravagant mis-hits that chance to find them. There will be bunkers wantonly large and staring, great gouges out of the earth's bosom, whose purpose would equally well have been served by some of Mr. Simpson's lace-edged traps which might have been constructed by some happy co-opera- tion of winds, waters and rodents. How often are holes so constructed that a mere fluke is apt to determine the event: xi MONOLOGUE BY WAY OF PREFACE often, to take but one instance, you will come across a small, uneven slope at a distance, which will result in one perfect shot bumping on, and another, a yard to the left or right, bumping back into perdition. And how very general it is to find hazards constructed to tax the best powers of long drivers, but either irrelevant to the conduct of mediocre drivers or else liable to get them into a monotony of trouble. Mr. Simp- son advocates the Strategic as against the Penal Hazard, and he maintains, as a general rule, the doctrine of the Alternative Route. It is not my business to summarise this book. It covers a very wide range, from the ordering of Putting Greens (an admirable section) to Golfing Psychology, from Golf Archi- tecture to the Evolution of the Ball. " An impending sense of misfortune will almost certainly be reflected in the action of the club." Don't we know it! Mr. Simpson's arguments about design (like those of most theorists) are sometimes a shade too rigid and austere for me. I confess to a liking for an occasional bad hole, an occasional hole where I may fluke a birdie, and even for an occasional hole which is played straight uphill. There is one seaside hole in which I take immense pleasure: about 170 yards down hill, a gully leading straight to the green, and the hole in the middle of a large, steep cup. Anything for a change or a relief from strain.

INTERRUPTION T.s, But don't you see, I mean, if ... w. Well, you know, I rather agree with Squire. What do you say, Roger ? R. I prefer to leave these questions to my elders.

RESUMPTION If only all our juniors felt like that! Anyhow you're a Tiger, and one of the menaces to the rest of us. As I was saying, I xii MONOLOGUE BY WAY OF PREFACE yield to no one in my affection for dogs, but I don't see why I should spend a whole afternoon in the society of dog-legs.

INTERRUPTION T.s. You were expected to praise this book, not to destroy the reader's faith in it before he has even begun to read it. RESUMPTION Don't you see that I am indirectly and cunningly suggesting to the reader (if any) that the mere fact that you have allowed me to write in this very independent manner indicates that you must be very broad-minded and philosophical men, whose opinions on golf or any other subject must be well worth weighing ? That surely should be obvious even to the meanest intelligence. However, lest there should be any misappre- hension on the subject, I had better conclude by saying that I have read the book three times, and that I have been as amused by the historical and social chapters as I have been edified by the others. Will that do ?

CULMINATION W. Faute de mieux! J. C. SQUIRE

xm List of Illustrations Chiberta: H.N.W. Frontispiece

Origin of Golf: HJST.W. page 1 Head-piece to Chapter II: H.N.W. n Uprooting Trees: H.N.W. 28 Plate i. Plan of hole as it is: T.s. ) \ 3°-31 Plate 2. Plan of hole as it should be: T.s. \ Plate 3. The Penal School: T.s. ) Plate 4. A Strategic Hole: T.S. 3 Plate 5. A Fine Test for all: T.S. Plate 6. Original Plan: T.S. Plate 7. Liphook, No. 5: T.s. Plate 8. Original Plan: T.s. Plate 9. Waddesdon, No. 3: T.s. ' 3 Plate 10. Original Plan: T.s. Plate 11. Waddesdon, No. 2: T.s. Plate 12. Original Plan: T.S. Putting Green in the Making: H.N.W. 37 Plate 13. Golf de Spa: T.s. 1 r 4°-41 Plate 14. Golf de Spa. Reversed: T.S. I Plate 15. Putting Course, Windlesham Moor: H.N.W. Plate 16. Floor Plan of a Green: T,s. Plate 17. Liphook, No. 2: T.S. Plate 18. Chiberta-Biarritz, No. 3: T.s. 42 Plate 19. Morfontaine: T.S. Plate 20. Chiberta-Biarritz, No. 4: T.S. Plate 21. Walton Heath, No. 6: T.S. Head-piece to Chapter V: H.N.W. 44 xv LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Plate 22. West Hill, No. 15 ] page Plate 23. Walton Heath, No. 17: T.S. Plate 24. Addington New Course, No. 8: T.S. 50 Plate 25. Worplesdon, No. 11: T.s. Plate 26. St. Andrews, No. 14: T.s. Plate 27. Liphook, No. 14: T.s. Plate 28. Sunningdale, No. 12: T.s. Plate 29. St. Andrews, No. 17: T.s. Plate 30. Chiberta-Biarritz, No. 12: T.s. } 52 Plate 31. Chantilly Blue Course, No. 15: T.S. Plate 32. Cruden Bay, No. 6: T.S. Plate 33. Chiberta-Biarritz, No. 18: T.s. Clearing the Fairway: H.N.W. 54 Plate 34. Skeleton Plan Golf de Lys-Chantilly: T.s. 56 Plate 35. Nine Hole Course before reconstruction: T.s.) Plate 35. Nine Hole Course after reconstruction: T.S. | Plate 37. Wrong way to carve Fairway out of Forest: T.S. Plate 38. Right way to carve Fairway out of Forest: T.S. Head-piece to Chapter VII: H.N.W. Plate 39. Liphook, No. 13: T.S. Plate 40. Original Plan: T.S. Plate 41. Original Plan: T.s. Plate 42. Original Plan: T.S. Plate 43. Original Plan: T.S. The following by H.N.W.: St. Andrews. Approaching the 18th 89 Tail-piece 99 Head-piece to Chapter IX 10° Tail-piece 109 xvi LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Head-piece to Chapter X page no Head-piece to Chapter XI 120 Tail-piece 126 Mullion 127 Tail-piece 134 Chiberta, 9th Hole 135 From Gullane Hill 147 Tail-piece 157 Head-piece to Chapter XV 158 Tail-piece 165 Head-piece to Chapter XVI 166 Head-piece to Chapter XVII 174 Cathedral, St. Andrews 182 Plate 44. Section of a Reversible Course: T.s. 196

xvii Contents Authors' Preface page v Preface by J. C. Squire vii List of Illustrations XV i. The Four Ages i II, Attack and Defence n

in.Fair Fairways 28 iv. Putting Greens 37 V. The Ideal Golf Course 44 vi. General Principles, Construction^and Upkeep 54 VII. Hazards 78 VIII. Going North 89 ix. The Philosopher and the Poet 100 x. Critics and Superstitions no xi. Two Hundred Years Ago 120 XII. Going South 127 XIII. A Game of Confidence 135 xiv. East Lothian 147 xv. Caddies We have Met 158 xvi. The Lost Chord 166 XVII. In an English Garden 174 XVIII. The Last Green 182 Appendix: I. The Reversible Course 193 II. Supplementary Notes on Green- keeping, by T. Simpson 200 Index 209

xix Origin of Golf The Four Ages associate an art of the dignity of Architecture with so humble a pursuit as golf may appear at the first glance a little incongruous. But in mitigation of the offence it may be said that the word " architect " can be used in a double sense. The architect, it is true, builds on or reconstructs in some fashion or other the material of the earth's surface; but he also has to do with planning. Shake- speare indeed uses the word in a rather sinister sense. An architect with him is a schemer convicted of insidious tricks and devices—an " accursed devil . . . the chief architect and plotter of these woes." "O! cursed be the hand that made these holes; Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it!" Here is an application that might be heartily endorsed by the i B THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF golfer whose luck on the links happens to be out at the moment. And, strictly speaking, there would be this justification in his way of thinking, that the golf architect is undoubtedly by the stern necessity of his calling bound to be a " plotter "—that is to say, he has to contrive schemes (occasionally marked by a mildly devilish ingenuity) in order to control and govern a game which has several remarkable peculiarities of its own. Indeed, golf compared with other games is in many ways —to use a hard-worn expression—unique. It is, for one thing, the most migratory game in the world. It sprang, if we are to trust the evidence at our disposal, from a foreign element; it was fostered in a northern climate, and it has since then been acclimatised the whole world over. As a game of landscape and the country it has been made to suit the most unlikely conditions, and in many cases no little skill has been needed to provide the opportunity of playing the game at all. The point, however, which we have to consider is that although golf architecture may be a curious and irregular form of architecture, it is architecture none the less. It has to do with building, planning and constructing in as true a sense as the most ambitious works of genius with which the art is usually associated. Cathedrals, bungalows, gardens and golf courses may appear to be conflicting examples of constructive ability, yet the principles governing them follow precisely on the same lines. They all of them involve the same processes, however much the processes may appear to differ. This association of architecture with golf has only come about within the last half-century, a period during which the popu- larity of the game has increased to an unprecedented degree. Development has been rapid in many directions, but the most striking development of all has been the demand which has arisen for more and more courses, a demand which has produced an entirely different situation from that which existed in earlier days. Courses, as laid out twenty years ago, would never satisfy our modern requirements, and—to go back further still—the THE FOUR AGES very few links that were in existence then were played over for the most part by a mere handful of local enthusiasts who did not, perhaps, take the game in quite as serious a spirit as is the present custom. At the present day courses have multiplied not only as the sand on the sea shore, but have stretched far away inland; and in becoming exceedingly complex instead of natural and simple they have been made, as not infrequently happens, the occasion for much theory, eliciting in some quarters a warmth and variety of discussion that go to prove how, quite apart from being things unlikely to command universal agreement, they may be things agreeable enough in themselves to quarrel over. However much, then, the game may have changed and is still changing, architecture is the expression of this change so far as the construction of the courses is concerned. It is possible to see how the art has advanced step by step, as new opportuni- ties have arisen, new materials have been brought into play and different social demands have called for more novel and elaborate environments to meet them. In this way an entirely new perception of what is either possible or desirable has gradually come into being. In order to explain these developments it is necessary to go back a little and regard the game retrospectively. We can detect four distinct periods of transition, all of them bearing more or less directly on the problem of design. If we are not in a position to realise precisely what has happened in the past we shall be unable to appreciate fully what the problems are at the moment; and before we can grasp the principles which have dictated the growth of the game we must look to the somewhat obscure and humble origins from which golf is said to have had its beginning. The periods in golf history suggest a somewhat curious re- semblance to the phases of human progress. The first of them we may call, not inappropriately, the Ice Age, if we are to accept as our main evidence—and there could not very well be a more THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF attractive form of evidence—derived from the seventeenth- century Dutch paintings which so often take as their subject the holiday making of the country folk on the ice, the favourite playground of the people of the Netherlands. There are authorities, however, who do not accept with the same readiness this view of a Dutch origin, being of the opinion that Scotland had a knowledge of golf and curling before the rest of the world had jumped to the possibilities of skill and amusement that lay on the ice. They are somewhat chary of accepting the conclusions derived from early Dutch tiles depicting in delicate blue outlines golfers in the various attitudes peculiar to the game, nor do they accept the evidence from other more elaborate decorations in Illumination, on the very plausible ground that Scotsmen did not indulge in the luxury of ornamental hearths nor were addicted to the illustra- tion of their missals with representations of profane amuse- ments. This may conceivably be the case; but one prefers on the whole to accept the Dutch evidence, if for no other reason, at least for its picturesqueness and simplicity. The paintings, on the other hand, are not as conclusive as they might be, because the differences which they show from the modern practice are considerable. One sees, for instance, in the corner of a scene by Esias de Velde a youth taking what is apparently a full swing with a golf club at a ball from a raised tee on the ice, aiming evidently at a mark on the wall some little distance away from him. This indicates a kind of marksmanship practised with a ball and a club entirely foreign to anything we know of the golf of to-day, although to what extent this method of play was the custom at the time we have few means of judging. In the centre of another picture, by Avercamp, we gain probably a truer idea and one more conformable to our modern methods of how the game was usually played. A gentleman is depicted in an unmistakable golfing attitude, addressing him- self with the greatest care to his ball on the slippery surface, THE FOUR AGES while a friend at approximately the length of a cricket pitch gives the impression of holding the flag. But the thing to be noted in the picture is that the " flag " is not, as with us, an indication of the position of the hole, but a post to be aimed at, much in the way that a player aims at a stick in the ground with a croquet mallet. This is an extremely important detail in which the old Dutch game differed from the modern. The nature of the putter does not seem to have altered materially; and it is evident, also, that the player enter- tained the same idea of tapping the ball along the surface of the ice with a club rather than of sweeping forward a stone with a smooth under-surface with the hand, which is the principle operating in the closely related game of curling. At this point the resemblance with our own putting game ceases, because in the picture the objective is an upright mark, a pole or stick either placed on, or fixed in, the ice; whereas in golf, properly speaking, the target is horizontal and only partially visible—a peculiarity common to very few games, amongst which billiards is perhaps the most conspicuous example. By the ingenuity of generations this Dutch game, which was regarded chiefly as a game for children, has been converted into a game of energy by the simple method of multiplying the number of targets and spreading them over a wider tract of country. This does not imply merely the eighteen, or fewer, greens of a course, but all the intermediate targets that are provided as well. From being merely a recreation, as played on the ice, too unathletic to satisfy the tastes of the more ardent spirits who look for something more forcible, golf has been changed into a game of effort, capable of exercising at certain moments, so we are credibly informed, every muscle in the body—not to mention the additional necessity of cover- ing on foot some four or five miles in the course of a round. Modern golf is thus little more than an extension of the principle of playing a ball towards a horizontal mark from a 5 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF comparatively short distance away. The extension is made by stepping beyond this inner circle and making an approach from a further distance. On the question of what the distance shall be or what shall be the nature of the approach depends the design of the course. It may require a single shot, or it may need two or more, to gain the immediate neighbourhood of the final target which is the green. By this simple development the interest of a golf course becomes vastly intensified and the situation gains fresh and unusual complexities. One reaches the green, as it were, by a series of stepping-stones which, even if they are not clearly defined, offer nevertheless the most convenient and safest means of approach—zones of play provided by the designer with the intention that if they are not treated with proper re- spect the offender will find himself at a disadvantage. If the idea of playing from one flat target to another is accepted as the main characteristic of the links it will explain many of the features of modern golf architecture that will demand our attention. We are, however, already anticipating the second period before the game was, as it were, fully fledged. This period might reasonably be called the Feather Age—when golf mi- grated from the ice to the barren wastes along the sea shores of Scotland. The ball, as everybody knows, was now composed of an envelope of leather, into which a mass of feathers, softened by boiling, was compressed as tightly as possible. It is curious to observe that the earliest invention was the prototype of the rubber-cored ball in having an elastic interior within an outer casing which could successfully resist hard usage. It may be more than a passing fancy that this, the second of the series of golf balls, was composed of a material which might be con- sidered the most appropriate for the newer purposes of flight. The other equally important question of how the links first came into being demands some kind of an answer. It is not unreasonable to believe that the putting green, the vital part of 6 THE FOUR AGES the course, would be improvised in very much the same way that caddies will improvise a putting course on any spare piece of ground near their headquarters in the commendable desire to improve their game in their leisure moments or otherwise amuse themselves. A hole would be cut roughly on the undulating ground and the sand taken from it would serve very well for teeing purposes supposing a tee were necessary for the next hole. The hole itself was not likely to be changed for a month or a year; so that as a result of constant practice the line to the hole became familiar to the more expert per- formers and the ball was frequently holed out in a way that would genuinely excite the beholder's admiration. Local knowledge counted for a great deal in the old days before enlightened green-keeping made the art a matter of greater certainty. We may take it, then, that until more recent years there were no greenkeepers except the sheep and rabbits, that the ground was never rolled except by the feet of the players, and that the fairways were mostly broad passages of natural turf, extended further and further on either side by constant traffic. The havoc caused by hacking away the gorse and bents just off the direct line to the hole would of itself help to clear the way. The greens were necessarily small, and on the uneven ground, as has been suggested, the angle from which the ball might be induced to trickle into the hole would be known to the initiated to a fraction of an inch. Deftness of touch rather than perfection of method would carry the ball over the ob- stacles in its path, and no responsible authorities could be conveniently blamed on the spur of the moment for any in- accuracies that might occur. The rub of the green was possibly then the rule rather than the exception. The essence of golf at this period was its simplicity. Bunkers were not artificially placed as the result of much intensive thought: to all intents and purposes they made themselves. If the ball fell into a difficult lie or reposed on a patch of blown THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF sand, the efforts to dislodge it would have the effect of widen- ing the breach. In course of time, as other similar misfortunes followed, a broad hazard of a purely natural formation would make its appearance, more cunningly planned probably by nature than in later days by any deliberate forethought on the part of the Green Committee. If the most famous of the St. Andrews bunkers could be traced back to their origin, it would probably be found that generations of players had, without realising it, assisted in constructing and outlining their con- tours. Only when these patches of rough ground became more and more eaten away, would the idea of converting them into permanent and definite hazards be seen to add a new and distinctive feature to the course. Such a method of producing a really great course would naturally require a century or so to bring it to its highest pitch of excellence. And it goes without saying that as the concep- tion of what was possible on a golf course grew, subtleties would be added from time to time to those that had already arisen by happy chance. But the original charm of golf, its simplicity and naturalness, cannot be too strongly emphasised; and this was in a great measure lost when the demand for fresh courses grew, since it then became necessary to imitate what in the first instance had come into being spontaneously. There could never in the case of a repetition be quite the same originality or, for the matter of that, the same variety, qualities which all the old courses possessed in a supreme measure. The third era in golf may (without any wish to be disrespect- iul) be described as the Stone Age—the period when the solid gutty superseded the feather ball and had the effect of length- ening the courses. The gutty was homogeneous, in that respect differing from its predecessor, and doubtless it struck golfers as unsympathetic at the time when it was first introduced— harder and heavier to strike but offering compensations in the important matter of distance. As compared with the modern ball, to anyone who witnessed the historic contest at Sandy

: . •' •.' •• .•••'•. •',' -• • • 8 . \ •- ' •'"'• "-/-""' THE FOUR AGES Lodge, when our leading professionals played in turn with gutty and rubber-cored, it was impossible to avoid the im- pression of the one side flogging for their seconds a piece of stone or lead with a wooden club—an art in which James Braid excelled himself—and the much happier side flicking a very resilient material with an iron. It might be mentioned, however, that in this event the real gutty was used, not an imitation in a different substance which has recently excited a good deal of enthusiasm. During the period of the gutty ball, which came into use in 1848, golf became a vastly more stabilised game. Champion- ships were instituted and the game rapidly gathered speed. The Open Championship was first played at Prestwick be- tween 18 60 and 1870 (and only a one-day affair at that) for a belt, which Young Tom Morris won three years in succession and kept as his property. The Amateur Championship followed at Hoylake in 1886; and some nineteen years later "golf architecture " was spoken of for the first time and recognised as belonging to the art of the game. In a sense it represented a revolt against a style of course-construction which was con- ventional, unimaginative and untrue to tradition, character- ised by a fondness for gun-platform greens, monotonous cross-bunkering and inartistic schemes of hazards—a kind of design for which the brothers Dunn of Musselburgh and Old Tom Morris of St. Andrews were mainly responsible. To come to the last period of all, we may be said to be living in the Golden Age, an age presenting a very different state of affairs from what was regarded as adequate at a much earlier date. Insignificant shanties have been supplanted by palatial club-houses; fairways are expected to be of such a quality that' our forefathers would have envied them for greens; bunkers must be kept spotless and carefully raked, and the worms are doomed. These are all refinements that have now become the most commonplace necessities of life. Standards of play, too, have altered, chiefly under American influences, just as cos- 9 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF tume has struck a more distinctive note. Professionals of the game who in the old photographs are seen wearing peaked caps and black clothes, which gave them rather the appearance of re- tired engine-drivers, are now brightly and attractively arrayed in the height of fashion. Even our once drab umbrellas have come out in their true colours. The ladies, too, whose energies at one time were confined within the narrow limits of their own diminutive courses and sternly discouraged on the men's, are now quite capable of going round championship courses in sound figures. The Press have given the game an ever- increasing publicity. And lastly, the greater resilience of the modern ball has contributed enormously in the matter of en- joyment and popularity, because people now play golf with the same luxurious satisfaction which they experience in riding on pneumatic after the discomfort of solid tyres.

10 II Attack and Defence OLF can claim without exception to be the most flexible game in the world, almost as flexible and self- Gadapting as the British Constitution; and this fact is due to the not least flexible of its features—the ground on which it is played. It differs from the majority of games in not having the ground mapped out with a precise regularity. There are no lines or circles to denote areas of play; nothing, in fact, but a starting point and a final goal. The widest liberty of action is allowed between these points with facility for every kind of manoeuvre. The wide thoroughfare that runs between, if it has any boundaries at all, gives an adequately liberal margin for error. Only at rare intervals, in the event of an egregious error, are you compelled to " play another"; whereas in the majority of games the ball is out of bounds for a good proportion of the time and play is automatically interrupted when this occurs. A round of golf is broken as a rule.at only eighteen distinct intervals. Nor must it be forgotten that the laws, too, have a flexibility peculiarly their own, considering the occasions they give for a variety of interpretation. There are certain legal authorities who express a wish to see them re-coded under greater com- pression, but that desire need scarcely be regarded seriously, II THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF since they can as a general rule be just as conveniently inter- preted in the spirit of the player as in the letter of the clause. It is indeed surprising how the vaguenesses that exist on points of legality can be remedied by the inspiration of the moment. But our main interest is concerned with the flexibility of the course—one of the main factors of the charm of the game. The course is never rigid; it is in a state of movement almost from year to year. The distances, the arrangement of the holes, the peculiar nature of the design, the improvement or other- wise of the surface are all continually changing—so much so that a hole that existed some years previously may have entirely changed its character or disappeared altogether. There is no reason why any particular hole should not have been converted from the shortest on the course to one of the longest. Nothing of necessity is ever fixed or permanent. Is not this the.essence of the freedom of architecture that there is no finality ? No other game in the world has an archi- tecture of a similar nature to boast of. A golf course, like a building, must have character and individuality because no one would be content with a mere reproduction. It is the same problem which confronts the architect of a house when he lays out the accessories and is continually adding new features as they suggest themselves. The plan very rarely is completed to accord exactly with the original intention. Walls, roofs, pillars, doors, windows, lawns and gardens are all of them elements capable of alteration in the same way that greens, fairways, hazards and the like admit of rearrangement. The difference is that golf has to do with a form of miniature and open war- fare and is on that account subject to an underlying condition of strategy and tactics. The game is something of a triangular contest conducted between one player and another, with! the course itself as a third party to be reckoned with as an antagonist, the last of these being the very interesting com- batant with whom the architect is primarily concerned. In this sense it is a form of attack and counter attack, because an 12 ATTACK AND DEFENCE increased pressure on the part of the player exerts uncon- sciously a corresponding resistance on the part of designer. Regarded in a more matter-of-fact way this kind of contest is well illustrated by the " card and pencil " method of play in which the player is engaged in a hand-to-hand tussle with the course, in the popular imagination associated with that de- ceptively benevolent but often unpleasantly exacting opponent " Old Man Par." As a great American exponent of the game has tersely expressed it in a memorable phrase—" Old Man Par, the imperturbable economist! Make a friend of him and a constant foe of him, and the boys won't be so rough on you." The nature of this silent and mobile conflict depends on the peculiar advantages that golf possesses in regard to its territory. A cricket pitch, a tennis-court or a billiard-table are all rigid, cut and dried, symmetrically laid out to the last inch, capable only of the refinements of workmanship. One may possibly be a shade better than another in point of surface, but that is the most that can be said. You are, in a sense, as regards the majority of games, wearing a shirt cut to the same pattern "with a slightly stiffer or softer front. But in golf the kind of shirt you wear admits of a far wider choice; it may be of almost any pattern, material, colour or design. A golf course, in fact, can be made to adapt itself to almost any conditions. It is not fettered by restrictions beyond those that allow the greatest latitude of play, and it is due to this capacity for unlimited reconstruction that the various tactical opportunities arise. The player himself is probably the last person to be fully alive to this variety of movement or to see any actual necessity for it. It may never have entered his head to enquire why the defence at any time needs to be strengthened, simply because he himself belongs to the attacking forces and is concerned with the problems immediately confronting him without taking into account the means that are necessary to keep him in check. AH he feels he has to do is to cover the course in a 13 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF minimum of strokes—to beat his opponent or to break the record if he can. So long as he can satisfy himself on this score he cares little about questions of tactical devices. The architect's intention, however, is exactly the reverse. He means to frustrate this insatiable ambition of diminishing records by every means in his power; figures at all costs must be kept from appearing ridiculous. Under no circumstances can a course of reputation permit of scores in the neighbour- hood of the sixties without incurring serious opposition. An average of fours may be taken roughly as the correct par value; and to keep it within that figure may mean that the defence is often hard put to it to check the encroaching tide. What, then, is the nature of this" attack," as it may be termed, that needs a frequent readjustment of the defence ? It may for the sake of convenience be summarised under three headings. The first—the one that is considered the most serious of all— is the alarming increase of distance obtained by the modern ball. The holes were very considerably shortened when the gutty came into fashion (perhaps to the extent of 20 per cent), and something like a similar advantage has been gained over the gutty by the later patterns. This has meant that two distinct periods of reconstruction have intervened within a compara- tively short period. To what extent the present type of ball has reached its limit is a point of dispute that has exercised many minds. Limits generally have a way of becoming fixed automatically after a fairly lengthy period of intensive experiment, but in all probability there is still room for an additional length quite sufficient to upset present calculations. Against this is the reflection that a ball that can carry half a mile will almost to a certainty be grotesquely inefficient over the shorter distances, as well as constituting a menace to the public safety which would be intolerable. A number of specifics in the matter of ball restriction have been put forward, each of them unfor- tunately seeming to leave loopholes for the enterprising manu- 14 ATTACK AND DEFENCE facturer. The main point to consider is that at the present time we possess a ball which is agreeable to play with but is perhaps just beyond the limits we would desire. For the majority of courses the present ball undoubtedly does go too far and it may be necessary to go back a step in order to bring about an adjustment. A simple method of countering the ingenuity of the golf-ball manufacturer (without involving clubs in costly reconstruction or altering the existing hazards) is to restrict the area of the putting surface. This can be effected in one of two ways: either by slightly altering the orientation of the green by the discreet use of the mowing machine; or, more simply, by reducing the superficial area by leaving a portion of the green uncut as semi-rough. In other words, the size of the putting surface is restricted by indicating to the green- keeper such portions as are not to be mown in future, or the shape (i.e. the orientation) can be altered by the same method so as to make it impossible to arrive and remain on the green unless the tee shot is placed on one side or other of the fairway. Liphook, to take one example of such restriction, although in itself comparatively a short course, will defeat for all time any improvement in the ball by the difficulty of the approach. In addition to the question of distance there is a second menace in the high pitch of mechanical skill gained in making the playing of shots monotonously accurate. The American standard has risen to its present high level by the ability to reduce shots, when the distance is known with any accuracy, to as near the perfection of mechanical skill as can be humanly expected. Intensive practice and the principle of leaving nothing to chance has brought about a proficiency which can only be met by increasing the difficulties in some subtle manner or other so as to baffle the aggressive expert and at the same time remove, so far as courses are concerned, whatever is calculated to assist this type of play—not, it may be said, by employing vindictive measures, but by preventing the game as far as 15 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF possible from becoming victimised by an excessive mechanical precision. In this connection a point should be mentioned which is often overlooked, that perhaps an even greater revolution than the advent of the rubber-cored ball in 1903 took place with the introduction of the small heavy type of ball in 1909, when the "Baby Kite," the "Midget Dimple" and the "Heavy Colonel " came into use. Actually the character of the play itself with the gutty and the early rubber-cored difFered very little, apart from the distance the balls carried; with either of these it was possible to play the fascinating low-rising shot which soared towards the finish and dropped with very little run left on the ball. This shot practically disappeared as soon as the small heavy ball came into general use. Instead of it a new and more standardised shot became possible with a fuller swing with iron clubs of every variety of loft. This is a factor that has helped to conventionalise stroke production. Instead of the variety of stroke which used to prevail, there has been a tendency towards a monotonous repetition of one shot with clubs (as many as five spade mashies are frequently carried) which might reasonably be called " range-finders." The third kind of attack that has to be met is the power of recovery, of escaping the consequences of error which the course is expected to exact. Recovery depends naturally to a great extent on powers of physique; but, apart from that con- sideration, courses are kept, if anything, in too perfect a con- dition, and modern inventions and experience have certainly put within the reach of the player many distinct advantages. There is a very marked characteristic of the modern rubber- cored ball that it has infinitely greater advantages over the old gutty in that its elasticity enables it to spring quickly off the club out of the rough or from indifferent lies in a manner that was never possible with the more sluggish habits of the older ball. As a counterbalance to these tendencies the multiplication of hazards is only a poor and clumsy reply so far as the evildoer 16 ATTACK AND DEFENCE is concerned. Other means than this can be adopted with possibly even greater effect. But before we consider what the means at the architect's disposal are, it is well to take a broad view of the problem raised by the different degrees of players whose pleasure and skill have to be considered by him as a matter of the first importance. The elasticity of a golf course has this peculiar virtue, that it enables players of unequal merit to meet and enjoy a game in a way that is impossible in other pastimes where the conditions allow of little, if any, laxity. One cannot, for example, picture an indifferent lawn tennis player opposed to the murderous assault of an expert in a single as anything less than farcical, simply because the court makes no concessions to weakness; and there is the additional fact that one ball being shared by both parties makes the game unmerciful. But on a golf course a certain degree of liberty is allowed to everyone; the lion and the lamb can lie down together without too great anguish of spirit for the reason that each can pursue a slightly different course of his own and each will have at his disposal an in- dependent line of action laid out for him. In golf, however, lions and lambs are not discussed. If it becomes a matter of necessity that any inferior member of the animal kingdom has to be devoured it is the Rabbit who suffers from the aggression of the Tiger. For some mysterious reason the terminology of the menagerie has been definitely adopted in the language of golf. There are others, it is true, who must be included in addition to these extremists; and the task con- fronting the architect is to provide a scene of action that adapts itself to the play of each player impartially. It will be necessary briefly to consider how all the different classes of players are affected and to what extent their claims must inevitably influence the architect. In the first place he may be forgiven if he experiences a touch of resentment, as anyone in his position is entitled to 17 c THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF feel, when the very plan and purpose of a hole is dislocated. Terrible things are done with a drive and a mashie-niblick nowadays that were never contemplated in previous years. The mashie-niblick when employed in the manner to which we have become accustomed can put everything out of gear. It is the bite noire of the architect and enables its user to ride roughshod in a ruthless fashion over his pet schemes and prove them not nearly as conclusive as he would wish. An excessive drive frequently carries over all the obstacles put in the way of the ordinary performer from the tee—in some cases over those placed to catch second shots. Provided there is plenty of room on the green itself the mashie-niblick can be counted on at an average length hole, after a stupendous drive, to do the rest. The whole scheme of a hole, as originally designed, is thus treated with contempt, and the architect's pride naturally suffers acutely. Two longs and a short are converted into an ultra-long and a very short syllable, with the result that the hole fails to scan. Hazards created for the rational player might as well never have existed, and instead of the approaching with brassies and spoons which prevailed in the gutty days—a fine art in every way to be commended—long driving assisted by iron play equally accurate at any range, so long as the distance is easily ascertained and the target is large enough, rarely necessitates the taking of a wooden club out of the bag on more than one or two occasions through the green on a championship course. Something evidently must be done. The question is, what expedients can be adopted ? Any solution, one supposes, must be " fair." But the diffi- culty in this matter is that every class of player has an indi- vidual method of defining " fairness." What is " fair " for the one is regarded as the grossest injustice by the other. It falls to the lot, therefore, of the architect—in this case not always the happiest—to weigh the claims made on him as an impartial arbiter and to decide the issue according to the best of his judgment. He will not allow, if he can help it, the unduly ATTACK AND DEFENCE powerful to terrorise the rest of the field with impunity, nor will he permit the weakest to go to the wall without a protest. In this laudable endeavour he is actuated by the best and most disinterested motives. His object is to encourage enthusiasm, mental agility and happiness in the hearts of all good golfers whether they be merely magnificent, passably good or totally indifferent. At the same time he must punish wilful extrava- gance and ensure that the virtuous are rewarded. His chief stumbling-block, as we have seen, is the Tiger. The title is a little unfairly used perhaps (while we are talking of fairness) because it bestows on the most strenuous class of players all the baser qualities which we associate with this noble but uncompromising animal, without giving him always the full credit he deserves. There are undoubtedly Super Tigers who are entirely above criticism; but, taking the Tiger in a general sense, the objection raised against him is that with the connivance of the golf-ball manufacturer he has played havoc with the courses; the difficulties put in the way of aver- age beings are of little avail. The architect must, therefore, match his wits against him by trying to entice the enemy into the most inconvenient areas or in other directions where he hopes the evildoer will succeed in cutting his own throat if he insists upon suicide. He feels justified—to change the meta- phor—in adopting every means in his power (within reason) to twist the Tiger's tail; and often, to do him full justice, he is eminently successful in committing the impertinence. Before passing to the weak and unskilled Rabbit, there are others of intermediate ability who deserve to be mentioned. One class of player at least can be visualised as a model of all the good golfing virtues. He is the man who is accurate without being spectacular and rarely oversteps the mark. To describe him as strictly " gentlemanly " is to convey something of the idea which distinguishes him from his wilder brother who so frequently behaves as no gentleman should. The interests of this well-conducted player lie very close to the architect's 19 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF heart for the reason that he suffers from outrages which were never contemplated and which only make the game unbearable for those of a kindlier and gentler disposition. Something must be done to save his nerves from being shattered or his confi- dence utterly shaken. And this charitable action can only be accomplished by weakening in his turn the confidence of the Tiger, if this be possible, and getting him occasionally rattled. At the same time the fullest opportunity should not be with- held to give him a chance of excelling himself if he should feel in the vein. We are acquainted, too, with a type of golfer whose mental ] agility resembles that of the Fox—always a good match player and seen as a rule to his greatest advantage in the foursome. There he is peculiarly shrewd in gaining holes in the mini- mum figures if he has a partner who will listen to his counsel and obey without demur. He is an adept at playing short when the occasion warrants it; he pays no attention to the pyro- technics on the other side; he pursues his way in the manner his opponents are least likely to expect. His plan of action may be summed up in the proverb ilfaut reculer pour mieux sauter. Subtlety with him is a greater power than force. Above all, there is tenacity of purpose— The fox was strong, he was full of running, He could run for an hour and then be cunning. Enough perhaps has been said to show that the links should not be regarded exclusively, as they so frequently are, from the point of view of what the superlative players can do on them. The danger is to judge the game by them and by them alone, and so ignore other equally important considerations. Perhaps the blame for this generally accepted but one-sided view that courses should be made entirely for championship players is that so much stress is laid on the more theatrical events of competitive golf. Mediocrity for many obvious reasons attracts less attention than it possibly deserves. This may be inevitable, zo ATTACK AND DEFENCE because when we see Mr. Bobby Jones excelling himself at Sunningdale our eyes are dazzled to the extinction of the lesser luminaries. The architect's duty, on the other hand, is to resist being dazzled in this manner. He has to remember that the " cracks " represent not more than one per cent of the golfing community —a great minority, no doubt, but not one that should be allowed to dominate the situation. The ninety-and-nine use the course equally as much, if not more, and it is due to them that their pleasure and necessities should on no account be interfered with. Very likely half of them belong to the most inefficient type of player; but that fact should not be allowed to alter the situation. The presence of the indifferent player on the links has not only a humane but an important financial bearing which it would be a folly as well as an injustice to ignore. It is they, if one may venture the expression, who supply most of the sinews of golf. Construct a course simply to cater for the giant and the chances are that it will be made ridiculous and disconcerting to the pigmy, who may even be driven to give up the game in despair. That is to say, the architect has to satisfy every class of golfer if he is to fulfil his purpose as he should. He has to face the problem of keeping within bounds the man who does unpardonable things, reward handsomely the meritorious player whose tactics are conducted on highly respectable lines, and he must, quite rightly, make his course agreeable to the inefficient. This will mean that he pays some consideration to the comfort of the more elderly members who dislike excessive length and are impatient if more difficulties are put in their way than seem strictly warranted. Altogether it is a pretty problem to solve and one not devoid of interest to those who appreciate the points of tactics and strategy. How, then, can the attack of the heavy artillery be met? How is the question of distance to be adjusted ? The very long player from the tee runs the greater risks of finding trouble the 21 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF farther he goes, if he is off the line. That is obvious enough, but it does not constitute quite a sufficient penalty, nor is the danger in the least likely to deter him; he can avoid very often by sheer distance the traps set for more ordinary players. But are we to extend still further the already fully extended lines of defence ? The disadvantages of stretching out a course to extravagant lengths are so obvious that there is no need to enumerate them except very briefly. There is, for example, the consideration that Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long: and for more prosaic reasons the cost of maintenance may be prohibitive. The amount of ground also to be covered on foot, especially when it means going back to distant tees, is not a thing to be recommended in itself. There is also the con- sideration of the endless wooden club play entailed on the shorter player over an unduly extended course which becomes a burden rather than a delight. The reply by increasing the length of a course beyond a point is for the reasons already mentioned inadvisable if it can be avoided by other methods. It would be far better to increase the intricacies that already exist and in that way keep the figures in proportion. But this is not done by increasing the number of the hazards: which, as we shall hope to prove, only trouble and vex the inferior player unnecessarily while actually, though indirectly, assisting the stronger. To elucidate this point, we may repeat what was said in the previous chapter: that a golf course comprises a number of targets, many of them undefined to the eye but more or less deceptively situated, and liable to escape the notice of the superficial observer; and these are to be selected by the player according to his strength or his deliberate choice. The greatest courses invariably offer a choice of alternatives. To provide islands of pleasant turf in a waste of sand or wilderness on the ATTACK AND DEFENCE way to the green would no doubt carry out the idea to per- fection, but might be considered too drastic a method to be popular. On courses, however, where the conditions render it necessary, soil has often to be imported and laid down in this way, although every possible care is taken to conceal the fact. The architect wishes in everything he does, so far as is possible, to disguise his purpose. He does not tell the player plainly what is to be done; in fact, he will be extremely careful to assist with as little information as he can as to where the correct positions of play lie. It is very much as if one were attempting to reach a difficult harbour where it is common knowledge that shoals and sand- banks lie in the neighbourhood of the entrance. By marking the channel freely with buoys and other indications the line to the inner basin is easily comprehended by the veriest tyro. The analogy is not inapt with regard to the approach to a golf green. The object of design, as has been mentioned, is to create difficulties (and, in a modified sense, illusions), not to explain them; to outwit the expert or at least to set his brains to work to find the best solutions. In a word, the object is to make him conceive the big idea and attempt the utmost that skill and nerve may suggest to execute it. That would be the most ad- mirable plan to get the best out of a man and provide the most searching test of golf. It eliminates the wild uncontrolled player since, even if he knows the thing he has to do, his executive skill will fail him at the pinch; and it will also eliminate the merely steady unimaginative player because he will refuse to put everything to the touch to win or lose it all. With this end in view the architect is not disposed to give away the secret of a hole too readily if he wishes to be subtle. The best way of giving gratuitous assistance, strange though it may appear to those who have not regarded the matter from this angle, is to erect a profusion of landmarks (or bunkers). Most golfers of indifferent merit are frightened of bunkers far beyond the extent that such hazards need alarm them. Not 23 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF so the professional, who is eternally grateful for them, and has made a profitable study of the art of getting out of them. They give him the line without too much thinking on his part; above all, they are of invaluable assistance in giving him sighting points for judging distance. To keep a man continually asking " How far is it? " is to make the game at once more difficult for him than by any other method. If, on the other hand, you supply him with a belt of clearly defined bunkers leading to the green, opening up the passage, he sees precisely what he has to do without the trouble of further thought. With an iron club of which he knows the effectiveness to a few yards and the assistance of a perfect method drilled into his system with which to back it up, the result is, as nearly as may be, a foregone conclusion. Let him, however, see a green in the middle distance with a clear and open space before him, and he will feel acutely the want of exactly that kind of obstacle he would wish to be compelled to carry. Such an obstacle suggests to him the appropriate trajectory and the curve his ball will describe in the air before it falls on the green. In other words, he is enabled to visualise his shot before he plays, because he has been shown all he wishes to see, and the rest, so far as he is concerned, is not a thing to worry him. Without this information or inducement he will see all manner of alternative choices. Shall he not pitch where there is no obvious reason for pitching, or shall he pitch in spite of the absence of the necessity ? Shall he play the shot which may have the effect of breaking up the smooth routine of his game and is less to his fancy? If he can play the one effective stroke throughout he will vastly prefer it as a rule-of- thumb method. To manoeuvre him into two minds is analo- gous to the bowler's wish to beat the batsman by keeping him guessing, since any state of indecision is likely to prove fatal. It is only necessary to think of playing a game of tennis with an invisible net to realise the formidable problem which a course of endless undulations and no hint of bunkers would 34 ATTACK AND DEFENCE mean. It might be dismal in the extreme, but it would certainly be vastly perplexing. A leading English professional has stated in an interview that he attributes our disadvantage as compared with American players to the fact that our courses are insufficiently bunkered. In saying this he could scarcely have realised that the bunker- ing was the factor which American experts would welcome most heartily, particularly on their own greens, as enabling them to bring a stereotyped and scientific precision into action. To restrict bunkering, in fact, has a double ad- vantage ; it puzzles the proficient and does not diminish the pleasure of the less expert. The poor player commits many technical errors, the enormity of which it would seem unkind to visit on his head too unmercifully, and to accentuate his troubles is, we feel, adding injury to insult. The expert scarcely heeds the hazard at all. He is very unlikely to com- mit the offence common to his weaker brother, and little fear troubles him on that score. What he is grateful for is the definition of the mark at which he has to aim. The problem could not be better tested than by a reference to St. Andrews, where excessive length was never necessary under the old conditions of fast greens and fairways—fast enough, that is, to make control always supremely difficult. Every opportunity is provided on the Old Course for bringing out the essentials of great golf. St. Andrews is difficult, not because bunkers are placed to catch inaccurate shots, but be- cause the result of a misadventure is to make the next shot infinitely more difficult than it would otherwise have been. No shot can ever be said to be easy on this most subtle of all courses so long as the surface is keen and slippery. Nor on this classic course is there ever any one absolute way open to the hole. To choose a line of play is, as often as not, very much a choice of evils. Each successive shot must be played on its own merits. The subtle folds in the ground short of the greens govern for the most part—especially when the going is fast—the THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF final result, and unusual finesse is needed if the run of the ball is to be accurately judged. For these amongst other reasons St. Andrews is the ideal to aim at in all golf-course construction. It may be objected that luck is in this way encouraged, that accuracy and a standardised precision is too heavily discounted. But it must be kept in mind that the elusive charm of the game suffers as soon as any successful method of standardisation is allowed to creep in. A golf course should never pretend to be, nor is it intended to be, an infallible tribunal. Certain degrees of luck, it is true, can reasonably be judged criminal—as, to take one example, when a fold in the ground is so sharp and boldly pronounced that a matter of inches will determine a very wide deflection in the direction a ball will take to the one side or the other. At St. Andrews the slopes are never abrupt to this degree, but invariably so shallow that frequently either side of a slope can be made use of in order to get near the pin. The object of the profuse introduction of bunkers and large spaces of green is, it is frankly admitted, to eliminate chance to the utmost possible extent. Competitive golf is chiefly re- sponsible for this tendency to design courses on principles of absolute and relentless justice. The insistent theme, where great stakes are at issue, is that the good shot (by which is meant the shot that is perfectly struck) should receive its exact equivalent. Two flawless strokes, such is the argument, where the hole demands them, and an immaculate putt, should on every possible occasion register a three. In the old spirit of golf, however, two and two frequently made five. The " luck " was regarded as part of the legitimate fun of the game, without which as a sport the game would suffer. The attraction that counted the most was the test of ingenuity in getting round difficulties and overcoming new and unexpected situations. In the final result the best man generally won. If he did not, it merely went to prove that there is no infallible system possible even to the most modern of us* One of our leading players has given it as his opinion, and it ATTACK AND DEFENCE is worth emphasising, that tournaments do not represent after all what is most desirable or enjoyable in golf. His pleasantest recollections, he reminded us, had never been confined to the romantic chances of competition. Seriousness on these occa- sions was apt to be over-emphasised. What he admired more than anything else in the Old Course at St. Andrews was the just and democratic plan upon which it had been designed—as much for the good player's as the bad player's complete enjoy- ment. This perhaps expresses as well as any other statement a danger with which the game is faced. The multiplication of £ 1,000 tournaments and innumerable championships has to a considerable extent disturbed the values. Players, not un- naturally, when so much is at stake, insist more and more on a rigid standard of equity. It would be unwise to underrate the fascinations of publicity or the importance of golf as a spectacle to entertain enthusiastic galleries; but at the same time it is necessary to point out certain mischievous tendencies that can influence the progress and spirit of the game, ten- dencies which, in the long run, by laying an undue insistence on apparent miscarriages of justice (for which the architect is usually held guilty) reduce the imaginative element of our courses to a lower level than they should rightly possess, and have the effect of diverting the poetry of golf into less desirable channels.

27 Uprooting Trees III Fairways think of a hole at golf is rather like thinking of a comet, with the head where the green lies and the tail I streaming behind until it fades away at the teeing ground. The green is the point from which the hole springs, its fons et origo; the fairway might very well have been tacked on as an afterthought. But they are separate things and must be considered separately. Each portion of a hole has to be considered by itself because the fairway and the putting green are concerned with entirely different conditions of the game. Even the bunkers, without which it is impossible to visualise a golf course, assume a different complexion as they guard a green or govern the play on a fairway. In the first case they are acting as part of the defensive; in the other they are indications of the route by which the greens are to be approached. Every green, to put it in another way, has its definite lines of communication. The fairways are the regulation routes. There are others to be found on either side, but if you trespass 38 FAIRWAYS on them you will do so at your peril. Upon the manner in which the fairway is set—at any rate, at the longer holes— depends the greater part of the interest of the hole. If it appears plain and obvious, it is insipid and lacks character; but, laid out with ingenuity and imagination, it can please by the grace of its setting and intrigue the golfer by the particular problem that he has to solve to the best of his ability. A long and a short hole, also, are distinct from each other in another respect: that the routes may vary, often very con- siderably, over the longer journey. Here there may be a choice of alternatives according to the distances that a player is able to command by his power of club; whereas in the case of a shorter hole only one route is permissible from the fixed point where the tee is placed. The fairway, therefore, which demands two or more strokes in order to reach the green is the one worth considering in detail. To indicate the extent to which even holes of moderate length can vary in character according to their design, an instance may be taken of a hole requiring two good length shots on one of our well-known courses; and a comparison may be made between it as it stands and an alternative suggestion which will serve to show how it might be effectively altered. The main interest of this particular hole lies in an admirable guard to the green—a burn with a width of approximately sixty feet from bank to bank. The hole itself is laid out in a conventional manner characteristic of what would be con- sidered by many as rigidly correct, although in reality it is not as inspiring as it might be. It will be seen at the first glance from the accompanying diagram that to overcome its difficulties it needs the mini- mum of imagination and enterprise. Its chief merit lies in the undoubted fact that it is an excellent test of strength. So long as the ball is kept well down the middle of the course (and far enough) there is no considerable difficulty to be en- countered. But it cannot be said to be in any sense of the word 39 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF an easy hole, especially when a strong wind is blowing; the width of the burn and its distance of rather over 370 yards from the tee make two good shots indispensable. Beyond this feature the hole has no artistic merit to recommend it. If you pull or slice badly (there is a large margin of fairway allowed for error) you may find yourself bunkered; but apart from any gross error you have more than sufficient space to spare for two plain shots to the green. In the case of a weaker player, if he considers that he has scarcely got far enough from the tee to carry the burn with his second, he must play short—a com- pulsory but painfully dull shot which is little more than marking time. It is not intended to criticise the hole too severely, or to suggest that it is an altogether indifferent hole, since from its natural features and excellent distance it possesses a hazard that is likely to worry many a good player, especially under different conditions of wind. The point is, could it not be made better still? We will compare the existing plan with a slight reconstruction set out in the accompanying diagram, in which an alteration in the direction of the burn makes a considerable difference both in efficiency and artistic effect. Nearly a score of bunkers are eliminated as unnecessary, and the two hillocks remain to govern the tee shot. Colour and imagination are at once added by the simplest means. It conveys vastly more fascination than the merely mechanical execution of two or possibly three fairly accurate strokes. The long player, it will be seen under this alternative, must keep to the left wherehis target lies just to the left of the mound. He has to place his tee shot accurately or his chance of finding the green becomes hazardous in the extreme. The turning of the burn to the left alters the whole complexion of the approach. The shorter player in the meantime is compelled to take a different route. He must consider very carefully how he places himself for his second shot, because he will have his work cut out to ensure safety for his third. No shot, by either the longer

•• ^.-•• •• •• •..--,,; ..„•;;..• 30 • Plate i

Rough Plan of a Hole as it stands. Plate ii

Plan of the sam'e Hole with slight alterations. FAIRWAYS or the shorter player, will be featureless, nor is either given any excuse for looseness or carelessness, for the reason that the slightest error of judgment will place him at a disadvantage. Bunkers, too, instead of being dotted in every direction to catch a shot off the line, are almost entirely eliminated. It will be further observed that there is actually no need for them. Finally, the bunkers guarding the green are intelligently placed and admirably designed for tightening up the need for accuracy in the approach. Whatever may be the calibre of the player he must use his head and place every shot in its right place if he wishes to secure the hole in the right figures. A comparison of the two plans which we have examined is valuable as showing how point can be given to the design of a hole by altering it in order to give additional interest to what is otherwise a flat and dull pattern. Even a golf course has its pictorial atmosphere—quite apart from the opportunities it offers to the player of bringing into action the variety and efficiency of stroke he can command. The plan of a hole de- notes whether the design lacks finesse, whether it is over- crowded with details of little importance or fails to preserve the unity which is essential if the elements of the design are to be harmonised. A sense of connection and rhythm is to be looked for as much on a golf course as in a picture. If this rhythmic element be absent, the defect is at once noticeable. Instead of appealing to the artistic as well as to the practical sense, it introduces a problem needing no thought to overcome its difficulties and yields little more than the satisfaction of the uninspired shot accurately played. A hole can very easily be cold, empty and lifeless in spite of apparently being full of incident: on the other hand, if the design be clearly and economically expressed, it will be found to contain vitality and the refinements which add attractiveness without losing force. A golf course may be said to have to satisfy, amongst other things, three definite requirements. It supplies the opportunity 31 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF for the pleasure of practising an athletic art; it entails the necessity of providing an adequate test of skill; and, lastly, it is a disciplinary scheme by which the virtuous cannot be rewarded without a penalty being inflicted on the sinner. It is worth while examining the Ways in which these prin- ciples can be applied. Two schools of thought in golf archi- tecture are generally considered to have a relation to these questions. They are usually labelled with the titles of " penal " and " strategic," notwithstanding the fact that every golf architect, if he were asked the question to which school he belonged, would profess to be strategical. Still, without en- quiring too deeply into the significance of the titles, a difference exists, and it may be assumed that the two respective styles have different aims in strategy and on certain points agree to differ. The final result may be approximately the same—both systems relate to the means of punishment—but it is mainly with the question of method and artistic arrangement that we are immediately concerned. Broadly speaking, in the " penal" school you are directly punished by the fact of your bad shot being trapped in a hazard. In the " strategic " the effect is that one of two things happens to the player whose handicap is in the neighbourhood of scratch; either his good shot, which is not quite good enough, is trapped by a bunker placed at roughly 210 yards from the tee, just off his most favourable line to the hole; or his bad shot is in such a position that unless he brings off a very exceptional shot he cannot reach and remain on the green. This result is gained by the orientation of the green and the position of the wing hazards guarding the approach. For ourselves, who adopt the " strategic " principle, we would never countenance the placing of fairway bunkers to catch a bad shot. If the skeleton plan is well arranged and set out to the greatest advantage, and if the fairways are properly shaped and the greens and their wing hazards orientated correctly, there is no need whatever for fairway bunkering— 32 Plate in

The Penal School The bunkers assist the good player to steer his shot and focus distance. They act as lighthouses and frame the green. They are a source of worry from start to finish to the inferior player. Plate iv

A Strategic Hole The good player who wants to make his second easy must take an initial risk with his tee shot. At a hole of this type the true line to the hole should never be the centre of the fairway. The inferior player is not worried with a multiplicity of hazards. • FAIRWAYS unless it be for purely decorative purposes or to meet a con- ventional demand. In fact, the view we take is that to plaster a fairway* or the rough on either side with bunkers merely assists the good player and is only effectual in quite needlessly irritating the long handicap man. Expressed in another way, the difference of outlook means that in the " penal " school hazards are placed to catch and punish the ill-executed shot. If the shot is caught in a hazard the stroke can only be retrieved by a brilliant recovery. The intention is to prevent the player getting off scot free on every occasion when he offends or commits a blunder. But it is done in a way that is reminiscent of the school-boy receiving an imposition for a grammatical error. By the " strategic" method, on the other hand, the correction is administered in a more delicate and indirect fashion. A fault once committed leads inevitably to a false position which places the player at once at a disadvantage. To play a hole as it is intended by this method means that certain positions are laid down for opening up the play to a green, and if the player fails to reach them he is faced with certain disagreeable consequences. Supposing, for example, that a bunker is placed in the middle of a fairway—a course of action which, without any suggestion of perpetrating a pun, appeals to a considerable number of players to be manifestly unfair—the intention of placing it there is not to punish a bad shot; it may even punish a good shot, in the sense that the shot may have no technical defects in the manner of its execution. But the reason of the hazard is to indicate a forbidden route and show that the line to be taken must run to the one side or the other. The correct target to be aimed at from the tee by this method is definitely curtailed: it is desired to exclude the blind shot played merely for the middle of the course. Straightness is of no avail unless it is straightness with an object. You are not rewarded simply because you have not committed a technical error. The idea rather is that, when a technical error has been committed by 33 D THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF the mishitting of a shot, the player penalises himself sufficiently by the moral effect of his blunder and the loss of distance which his blunder entails, and this is held sufficient in itself to dis- concert him. Every player, whatever his capacity, should be compelled to keep to one definite line if he wishes to play for position, and the course should be constructed with that object alone, so that each individual, whatever his power may be, is ensured his legitimate chance. Regarded from another point of view, the " strategic " method is an excellent alternative to the necessity for any severe restriction of the ball, which is a thing not to be willingly undertaken if its objects can be secured by other means. It is not enough that the tee shot, the opening move in playing the hole, should be permitted unlimited length except under conditions of exceptional skill. If a man insists on playing to his maximum power it is not the architect's intention to give him a target as wide as a county to drive into. The well-known Sixteenth hole at St. Andrews is an excellent example of what is meant. What, we may ask, is the principle of the Principal's Nose? Is that formidable hazard to be regarded as either unsound or unfair ? Does it not catch many an excellent shot, and yet can anyone deny that the hazard is the making of the hole? Instead of giving a broad fairway down which a player may drive as he pleases, it bisects it into two narrow fairways. No one would willingly play short if he could help it, for then his chance would be gone; he would suffer automatically. But it supplies a test of accuracy without which the hole would be merely insignificant, a purely commercial proposition without life or artistry. We have taken the Sixteenth hole at St. Andrews as an example of the principle we have been defending. An extract from an article in the Field examines a similar position at the Fourth at Woking, round which much controversy has raged, and is of value as an independent criticism. " The Fourth hole of the round is known by sight to many 34 FAIRWAYS golfers who have never played it because it runs parallel to a much-used line of the Southern Railway and is plainly visible from the windows of passing trains. Many a guest standing for the first time on its teeing-ground has observed with some surprise that there is a great bunker on the direct line to the hole, occupying the place which the ordinarily good drive of the ordinarily good golfer will certainly reach, but as certainly fail to carry. Circumstances may subsequently impel him to suggest that this is not a ' fair ' hazard. The chances are that his host will move the previous question, affirming that there is no such thing as an unfair bunker, and pointing out that in this particular case there is plenty of good lying short of the sand and on either side of it: he who has played his ball into it has taken a risk seeking to gain an advantage real or supposi- titious : there is no rule of golf obliging a man to take his driver on the teeing-ground of every two-shot hole and swipe as hard as his strength allows. This is only one of the many instances which could be cited to show that at Woking, as at St. Andrews, the artificial bunkers are designed to influence the first-rate golfer in his choice of tactics and to trap his second-best strokes. No money or labour is wasted in needless endeavour to em- phasise the infirmity of the congenitally feeble and inaccurate. Consequently the 24-handicap performer is nowhere more likely to play what he considers to be his game." We will further illustrate our meaning in a comparison of two diagrams. In the first, the main effect of the bunkers is to assist the player to focus his shot. No thinking is necessary. It is a type of hole favoured as a rule by the strictly competitive golfer who is partial to a simple proposition so that he can concentrate on stroke-production, or by the man who aims at getting distance whatever the cost and feels it a grievance if he is in any way placed under constraint. For these reasons it may be regarded as on the whole a popular type of hole. The next diagram may be taken as fairly representative of the "strategic" type of thought. No side bunkering is necessary; 35 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF the shape of the fairway governs the shot. There is ample room away to the left for the uncontrolled hitter; but if he takes that line he will find himself badly placed and will run grave risks of coming to grief. It might perhaps be objected that the player is being deliberately tricked; but this is scarcely the case. The intelligent player should have no difficulty in discovering the secret of the hole. It is a matter of the greatest importance that the method of attack should not be too obvious. The use of camouflage is perfectly legitimate when it is employed to this extent. There is a difference which all the world recognises between suppressio veri and suggestio falsi. It is not indispens- able that the architect should reveal all the truth; he is quite at liberty to keep his own counsel. The player is equally at liberty to take which course of action he pleases; but if he per- sists in pursuing a path contrary to his better judgment he must be prepared to take the rough with the smooth. The next series of diagrams are various designs set out in a manner to indicate the zones of play. The areas of the fairway to be played for are indicated with far greater distinctness than would be seen in the course of play and the spaces between these zones may be assumed to be " semi-rough "—that is to say, either broken ground or grass that would be mown perhaps twice a year, an important consideration in the matter of up- keep. But the nature of this semi-rough would never be so severe that a cleverly played spoon shot would be out of the question. Still, to find it would be a definite handicap and very likely entail the loss of a stroke; whereas to keep to the correct line as indicated on the plan would give every chance of the hole being played in the par figure. Plate v

A fine test for all. A difficult 4 for the Tiger. A difficult s for others. Plate vi

A bad length hole but, designed thus, full of interest and quite fair. Plate vii

To have any real chance of being on green with second shot, the scratch player must hug heather on left with tee shot. The angle of slope up to green is extremely difficult if attacked from centre or right of fairway. The medium player should not expect to be up in two at a hole of this length, and will be well advised to play his second short of burn and cross bunker. Plate viti

The powerful player will take the unbroken line, otherwise he will reach rough at aio yds. from tee. He should get far enough to enable him to reach green with a midiron. The medium player cannot carry bunker on that line. He will require a good brassie for second shot on broken line. Plate ix

Waddesdon (Private Course) No. 3. The least slice with second shot will leave a blind third. Everything hangs on the orientation of green and wing hazards guarding it. Plate x

A three-shot hole on flat ground. The big hitter will hope to reach the green in two. Tee shot must be placed well to right to avoid having to carry bunker short of green which is 445 yds. from back tee. The less powerful players will play on broken line, and should experience no difficulty provided they attempt no heroics. Plate id

Waddesdon (Private Course), No. 2. A great two shotter across a deep valley for second shot. A medium player will take the broken line. The scratch player will attempt to place his tee shot on the lower plateau A1. Plate xii

The prudent Tiger will be content to try and place his tee shot round about S, for the simple reason that it does not pay to go all out in direction of T. A type of hole that defeats the ingenuity of the golf-ball manufacturer. Putting Green in the making IV Putting Greens purpose of bunkers in the neighbourhood of a green, as has been stated, is to intensify the accuracy i of the approach shot. They help to define the size of the target, and are also the chief factor in making the modern green the complex and artificial thing it is. Much depends on how these bunkers are placed. Here again the architect's object is not to assist the player more than he can help. If he frames the green with a rather wide circle of five or eight bunkers he simply plays into the hands of the man who is approaching, by giving him a line by which to steer his way over or between them. He knows in such an event exactly what to do; the green is mapped out in a symmetrical outline. It positively invites the shot because everything is evenly balanced and nothing is present to excite the player's diffidence in having to play what may in reality be a comparatively simple shot. Suppose, however, that a minimum of three bunkers is used 37 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF and that these leave one side or a part of one side unprotected, then the position is not so easy. The player is slightly thrown off his balance. He suspects mischief, or does not experience quite the same confident feeling as when the point of aim is made clearer. Yet this cannot be described as strictly a decep- tion. If the position of the bunkers is irregular, it would be more accurate to describe the arrangement as a form of omission —an omission creating a slight shock by its unexpectedness. When the unexpected confronts a man he is liable to be in two minds over the matter and is in danger of losing accuracy. The result may be to induce a draw away from the side where the danger is most evident and the ball will be unconsciously diverted towards the bunker on the opposite side. Mental balance is a matter of exceedingly delicate adjustment; and the true object of every game worthy of the name is to apply a test of the most searching kind possible in order to distinguish the superiority of one player over another. Without such a test a game would be scarcely worth the effort. The golf architect for this reason is fully justified in refusing to give the golfer just the kind of shot he would normally prefer. If his victims have weaknesses it is his business to exploit them, just as at cricket a bowler employs his artifice to trick the batsman— either in order to obtain his wicket or, as a more desperate alternative, to keep down the runs. A large green naturally has attractions for the player on account of its size. It is more attractive still if it is " framed " with a ring of hazards to set off its shape and character. Mr. Bobby Jones has admitted with his customary frankness that under certain conditions he would prefer to play an iron shot from a longer range to playing a mashie or mashie-niblick shot at a shorter. The longer shot is generally calculated to inspire the greater confidence of the two when it is simply a matter of power of club and a simple objective. But reduce the dimensions of the target and give it a slightly unusual or un- expected shape, and the chances are that the ball will not be •-• " • T-':;. " '.'.• 38 ' •• '• •'•• '-.' ' ' • PUTTING GREEN S laid within twice the distance from the pin that it would other- wise have found, although the shot, so far as the position from the pin is concerned, is precisely the same in either case. The shot follows the eye and the line of thought; and it is not at all unlikely that the less experienced player, facing the more closely guarded green, may fail altogether to place his ball on the green at all if he allows himself to be influenced by the suspicion and uncertainty which has involuntarily affected his mind. An impending sense of misfortune will almost certainly be reflected in the action of the club. The golfer, therefore, if he does not invariably get the kind of shots he likes cannot blame the architect for making use of a knowledge of his weaknesses, any more, in fact, than the expert in other games of skill who refuses to spare his opponent. With these prefatory remarks the following points in green construction may be worth consideration. i. Balance nothing if you can avoid it. This may sound unkind, but is generally effectual. z. For a one-shot hole (under 150 yards) the whole floor of the green should be visible. For holes over 400 yards complete visibility is not essential. In other words, when the player is playing for the green only as a target he need not expect to see the whole of it; but when the hole itself is the target (as at a short hole) then the bottom of the pin should be clearly visible. 3. If greens are to be absolutely flat and large in extent, it means that there is no room for scientific design. Any attempt to deal with such a situation artistically is doomed to failure. 4. The shape of greens should never be formal, neither round nor square. Generally speaking, they should be pear- shaped. 5. In designing a green it is important to remember that the green-keeper may have to cut it every day in summer; also that as the hole has frequently to be placed in a fresh spot, there must be a sufficiency of flat ground lying within the putt- ing space. The ground should always be dead level at the point

' . • • "• ' .'• y •• '..'39 ' • ' •, • ,' •...'.• • THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF near where the hole is cut for at least a yard on every side. At least 75 per cent of the whole area should be flat. This will ensure that there will never be any necessity to cut a hole on a slope. 6. A green may very well be on two distinct levels, or with a mound—a very low one—in the middle. A distinction, how- ever, should be drawn in designing greens for a "two-or-three shotter " and a " one-shotter." This will make a considerable difference in the matter of shape and size, since in the one case you are playing deliberately from a fixed point at short range, and in the other you have to approach from areas that are not fixed, but may indeed vary very considerably according to the plan of the fairway. 7. Artificial work should never be introduced in green con- struction unless there is an absolute necessity for it. If you are working on a flat area, some modifications will of course be necessary, because a green as flat as a billiard table is entirely devoid of any sense of character. Still, if you have to manu- facture undulations, do as little as you possibly can. If you wish to be quite certain that your artificial green is a success, wait until you are congratulated on having found such an ideal piece of natural ground! You may take the remark as a well- earned compliment. 8. It is not advisable to have two similar greens on the same course. Each green should have its own note of individuality. The temptation to copy the greens of some famous course may frequently present itself, but the temptation should be firmly resisted. To yield to it is invariably fatal. At the same time, there is no harm in remembering the features of famous greens and trying to incorporate them in your scheme, always bearing in mind that the size and shape depend on the length of the shot leading up to it. Also it must not be forgotten that a great deal depends on the character of the ground in front. 9. Roughly speaking, the width of the entrance to a green for a hole of 375 to 475 yards should be about zo yards—of a 40 Plate xiii

Golf de Spa, No. 17 Plate xiv

The same plan as Plate XIII, reversed. PtJTTIN G GREENS hole of 3 25 to 375 yards, about 18. Much will depend on whether there is any " gather " in front. A good plan for pegging out a green is to fix its centre and let a man stand there while you go to a point from which the previous shot would be played in the ordinary course of events. Then get someone to peg the centre of the entrance to the green and at the same time mark the inner points of the wing bunkers. After that you can shape the bunkers as you please at your leisure. 10. A green should never be such that the modulations of the surface prevent a player from getting dead with his initial putt. Sometimes they are constructed in three " water-tight " compartments and this upsets every reasonable calculation as to the direction the ball may take. The player should always be in a position to discover his line with reasonable certainty. 11. The bunkers immediately surrounding a green should rarely exceed three in number. Examples of detailed floor plans are given in the accompanying diagrams, and where the shorter holes are noticed, they are illustrated by diagrams of the greens only, showing how they are guarded; no considera- tion of the ground in front is needed. One design of a hole of just over 200 yards (No. 17 Golf de Spa) demands a place, as it is rather unusual. The ground to right or left of the green (according to which of the two designs you are examining) is raised so that the ball played at the exact angle required is carried on to the green. To play directly to the flag is practically impossible. Those who are acquainted with North Berwick will recognise the influence of the Redan in both these designs. Yet it may be said that the Redan, although a world-famous hole, is not a great one. The visibility is poor; the slope on the right which swings into the green is invisible from the tee and there are a number of superfluous bunkers. Plate XIII represents the Seventeenth hole on the new course at Spa in Belgium. Here, unlike that of the Redan, the tee is considerably above the green, while the whole THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF floor of the green and all the bunkers, as well as the big slope on the left of the green, are visible from the tee. A plan is also given of a miniature Approaching and Putting Course intended mainly for the use of the putter. At certain holes, however, where the greens are directly guarded by bunkers the mashie-niblick comes into play. Such a course can be made a work of art and finished with the utmost delicacy. The one essential for its success is that it must be supremely difficult; otherwise it is bound after a while to lose its attractiveness. It must present problems of every kind of subtlety—slopes that require for the correct line of the putt an accuracy of inches only if the ball is not to fall away into depressions of the ground away from the hole, or into bunkers that trap the weak shot, or into the miniature rough at the side of the fairways. The plan, drawn to scale, is an illustration of what can be done with a nine-hole course of the kind; it extends approxi- mately over an acre and a half. Some of the holes will recall full- length holes from famous courses. The First, for instance, is not unlike the Seventeenth at St. Andrews, with a path taking the place of the famous road. The green of the Second em- bodies the principle of " Pandy " at Musselburgh—a narrow plateau green extremely difficult to judge and reminiscent also of the Eighth at Worplesdon. The Fourth and Fifth are just about as diabolical as they can be. To avoid overrunning the Fourth into the heather beyond, the ball must be pitched on the up-slope of the hill beyond the bunker in front of the tee in order to get the necessary check; and at the Fifth the green is not more than five yards deep. To stop on it the ball must be pitched beyond the flag; if correctly played the ball will trickle back to the hole. At the Sixth a hill running echelon to the line of play has the effect of making the most of the least weakness, in which event it will carry the ball into the heather on the right. The line of the Seventh runs over the shoulder of the first Plate xv

Approach and Putting Course at Windlesham Moor From a Plasticine Model Plate xvi

v

A green of this description is suitable for a one-shot hole not exceeding 170 yds, in length, or for the greeq, of a three-shot hole of 520 yds. in length. Plate xvii

This is a one-shot hole of 150 yds. The secret of its success is that the superficial area of the green is exactly right, having regard to the position of the green and length of the hole. The superficial area of the green is 675 sq. yds. Liphook, No. 2. Plate xviii

The length of the 3rd hole at Chiberta-Biarritz is 350 metres (385 yds.). The hole is played on dogleg to left. To obtain visibility for second shot it is necessary to reach the 200 yd. point from the tee which is the turn of the dogleg. Plate xix

Design for a short one-shot hole, 140 metres, at Morfontaine, near Paris. Plate xx

/'f

Ta I

i /4a

This is a one-shot hole of 150 metres (165 yds.), Chiberta-Biarritz, No. 4. Plate xxi

The 6th hole on the new course at Walton Heath. PUTTING GREENS hill, and then through a grass hollow with a sharp mound on the far side of it leading up to the green. The Eighth might be compared with the " Battledore" and " Shuttlecock " turns on the Cresta Run. At the last hole the ball must be played as near as possible to the bunker on the right in order to avoid being turned into the gorse bushes on the left.

43 V The Ideal Golf Course CCASIONALLY a discussion is raised to decide which are the best eighteen holes in the world, or Opreferably in the British Isles. But a further question is whether anyone after going to the fatigue of composing the ideal course would care to play over it. For ourselves, we have gone to the trouble of considering over thirty alternatives, and have no hesitation whatever in saying that purely for practical purposes it would possess few attractions. Such discussions, however, have a certain value, since they make an appeal to the imagination. It is an amusing method of expressing what we can never hope to realise, quite apart from the question whether it would be desirable to do so. And in addition it is an excellent test of criticism upon a subject on which there can never be an agreement between any two students of the game. We do not yearn for ideal courses to play on; we discuss them merely as agreeable arguments on which pleasantly to differ. Whenever the attempt has been made to carry out the construction of this so-called " ideal course " 44 THE IDEAL GOLF COURSE by making a series of facsimiles of superlative holes at con- siderable expense, the experiment, although interesting in a way, has rarely proved anything but a cold and lifeless failure. The reason is not far to seek. The point was emphasised by Ruskin many years ago that the demand for perfection was invariably a " sign of a misunderstanding of the ends of art." As for Architecture (in his day such a thing as the minor art of golf architecture was almost unthinkable), he even went as far as to lay down the seeming paradox that " the work of man cannot be good unless it is imperfect." The application of this principle does not imply that all imperfect golf courses are necessarily admirable; but it does suggest that in the absence, fortunately, of any existing course that confounds all criticism, some imperfect courses are amongst the most interesting and amusing to play over. The fact is that we could never live up to the ideal. We should feel too uncomfortable, too much out of our natural element of imperfection. Imagine, for instance, a repetition of eighteen holes, all of the supreme excellence of the most exceptional hole we can think of at the moment—the Seventeenth at St. Andrews. The strain of it all! Eighteen tee shots of the same intensity or eighteen approaches which courted disaster in the same dire form! It would to a certainty break our hearts and leave us nervous wrecks or golf lunatics in real earnest. In fact, it would be no ideal course for us, however much theoretically we might admire it. We must be allowed to ease the tension at occasional intervals for our sanity, so that our brains may cool and our hearts expand with renewed life and freedom. We must count on at the very least one indifferent hole in a round; to be quite on the safe side, we will allow an additional half of indifference as well, for the sake of extra relief. The course we think of should be noble in spite of its defects, as perfection throughout would be a monument of chilly precision incapable of inspiring us or of stimulating our jaded imagination. Is it not 45 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF true to say that where we cannot criticise we experience a difficulty in feeling enthusiastic ? Yet it must" be insisted upon that every hole in the list we offer shall be a hole of reputation; and happily there are holes of reputation to be found in abun- dance that are so far not above suspicion that they will relieve us from the burden of supreme subtlety and provide a welcome excuse for a light-hearted effort to which we may look forward. The first thought that occurs is whether there is any existing course in the British Isles that as nearly as possible approaches the ideal—as near the ideal, in fact, as " makes no matter " —because this would partly help to solve the problem. If we were invited to make one definite choice, much as we should prefer to be excused the invitation, we should without hesita- tion give our vote for Saunton in North Devon. The level of excellence there may be, if anything, a shade monotonous, a little lacking in the quality of variety which is perhaps the greatest essential of all. Perhaps too we feel that there is not quite that need for a continual mental agility that may be the quality we look for most in a great course; and, to be even more hypercritical, we should regard the beauty of the floral display about the links at Saunton as almost too luxurious to ensure that classic severity which is usually associated with the rigour of the game. Fifteen years ago, without a second thought, we should have said that St. Andrews was our ideal. To-day the position is different; the run of the ball due to the closer quality of the turf reduces much of the subtlety of the folds short of the green and permits of the mashie-niblick being brought into play, with a shot which at an earlier period in history would have earned its just reward. But whatever may be said of St. Andrews as it is at the present day, it still remains a model of architecture at its best, a model never again likely to repeat itself. The form and struc- ture will always remain an example of strategic golf which has successfully resisted every attempt towards " improvement," 46 THE IDEAL GOLF COURSE rash experiments which would have ruined what has been handed down to us as a precious legacy. Another preliminary question which cannot be ignored is: What course do we like best? In other words, if we were con- demned for the rest of our days to play on one course only— in this country—which would it be ? Out of an experience that covers fully 600 courses, including, as we believe, every really fine course in the world, we should, without hesitation, say that our choice fell on Woking. And if it were necessary to give our reasons—an invidious task in any case—it might be apposite to quote the observation of a learned Master of the Rolls in the Court of Appeal: " I entirely agree with the decision of the learned judge in the court below; but I find myself in disagreement with all the reasons he ad- vanced for arriving at his decision." In the same attitude of mind we should prefer to say merely " Woking " and leave the matter at that; because, to be entirely candid, there is not in our opinion a single hole on that course which could be termed of really outstanding merit, although the Second, a fine short hole of deceptive distance, comes very near to that standard of excellence. This is only another way of confessing that great golfing holes play in reality a minor part in our enjoy- ment. And there is another reason for our choice, which is given in Green Memories, that Woking is still " a place where the most interesting of golf can be played in decency and comfort, without crowding, without time-sheets, without Bogey." But that may be an opinion that might not commend itself to the more strictly competitive lovers of the game. Having prepared our way by making what may be regarded as some slightly damaging admissions, it is permissible to say that the course one likes best and an ideal course can, and must be, two entirely separate things. But in the larger consideration an attempt at definition is necessary. What do we actually mean by the ideal course ? One essential we Would insist on is that it should afford at 47 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF least as much opportunity for mental agility as it does for physical capacity, although we are prepared to admit that this is not a view likely to commend itself to the Tiger whose physical capacity is in the ascendant. Another essential is good visibility. In certain cases we regard blind shots as admissible; still on the whole we prefer a course each hole of which presents a problem which needs to be thought out with thoroughness in the matter of attack; and blindness is injurious to the right presentation of such problems. All the pros and cons of this or that method of arriving at a solution must, under the conditions of this en- quiry, be carefully weighed in the balance. It must be, in fact, a course that from start to finish stimu- lates thought and provides mental excitement. For this reason, if for no other, it must be a course not too exacting for every- day purposes. The type of hole that is seen at a glance makes little appeal. We demand the occasion when it becomes neces- sary to enquire into the meaning and possibly the indirect intention of the designer in order to discover whether he has a purpose he is trying to conceal. If he has, then it is our busi- ness to discover the solution. Also, to be true to our principles, we should insist that the course as a whole should derive from the strategic rather than from the penal school of golf architecture. And since, again, a course with any pretensions to greatness must have its imperfections, care must be taken to introduce the attractive discord. We therefore intend to include one thoroughly amusing but bad hole for the sake of variety and a brief interval of mental tranquillity—the Seventeenth at Prestwick—and at least another that is open to criticism, the Sixteenth at Westward Ho! which has the obvious demerits of being a semi-blind one-shotter of under 150 yards in length. There is, too, the need for a complete and searching test of every kind of golfing shot. We would never limit the course to holes by the sea merely because the two-shotters were played THE IDEAL GOLF COURSE on seaside turf. On the other hand we would definitely refuse to include any two-shotters where the soil happened to be of a clay formation. ^Esthetic considerations, naturally, cannot be allowed to have any weight. If we admitted them, we might get a course we vastly preferred to play on; but the sacrifices that would have to be made would be too serious for our purpose. It is not a question of mere liking—that is our point—but of exercising a rigid discrimination as to the greatest golfing attributes. The pity of it all is that when we have succeeded in amusing ourselves in building up the ideal course, picking and choosing wonderful holes here and there—when we have, as we fancy, completed something rather wonderful, a string of pearls we admire individually, against which nothing can be said except collectively—we shall probably find ourselves saying with feelings amounting almost to repugnance, " Heaven forbid that we should be asked to play here I The strain of it would be intolerable." This is equivalent to saying that anything approaching a uniform degree of excellence is the one thing in golf which must be avoided at all cost. It smacks of stan- dardisation, which is abhorrent when it is applied to a game with the fine versatility of golf. To prove that a choice has not been lightly arrived at, we can point to thirty-two alternatives before arriving at a final decision; and that after regretfully having to discard such attractions as the Eighteenth at Machrihanish, the Eleventh on the new course at Walton Heath, the Sixth at Wentworth, the Fifteenth at Skegness,the Second and Fourteenth at Saunton, the Fifth at Liphook, the Sixth at Cruden Bay, and the Fourth at Dornoch. It is difficult to resist the temptation, to which critics are prone to yield, of basing a judgment on what we personally have a liking for or for some type of hole which brings out and is best suited for a favourite shot. It has therefore been necessary to exercise a restraint and a spirit of intolerance that can at times be painful to maintain; but as 49 B THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF a result of many conflicting claims we submit an ideal British course to our readers, for what it may be felt to be worth. First Hole. First at Hoylake—420 yards. An important thing to bear in mind is that the First hole may terminate a match at the Nineteenth. Nothing could be better from this point of view than the First at Hoylake. How many times has this green been dramatically decisive! Any kind of shot will never serve the purpose. You have to " name " the exact shot you set out to play. Second Hole. Fifteenth at West Hill—175 yards. The orientation of the green is just perfect. There are two levels to the green with bold easy folds between them—high level on the left, lower level to the right. To get into the proper position requires a controlled shot. Diagram. Third Hole. Seventeenth at Walton Heath, Old Course— 460 yards. | A fine test of two shots. The tee shot must be long and kept well to the right, as the fairway area that receives the tee shot slopes sharply from right to left. A long second will find the plateau green, well guarded on the right by a bunker and by heather on the left. Visibility quite perfect. Diagram. Fourth Hole. Eighth at Addington, New Course—380 yards. A well-placed tee shot is necessary on the left edge of the fairway, which is innocent of any bunker, in order to make the second at all possible. Then there is a grand second across the ravine to a green of which the orientation could not be better. The shape and size are ideal, and the way it is guarded could not be improved upon. Diagram. Fifth Hole. Fifth at Westward Ho—160 yards. Here the island green is irregular in form and well set up above the tee. Generally played against the wind. Sixth Hole. Eleventh at Worplesdon——520 yards. Although the hole is in appearance perfectly straight, it must be played as a double dog-leg hole. Probably the finest example in the world of a three-shotter. The tee shot should 50 Plate xxii

A clever one-shot hole. Perhaps the finest hole of its length that exists on any golf course. West Hill, No. IS. Plate xxiii

Teg

The 17th hole on the old course at Walton Heath. Plate xxiv

There are three great holes of this length in the London area, 350 yds. or thereabouts. Of their kind unsurpassed. This is perhaps the best of the three. The other two are No. 14 at Coombe Hill, and No. 6 at Wentworth. Addington New Course, No. 8. Plate xxv

Worplesdon, No. n. Plat•ei xxvi

The Long Hole Home. St. Andrews No. 14. THE IDEAL GOLF COURSE be played across the large bunker on the left and placed well to the left in order that the bunker at 350 yards may be escaped with the second shot. The second must slip past this fairway bunker in order to be well placed for the short third. Diagram. Seventh Hole. Sixteenth at Turnberry, New Course—350 yards. The tee shot must be placed well to the left to escape the bunkers on the right. The green is on high ground and well guarded by bunkers. The approach to the green crosses a burn at the bottom of the hill. Eighth Hole. Seventh at Hoy lake—200 yards. (The Dowie.) A small green with contours quite fair but always fighting against the run of the ball. The shallow grip on the right of it is very fine—a gift of the gods. Ninth Hole. Fourteenth at St. Andrews—527 yards. We can recollect no other hole the best way of playing which has been so fiercely debated. It will be remembered that there is a sharp tilt on the green from right to left, with a group of bunkers at the bottom of the slope. Fifteen years ago when the going was keen, the wise players placed their tee shots just to the right of " Beardies " and their second well to the left of " Crescent Bunker," in order to face the tilt of the green for the second shot. Now, with a ball that goes farther, and with a green that will receive and hold a shot played with a mashie-niblick from the right, the Tigers place their tee shots as near the wall as possible and their second beyond and to the right of " Hell." There are at least four distinct ways to play this hole, as will be seen by the accompanying diagram. Tenth Hole. Seventeenth at Prestwick—383 yards. We have now reached our bad hole—the famous Alps! The tee shot is without character; the second is a blind shot over a high range of hills, across a hidden bunker, on to a green of which the slopes are far too acute. It is strange that a hole of this character should have become both world-famous and THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF popular. But it is excellent as a mental relaxation, and gives a welcome opportunity for an adventure. Eleventh Hole. Sixteenth at Westward Ho—138 yards. One of the most entertaining of all one-shot holes. The crowned plateau-green, of a whale-back formation, exaggerates the effect of any unintentional spin on the ball which pitches on it. The tee is set at an angle to the plateau so that the corner facing the tee turns a weak shot either way into a bunker. Visibility is poor; but the hole can never be left out on account of its other remarkable and outstanding features which are unique. Twelfth Hole. Fifteenth at St. George's, Sandwich—457 yards. A long cross-bunker for the drive and another for the second shot. The least cut on the second will leave a very difficult shot up the bank on the right of the green. Thirteenth Hole. Fourteenth at Liphook—420 yards. This is a dog-leg to the left and gives the appearance that the tee shot should be played to the left which is the shortest way to the hole. This is not advisable, however, as the ground short of the green falls sharply left to right. The flag is always on the small plateau at the back of the green, which is very narrow and closely guarded by a bunker on the left and a road on the right. To have any chance of being hole-high, the tee shot must be placed well to the right; and the hole, although only 420 yards, plays as if it were 440 yards. Diagram. Fourteenth Hole. Twelfth at Sunningdale, Old Course— 400 yards. A splendid drive and baffy hole of the penal type. The green is well placed and cleverly constructed on the slopes of a big hill. Although we are no believers in the penal school, it is without exception the finest type of penal hole that we know; and a very fine golfing hole at that. Diagram. Fifteenth Hole. Seventeenth at St. Andrews—456 yards. This hole has no rival, even when the going is soft. Above 53 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF least as much opportunity for mental agility as it does for physical capacity, although we are prepared to admit that this is not a view likely to commend itself to the Tiger whose physical capacity is in the ascendant. Another essential is good visibility. In certain cases we regard blind shots as admissible; still on the whole we prefer a course each hole of which presents a problem which needs to be thought out with thoroughness in the matter of attack; and blindness is injurious to the right presentation of such problems. All the pros and cons of this or that method of arriving at a solution must, under the conditions of this en- quiry, be carefully weighed in the balance. It must be, in fact, a course that from start to finish stimu- lates thought and provides mental excitement. For this reason, if for no other, it must be a course not too exacting for every- day purposes. The type of hole that is seen at a glance makes little appeal. We demand the occasion when it becomes neces- sary to enquire into the meaning and possibly the indirect intention of the designer in order to discover whether he has a purpose he is trying to conceal. If he has, then it is our busi- ness to discover the solution. Also, to be true to our principles, we should insist that the course as a whole should derive from the strategic rather than from the penal school of golf architecture. And since, again, a course with any pretensions to greatness must have its imperfections, care must be taken to introduce the attractive discord. We therefore intend to include one thoroughly amusing but bad hole for the sake of variety and a brief interval of mental tranquillity—the Seventeenth at Prestwick—and at least another that is open to criticism, the Sixteenth at Westward Ho! which has the obvious demerits of being a semi-blind one-shotter of under 150 yards in length. There is, too, the need for a complete and searching test of every kind of golfing shot. We would never limit the course to holes by the sea merely because the two-shotters were played THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF a result of many conflicting claims we submit an ideal British course to our readers, for what it may be felt to be worth. First Hole. First at Hoylake—420 yards. An important thing to bear in mind is that the First hole may terminate a match at the Nineteenth. Nothing could be better from this point of view than the First at Hoylake. How many times has this green been dramatically decisive! Any kind of shot will never serve the purpose. You have to " name " the exact shot you set out to play. Second Hole. Fifteenth at West Hill—175 yards. The orientation of the green is just perfect. There are two levels to the green with bold easy folds between them—high level on the left, lower level to the right. To get into the proper position requires a controlled shot. Diagram. Third Hole. Seventeenth at Walton Heath, Old Course— 460 yards. | A fine test of two shots. The tee shot must be long and kept well to the right, as the fairway area that receives the tee shot slopes sharply from right to left. A long second will find the plateau green, well guarded on the right by a bunker and by heather on the left. Visibility quite perfect. Diagram. Fourth Hole. Eighth at Addington, New Course—380 yards. A well-placed tee shot is necessary on the left edge of the fairway, which is innocent of any bunker, in order to make the second at all possible. Then there is a grand second across the ravine to a green of which the orientation could not be better. The shape and size are ideal, and the way it is guarded could not be improved upon. Diagram. Fifth Hole. Fifth at Westward Ho—160 yards. Here the island green is irregular in form and well set up above the tee. Generally played against the wind. Sixth Hole. Eleventh at Worplesdon——520 yards. Although the hole is in appearance perfectly straight, it must be played as a double dog-leg hole. Probably the finest example in the world of a three-shotter. The tee shot should 50 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF popular. But it is excellent as a mental relaxation, and gives a welcome opportunity for an adventure. Eleventh Hole. Sixteenth at Westward Ho—138 yards. One of the most entertaining of all one-shot holes. The crowned plateau-green, of a whale-back formation, exaggerates the effect of any unintentional spin on the ball which pitches on it. The tee is set at an angle to the plateau so that the corner facing the tee turns a weak shot either way into a bunker. Visibility is poor; but the hole can never be left out on account of its other remarkable and outstanding features which are unique. Twelfth Hole. Fifteenth at St. George's, Sandwich—457 yards. A long cross-bunker for the drive and another for the second shot. The least cut on the second will leave a very difficult shot up the bank on the right of the green. Thirteenth Hole. Fourteenth at Liphook—420 yards. This is a dog-leg to the left and gives the appearance that the tee shot should be played to the left which is the shortest way to the hole. This is not advisable, however, as the ground short of the green falls sharply left to right. The flag is always on the small plateau at the back of the green, which is very narrow and closely guarded by a bunker on the left and a road on the right. To have any chance of being hole-high, the tee shot must be placed well to the right; and the hole, although only 420 yards, plays as if it were 440 yards. Diagram. Fourteenth Hole. Twelfth at Sunningdale, Old Course— 400 yards. A splendid drive and baffy hole of the penal type. The green is well placed and cleverly constructed on the slopes of a big hill. Although we are no believers in the penal school, it is without exception the finest type of penal hole that we know; and a very fine golfing hole at that. Diagram. Fifteenth Hole. Seventeenth at St. Andrews—456 yards. This hole has no rival, even when the going is soft. Above 53 Plate xxvii

Liphook, No. 14. Plate xxviii

3tS-

loo tfcLr,

fee

The izth hole at Sunningdale. Plate xxix

The Road Hole, St. Andrews, No. 17, Plate xxx

To obtain visibility for second shot, the tee shot must reach the 2,2$ metre point (250 yds.), otherwise the green is masked by the trees on right. No. 12 at Chiberta-Biarritz. Plate xxxi

Chantilly Blue Course, No. 15, Plate xxxii

Teg

This hole is only 445 yds. in length, but the green is so constructed that it will not receive and hold anything stronger than a mashie shot unless the wind be against the player. The prudent golfer attempts to place his second shot just short of the burn from which point visibility is very good. Cruden Bay, No. 6. Plate xxxiii

This hole, the 18th at Chiberta-Biarritz, measures 380 metres (415 yds.)- THE IDEAL GOLF COURSE all others it is a hole that calls for mental agility. In our opinion it is the finest hole we have ever seen. Diagram. Sixteenth Hole. Eighth at Rye—165 yards. Not a bunker within a hundred yards of it, and no one could place one with advantage. There is almost always a cross wind to be negotiated. Distance is very hard to judge across the valley. The recovering shots are of great variety and interest. Seventeenth Hole. Seventeenth at Saunton—440 yards. Grand tee shot over high sand hills, dog-leg right to left. The tee shot must hug the hills on the left if the green is to be reached with the second. Green well placed in full view. The guarding waves of sand hills must be carried with the second. Eighteenth Hole. Ninth at Muirfield—475 yards. This hole is markedly strategic, varying with the length of the player—in itself an unusual feature, but essential in the case of a last hole. Fine running ground short of the green enables an accurate short player to hope for a four. The Tiger requires to exercise judgment and restraint with his tee shot.

53 Clearing the Fairway VI General Principles, Construction, and Upkeep inception of a course may arise from a variety of causes. Private owners of sufficient wealth to realise Ttheir aspirations may prefer to have a course at their doors and so enjoy with their guests the privileges of a luxurious seclusion; while a less exclusive club may be formed on humbler lines from motives of enthusiasm in practising a delightful art. As another possibility, a golf course may be felt to be necessary as a part, and an important part, in an elaborate speculative scheme with which enterprising specialists usually round off a Country Club, connected otherwise with building and the selling of land. Lastly, there may be the consideration of the extent to which a first-class course indirectly conduces to the filling of the hotels at some pleasure resort or, on the Continent, of the rooms of a lucrative Casino. Possibly in this last instance the golf architect may find him- 54 CONSTRUCTION AND UPKEEP self interviewing a prospective client who makes no attempt to disguise his rooted objection to golf cbnsidered in the light of a recreation, but feels that it is to his business interest—which, as a rule, does not involve an exalted respect for the mental condition of his clientele—to undertake the disagreeable duty of throwing a golf course to his friends as the most efficient modern sop to Cerberus. He will regard the necessity as an evil necessity, as one that irritates him and offends against his better nature. Apart from such considerations, he will view the expense with feelings of aversion and make no effort to disguise his reluctance to the man who wishes to lay out his course for him. The only chance, then, for the architect who in the face of this expressed disinclination feels that his contract is fast slip- ping through his fingers is to play, as a matter of tactics, for the point of weakest resistance. " Let us understand one another," he will suggest as the last desperate venture. " Let us both admit that the whole of this golf business is a joke—that is, of course, strictly between the four corners of this room. Personally I regard the man who spends thousands of pounds in pursuing butterflies in the Himalayas exactly as I do the man who hits and pursues a golf ball. Both of them are harmless types of lunatic. But you and I are business men and will make up our minds to treat them with perfect seriousness." The effect is instantaneous. A hand is cordially extended across the table and the bargain struck. " We think alike. I accept your figures. Proceed with the work." On such questions of mentality may often depend the suc- cess or failure of a scheme. On one occasion it was felt to be of the utmost importance that a fully qualified English green- keeper should be sent abroad to superintend a course. As it was felt likely that the possession of a magnificent crop of red hair standing straight off his head to a height of four inches would prove an invaluable asset he was sent on in advance as 55 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF a preliminary to the interview. Was the recommendation based on his merits as a green-keeper? On the contrary; the entire emphasis was laid on the astonishing redness of his hair, and it carried the day. But, speaking generally, practical considerations have the greater weight. Where a building estate is the governing factor it is necessary to lay out the course with a view of opening up communications by road, arranging sites for houses and villas and introducing all the adjuncts of a busy colony. In such cases the architect's main preoccupation is with the problem of presenting the proposition as it will appeal to the speculator in real estate. With the actual design of the golf course there is not likely to be any great difficulty. The architect will prob- ably be given a free hand to do as he chooses so long as the course promises to be one of distinction and likely to achieve a reputation. The accompanying plan illustrates the manner in which such a scheme may be brought forward. With a club of golfers, on the other hand, stimulated by a spirit of ardent enthusiasm for golf as a sport and a recreation, the architect will find that enthusiastic interest may increase his difficulties and even tend to impede his progress. There is bound to be a considerable divergence of opinion on the prin- ciples of construction. No two people are likely to agree on every point, and it may be a difficult if not an impossible task to induce self-constituted critics to take a reasonable view. In such cases the architect finds himself called upon to take the bull by the horns, because if he does not know his own mind and is unable to steer his own course independently he will end by pleasing neither himself nor his clients. With the best will in the world it may be impossible to strike a mean between directly opposing opinions. A case arose in France where one client wrote complaining that the greens were too small, averaging, so he claimed, an insufficient number of square metres. This difficulty might have been bridged over tactfully had not another client, equally interested in the •'•"."" '; ••••'-• •••'• :•••• 56;' •'.- Plate xxxiv

The skeleton plan of a golf course in connection with a building estate. It will be seen that nearly all the plots touch a fairway. Golf de Lys-Chantilly, near Paris. CONSTRUCTION AND UPKEEP venture, written requesting another visit because he found the greens far too large. Nothing in such an event could be done except for the delinquent to point out with an easy conscience that it was at least a comfort to him to know that he could not have committed both faults at the same time. The only chance of success is to be able to explain what golf course construction really implies. There must be a theory to work on and the necessary judgment to make the most of the material that lies at the architect's hand; it is his task to be able to adapt and harmonise the conflicting elements. What he needs, to put it briefly, are the three cardinal qualities that apply to all architecture whatever may be its nature—mastery, economy of means, and completeness; in other words, the command over materials in order to bring them into efficient action, dexterity in planning to meet the conditions he may have to deal with in any locality, and lastly the technical finesse which we recognise in every other art as craftsmanship, It would be misleading to say that any architect can set out a plan of a course which must be adhered to rigidly to the bitter end. One might even go so far as to say that to attempt to do such a thing would be to court disaster. It would require a mind far too orderly and precise and too little susceptible to impression. The one thing to be avoided at all costs is a plan made according to a pattern. A plan has to " simmer " gently in the mind for some length of time before it can find the best expression. Ideas tumble in from every side and frequently from the least expected quarter. He has to keep his mind as receptive as he can without losing his individuality of outlook. At the very beginning it will probably be the wisest policy to let the projector of a scheme or his friends have a chance of expressing their views at length. But once that is done a solitary walk over the ground will best enable the mind to work out its conclusions in its own way. A single companion, if he were not too communicative, might not be excessive or unduly distracting. Still, it must be confessed that there have been 57 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF occasions when profusion of comment has revealed a stray pearl of wisdom. The most garrulous and irrelevant member of a committee may by accident produce from the wealth of his suggestions a single hint that may be worth all the efforts of the fruitful imaginations of all the others put together. Such a hint can compensate for many hours otherwise spent un- profitably. In the meantime the scheme is built up bit by bit and step by step. The attention is on the alert to pick up the stray ideas which help to complete the picture. Some obscure and dark problem is suddenly illuminated by a flash of inspiration and gradually every part fits into its place and the composition comes happily together. Another essential is that if the architect wishes to stimulate imagination in others he must possess the faculty himself; and if he is to encourage quick decisions in those who play over his courses, he must have convictions of his own that he is able to enforce. A dull stereotyped course is not satisfying to anyone, least of all to the designer himself, because it gives the player nothing to discover; it is read like a book and fails to interest him. A course with the subtlety of St. Andrews can never be read easily or learnt by heart. The fact that every- thing is not visible to the eye adds to its fascination, even to the extent that it may be necessary to play to certain points in order to gain visibility. Many of these finer shades may easily be overlooked by the ordinary observer. The task of the architect is therefore to create, if he can, this atmosphere of interest, to invent secrets that lie beneath the surface—even appearances that can be partly misleading. Many inviting spaces left open only flatter to deceive. And with this concealment of the obvious there should be a feeling in all artificial construction for beauty of line and contour. A course should merge pleasantly into the landscape; the folds of greens and fairways should present agreeable curves against backgrounds of trees and hills; and where it is necessary to 58 CONSTRUCTION AND UPKEEP move earth to heighten levels or form depressions in new ground, the thing should be done with the delicacy of a sculptor modelling his clay. The procedure in surveying an area of the ground in order to discover the best method of laying out a course may be taken roughly as follows. The architect by reference to a full-scale map gains a knowledge of the land at his disposal. He chooses a central position, if possible on the higher ground, from which he visualises three radiating spaces—each to contain a group of holes as nearly six in number as can be managed. These may be considered as Rays A, B and C, having a centre approximately at the point where the clubhouse will eventually stand. Each " Ray " is considered separately on its merits for the natural features which indicate to the experienced eye the more obvious situations for greens and fairways. These are carefully noted and jotted down on the map. The general scheme soon forms itself as a whole. Plans are made, at first roughly, later in greater detail; scale models of greens are prepared (in addition to detailed drawings of their formation) in plasti- cine, papier mach6 or gesso, from which the foreman will be best able to reproduce the idea in the architect's mind. Costs and quantities of the materials required are estimated and a time-table set out for the contractor. It is of the utmost importance that the contractor shall realise that it is his busi- ness to carry out the work with complete accuracy so that the plans already presented and approved shall be represented faithfully in the actual formation of the ground. Finally it will be necessary before passing the work to check the positions of the bunkers and other features with a Prismatic Compass and ascertain by a " Dumpy Level " whether the folds of the greens and the approaches are made according to the specifi- cations. The following points should be noted in any scheme of general construction: 59 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF 1. The length, roughly, should not exceed 6,350 yards. 2. There should be as much triangulation as possible, to prevent having to play any two consecutive holes with or against the wind. 3. The ninth green should be as near the Club House as can be conveniently managed. Three or four, starting points would be none too many in the same vicinity. 4. At least five one-shot holes should be included. There would be no real harm in having six. 5. As few holes as possible should face due west, so as to avoid the afternoon sun. 6. Avoid anything in the nature of parallel fairways, and also out-of-bounds on the slice side. 7. All the two-shot holes should incline to be " dog-legged " —that is, not obviously dog-legged by structure, but by necessity. To put it in another way, the player should be com- pelled to play rather to the side of the fairway than down the middle of the course, if he wishes to be placed in the best position for the next shot. 8. Teeing ground. Avoid the set-square shape as much as possible, especially the straight "railway embankment " type. Let the whole of the tee merge evenly into the surrounding ground by imitating artificially the small mounds and de- pressions, and so make them blend characteristically. This may be a rather more expensive form of construction if it is done really well; but there is never any need to isolate a tee so as to make it stand out obtrusively by itself. Let it be for preference of the "clover-leaf" shape rather than the square. The straight frontal line often has an unnecessary and prejudicial effect on the tee shot from the player's point of view. It is better to leave him as free as possible to take what line he pleases. As an illustration of what should be avoided in general design, and what may be aimed at, the following Skeleton Plan may be worth examining. Itxoncerned the question of a re- construction of a nine-hole course which was intersected by Plate xxxv

A nine-hole course as originally planned on the principles of the Penal School j no real use being made of the one natural feature, the burn. Plate xxxvi

The same course reconstructed on the principles of the Strategic School. It will be noticed that the course of the burn has been somewhat changed. CONSTRUCTION AND UPKEEP a narrow stream running more or less in a straight line through the middle of the ground, the holes repeating themselves in a distinctly ugly fashion. The main principle of rearrangement that was suggested involved the bending of the direction of the stream into wide curves so as to make it govern the play over the majority of the holes. All the greens were utilised with the exception of three. A better idea can often be gained of the way a course should be laid out, so as to obtain variety and artistic arrange- ment in a shorter course of this description than in a more complicated scheme of a full eighteen-hole course where the treatment would introduce the same features on a larger scale. We now come to the question of Grass, which is one of the great essentials and by far the most complicated element in a golf course. No form of plant, it may be said, is so difficult to grow and maintain in a healthy condition; and the peculiar difficulties connected with securing a good sward of grass suitable for playing golf demand the utmost vigilance and patience. Club Committees and the majority of those who have enjoyed, or more probably suffered from, the baffling perplexities of this difficult form of culture are sometimes inclined to believe that the learned professors of agricultural science could assist them if they would. Nothing, however, would be further from the truth, for the reason that the pur- poses of agriculture and scientific greenkeeping are entirely opposed to one another. Agriculturists are not concerned with grass that has to be cut six days a week in the growing season. They are never called upon to maintain a true putting surface all the year round, nor have they to produce a grass that will stand up against all the maltreatment inflicted by incessant traffic and the rough usage of nail-studded footwear. Above all, their object is not to sow and maintain the finer grasses only—grasses that demand a slightly acid condition of soil for them to flourish at their best. The problem to be faced is one opposed to all utilitarian 61 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF purposes. It is well to realise that grass cultivated for golf serves no useful purpose whatever, but is merely a luxury. The whole question of keeping a course in satisfactory order, whatever may be the conditions of the ground on which it is laid, is of such a complex nature and so difficult to grasp by those who have had but little experience, that for the sake of opening the discussion it may be well to enquire into the reasons for some of the unsatisfactory situations which can arise when a course has not in the first instance been properly constructed. A few quotations taken from letters and reports written when advice was asked for will be a convenient method of dealing with the failures that are likely to happen. These will serve to illustrate the most common defects of our courses, and at the same time suggest possible remedies. After we have pointed out a number of the difficulties we shall be in a position to enter more fully into the details of construction and upkeep which lie at the root of success. The first reference we propose to take applied to a course where the necessity of rigid economy led to a number of troubles exceedingly difficult to cope with as soon as the con- sequences of the enforced economy became glaringly apparent after a few years. The reference will show that it was mainly owing to this question of insufficient capital expended in the first instance on the construction of a new course that troubles in the end fell on the unfortunate green-keeper. In Great Britain, as a rule, the architect experiences the greatest difficulty in the matter of a sufficiency of funds at his disposal to achieve anything really good. In France this trouble also arises, but in a lesser degree, owing to a quicker apprecia- tion of realities. In America the difficulty disappears altogether, since in that favoured country there is no stint of capital avail- able for laying the foundations of a course and developing the highest and most excellent type of design. The first extract will explain itself without further intro- duction: 62 Plate xxxvii

This figure shows the wrong way to carve a fairway and rough out of a forest. Plate xxxviii

The right way. To give artistic feeling to an operation of this kind, many more trees have to be cut than are strictly necessary from the golfing point of view. This is termed by the French bordure dentelee. To avoid trees at B masking green, tee shot must be placed as near as possible to trees at A. CONSTRUCTION AND UPKEEP " Before proceeding to reply to the questions you have put to me, a few general observations seem called for, if what I have to say is to be of any real value. While I was an unofficial member of the Committee I regarded myself rather in the light of a consulting physician called in to prescribe for a poor patient. It would have been useless to prescribe champagne and turtle soup for anyone who could hardly afford a bottle of stout. I therefore endeav- oured to act on this principle—with results which, although they were partially successful, in the end unfortunately failed, the condition of weakness being too far advanced. Normally, in the practice of my profession as a golf archi- tect, I advise what I know to be the right way of putting wrong right, utterly irrespective of whether the right way is costly or otherwise. In this case, however, I made an exception and tried every economical expedient possible, in the hope that something short of the right and expensive method might succeed. I am afraid I must confess that it has failed, although the signs at one time were favourable. After I had been at work a short time I knew for a fact that, almost without exception, the seed beds of the greens had been faultily constructed on what at best was a very poor soil. In the ordinary way I should have advised breaking up all the faulty greens, re-forming the seed bed and re-sowing. This advice would not, as I know, have been followed, because of the expense that would be entailed. So I had to suggest other methods. Now that the greens have failed to respond to treatment, I advise that they be broken up one by one—new seed beds prepared and re-sown. In certain cases they might be re-turfed, but not in the places where there is little or no grass. Whether you re-sow or re-turf, the new seed beds should be at least six inches in depth. On a green of 900 square yards the following materials would be required: 63 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF no cubic yards of good light loam, mixed with a little leaf mould. 15 cubic yards of short well-rotted organic manure (30, if re-sown). 15 cubic yards of sharp clean sand, free of iron oxide. Whether you re-turf or re-sow, the proper way would be to remove six inches of the rubbish under the present turf and replace it with a bed composed as above. This would avoid raising the level of the greens. This brings me to your enquiry, whether there is a cheaper way with a reasonable chance of success ? My reply is that nothing short of new seed beds will suffice in the majority of cases. The following experiment, however, might be tried. Tine (that is, raise the turf gently with a fork, without breaking the surface) the green area thoroughly, and dress at once with two cubic yards of compost, to which twenty-five pounds of a complete grass fertiliser has been added. In the case of greens 3, 12, 13, 16, I would suggest that you try the following:—

Cover each green area with five cubic yards of well-rotted horse manure free of straw. Let this lie on the green for three weeks, watered occasionally if the weather be dry. During this period it should be turned over, if it is found necessary by the green-keeper, to avoid burning the grass.

If this succeeds, the process might be repeated on other greens. At the best this is only a tonic, and there is of course the danger of introducing weeds; but some risks must always be taken. An injection of strychnine has been known to save a patient's life. The work suggested should be put in hand without loss of time while there is still some warmth in the ground."

Trouble in connection with another course led to a memo- randum on the question of moss on the greens. 64 CONSTRUCTION AND UPKEEP " Moss is due to one of three causes; either 1. Excessive dampness. 2. Undue acidity. 3. Poverty; due to the deficiency in the soil of one or more of the chemical constituents essential to the health of grass life, and also to the lack of water during periods of drought. The reason in your case is the third of these—for the following reasons: (a) Too great economy was practised in the original pre- paration of the seed beds. Considering the extreme poverty of the soil this was fatal. At least 1,750 tons of organic fertilisers should have been incorporated in the soil. I very much doubt whether one half of this amount was used. Let there be no mistake—this omission will take years to rectify. Pouring stuff in from on top is, at the best, a slow process. (b) Lack of a water supply on the greens. On such a soil greens should be watered daily during drought. A good water supply should be laid on to the greens at once. (c) Owing to deficiency of funds far too great an economy has in the past been practised in the upkeep of the greens. During the last year constant small dressings of compost (during the growing months) have been used under my advice to keep the greens as healthy as possible and to build them up. Taking everything into consideration, a reasonably good result has been obtained. Indeed, I quite hoped we had got over the worst without having to resort to expensive alternatives. I was led to this opinion as moss was not greatly in evidence. But in December it became evident that we could no longer rely on compost alone. I will here digress for a moment and say that had the funds been ample I should from the first have treated the greens as I treat my own lawns which are in perfect condition. I dress my lawns three times a year with compost, to which I add a small quantity of sulphate of ammonia. In addition to this I apply several small dressings of sharp sand, to which once a 65 F THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF year I add an artificial fertiliser if they show any signs of weakness after a very dry summer. On a golf course artificial fertiliser in large quantities is a somewhat expensive treatment and apt to be a dangerous one, as it definitely encourages the coarse type of grass and also weeds. Therefore, before recommending this, I thought it advisable to consult one of the first experts in the country to see if some less expensive treatment could be suggested. As I fully expected, the reply I received was that the right thing to do was to use an artificial fertiliser containing, amongst other ingredients, Soluble Phosphates, Insoluble Phosphates, Nitrogen, Ammonia, Potash. This has been done in very small quantities on some of the greens and these are now in a fairly healthy condition. In all, about one and a half tons would be required—cost approxi- mately £35. This would be sufficient for the greens and fronts of greens—both equally important. Thirty tons of sharp sea sand in addition would cost about £25. I recommend that the greens be treated each spring as follows: March i$th. Apply some well-known moss destroyer during a dry spell. Rake out the moss when dead. April i$th. Tine each green and apply a mixture of sharp sand mixed with a complete fertiliser in the proportions of one cubic yard of sand and one hundredweight of fertiliser. In the Autumn. A dressing of about two hundredweight of compost mixed with fifteen pounds sulphate of ammonia per green should be applied in September, and again in October." The next case of interest is that of a golf course which suffered from the opposite extreme—overfeeding. Every course differs in character and each must be taken on its own merits—or, as often happens, on its peculiar disabilities. " I have received a letter complaining of the muddy con- dition of the fairways at H , due, for the most part, to wormcasts. 66 CONSTRUCTION AND UPKEEP My excuse for writing is the interest I take in a course for which I have been mainly responsible. I am not at all sur- prised that this muddy condition has come about, as a year ago I saw heavy dressings of organic fertiliser being put on the fairways. I did everything in my power to stop it but with- out avail. B is one of the best, if not the best, green-keeper of my acquaintance. But wherever I go it is the same story. It is the otherwise good green-keepers who get their greens and fairways too fat for good golf. In the case of a bad green-keeper it is the other way about —everything is starved. It is exceedingly rare to come across the golden mean. Overfeeding is resorted to in order to maintain as far as possible a good sole of grass during the summer months. But the final result is that more is lost on the swings than is gained on the roundabouts. Moreover, if you have to choose between bare fairways in the summer or wormcasts in the winter, the choice, beyond any question, should be in favour of no worm- casts. Many fine and hitherto dry courses have been turned into mud heaps in winter simply by the application of rich dressings to the fairways in order to get a good sole of grass. From the point of view of golf such an idea is hopelessly wrong. Fairways fed in this way become too easy to play off. The chief skill of the game is eliminated—the skill required to pick up a ball that is lying tight and close to the ground. It is equally wrong from the golfing point of view to have fat greens. When I was playing at C , in June last, I found the putting entirely without interest owing to the thick sole of grass on the greens. Wherever I go and find an otherwise good green-keeper I find myself repeating ' Less food, less food—More sand, more sand,' The most enlightened green- keepers will insist on approaching the care of a golf course from the point of view of the care of a garden; and, what is worse, they are generally encouraged by the members to do so. That is, of course, an entirely wrong principle. Even when 67 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF attempts are made to remedy a condition of poverty the cure can be easily overdone. I never put organic fertiliser on fair- ways except during the period of construction, to give the seed and young grass a good start."

The important thing that the extracts quoted above go to prove is that a golf course is a highly unnatural product. The balance has to be nicely adjusted between too mean and too exuberant a condition. A golf green might, in fact, be regarded with the anxious care bestowed on an athlete in bringing him to a condition of training that is in reality unnatural to him. The exact balance of fitness cannot be maintained without intermission, nor can a green (if the comparison be permitted) without intensive trouble be maintained in a state that is con- sidered perfect. There are necessarily months of preparation needed; intermediate stages, as well, when rest must be given; periods, too, when greens must be allowed to recuperate their strength. It follows that when the requirements are so eminently artificial the state of the grass is subject to all the disadvantages connected with a highly artificial condition of cultivation; and they contract every form of indisposition unless watched with the greatest care. The comparison suggested in an earlier paragraph—of a consulting physician prescribing for a debilitated golf course— has an excellent bearing on the matter. The health of the grass quickly suffers; the efforts to bring it back to convalescence may be unavailing unless radical remedies are in the first place adopted. But in every case prevention is preferable to cure. Keeping healthy grass in good condition costs very little; but the process of restoring weak and unhealthy grass to a sound condition is at the best a costly and slow affair. The basis for a sound constitution should be laid in the very beginning. That is the reason why insistence is so emphatically laid on thorough—and generally expensive—initial outlay. The first steps taken are those which will determine the ultimate course 68 CONSTRUCTION AND UPKEEP of events. The question, therefore, of construction should be considered before that of upkeep. Nothing in the world is more complicated than Soil. It supports an enormous fauna and also an enormous flora. As soon as its natural balance is upset an infinite variety of con- tingencies can arise. The difficulty, therefore, with a course which demands under modern golfing conditions one peculiar standard of growth to which all courses must approximately conform (just as all billiard tables are provided with one kind of cloth) is that the existing conditions of soil must be in the great majority of cases more or less radically altered before fine grasses can flourish in the way they are intended to grow. When links by the sea were first exclusively played over—and then only in parts of the country where the sandy soil was by nature capable of sustaining the right character of grass—the problem solved itself, especially as in the early days the greens were cut in strict moderation. Modern cutting entirely alters the position. It at once makes grass-growing artificial because it deliberately prevents the grass feeding itself. It is therefore necessary to give back what is being taken away by stimulating its normal appetite for its natural food. The only method by which it is possible to support this difficult burden of existence is to prepare a bed for the grass suitable to its needs and to feed it from above at short intervals in order to make good by sufficient imports the heavy exports demanded of it. And the proportion must be exact, because the balance is easy to upset. Another difficulty is that, in order to ensure the acid con- dition of soil which suits the finer grasses, definite risks are taken. A " competitive factor " at once arises. The grass must have sufficient sustenance to prevent the undesirable weeds from gaining a hold, because, if the stamina of the grass is allowed to weaken, there is immediately a competition for the food supply in which the invading forces are likely to get the upper hand. On the other hand, overfeed a green and the grass loses that fineness of texture which is essential. Obviously 69 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF Nature will not fulfil all the artificial demands of a golf green. To maintain the equilibrium needs the closest scientific control —to such an extent that very likely twelve out of eighteen greens on a course may have to be treated in different ways. Up to this point we have been considering mainly the deli- cate surface of putting greens. Fairways present a simpler problem because they are not subjected to the same rigorous treatment. Let them be prepared with proper care in relation to the character of the soil and they may be largely depended on to look after themselves. Supposing, for instance, that the soil is of a good light loam, then the condition is as nearly ideal as it can be. It is only necessary to clean the ground thoroughly before sowing and add a little fertiliser. But supposing the soil to be a heavy clay, what is to be done ? If the architect can, he will be well advised to clear out of the job altogether, as, however clever he may be, he will never get any credit from it. But if it is attempted, means must be taken to enable the water to get away and so lighten the soil. Coke breeze should be employed liberally on the fairways. Coarse charcoal is preferable for the greens, although it will be found to be more costly. So far as the greens on heavy soils are con- cerned, the only satisfactory method is, first, to form the con- tours of the greens, preferably of the plateau variety, and then to lay a foundation of clinker to a depth, of six inches. On the top of this may be put a seed bed with a good proportion of sharp sand, charcoal and manure. Thus for each green area of 900 square yards: 120 cubic yards of good loam; 20 cubic yards sharp clean sand; 5 cwt. coarse charcoal; 1 cwt. artificial fertiliser one week before sowing. If the loam is very light, add 15 cubic yards of short organic fertiliser. Apply charcoal and artificial fertiliser last of all and only rake in lightly. Exactly how to prepare the seed bed is 70 CONSTRUCTION AND UPKEEP described later in the chapter. And if the client is not prepared to face the cost of work done in this fashion there is every excuse for abandoning the attempt and of suggesting another architect. We may now discuss the other extreme, the type of ground known as " sandy peat"—very prevalent on Surrey heaths. Given proper management, this can generally be cultivated with success, but care must be given to one or two points if the results are to be entirely satisfactory. In the matter of fairways wherever layers of peat have accu- mulated they should be removed in order that the seed may be sown in the good black soil underneath. This soil will probably vary in matter of depth; and great care is necessary to avoid the bringing of the raw, lighter coloured subsoil to the surface. If this happens the sowing will be disappointing, and the grass difficult to maintain. Top-soiling will have to be resorted to in the worst places, and the greatest care taken with the seed beds. Where " pans " exist they must be broken up with a sub- soil plough or other means before the rest of the work is pro- ceeded with. If the depth of the " pan " is such that it cannot be broken up by subsoiling, the only alternative will be to lay shallow drains or clinker foundations in order to deal with the surplus water. The difference of treatment in the different soils is therefore clearly shown; that,while the poor soil requires a considerable amount of fortifying, richer loamy soils require only a small quantity of organic manure, with sharp sand to lighten the greens—possibly with the addition of a little breeze or char- coal. To pass from the fairways to Green Construction. The foundation work must first be completed, full regard being paid to the final levels and the avoidance of abrupt slopes. As the formation work proceeds the surface should be well consolidated by trampling with the feet, working the soil well 71 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF down with the heels. Heavy rollers are to be avoided as they consolidate the ground too firmly. A well-trodden green, even if raised three feet, will not be subject to any appreciable settlement if the work is done consistently. Upon this foundation is laid the final seed bed. On light soils it should consist of a uniform depth of specially prepared uncompressed material to a depth of six inches which will work down to four and a half inches. Taking the average green as measuring 900 square yards in round figures, the seed bed will require 150 cubic yards of material. It should be made up as follows for light or sandy soils: 20 tons short well-rotted organic manure. 20 tons sharp clean sand (preferably Bedford sand). 110 cubic yards light loamy soil. Heaps of this material should be put down by the side of each green area, constructed in alternate layers, and allowed to stand six months before being spread over the foundations of the green to the depth already described. This should be applied if possible in April, and the prepared area allowed to lie fallow until August, By that time the weeds will have germi- nated and can be removed by hand each week so that every- thing will be ready for sowing in clean beds. The dates approxi- mately for this sowing will be August 15 in S. England, July 8 in Scotland, and September 15 in France; and the rate of sowing—for greens (a special mixture of seed) 12 bushels to the acre; for fairways (Agrostis vulgaris) 8 bushels to the acre. A rough estimate of cost would be: 18 Greens—say 3^ acres—involves 10 cwt. of seed at 3505. a cwt. Approximate cost £175 Fairways—say 42 acres—involves 75 cwt. of seed at 320s. a cwt. Approximate cost ,£1,200 Making in all ,£1,375 f°r fairways and greens only. Let us see what this involves. It means starting the work of construction in October in order to have the green contours 72 CONSTRUCTION AND UPKEEP ready by the following April. Sowing will take place towards the autumn while the ground is still warm. A spring sowing for this reason is never as certain. Assuming that average weather conditions prevail, the course will be ready for play in the following June—that is, about twenty-two months after the work is begun. Golf courses are occasionally laid out on sandy deserts such as Chiberta and Morfontaine. The greatest possible care must then be taken when applying the imported material, the soil and organic manure. This soil and fertiliser should be mixed over and over again with the sand underneath, until they are practically lost. Golf-course contractors, foremen and green- keepers dislike the labour of doing this, but it is necessary to insist upon it, as otherwise there is a crust left on the top in which the roots never thrive, however well the soil may be aerated at a later date. Any advice to add lime or carbonate of lime to the seed bed should be ignored, as the fine Agrostis and Fescues do not require lime. They prefer a mildly acid condition of soil—a fact that is too often ignored. Provided the conditions are normal, the young grass should begin to show in about three weeks. The finer grasses will be the last to appear; weeds, if there are any, the first. Great care should be taken to remove all young tap-rooted weeds by hand. The vast majority of ordinary weeds will die by cutting when the time arrives to put the mowing machine over the ground, so they will give little trouble. As the young grass comes up, the slightly caked surface of the ground will rise with it. This is the time to use the wooden roller in order to restore the surface to the proper level and protect the young roots from the night frost or from being washed away by the rain. So much for the early days of a new course. The very im- portant question of upkeep has now to be considered. The best opinion of the day confirms the view, on which 73 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF stress has been laid, that the finer grasses such as Agrostis and Fescue prefer a slightly acid condition of soil. Acidity is a somewhat intricate matter to explain in general terms. Suppos- ing that you take an extract of pickled cabbage and add a drop of vinegar, a piece of litmus paper dipped in it will turn red; add a drop of ammonia or a solution of soda and it will turn blue. If the composition is neutral there will be no change. In other words, lime or chalk corrects acidity; ammonia sulphate tends to create acidity, the condition we have in view. Acidity tends to check growth and never conduces to " fat" pasture. On a golf green sufficient vitality must be provided to make up for the considerable wastage of cutting, and this means the provision of a mineral raw diet mixed with the humus (a decayed organic matter which in itself will tend to produce an acid soil when the soil is closely packed and therefore not easily aerated) or mixed with dressings of sand, a material that con- tains no nutriment but has a health-giving effect by keeping the pores of the soil open and thus aiding aeration. If this principle is grasped the meaning of the treatments recommended throughout the year becomes clear. Provided that the condition of the grass is healthy, as it should be when greens are carefully laid, one can rely on a well-prepared compost mixed with a small quantity of sulphate of ammonia of a high grade. This should be applied lightly during the growing season, at intervals of three weeks—April to September inclusive. Assuming that the average size of a green is 900 square yards, each dressing should consist of two hundred- weight of finely sifted compost mixed with ten pounds of sul- phate of ammonia. These dressings should be suspended during a dry spell and should be applied, as far as possible, when the ground is damp. Carefully applied in this fashion they will not interfere with play. Artificial fertilisers, it should be re- membered, have a distinct tendency to encourage a coarse type of grass and weeds. Occasions will probably arise—for instance, after a period 74 CONSTRUCTION AND UPKEEP of drought—when compost is not a sufficiently comprehensive food. Greens then should be dressed with sharp sand and a good complete fertiliser. The best way of dealing with moss has already been described. During the winter, dressings of sharp sand may be given at intervals of three weeks with con- siderable benefit, two and a half hundredweight at a time being ample for a green of goo square yards. A very common error is either to overfeed by giving two or three compost dressings a year in too heavy quantities, or to go to the other extreme of starving the greens and relying solely on artificials which, after all, are more in the nature of a stimulant than a food. The golden mean is to supply just the amount of nutriment needed at short intervals, rather than heavy quantities applied once or twice in the course of the year. A word should be said about the grasses that can be grown in the South of France. A popular delusion exists that fine grasses cannot be grown in that part of the world and main- tained throughout the year. The idea has become almost an article of faith. But fine grasses will undoubtedly flourish any- where in Europe provided there is a competent person em- ployed to look after them all the year round. If the seed bed had been properly laid, the grass properly fed, and (which is essential) a sufficient water supply to keep the green watered every evening during the summer months, no difficulty will be experienced. The failure is caused by the neglect of the course during the summer. The type of grass that is now frequently encouraged, Poa bulbosa, is altogether unfitted for a green on which putting is intended to be a pleasure. Nothing so far has been said about turfing greens because the method cannot be recommended unless really fine turf is procurable—an opportunity that very rarely arrives. Also, it is an extremely costly method. But should good turf be available, and the soil be at all heavy, apply five hundredweight of char- coal per green, or a ton of coke breeze, before laying, and add two ounces of a sound fertiliser for every square yard. 75 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF Lastly, we come to the man who has charge of the course, the green-keeper. Any idea that the upkeep of a course is a simple matter has probably by now been dissipated. For good green-keeping a man must serve his apprenticeship and receive a special training for the work. Gardening is an entirely differ- ent affair and represents a separate branch of culture. The amateur also is out of place where the management of a course is concerned and should never be allowed to interfere with any of the practical details. The work necessitates a highly trained green-keeper who should be made responsible for the technical side of his duties and must be responsible to one person only. This should be the Managing Director in the case of a Pro- prietory Club, or the Chairman of the Green Committee in the case of a Member's Club. In many cases the Secretary gives the orders; but for reasons into which it is unnecessary to enter this is rarely advisable. The green-keeper's duties comprise looking after the course, the care of tools, etc., the selection and management of his assistants, the keeping of time cards, records of work done and notes of the conditions of the weather. Book-keeping, too, is necessary for the pay-roll, receipts of supplies and an inventory of the whole stock of appliances and materials in hand. Work should be planned with a view of a constant improvement in the methods that have been adopted; and, above everything, the green-keeper should resist the temptation of being induced to take men off some important work which is often dependent on the weather, in order to carry out other work of less urgency. There may, for instance, be complaints about the length of the rough on, say, June ist, whereas the green- keeper has budgeted to cut it on June 20th. To take another case: if men are taken off such important details as the work of top-dressing, the year's time-table will be thrown out of gear. Everything must have its proper place in the programme, including greens, fairways and the cutting of the rough, which is too often neglected and should be carried out within twelve 76 CONSTRUCTION AND UPKEEP yards of the fairway with a hay-mower about the middle of May and again about July ist. Broadly speaking, the only thing which should be allowed to interfere with the green- keeper is the weather.

77 VII Hazards

ANY of the things that contribute to a great course are not always appreciated at their full value; criti- M cisms are often directed against the very features to which much of their greatness is due. Roads, railways, sheds and gardens may be thought unsatisfactory and unwelcome, yet they are often the essence of a course; take them away and the difference would at once be felt. They can give just the suggestion of the links as primarily a thing bound up with the life of the community. When a course is beyond the limits of outside interference the stamp of originality is apt to be lacking. St. Andrews owes a great deal to its public landmarks. Rye, again, is a course running in and out of thoroughfares. The first ten holes, all but two, are built round a public road, winding this way and that to form valuable parallels and tri- angles. And this artificial element blends admirably with the fine undulating open spaces of the other holes, although a 78 HAZARDS serious objection may be that public security can interfere materially with the convenience of the golfer and impede his progress. But a road with all its disadvantages in the matter of traffic more than makes up for its defects in forming an excel- lent boundary and has in addition a very potent influence at the holes which cross its path. A light railway also keeps up a familiar tradition of other links at the Twelfth, converting by a local rule an acre or more of the ground short of it into one vast hazard. At the critical Sixteenth and Seventeenth a cart track with terrifying ruts can have a considerable effect on the fate of a match; even the Club House can play its part to advantage at the last hole. It is curious to note how important a part railways can play in our most celebrated links, especially by the sea. The links run along the edge of the coast and the railway so often follows on the landward side. At both St. Andrews and Prestwick they use it as a hazard although they are wise to do so with strict economy. At St. Andrews there is no difficulty in recognising its presence when players and spectators are likely to be smothered in clouds of sooty smoke on the Sixteenth green or Seventeenth tee, owing to the, it may be supposed, insatiable curiosity and patriotic keenness of the engine drivers. At Prest- wick the railway is even more alarming still at the point where the line of rails and an inviting signal-box on the right threaten the opening stroke. At Troon and Sheringham trains will slow down if there is putting to be seen in some important event or else they will considerately flash past so as to cause the players as little dis- traction as possible. But helpful as railways may be as bold and original features on a course, too much should not be expected of them. Prestwick owes in a marked degree a great deal of its originality to the courage with which it has remained true to its original inspiration. No modern architect would for one moment dare to insinuate a first hole in such a restricted and busy area. In some ways Prestwick represents a com~ 79 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF promise: it seems to be composed of two halves—the one ancient, the other modern—yet both fit together so admirably that they provide perhaps the most varied test of golf in the world, especially when the last four holes are taken into account—the famous " Loop " which in view of its tragic record has been otherwise described as Roulette. This last circuit includes the fateful "Alps " which has already been referred to as possessing many enterprising characteristics, though not in itself a hole of great distinction. But it has at least been memorable for more than one dramatic finish, which alone is a sufficient justification for its existence. The mention of Prestwick, with its many intriguing holes in addition to the Loop, again raises the question of how far justice in its purest form should be considered a prepondera- ting factor in golf. Occasionally it has been adversely criticised on this score. As a game golf can scarcely profess to be a test of strictly mechanical rectitude: we need only mention that it admits the stymie on other grounds than mere equity. Without entering on so vexed and insoluble a question, the retention of the stymie certainly implies that where the alternative arises between too great an element of chance on the one hand or too great an element of rectitude on the other the preference is given, and rightly, to the more sporting alternative as being most in accordance with the spirit of the game. In golf architecture this point should not be lost sight of. The modern tendency of thought undoubtedly runs to the extreme of dull and meticulous certainty. Prestwick possibly is more open than most courses to a line of criticism which would deter any architect in his right senses from imitating it. Many of the holes openly seem to justify by their peculiar difficulties a total inequality of treatment to shots of possibly identical merit. There may be apparently the most flagrant occasions of injustice; but what of that? The varied chances of the course are continually operating; the tide of fortune has time to flow this way and that, and victory may lie in the end 80 HAZARDS with the most resourceful player who is best able to extricate himself from the penalties of repeated ill fortune; but it is true to say that he may suffer many indignities on the way. We can remember in a championship match two glorious approaches to Sea Heatherick, played straight on the pin, which were seen to pitch within six inches of each other; yet the one finished well below the green on the left at the foot of the slope while the other ran across the green, was checked by a slope and came back to within a foot of the hole. It is easy to say that such unequal rewards are contrary to reason and Tightness, but the chances generally tend in the long run to equalise one another. Attempt, however, to remove as far as is feasible this element of chance; try to approximate to the exactness of other games; make the game, if you can, fool-proof against " the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune " and the glory of golf will certainly court suicide. It may be a paradoxical attitude to assume or defend, that equally well-executed shots should be unequally treated; but it involves the eternal choice between the flexibility provided by the element of chance and the greater evil of rigidity that follows from a ruthless mechanical system. It would not be too much to say that by sparing the chances you run a definite risk of spoiling the sport. But even if the older and greater courses do encourage a wider range of manoeuvre they give, in spite of that facility, the impression of simplicity. The educated taste admires simplicity of design and sound workmanship for their own sake rather than over-decoration and the crowding of artificial hazards. The strategic school above all aims at escaping for- mality by limiting the use of the artificial bunker, the excessive employment of which can easily crowd a course to the ruin of everything that contributes to spaciousness of design. It will be seen, therefore, that the construction of hazards, their place in the scheme of a hole, the artistic blending of their contours with the character of the ground and their relation to the scenery as a background are things of the first 81 G THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF importance if a harmonious and satisfactory result is to be obtained. All of this needs the closest co-operation between the architect and the contractor employed by him, because the work does not involve merely a question of accuracy in carrying out the original plan as would be the case in the con- struction of a house, a railway or a road, where any attempts to indulge in artistic licence on the part of the contractor or his foreman would be sternly discouraged, as it would lead to no advantage whatever and might easily become a positive danger. But with the construction of a golf course the position is entirely reversed. Much will depend on the intelligent inter- pretation of the architect's wishes. The experience of a fore- man trained to the work is absolutely essential, as the original plan is almost certain to need slight but significant modifica- tions—all of them demanding an intuitive understanding of the method of Nature in fashioning the line of a hill, the curve of a hollow or the subtlety of a slope. This instinct for rhythm and character must be felt by the person, whoever he may be, on whom rests the responsibility of carrying out the work, and it alone will help him to redeem any form of construction from the effects of artificiality and hardness. It will be necessary as well for the architect to keep a continual watch on the work as it progresses and to make minor alterations from time to time as they are needed, for these never reveal themselves until the last finishing touches are called for, and on them, as the work nears completion, may depend the chances of a true and final artistic success. It would be advisable to keep the following considerations in view. All slopes and contours should be watched with the utmost care. Where it is found that they have to be introduced arti- ficially a few distinctions are necessary, Figure i is an example of how it is almost impossible to detect with the naked eye where the artificial work begins and ends—at B and C re- spectively. 82 HAZARDS

A JB Figure I In Figure n no attempt has been made to smooth out the points at which the artificial work joins the existing ground level. A good general rule in respect to hills, as distinguished from folds in the ground, is to make the batter extend from its highest point to where it joins the existing level twelve times as long as the hill is high. So long as it will be found impossible to detect where the join has been made, little fault can be found with the general construction.

Figute n

Another point is that the batter of a hill should never be quite smooth, as in Figure in—

Figure in but rather with movement, as in Figure IV—

Figure IV

The batter as in Figure in is dead; that in Figure iv alive. Two cases may be mentioned where an abrupt slope is 83 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF permissible. One is at the back of a green on the reverse side of the slope. See batter A—B in Figure v:— L Figure v

The other is where an artificial hill leads into an artificial bunker. If the slope is too flat the ball will not be retained in the bunker. It might also be noted that the floors of small pot bunkers should never be flat, as in Figure vi, but slightly rounded, as in Figure vn:—

Figure vi Figure VII A fold or hillock around a green must have a sharper batter than one in twelve, otherwise it is lost. As a general guide an angle of forty-five degrees for the revetted face of a bunker is the most suitable. See Figure vii. With regard to artificial hill work at the back and sides of a green, the first of the following illustrations (Figure A) is not to

Figure A be recommended because it is too regular to be convincing. The height is so even that it gives the impression of a horse- shoe formation as seen from the back of the green looking toward the flag. The second (Figure B) is far preferable; it is Figure B more broken and the height is varied to allow of little runs and valleys between the hills—a very material point in getting the water off a green by gravitation. With a horse-shoe formation the water cannot get away. This can easily be avoided by slightly advancing one hill and pushing the next further back. On the slopes away from the green the grass should be kept rough. Artificial hollows are equally important in the matter of design, and the same principles apply; only in the case of hollows at the side of the fairway, where they function as hazards, may they be abrupt. The good type of artificial hollow is easily distinguished from the bad, as the latter shows exactly where the hollow begins and ends. Batters that are too sharp with a flat bottom between them are features to be avoided. The bad example is seen in Figure vin, the good in Figure IX. Again, the one is seen to be dead, the other a live thing.

Figure vin

Figure ix On heavy types of soil a grass hollow should not be made on a green or fairway unless it is allowed to drain naturally by means of a " run-out" between folds in the ground at the 85 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF side of the green. Where on heavy soils there is no opportunity of draining a bunker by gravitation, and where a raised bunker is out of place, the bunker should be drained by a sump hole as indicated in Figure x.

Figure x

As bunkers must be used on a course with one purpose or another—either to trap a bad shot or (as we should prefer) to govern the play of the hole—a few words may be said on their construction. But it cannot be urged too strongly that they should be used as economically as possible. They must never be symmetrical, as in a plain circle or oblong:—

The following types may be recommended, and it should be noted that they have what is termed " lace edges " in order to break the hardness of the line.

In designing and arranging on a fairway a small group of bunkers that have to be carried avoid a straight line. Let them 86 HAZARDS be en echelon; and in any case vary the form, to prevent them looking too much alike. See Figure XI.

Figure xi On flat ground high hill-work is to be avoided. A certain amount of relief may be necessary to indicate the position of a bunker, but in any case the maximum height should not exceed eighteen inches above ground level. When working over a hilly country, artificial work can. go up to as much as five feet if necessary. An attractive type of bunker that can occasionally be used is the kind that has a grass island in the centre. The advan- tages are that it is artistic—breaking the effect and avoiding a large expanse of sand; that it is economical where sand has to be imported; and that it also prevents sand-blow. Another economical bunker is the smaller kind with "draws" into it; that is to say, gentle slopes which entice balls into the hazard. These are excellent in cases where a course has to be constructed in a private park and objections are raised to large expanses of sand being exposed to view. By arranging very slight slopes, sand bunkers can be entirely hidden—very much in the way that a sunk fence, or Haha, is used over park land. 87 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF On very wet soils bunkers should not be sunk below the ground level if it can be avoided. They soon fill with water and are difficult to drain. The better plan is to construct an artificial hill and carve the bunker out of its face. The base line in Fig. xn represents the ground level; the entire floor of the bunker will be seen to lie above it.

Figure xn

Plate xl

The big hitter if he reaches fairway A with his tee shot will experience no difficulty in getting his four, but the carry is a long one from the tee. On the broken line the medium nlayer will get his five quite easily. For variety, a bunker on direct line to the Hole. Plate xli

To avoid bend in the burn short of green, tee shot should be placed near as possible to A. Plate xlii

The Tiger will reach green in two on unbroken line if the wind is not against him. If it is, he will have to play his second to left of small bunker short of green. The medium player will take the broken line, and more often than not halve the hole without receiving a stroke. Plate xliii

A bunker in centre of fairway at 200 yds. is a great feature. To be well placed for second shot, a carry of zoo yds. is necessary on unbroken line. St. Andrews. Approaching the 18th VIII Going North GOLFER may or may not have what is termed the " architectonic sense " very highly developed so far A the courses he plays on are concerned. He may be partially blind to the strategic influences that threaten him and have a stronger inclination to specialise in the techni- calities that claim his greater interest. But there may be others who prefer to receive impressions as they come with irrelevant swiftness, who delight more in the spirit than in the precise letter of the game. To one of these the sense of unity rather than a particular attention to only one phase of the game may make the greatest appeal. He will riot feel he can rank himself as an expert—the man who knows more and more about less and less. He may be so bewildered by the numerous intricacies that present themselves that he begins to be resigned to the conviction that in reality he knows less and less about more and more. But if by any chance this should be his predicament he probably becomes increasingly alive to the influence of variety. 89 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF For of all the outstanding characteristics of modern golf variety stands out as the most conspicuous. Think of the variety of styles; the fact that each individual player seems fitted by nature for certain peculiarities of manner from which he will never release himself: As many arrows, loosed several ways, Fly to one mark; f As many ways meet in one town, As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea; As many lines close in the dial's centre; that maxims and scientific dogmas are laid down as infallible at one moment and torn up promptly at the next as unorthodox; that the weather, though varying from every extreme, is rarely bad enough to interfere with play; that play is possible with- out intermission all the year round; and that in his moods of joy and sorrow the player is the quantity that varies the most of all! There can never be an excuse for monotony. If you do not like golf in one place there is no ostensible reason why you should not like it in another. You can follow it round the world if you please and it will never be quite the same in any two places. The greens may be of turf, or mud, or sand—in colour green, brown or blue—and in specially favoured places (so one has heard) of minute particles of precious stones. Regarding the courses alone, think of the endless varia- tions of distances, conditions of soil, the diversities of planning. In discussing golf courses we are aware, rather vaguely per- haps, of certain distinct impressions; and we wonder if there is any way of grouping them, any broad line of resemblance or difference which enables a classification. The one that appears at the moment to have relevance is a remark made by aPontifex Maximus in the ancient days of Rome on the matter of religions, which he divided into those peculiar to the poet, the philosopher and the statesman. This may be a distinction 9° GO IN G NORTH ... •? on the whole rather flattering to mankind; but the virtue of the remark lies in the qualification which he added that the first two were " futile and superfluous," while the third was the one that " could alone be accepted." Without going into the merits of the pronouncement too deeply, the distinction does fit rather aptly, we think, with golf courses, because it describes certain differences of atti- tude. One is reminded of links that would appeal more par- ticularly to poets, to philosophers and to men of affairs. To put it in other words, it is a game which is comprehensive enough to satisfy the different tastes of those who are by nature imaginative; of those, on the other hand, who are intensely rational; or, in the third instance, of those who regard it as a thing to be dealt with politically, controlled and regulated as a matter of statecraft. It is not so difficult a problem to recognise the courses be- longing to the Statesman, because there are only very few from which to choose. They are the places where, if a thing is to bedone, it must be done with decorum and proper ceremony. It is the essential third that " can alone be accepted." It means that this is sacred ground beyond the reach of criticism. It must have the air of infallibility. When we go north there is only one thought in our minds—the Old Course of St. Andrews. Not that in the southern portions of our island there are no links, to play on which suggests the entering of a great cathedral nave. At Westward Ho! we step straight into the pure air of sanctity, an open plain and limitless sky of impressive calm; and if we are capable of an emotion worthy of the occasion we shall hear the sound of an invisible and celestial choir echoing in our ears. One lives and plays there for a while amongst the gods. Golf becomes a symbolic and religious act; and old Scaevola, who presided once on a time over the festivals of Rome and laid down the laws and regulations with the pre- cision of a Green Committee, is there in spirit saying—" This 91 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE 0 F GOLF is the high ideal, the irrevocable order which must be pre- served." The great statesmanlike courses, such is one's feeling, should only be played on by heroes. The incompetent generation might be well advised to leave them alone. They are simply tempted to their destruction. The pitfalls of Hoylake, for in- stance—the gardens and the Field—are historic places which the respectful pilgrim, if he is not utterly devoid of right feel- ings, must visit primarily as a matter of duty. He cannot expect to keep within the ordinary bounds; the hazards are attacked too tenderly, and, as might be anticipated, he is claimed a victim in the twinkling of an eye. St. Andrews, too, gives many not- able opportunities for error, and if he would not be guilty of the grossest discourtesy, he must seize them with both hands and not grudge the sacrifice. There is something in the air of St. Andrews, too, which the most sceptical will surely recognise as pontifical. You have only to glance at the Temple in the hollow of the hill gracing the first fairway to be aware of one of two influences; either that it will impress the mind of the beholder with awe, or that it will cause a depression in his heart if he has been antici- pating the prospect of a pleasant round. Whichever it be, you would swear that old Scaevola is there behind the high window brooding over the prospect. Respectfully we take off our hats to him as we pass. An author who is also something of a golf legislator once made the confession that if he wrote about St. Andrews he would omit the prosaic features and dwell on—if you knew what he meant—the poetical. Unfortunately that is an attitude entirely beyond many of us. There are things to admire at St. Andrews—the blaze of gorse from the further end of the links setting off the jagged steel-blue outline of the town where it cuts into the sky in the morning light, the strange effects of sunset when the grass is startlingly green against the red re- flections on the rocks, and the Grand Hotel shimmering in 92 GOING NORTH glints of orange and purple. It may be a pleasure of another kind to observe the bustling interweaving crowd (as in the forum of ancient Rome) in the square below and the appren- tices in white aprons watching the events on the last green in their intervals of leisure. Perhaps, too, there is a little less emotion experienced in looking at the grim buildings on the right turning their backs to the evening glow; but the clean briskness of the air, the breeze blowing in soft or bitter gusts off the sea and the shrill jubilant cries of the gulls circling over the sands stimulate the imagination. Yet, in spite of all these things, one can scarcely call St. Andrews poetical. She may have every virtue under the sun but that. She may be roman- tic—indeed highly romantic—but the romance is of a distinct and different order, typical of Mars rather than of Venus. The associations, it may be suggested, are more of a battle- field than a playground. It excites something of the emotion that is roused by other great scenes of athleticism, except that here you are on foot. One thinks of St. Andrews as a place of crowds and thrilling moments, a drama of solitary figures impassively walking at the head of armies down crowded alleys of humanity to the oases in the human desert, where thick circles of spectators collect to receive them. One realises the rapt excitement of a multitude of people and the pent emotions of the players. Most of us are happily spared this last infliction. We hurry amongst the crowd to the points where the sternest sensations are to be gathered; the cross roads near the Eden where the tongues of rumour are eternally busy; the slightly bewildering and critical region round Hell Bunker; the railway and the Principal's Nose; the sheds and mysterious garden, where a stationmaster in the few leisure hours of his vocation is sup- posed, perhaps inaccurately, to be lurking; the fateful Road; and then the final spurt up the straight to glory or defeat. Can we dispute the fact that this is the seat of the Lawgiver, the Westminster of the North ? Is it not calculated to stir the 93 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF imagination to its depths? At St. Andrews you feel you are treading a soil that has been trampled by countless feet. There is just a touch in her demeanour of the mediaeval republic equipped with a parade ground on which her citizens can exercise and prepare themselves for the fray. Some courses you may treat with careless indifference. St. Andrews you must take seriously or not at all. It is impossible to imagine her ever in an effervescing mood. She is a little too grim and awe-inspiring for that. To see St. Andrews at its zenith you must watch an Open Championship when the big tents are erected away towards the sea and the crowds assemble in their thousands and the stage is set for the crucial test. The first thing that strikes the spectator is the freedom of it all. There are few restraints to curb him of his liberty—no queues, no turnstiles, no tickets or numbered seats. You do as you choose, go where you please, so long as you observe the elementary precaution of not getting too much in the way. Even if it rains there is a counterbalancing brightness on the links when the umbrellas are unfurled, because here they are not black and funereal, but blossom like roses, tulips or pe- tunias, unfolding petals of many dainty colours,stars of brilliant harlequin hues, with an occasional pattern of bright Highland tartan. This gives a ray of artificial sunshine under the leaden skies. Think of the leisureliness in the morning's proceedings during a championship. Breakfast is not necessarily hurried. As Izaak Walton would recommend:" We shall, I warrant you, make a good, honest, wholesome hungry repast." You glance out of the window and wonder which pair is on the tee that the spectators lining out below the steps are waiting for. You stroll perhaps down the first fairway with the stragglers and make your way to the rising knoll behind the first green to wait for the players to come up. From this excellent point of vantage you look back towards 94 GOING NORTH the terrace in front of the clubhouse and observe that the crowd has thickened considerably and is standing motionless. Presently in the distance a figure in a light jersey is seen to make a slight spasmodic movement. The sound of a faint click arrives on the air a moment later. Then the ranks massed on either side break and advance steadily towards you. If this oncoming host had murderous designs—the thought of Ban- nockburn faintly suggests itself—the narrow obstacle of the Swilcan Burn would not be too great a protection. The line halts halfway and is marshalled into a wavering front with a flicker of the red flags of the stewards running across it. The seconds are played, and, as if stirred suddenly to life, everybody rushes helter skelter for the green. One of the spectators makes the remark that it reminds him of a race to the diamond diggings. The burn bars their advance. The front line sits down on the brink, legs dangling over the edge, amidst much laughter and jocular comments. Meanwhile the balls have fallen with a thud on the green at our feet, and the players with their satellites cross the bridge and enter the ring. After the serious affair of putting is over, a dash is made for the next tee or away straight ahead towards the second green. The crowd by this time has grown so vast that it overflows a good way in advance. The vanguard catches up the gallery in front, somewhat to the disturbance of the players, who had fondly hoped to be able to do their putting in peace. One of the caddies—a one-armed man who has the game very much at heart—takes this unexpected invasion as a personal affront, and expresses his annoyance in characteristic language, appeal- ing to the newcomers for fair play—to be sportsmen and give them all a chance." There's more than Joneses on the coorse," he shouts as his final appeal. This plaintive but obviously just protest seems to carry weight with the restive crowd and in- duces them to keep still. THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF After a while the further end of the links is reached. It is a relief to sit down for a moment on the knolls bordering the Eden and watch the parade go by over the level ground for the next few holes, because they will return presently and you will be able to join the ranks again on the homeward journey. It is a great place from which to see the groups moving in the distance like small armies, spreading and eddying to and fro, forming whirlpools round the greens and drawing as by a magnet the players into the very centre of the vortex. You find them shut out from view for a while, and then they are released again and swept onward once more in the human current. This is the place, too, where the news is most freely circu- lated. All the talk is of figures. The " over " and " under " fours is the topic of the hour. It needs some swift mathematical calculations to understand the exact positions—the additions of sixties and seventies and multiples of seventy-two. We hear that a certain famous player was out in wonderful figures; another has suffered the indignities of ill-fortune at a well- known hazard and is making heavy weather of it under the burden. Another celebrity, it is rumoured, is in dire distress and will need the best of luck to save his neck. He is coming up now, his face rather grey and set. We decide to follow him for a few holes, especially as there are signs that he is at last finding a " break "—and if he happens to find it, the event will be thrilling. An excellent three is greeted with encouraging ap- plause. The good work continues at the next hole, and another black mark is gallantly wiped off the slate. If he can manage to cut out a few more he may still be in the running. But, as ill luck will have it, just when the tide seems to be carrying him at the flood, a disaster overtakes him and we know that, barring accidents, he is out of it. So it is time to look round for other dramatic happenings. Looking back, we see a movement of people on the skyline. Hillocks here and there are quickly being crowned with groups 96 GOING NORTH eagerly trying to see over the heads of those on the level. One catches a whisper that Napoleon, marching at the head of his armies, is two under fours. Will he maintain his advantage or can he possibly, as he is quite capable of doing, improve upon it? We soon find ourselves involved in the oncoming storm, swept forward like leaves before a strong western gale. An occasional glimpse of the play is all we can expect to get, but these glimpses are supplemented by remarks on what is hap- pening from those who are more fortunate. There is a per- petual babble of comment and conjecture; a gathering on the links, especially at St. Andrews, is nothing if not broadly articulate. The crowd, too, is needing a lot of handling. It is shepherded and shouted at, directed to right and left, told to stand still or wildly entreated not to run." Back, please! Stand back there!" is heard on every side. A whole block of people has to be pushed bodily away to the further end of a bunker before the next shot can be played. The shepherds wipe their heated brows despairingly in the brief intervals of stillness after the avenue to the green has at last been properly aligned. The shot is played. The crowd stirs uneasily once more and gives signs of breaking wildly. Again they are turned right or left, past greens and hazards, away from another army advancing from a southerly direction. The two colliding bodies have to be separ- ated and guided into their proper channels. After superhuman efforts they are disentangled and part company like two great liners in mid-ocean. We are now well on in front at the fateful Road Hole, stand- ing on one of the points of higher ground so as to be able to see what happens with the critical second. This is the magic hole which causes such dreadful palpitations to the spectators as the player waits to consider whether he shall chance a heroic effort and try to get his four or whether he thinks his score is good enough and a safe five is the thing to go for. We who are 97 H THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF watching share the anxieties of his predicament. What is he going to do ? The crowd copies streaming round the sheds in the distance, and again much time is taken to clear yet another long avenue. The player on whom all eyes are set is seen to take an iron. It is evident that he means, very wisely, to play short for his score. Down the ball drops in front of us, just below the bank leading up to the green. The criticisms to be heard of the result are altogether favourable. "It's a lovely shot he's played just now . . . Bobby's got a straight run up to the pin. . . . Is the ither mon Kairkwood ? . . . Strong. He's strong. He's past it two yards. ... If Bobby holes it, there'll be a great cheer. . . .Has he holed it? ... No. He's missed . . . 72. That's his score." And 72 it is, allowing for the regulation four at the last hole, which is all he will want to win. Then comes the final scene of all with a dense mass of humanity surrounding the three sides of the last green. Pre- sently, after a long delay, the crowd is marshalled into a bottle- necked formation, the player left in a tiny recess at the further end. The seconds are played. In an instant a rope is run across the near side of the green that lies open. The sight is like a red rag to a bull. A roar of defiance goes up from the crowd, and a general stampede is made to reach it. They come on like a wave breaking. In a few seconds the acre of green is ringed with some thou- sands of spectators eager to see the last phase of the drama, and from the corner nearest the clubhouse, Andrew Kirkaldy, the standard bearer of St. Andrews, steps with a dignified bearing to the centre of the stage to hold the pin. The ball has fallen short and lies in the Valley of Sin. But it is bravely putted right up to the edge of the hole. A wild burst of cheers greets the effort. When the ball is tapped into the hole pandemonium breaks loose. The green is rushed, the white jersey overwhelmed in the surging mass of admirers. In another moment it reappears above the surface with the GOING NORTH victorious putter held high in the air, as the hero is carried over the crest of the waves. Later he escapes on foot round by the Starter's Box, wiping his brow, greatly relieved that it is all over. It has been hard work for everybody, players and spectators alike. A championship—who can deny it?—is the occasion for as much violent exercise as anyone could very well desire, also for a display of unbounded humour and patience by every- one concerned. At the end of the week, when the event has passed into history, it will not be surprising if after all the jostling, the hurrying, the scrambling and reaching up on tip- toe to get a sight of the play the spectator finds himself a little weary and footsore, for when he comes to think of it he has probably tramped fully forty miles or more.

99 IX The Philosopher and the Poet E have still the courses to consider which belong to the philosopher and the poet. Neither of these Wworthies, we may be sure, would trespass on the province of the statesman because they have no talent for affairs. To take first the philosopher, what kind of course shall we assign to him ? It depends to a great extent on the question whether he is easy to please or whether he is likely to be ex- acting. That is a thing one can rarely tell with philosophers. The probabilities are that he will not have the clearest idea him- self as to what it is that he really wants. He will be Searching an infinite Where, Probing a bottomless When, Dreamfully wandering, Ceaselessly pondering, What is the Wherefore of men. Bartering life for a There, Selling his soul for a Then, Baffling obscurity, Conning futurity, Usefullest, wisest of men 1 ioo THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE POET He will be seeking perfection but despairing of finding it, and we therefore hope he will be content with what lies readiest to hand. One thing that is certain is that his wants must be fully catered for. Shall we decide then that he is somewhat vague, but enquiring and speculative as to his methods ? The Whither and the How are the things that are most likely to puzzle and intrigue him. Still, there is the feeling that he must not be too particular as to what is given him; that if he is, the fault is his own and that it will repay him to make the best of his opportunities. We take it that his taste inclines more to the drudgery of the game than its aesthetic qualities, the keeping of cards and such commonplace affairs, questions of legisla- tive interest, problems of ball restriction or the thousand and one things of technical detail which might even include the minutiae of golf course construction. Too much beauty would probably be wasted on him. We must refrain from taxing the philosopher too highly with the artistic temperament. Still, he has his place in the world and nowhere so con- spicuously as in the golfing world, for no game is as rich in thinkers and men of speculative minds. We are unwilling to put him off with courses that are merely mediocre, but we think the majority of these may well be dedicated to his use. AH that do not contain the quintessence of beauty or the last word in efficiency can be thrown indiscriminately into the philosopher's hat. There will be little difficulty in discovering which they are, because something is generally left a little short of perfection. Criticism is terribly ruthless in its judg- ments where golf is concerned. But any minor detractions ought not to prove too discouraging. It may be that the soil or the surroundings are not ideal; and then there are the numerous things that tantalise the fastidious. If he be true to his pro- fession he may be relied upon to make the best of everything. It is agreed therefore that questions of insignificant detail will not be an occasion for worry. He is a little impervious to the finer shades. He studies the ground at his feet rather than IOI THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF the heavens above his head. His head, too, is not lost in the clouds like the poet's. He can regard with an equable soul the heaps of innocent desecrants of greens or fairways slain by the the Man with the Hose, who, like Time with his Scythe, makes his appearance at the psychological moment and leaves be- hind him a valley of desolation. He will pick his way amongst the prostrate bodies as imperturbably as Napoleon in the pictures is seen to ride his grey charger down long avenues of corpses reaching into the distance. His heart is wrapped up in the entangling processes of his technique, the many little things he thinks he has to think of, or which in his thoughtful way he has set his mind religiously, as a mental discipline, to think of. If the poet allows his emotions to wander and ruin his game, the philosopher wastes nothing of his mental agility but concentrates on the business before him and keeps his emotions well under control. It would be a pity to cast the slur on any course as being altogether " futile and superfluous," however bad it might be or wherever it might be situated, simply for the reason that it has its uses as the terrain for the pursuit of certain ends, a kind of happy and perpetual hunting ground. And all such hunting grounds partake in an equal measure of the earth and the sky; the hand of man is fortunately only able to mar the face of the earth. With many, no doubt, the poetical qualities count the most. A course may not in the general eye be an eminently great one; it may be set among the hills or on the edge of the sea, or bounded by birch and fir trees; it may be situated on the downs or in a deer park; amidst picturesque sheets of water or rivers to be crossed in a ferry; amongst trees and sunshine, undula- tions of hill and dale (so long as they are not too precipitious). In all of these one can discover the pleasures

That valleys, groves, or hills, or fields, Or woods and sleepy mountains yields. 102 THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE POET We can think of links situated in the extreme north bordering a sea that is never of quite the same tone of blue for five minutes together, and encircled as well by other shades of blue of a more ethereal tint—the Caledonian mountains framing the sky in the far background. The purity of light, the delicious freshness of the dawn and, on some rare occasions, the start- ling effect of the magnetic sunset strike the eye, invigorate the senses and stir the emotions. When the air has been highly electrical and the Aurora Borealis has of nights been flickering in veils of fire across the sky, one has seen in the late afternoon the terrific portent of a triple rainbow breaking over the sea, with the twin pillars of the principal arch on either side touching the earth—appar- ently no more than a hundred yards or so away—palpitating in great cascades of coloured fire, spouting and foaming like fountains joyously to the heavens. Such a scene on or off a golf course is too fantastic to seem even credible. These links that remain in the memory as haunted by the rainbows had in their less theatrical moments an earthly and quiet beauty, the beauty of rolling ground and sand dunes and an occasional glimpse of a sandy beach where the birds on the further rocks idle their time or prospect for fish. After that we ascend to higher spaces to overlook a vast arena stretch- ing out below. But what could be better for golf than these barer slopes running out towards the sea, exposed to the freedom of air and wind ? The course, too, that is purely sylvan is not to be ignored, where trees are natural hazards and have been mercifully spared from destruction. Here they have a sympathetic mean- ing for the poet. If the architecture be, as often happens, somewhat primitive and elementary and the greens too mossy to rival the perfection of velvet, they justify their existence at least to the artist, and give him endless opportunities of pleasure. That, at any rate, is no slight justification. . But if one wishes to realise the true and typical course 103 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF of the Poet the impressions of an American author could scarcely be improved upon. We have been led before now to believe from various sources that the American tem- perament tends to concentrate rather unduly on results; that the purpose is to be, somewhat exclusively perhaps, successfully utilitarian. But this is to take what might be termed a short view, if not to entertain a complete fallacy. The slightly unexpected poetical strain which the book re- veals shows that our American friends can concentrate equally as well on the poetry of their courses in a manner to put our authors, even the most aesthetic of them, to the blush. Indeed, the golfer, pure and simple, is apt in this particular instance to be lost sight of altogether in the glow of his wonderful surroundings. This is not to imply that America has not its full measure of philosophers as well as poets. Walter Hagen is recognised by his admirers as one whose obiter dicta have thrown more than ordinary light on the mental attitude most calculated to command success; his cheerful countenance in the face of ad- versity has before now steeled many a wavering heart. And for the Statesman, it was only necessary to glance at the frontis- piece of this illuminating work to find a worthy representa- tive in ex-President Taft at the top (or approximately the top) of his swing, ready to deliver the initial blow which would open the course. But it was the author who was the poet, and quite engrossed our attention to the exclusion of every other consideration. In the first place we discovered that the links were carved out of volcanic rock. Granite crags rose on every side such as would have dwarfed the summits of Mont Agel, with the chamois imprisoned in the cages opposite the clubhouse. We could indeed well understand that " the making of the gran- diose scenery, to be viewed from practically every tee of the course, involved one of the most interesting chapters of the earth's creation." 104 THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE POET This mass of shapeless rock, we subsequently learnt, was thrust upward from primeval chaos " millions of years before there was life on the earth. Volcanic convulsions heaved up the crust, swirling tides rushed over stark, nameless con- tinents." Golf was, perhaps for the first time, invested with all the glamour of geology. To play a round in these surround- ings would delight the scientist's heart and prove an education to the enquiring student. How grass could be induced to grow on these unsympathetic slopes was an additional marvel. The same true and searching eye drew attention to the scenic backgrounds. The architect had " done his best "—for which we may be thankful—but "Nature herself created this perfect spot. . . . There is the widest, loftiest sky in the world over- head (even America has that), the whole effect is aerial—you feel as if you were asked to drive a ball from cloud to cloud." This would have allowed, it might be thought, such an in- secure stance that the bare idea of golfers in these fearful positions is enough to make one feel dizzy. It must be a severe strain, when this suggestion is made, to look upwards into the pale blue firmament with its masses of snow-white cumulus preparatory to driving; and to the player in any way susceptible to aerial influences it would be just as well to heed the friendly advice to try " just to shut out the scenery and play your shot." Nothing else could possibly save you. This indeed is the prominent motive throughout the book: that the lover of landscape may be subjected to much grave provocation. Here the golf architect would probably cordially approve; it would mean a multitude of hazards to him..The player, however, deserves for himself a little generous sym- pathy if it is made an agony to him to see " a graceful clump of birches on the left pressing forward drowsily, nodding an equally valuable message not to hook." So many of us know to our cost how difficult it is to refuse a really pressing invita- tion of the kind. We should accept it almost to a certainty. 105 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF Birch trees and even heather have a way with them that is too often fatally irresistible. It is realised that much is gained if the balance between the two instincts can be so adjusted that the temptation to play a false stroke can be manfully resisted while at the same time the landscape is being admired. Then the mind, no longer dis- tracted, reaps a double reward in this romantic region. " The cool, deep green background of the Blue Jay Mountains rising theatrically behind the green will make the flight of your ball a curve of beauty that will for days afterwards repeat itself in your dreams." For the artistic temperament, however, tormented in this tantalising fashion, it must indeed be a perilous task, if not a hopeless one, to concentrate on a good card or to contest a close match. The temptation to feast the eye (and therefore commit the indefensible sin of lifting the head) on the Blue Jay Mountains a moment too soon is the one type of error against which we are so constantly warned. The artistry of our golf is seriously imperilled by the innate sense of beauty that is involuntary, and we are forced to the conclusion that in such cases of a divided allegiance the sensitive player— especially if he wishes to improve his game—would be wiser to seek more prosaic conditions. But there is an admirable point brought out in this con- nection which offers a slight consolation, and that is the power of scenery to supply inspiration. On our own home courses plenty of hazards abound which can produce a dazzling effect on the mind—sheets of water where dabchicks haunt the bulrushes and swans build their nests on picturesque islands. But sheets of water can be awkwardly wide. On one of our own inland courses we can think of a short hole in which the carry over the pond was just beyond the powers of a lady bent at the time on securing a handicap; and in ladies' golf, as all the world knows, where handicaps are concerned no mercy will ever be shown. A not unnatural nervousness at this point 106 THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE POET of the round—just halfway, in fact—invariably prevented the return of a score, even in double figures, because in this des- perate situation there were no means available of reaching the green except over the watery obstruction. To skirt the pond-and strike the ball along a narrow pathway bordered by rhododendrons would have been to invite even worse perils. Curiously enough, our American friend not only describes an almost identical hole but also points out how the matter should be taken in hand. Fine scenery, in a word, ought to supply all the courage needed. The passage will reward quotation: " On this hole you note how many strokes you have taken for the outward journey through the forest. You suffer perhaps a pang of regret, make up your mind that all the foolishness is over with, and step conqueringly forward to the tee. Immedi- ately before you, and fifty feet below, lies the pond, a blue circle reflecting the sky. The view here will inspire you with new cour- age. . . . The tee shot is exceedingly pretty. The pond in the foreground, fa va sans dire, is there to look at, but not to clean your ball in! A hundred-yard pitch will prevent a high dive. . . . To reach all the way you must cut the ball from the turf with a mashie or, if you are a high-handicap man (or lady), you can do just as well by smiting a well-teed ball with your favourite low-angle iron and getting it well up into the air." After this hole is played we step at once into fairyland. The wonder is that Americans can command such instant detachment that they never allow their peculiar and ingenious efficiency to suffer under these inviting distractions. They find it delightful to play in the midst of marvellous panoramas without a fear of injuring their reputations. The strain, one would imagine, must be prodigious, yet the effort seems to be made without the least worry. Unless the air were intoxicat- ing—as we are assured it is—it would be impossible not to be completely overcome or otherwise strangely affected. The 107 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF eleventh hole, we are told, " begins with a Hobbema land- scape, full of light and inciting span, and ends in a shade- dappled glen, where at night the wood-sprites dance about the flag by the light of the wan northern moon. Legend indeed has it that all this region was once a Valhalla of a race of mountain gods. The fairies, of course, dwelt here at a later period, being doubtless frightened away by the war-cries of the first Indians. In any case, one of their homes, as any old resident of the village will tell you, was in the stone grotto not far from the summer home of ex-President of the United States Taft, known as Trou des Fdes." The secret of romantic charm lies in this perpetual promise of adventure. The only real difficulty—if one might not actually call it a pleasure—is to deal with the seductive hazard of its many distracting beauties. The author is quite frank on the point, and incidentally throws a new light on hazards in general. At the same time he utters a word of advice. The most attractive of all the maxims he recommends—and perhaps it is the wisest under adverse circumstances—is to " Swat and fear not." Speaking generally, the policy may be successful when everything is couleur de rose. But other advice before now of rather a contradictory nature has been tendered in the cherished words "Not to press." One could, in fact, in more cautious moments invert the phrase without any harm and suggest the exact antithesis—to " Fear and swat not." But whichever of these alternatives is finally decided upon, one gathers that the course is not so humanly impossible after all. We do at last gain a little human sympathy. A cheerful note is struck at the last hole. " M'sieur, votre balle est en tee." You are encouraged to be bold. You have simply to " play your wood as its maker and the architect of the course intend you should," and all will be well. If you do not reach that excellent plateau from which a second may safely be struck to find the green, or if your ball lies uncomfortably perdu in the rough, it is after all an honour- 108 THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE POET able failure and—" well, what is your trusty niblick for, any- way? " On the other hand, if the ball lies well in the place it should rightly occupy " that pet back spin which you carry in your bag for just such little engagements as this " will give you an excellent chance of obtaining par for the hole—or possibly a birdie. It is hard to tear oneself away from these enchanting regions where, as a reward for virtue, you catch a whiff of wild roses, a flicker of wings in the underbush, and hear the whitethroat singing O Canada-Canada-Canada! from the invisible top twig of a balsam. It is a pleasure also to think that you have satisfied your caddie—one of the main endeavours of this unselfish game—because you hear him say as he hands you your putter after you have reached with a perfect second the final green—" B'en correct, m'sieur, b'en correct."

109 Critics and Superstitions FRIEND, who, although not a golfer, was on the whole an impartial and appreciative critic of games, retailed Afor our edification with great gusto the other day the Punch story of Colonel Pepper calling out to the woman saunter- ing across the fairway with an infant in her arms—" Now then! Hurry up with that baby of yours," and receiving like a flash the answer—" Baby yourself, playing with that little ball and in them knickers! " The only regrettable defect in the story is that Colonel Pepper's answer has been lost to posterity. Of one thing we can be sure that it must have been concisely put in appropriate and, it is feared, explosive language. But a point that may be overlooked is that the lady with the baby was perfectly justified in what she said, since an often-quoted Act of Parliament in Scotland limited the playing of golf to persons no CRITICS AND SUPERSTITIONS of ages under twelve and over fifty on the patriotic grounds that they would have been more profitably engaged on the butts. From which it may be deduced that it was a game con- sidered only fit for babes and ancients, not for the able-bodied. It is true that a similar slur was placed by the same Act on foot- ball; but that was before the days of Rugby. The story, moreover, suggests how uphill a battle the votar- ies of golf have had to fight in order to overcome the ignominy attached to them. Possibly in recent years things have im- proved in this respect and the storm of persecution and dis- paragement has blown over a little. Still it would be unwise to minimise the serious indictments that can still be heard whispered here and there. In some quarters golf is, even now in this advanced age, the dog with a bad name, carrying round its neck a reputation that is occa- sionally painful and inexplicable. If the Idle Apprentice were depicted in these modern days there is every probability that he would be seen, not throwing dice on his forefathers' tomb- stones (a vice which has gone out of fashion as a form of de- pravity), but engaged on a green with a putter and a ball many sizes too small for him. For this question of size, mark you, as the lady with the baby with considerable acumen pointed out, is a grave part of the indictment. Balloons, push-balls and footballs are always treated with profound respect. Again, take the novelists. How great a debt of gratitude they owe to golf for many of their most effective allusions! In The Morals of Marcus Ordeyne Carlotta is not unfairly regarded as a serious problem; but is it fair to say " quite as unprofitable as collecting postage stamps, or golf, or amateur photography? " Of course one sees the point at once; still, to say the least, it is rather an unlucky sandwich. In Sinister Street a passage occurs with a more pathetic ring, and the pathos goes far to excuse it. A love-lorn youth is begged not to give way to despair when his suit does not appear to be prospering. " Let her alone," he is implored. "Don't in THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF let her interfere with your cricket. Don't take up golf on account of her." This is perhaps slightly more encouraging. But you are never allowed to forget the different levels, although, on the whole, the distinction is tactfully expressed. Far preferable is the nobler strain of Tricotrin, that most fascinating character in fiction, when he is requested to evolve a story about English people. It is asked of him; can he catch the veritable tone? " On my head! " says the poet. " Abso- lutely! The hero will declare his passion on the golf links, and the lady will reply " I love you; damn it, I am bunkered! " But we must leave the novelists and not forget the more serious realms of criticism, the kind that conveys a slightly unfortunate imputation on the score of intelligence. How this has arisen is not altogether easy to discover, yet it is not un- common and must be faced as bravely as may be. A player has been heard, for instance, on entering the clubhouse after a round to declare stoutly that the one thing he was convinced the game did not need was brains. This may have been to put his point of view too strongly, especially as one gathered from his subsequent conversation that he was just returning from a substantial defeat. What then was the inference? How- ever one may take it, it must be admitted that in offering him- self consolation he was hardly paying his adversary the prettiest of compliments. A view not so crudely expressed but somewhat to the same effect came from a distinguished man of letters, who stated his opinion that proficiency in golf necessarily precluded any possibility of intellectual eminence. It is a taking jest, no doubt, and something of the kind has been applied before now, if we remember correctly, to billiards. But is it not a little too comprehensive to be true? To accept it in its full implication, one feels, would be to inflict an unworthy reflection on the philosophical powers of the statesman to whom England owes, in so large a measure, the greatest boon that has ever come to her from north of the Tweed. 112 CRITICS AND SUPERSTITIONS We will quote one other common misapprehension—at least, a misapprehension as we consider it—of the dignity of golf, which occurs in the introduction of that delightful book Lord Grey's Fly Fishing, written towards the end of the last century. Possibly the game has established its prestige more securely since then; but one discovers that the golfer's garrulity must have been proverbial at that date,because we are reminded, somewhat ironically, that " there are even men and women who do not care to play golf, and prefer to avoid the subject." Sadder still, a little further on, is the conclusion of a fine analysis of the way in which games function. We are told of the excitement they arouse in the romantic period of boyhood; the later phase of ambition when the fierce zest for competi- tion stirs in the blood; then a later stage still, when the artistic sense grows and the critical faculty finds a delight in discover- ing qualities of style. The writer can scarcely have realised how fully and vividly these stages of experience are felt by the keenest and youngest golfers—almost, one would have been inclined to say, in the case of a considerable majority, with fanatical intensity. Finally the last stage of all is reached when the symptoms of deterioration are beginning to be felt, and the encroachment of old age necessitates an inevitable bowing to the hand of fate. Then it is we are allowed " to sit amongst the onlookers and are advised by our friends to practise golf." This, as we have said, was written some thirty years ago when illusions of the kind were apt to prevail. In recent years, however, at any rate since the Walker Cup has stimu- lated and at the same time slightly damped our patriotic ardour, the cry of " practice, practice, practice " has been dinned not so much into the ears of the older generation as into the more receptive channels of the younger school. What then of the criticism that golf is a " secondary game " ? In some respects this is an accusation more difficult to meet, especially as secondary games are not so easy to define. Perhaps Hazlitt has spoken of games, whether primary or secondary, 113 1 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF better than any other authority we know of when he dis- cussed the " importance " of such a simple amusement as " striking a ball against a wall." His conclusion, to quote his words, was that" there are things indeed that make more noise and do as little good, such as making war and peace, making speeches and answering them, making verses and blotting them, making money and throwing it away." He is perhaps right in suggesting that to no one game more than another can be allotted an intrinsic superiority. Each has its own degree. Golf is not, nor need it be, a test of speed or quickness. The object is not to multiply strokes but rather to reduce them. The ideal is economy, deliberation. The refinement of the art is seen in the fact that a great player, when set to it, may take a day to execute a hundred and forty strokes (a mere bagatelle at other games) as nearly perfect as may be over a course calculated to make them as difficult as possible—an achievement that will tax the stamina of a man in the highest condition of fitness. This perhaps is a consideration alone to redeem golf from an altogether secondary significance. Neither should golf be specially selected as a selfish game— a view that is sometimes indicated for the reason that only on occasions is it a team game. After all, is any game necessarily altruistic? We play to amuse ourselves or we play because circumstances compel us. But what perhaps encourages this idea of selfishness is that golf has a more than ordinarily isola- ted side to it, that it is intimately bound up with the individual. He is left very much to himself ; he is shut up in his joys and sorrows; he turns round and pivots, as it were, on himself. But that does not imply that golfers are inordinately selfish creatures, which it would be a pity to imagine. True, they may be " self-regarding," which is quite another affair. You cannot play golf unconsciously by the light of nature with any ex- pectation of success. You must regard yourself—that is the penalty—with the eyes of a lynx. The inner life of golf is indeed to a remarkable extent self- CRITICS AND SUPERSTITIONS contained, a centre of mysterious and intimate happenings, played in a kind of Looking-Glass world in which things take place in a haphazard and topsy-turvy fashion. The individual sees himself reflected in his own peculiar mirror, but the mirror does not always or necessarily reflect truly. That is one of the chief difficulties. Another complexity is that the working of a golfer's mind reveals a condition of continual choice between the lesser or the greater evil. Which risk, he asks himself, shall he take ? He needs to balance the chances all the while. Each consideration, each tiny calculation, flits before his imagination as he makes every due allowance for the true and the false which bound his method. There is no finality, he discovers. He must be ever weeding out the tares in order to keep the wheat standing. And this urges him, even in his moments of greatest courage, to incline to the side of safety, since our best actions are those in which there is the least admixture of evil. If we have not committed an error it is by virtue of having avoided it by the breadth of a razor's edge; and the adjustment of that delicate interval demands continual and close vigilance. We are a little double-faced, too, because in our heart of hearts we know that our best efforts are only an approximation. How intensely psychological it can all become! We are governed by the considerations that affect the individual who searches for an ideal but can only partly assimilate it. We cannot actually reproduce a model of perfection however much we wish; we can only hope to be partially " converted " into the type which commands our admiration. We never, in fact, completely grasp the actual idea as it is built up in another's mind. We may deceive ourselves that we do; but, at the best, we only assimilate a negligible portion and in the end are forced to revert to our original type. Do what he will, the golfer cannot rid himself of what primarily is his. In such a sense he may be a somewhat solitary being. He bears the heat and dust of the day communing with his own spirit, Rather than censure THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF him, may we not almost pity him ? He realises that he is a machine to be kept in smooth working order, a veritable machina ex homine—or else he is lost. To pass to less " inward " matters: is it to be wondered at that, considering its uncertainty, golf should be one of the most superstitious of games ? The chances of the links and the frailty of our methods combine to render us more than usually susceptible to the use of adventitious aids, however profitless and illogical they may seem. The long arm of coincidence, for example, of which so much is constantly heard, can reach a very long way. We all know that the " groove " of Mr. Bobby Jones's swing does not admit of a great margin of error; but to place his ball from the tee at the ninth hole at Sunningdale when he achieved his 66 and 68 on, one would swear, identically the same blade of grass a little to the left of the pin, and that at a range of nearly 300 yards, in two successive rounds, was a feat of repetition that can only be interpreted as coincidence of accuracy rather than of accident. Other strange things will frequently happen. Balls will lodge in branches of trees; they will be picked up by caddies under false impressions as to their ownership; they may be kicked in moments of innocent abstraction; they may be neatly projected into the pocket of an opponent, or take an angle off the person or umbrella of a bystander; or aeroplanes will crash in the middle of a round. Who can prevent these unforeseen events? Even a mob of Ancient Britons, shouting and yelling, has been known before now to emerge from a wood on the side of a fairway at the moment when a player was about to drive, only to be recalled by the wrathful blare of the mega- phone of the Cinema Director declaring it to be a false start. There are indeed thousands of such incidents that occur at inopportune moments. Can we attach any significance to " the malignity of inanimate objects "? We remember one of Bret Harte's characters: 116 CRITICS AND SUPERSTITIONS You see this yer Dow Hed the worst kind of luck; He slipped up somehow On each thing that he struck. Why, ef he'd a straddled thet fence-rail, the derned thing 'ed get up and buck. For all we know, there may be numerous Dows on the links against whom golf balls have a grudge. One gentleman offici- ating as fore-caddie at a championship probably belonged to this class of unlucky mortals, as he was hit twice (the second time badly) by the player he professed to be watching, and was laid prostrate on the ground as a tribute to an accuracy from the tee which rivalled that of Locksley with the osier wand. On another occasion a golf ball was neatly transfixed on the point of a pin a lady was wearing in her hat— a feat of which one understood the rushes at Westward Ho! had a monopoly. And what is more to the point, she was entirely unconscious of the fact that she was unwittingly a conjuror, walking on as if nothing had happened instead of falling life- less as the horror-struck perpetrator of the shot had expected. Not that golf is peculiarly dangerous in itself; not more so than archery which, though admittedly picturesque, could lead to accidents even when they were the result of sheer lightness of heart: Dear Bess, with her elegant figure and face, Looks quite a Diana, the queen of the place; But as for the shooting—she never takes aim; She talks so and laughs so!—the beaux are to blame; She doats on flirtation—but oh! by the by, 'Twas awkward her shooting out Mrs. Flint's eye! Such events are likely to cast an uncanny atmosphere, if not a gloom, over the scene and encourage the disgraceful use of superstitious devices. We seek to avoid the embarrassing 117 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF stroke of fate by perhaps—although we are never quite certain —foolish precautions. Even the great Augustus was a prey to these weaknesses and for luck had the Goat, the constellation under which he was born, struck on his coinage. It is to be doubted whether the golfer would go as far as to have the Goat struck even on his buttons. Still, he will load himself with mascots, carry rare coins of gold in his pocket, and hesitate before he refuses the talismans presented to him by his well- wishers. Others like to make the clubs in their bags up to the number of thirteen without consulting any prejudice the caddie might have against an unlucky, if not excessive, number. Perhaps the commonest and most ordinary superstitions have to do with costume. There may be a lucky suit—perhaps a pair of plus-fours that have done well, or a jacket with a good record. With a lady it may be a hat or a bandeau of the right tint, or no hat at all. Probably the wearer or non-wearer is the only person alive to the secret. Men are commonly not supposed to be vain of their appearance on the links, but they may, in spite of that, take the greatest care in selecting the club-tie that brings them luck—or propitious stockings with colourings to match the shade of their auras. Mystic actions are rumoured which encourage success; but these are only known to initiates. Competitors have even been known to watch the skies with anxious enquiries as to their chances of victory in the Roman fashion. There have been finals where everything, humanly speaking, pointed to victory and yet caused disappointment. In the course of one of them, at the first hole a cuckoo flew directly over the player's head; at the fifth three magpies crossed the fairway from left to right; on the ninth tee the luckiest of spiders, as he believed, made an excursion over his hand. What was missing from such favourable portents it is difficult to imagine unless he had made a mistake over the species of the spider; for, as Izaak Walton once quaintly re- marked- " Nay, the Royal Society have found and published n8 CRITICS AND SUPERSTITIONS lately, that there be thirty and three kinds of Spiders: and yet all, for aught I know, go under one general name of Spider." That is just where superstitions are apt to break down, over an apparently insignificant detail. If one were inclined to be superstitious, which we probably all are, it would be the safest of all to bank on black cats. What there is about their glossy coats and green eyes it is difficult to imagine. But the occasions when they figure as fairy godmothers, or fathers, are too numerous to be ignored. They seem to have the faculty of heralding good fortune wherever they appear, haunting the rooms of winners or in some obscure way hinting their patronage. There must be something in it—some black magic of a curious yet beneficent kind. It is stated on the most reputable authority that two players on the tee of a short hole saw one of these lucky emissaries of fortune approaching; upon which the one said to the other that they would wait and see which of them it would con- descend to notice. The cat approached his companion and lovingly rubbed its back against his stockings with tail waving and eyes adoringly cast upward. It is a true story that the favoured one promptly did the hole in one. No doubt what- ever exists that the caddie got his customary reward. What one is more anxious to know is whether the cat got its jugful of milk.

119 Chiberta, zndhole XI Two Hundred Years Ago T is sometimes forgotten how important a golfing centre Edinburgh was in the old days when the Links of Leith Iwere as fashionable a resort as North Berwick is to-day. There is an account which, for all we know, may have been quoted a hundred times already (since little ground in this particular province of literature has remained unturned), hidden away in a volume of that rather provoking form of fiction so much the vogue a century or so ago—the early novel, composed of a series of rambling epistles exchanged between people who seemed to have very little to do with the story and with whom one never gets properly acquainted. Smollett possibly is not read to any great extent nowadays, yet people still read their Dickens, and Smollett was the Dickens of his day. We catch the same strain of vigorous humour, the singularity of which seems to be dying out under the withering influence of modern progress. In one of the chapters of Humphrey Clinker there occurs an entertaining side- light on the social life of Edinburgh which includes a refer- ence to golf as a highly fashionable amusement pursued on the neighbouring links of the city. Our only regret is that the author did not devote a greater amount of detail to his sketch, because he emphasises, if anything too spaciously, the festivities accompanying the game rather than the game itself. So much conviviality appears in his narrative that it is borne in upon us that Prohibition would have had little chance of casting its shadow over the major portion of Scotland. Not 130 TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO that one wishes to suggest that golf has any particular con- nection with the movement or even that it is pre-eminently inimical to it. But, so far as Edinburgh was concerned, a more or less liberal jollification was not, according to Smollett, deemed in any way an unfitting supplement to the day's exertions. Smollett's account may be considered entirely unpre- judiced since, although of Scottish parentage, he emigrated early, possibly under the misapprehension attributed to Dr. Johnson concerning the most desirable road in Scotland. As a result of this emigration, he grew so anglicised in spirit that when he revisited his native land in later life he saw it almost with the freshness of a foreign country. His picture of Edin- burgh is vivid enough; he speaks of its social and economic condition with some spirit, as well as other conditions over which we may well draw a veil. His humour, alas, was apt to take a direction which a previous essay on " The External Uses of Water " rather too obviously hinted at. During this hurried visit to the northern capital his time was spent in a round of gaiety among the bucks of the town, nor does he omit a mention of the subsequent headaches that overtook him in the morning. What slightly astonished him was the regard in which the land of his adoption was held. He makes a note, evidently with some satisfaction, that his countrymen had a real" esteem for the natives of South Britain without being servile imitators of our modes and fashionable vices." The vices in question he does not specify; evidently they were not considered worthy of imitation. Some of the native customs particularly attracted his atten- tion, such as the unusual fare which his hosts put before him; and he attributes, curiously enough, the enjoyment they derived from it mainly to the excellent stimulus which the keen air of Leith and the exercise provided there gave to the appetite. At any rate it enabled these gentle enthusiasts to do full justice to the cookery. Some of the dishes he describes as savoury, 121 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF some as even delicate. But he mentions that he was not Scots- man enough to relish their singed sheep's head and haggis which were provided at his request one day at Mr. Michelson's house, where he dined. "The first put me in mind of the history of the Congo, in which I had read of negros' heads being sold publicly in the markets; the last, being a mess of minced lights, livers, suet, oatmeal, onions and pepper, included in a sheep's stomach, had a very sudden effect on mine, and the delicate Mrs. Tabby changed colour." Their host, we learn, very considerately, on observing the symptoms, had " the cause of our disgust instantaneously removed." This brief mention of a historic and justly famous dish has an interest for golfers, since it is still deservedly popular at many of their celebrations, washed down with a sufficient quantity of whisky. From Smollett's account in Edinburgh they gave the preference to claret, which we are led to believe was the true national drink. The more delicate wine very likely was considered more appropriate to the toasting of the reigning beauties, who were, as he tells us, the occasion of " much wine-shed." Brandy certainly was drunk in large quantities—especially during the stress of sea voyages. Smollett himself, on one of these occasions, must have been exceedingly ill, for he admits that " it had no more effect in the way of intoxication than if it had been sea-water in good earnest"! To our surprise we come across the first mention of a worthy profession which has since those days become intimately connected with golf all the world over. At Edinburgh there appears to have been " a society or corporation of errand- boys, called cawdies, who ply in the streets at night with paper lanthorns, and are very serviceable in carrying messages." These fellows, he adds, though shabby in their appearance and rudely familiar in their address, were wonderfully acute, and " so noted for fidelity, that there is no instance of a cawdy's having betrayed his trust. Such is their intelligence, that 122 TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO they know, not only every individual of the place, but also every stranger, by the time he has been four and twenty hours in Edinburgh." Whether this intelligence and fidelity were in any way overrated we have scarcely means of ascertaining; but part at least of the respect they commanded may have been due to the fact that they knew so much of everybody else's business. So genteel also was their social standing that they entertained the gentry at a public banquet, at which Smollett was himself a guest, with most of the beauty and fashion of the town present. Speeches were delivered—we imagine in praise of caddies—to the accompaniment of considerable hilarity. One is reminded in this connection of Charles Lamb's account of the annual feast of chimney sweepers who triumphantly justified the assertion that " all is not soot that looks so." The descendants of this worthy body may safely be said to have never quite lost the reputation for shrewdness which they acquired in their- native country; and the same sagacity, no doubt, has been transmitted to other quarters of the globe. It all goes back to these lads of Edinburgh, who " executed the functions of Mercury"; and Mercury, as everybody knows, was never suspected of being slow-witted. So much for Smollett's entertainment in the city. We get on more familiar ground when he visits the famous links of Leith, where Charles I heard the news of the Irish Rebellion and posted straight to London. The course can have changed but little up to the 'nineties. James Braid is our informant that he played there frequently over the seven holes which, strange to say, was the number that the course then comprised. The thing that seemed to stick in his memory was a tele- graph wire in front of one of the tees, which caught a sur- prising number of good shots. There can be no doubt of the popularity of the links in those days. No race meeting in England could claim such a fashionable company. People trooped out in hundreds to 133 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF take their pleasure in the open air. This is Smollett's account of the impression he received of a game of which otherwise he had little knowledge. " Hard by, in the field called the Links," he says, " the citizens of Edinburgh divert themselves at a game called Golf, in which they use a curious kind of bat, tipt with horn; and small elastic balls of leather, stuffed with feathers, rather less than tennis balls, but of a much harder consistency. This they strike with such force and dexterity from one hole to another that they fly to an incredible distance. Of this diver- sion the Scots are so fond, that when the weather will permit, you may see a multitude of all ranks from the senator of justice to the lowest tradesman, mingled together in their shirts and following the balls with the utmost eagerness." The times have not greatly changed in. this respect; the game is gaining ground rapidly as a pursuit of the people. But it is more to the purpose to enquire if Smollett had anything to do with a superstition which we believe to be now happily exploded, that golf is " an old man's game." We used to hear this unfortunate imputation fairly often, but latterly it has been modified to some extent. A good deal of colour may have been lent to the idea from Smollett's observation that, amongst others, he was shown one particular set of golfers," the young- est of whom was turned of fourscore." This indeed would partly justify the familiar criticism. He goes on to add that " they were all gentlemen of independent fortunes, who had amused themselves with their pastime for the best part of a century, without having ever felt the least alarm from sickness or disgust; and they never went to bed without having each the best part of a gallonof claret in his belly. Such uninterrupted exercise, co-operating with the keen air from the sea, must, without all doubt, keep the appetite always at edge, and steel the constitution against all the common attacks of distemper." Without entering into the graver risks of distemper this is a noble panegyric—no sickness, no disgust, and an infallible 124 TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO digestion. What more could a man wish for as an effective aid to longevity ? It serves as a prescription which it would be difficult to improve upon even in these more scientific days. The pity is that we do not get as full an account of the matches played there as we should have liked. Smollett, in fact, was not particularly interested in the game; all he cared for was that it represented a phase of the city's amusement. If he had played it and had entered into the life on the links —the famous matches and the rare characters who took part in them—what a chance for a classic! The age and the occasion were just the sort of material that might have helped to build up the one notable book which golf really lacks. " 'Eavens! " cried Mr. Jorrocks on a great occasion, " wot a lot of rubbish has been written about 'osses! " If only more of the same kind of rubbish had been written about golf! For so much old-fashioned jollity centred round the jolly old gentlemen of that era. We do not find them nearly as jolly now. The art has apparently lapsed a little; and if the type has gone out of fashion it only proves how well they managed to hold the stage without a rival and provided most of the fun. Mr. Jorrocks and Pigg, Mr. Pickwick and Sam, were the comedians of sport before sport began to be taken, if anything, a little too seriously. There was a vein of richness and full- blooded jollity in the atmosphere that may possibly have owed something of its ripeness to the cheering influence of the steaming punch-bowl, of which it was urged by all the most reputable authors of the time that the vulgar error lay in " not taking enough of it." It is only necessary to point out these possible fallacies without wishing to press the point in any way or recommend a remedy. In Edinburgh there must have been Jorrockses by the score, any of whom might have been immortalised. Think of it, too, if the four Pickwickians had taken the coach to Leith or had been driven by Mr. Weller for a day's golf from Edinburgh! The foursomes they might have played! Sam would have 1*5 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF seen to it that Mr. Pickwick had Mr. Tupman for his partner —he might have been too severe with Mr. Winkle. Sam would also have seen that the right spirit prevailed, that no disagree- able incidents occurred to disturb the general harmony. One can see him apostrophising Mr. Pickwick on the tee in his cheerful way—" Now then, sir, show 'em how to do it." And you may be sure that Mr. Pickwick would have shown them something distinctly out of the ordinary.

126 •••-1R, #•,££*#• ^r i_*-"»«-*.r _-=**. J

Mullion XII Going South Y " South " is meant the most southerly point of England—Lizard Point. The Lizard lies, as every- Bbody knows, within a few miles of Penzance; and one associates the two places as being somewhat remote and foreign—unlike the rest of England in the semi-tropical luxuriance of blossom and fruit. If one needed a proof of the fecundity of the soil and the mildness of this exotic climate it would be sufficient evidence to watch on almost any day towards the end of April the stream of wagons piled with giant cauliflowers, each as big as a waste-paper basket, going into Penzance to fill half a mile of trucks bound for Covent Garden. There is something stimulating to the imagination in the very name of " Lizard Point." Lizards are not for the most part regarded as typical members of our fauna. They love hotter regions than ours wherein to bask and are expressive of indolence. But when you enter on the few miles of waste 127 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF moorland short of the Point and notice the burnt colour of the rocks and the brown heath lit with patches of flaming gorse you do vaguely catch the idea of some uncanny ante- diluvian creature stretching itself lazily out into the sea. And over the sea from Kynance to the further end of Mount's Bay—the main portion of our modest Riviera—reign the heat and glamour of the Mediterranean. The effect, probably unique in these islands, is due largely, so one imagines, to the volcanic formation of rock which imparts in some mys- terious way a romantic atmosphere that we scarcely recognise as essentially English. One catches the same impression, although in a different degree, on the extreme north-western coast of Scotland. Instead of dusky brown one sees in the northern part of our island miles of pinky quartz reflecting a warm glow (when it is not raining) over the landscape and giving to the sea and sky the glint of diamond, blue, crystal and turquoise. The cliffs around the Lizard have not the same purity and softness of the north. Theirs is a more southerly complexion, slightly opaque, grimmer and more majestic. They seem to have been scorched by ages of intense heat into something of the solidity of metal. In the north the rocks appear crystalline; in the south they are more like bronze in every tone from ochre and sultry green to blood reds and browns. The Lizard and the Serpentine, that intensely coloured marble which crops up even in the roadway and shines on the beds of small rivulets, exist here in close company, and their names suggest that they should harmonise well together. The moorland extending to the coast in the winter may be as forbidding as a blasted heath, but the spring saves it from its austerity by the ripples of gay and scented gorse. Cornish gorse is almost as opulent as Cornish blackberries, and it has in abundance that refreshing aromatic perfume which some compare with the pineapple but which savours more of the cocoanut and suggests the exotic regions beyond the seas. 128 GOING SOUTH There is also the colour of the alien heaths which from their Mediterranean home have crept up the western edge of Europe to found a colony along a foreign shore. Devon, too, has its characteristic colour, the bright red which gives a ruddy tone to the fields. The rocks of Cornwall go deeper than that. They inherit a constitution that enables them to withstand the force of the Atlantic. It is this which makes the broad curve stretching from Land's End to the Lizard in a half-moon appear so much like a vast band of metal. The cliffs stand as firm as a bulwark of brass and bronze, black and warm grey where they are not brightly coloured and so deep in tone that the grass mingles with the stone without breaking the harmony. The sea, a great basin of ultramarine sometimes dotted with white, throws its weight against this dark obstinate barrier, and, if a white house with a grey roof is visible on the cliff, it is almost startlingly vivid when the light is fading. The gulls, too, never seem so dazzlingly white as when they circle against the background of the sea and the islands which lie along the coast. No wonder that Cornwall cannot be counted as one of our great golfing counties. For golf often has more to do with geology than we imagine. Too much rock only stands in the way. It needs to be first reduced by wind and weather to the fine consistency of silt and sand and weathered soil. Then the conditions become ideal. Not that golf in Cornwall should be underrated on that account. The county has its courses and produces a yearly champion of its own. But it can claim no championship course in a national sense like its neighbour Devon. How could such a thing be expected with a precipitous coast notorious forwrecks and wreckers, broken into narrow coves and majestic bays and broad estuaries running inland, cutting the county into sections and driving the roads inland away from the coastline ? There is none of that flat waste monotony of country so con- ducive to a game that demands above all things expanse and 129 K THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF good visibility—such country as permits of chains of links along the shores of Lancashire and the confines of Glasgow. But make no mistake: it is a Duchy that is beyond all others delectable and in this minor respect of delightful golf rarely belies its reputation. It is not therefore altogether surprising that for all its miles of seaboard you can count the seaside courses of Cornwall on the fingers of one hand. They may lack something in the matter of length, but that may even be a recommendation to some holiday-makers and no detriment to charm. They may also tend to be somewhat cramped; but that is due to the rolling ground which keeps them from spreading as they naturally would in more commonplace country. Bude, to take an example, in the north, lies in a great cup of land, sandwiched between lines of houses that run along the sides. The windows at certain holes may be in frequent and imminent peril from the confirmed slicer, and front gardens may have to be visited occasionally by the lesser extremists. But what does that matter? Roads, too, and paths run in and out of the course, yet the inhabitants apparently are as indifferent to the flight of balls as—so players who are kept waiting might be inclined to think—to the flight of time. Nothing very serious ever seems to happen except an occasional reminder that the fair- ways lie a little inconveniently close together. If anything does happen, the victim accepts it contentedly as the rub of the green, although the rub on occasions can be a hard one. Some thirty miles down the coast lies the course of St. Enodoc, with a patron saint to keep watch over it, as is the excellent custom of Cornwall. It might be described as the Macrihanish of the south with its fine natural ground and ample spaces. The misfortune is that its position makes it slightly inaccessible to visitors: it lies on the side of a broad estuary which cuts off the approach from the south. New- quay lies a little way beyond, again with scarcely enough elbow room, but magnificently exposed along its whole breadth 130 GOING SOUTH to the Atlantic breezes which come fresh and uninterrupted from the other side. Lelant, the nearest to Land's End, is blinder than the majority of courses; still, it looks proudly over the great Bay of St. Ives. From there it is only a few miles across the peninsula to Mount's Bay, where the giant cauliflowers flourish. And then we come to Mullion, standing midway between Penzance and Falmouth—two towns that grow palm trees instead of oaks. Mullion reminds one a little of Gullane. The course stretches over a high down—with the advantage, however, of starting from the top instead of from the bottom. It overlooks the sea on one side; on the other winds a happy valley, leading inland to Cury, where cattle, swans and herons reign undisturbed and seem to enjoy an ideal life together. Mullion perhaps is the pleasantest of all the Cornish courses and is rather deceptively easy when you start to play the first part of the round on gently descending ground. But when the sea is reached there is at least one ugly carry to be negotiated from cliff to cliff. To fail to make the carry generally means the paying of a fruitless visit to the beach, where you might as well be searching for plovers' eggs as expect to find your ball amongst the smooth quartz pebbles. Most of the last holes require a tolerable amount of gentle climbing and a little extra care and steadiness on the part of those who are accustomed to take their exercise on the level. But with one more hole to play you reach even ground again, and you feel the ascent was worth it. The Lizard, incredible as it seems, once enjoyed a nine- hole course of its own. This is remarkable enough, because Lizard Town is a long way from everywhere and can have very few inhabitants. It is on record, however, that at this extreme angle of England, during the military period of golf, gentle- men in red coats once disported themselves. Where the course was laid out is hard to imagine. It could scarcely be before THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF you reach the Point, as here you pass over some of the most romantic miles of moorland in the country. If the mists hap- pened to be rolling in from the sea it would be a matter of no small difficulty to find one's way; but supposing that this ground could be tamed into producing anything so pastoral as spreading fairways the possibilities would be great. The rough could scarcely be surpassed in its natural state any- where else in England. At present Mullion supplies all that is needed, but it is not an easy place to find. Until you become familiar with the lie of the country you can scarcely avoid losing your way. There are two inlets of the sea at some distance from the village and the by-roads leave the main road at unexpected angles. But the lanes, beaded on either side by high banks of gorse and hawthorn—with occasional splashes of red rhododendron where the road dips—render it a matter of indifference whether the shortest route is taken or whether, as is not un- likely to be the case, one goes round in a circle. It merely means seeing more lovely untouched country than would otherwise have been visited, and there is no feeling of ever being lost completely, because in the distance the five lofty masts of the Wireless Station reach up to the sky like an attenuated hand beckoning. After reading that delightful narrative, The Cruise of the Nona, the thought occurs of what an experience it would be to visit each of the links which have been mentioned from the sea. Each has its own harbour closely adjacent, cosily set in difficult yet accessible waters. For the ordinary wayfarer, however, it would have to be a Cruise upon Wheels; and that opens up many entertaining possibilities, because excellent courses lying inland may escape notice. A map of the county hanging in an hotel was dotted here and there with a number of small red flags, the significance of which might have escaped anyone unacquainted with the most appropriate symbols imaginable for golf courses. To the uninitiated they might 132 GOING SOUTH bear a marked resemblance to the red crosses on Flint's chart in Treasure Island. Still, the question does suggest itself whether some of these minor courses " unhonoured and unsung " might not also in their humble way signify buried treasure. Why, it may be asked, do we not go more often on similar quests of exploration and discovery ? Golfers cannot, whatever else may be said of them, be accused of being rash explorers. We are all apt to pick out the plums and steadily and remorselessly set ourselves to consume them day after day, year after year, content with too limited or too nutritious a diet. To many golfers it would be useless to offer them anything less than the plums—the courses, that is, with the great reputations. They are like cricketers refusing to play cricket unless they were offered Lord's or the Oval. Yet in the old days of the cricketing squires the village green had attractions which could never be ignored. Not only was the cricket frequently of the best but the wickets had the advantage of not being too perfect, and the days passed pleasantly enough. Might it not (for argument's sake) be the same on less perfect greens? We are not saying positively that it would be equally enjoyable; still, is it not possible that we may be a little over-fastidious in these matters and so miss some deep and unexpected pleasures in variety of country and perhaps some unsuspected grandeurs ? Why indeed should not a county be worth exploring much in the same way that Charles Darwin once recommended the botanical experiment of taking a square yard of ground, dis- secting it, and classifying every growing thing that lay in that small acreage? Why not take a county like Cornwall, the best in England, and visit every place bearing its little red flag and play round its nine or eighteen holes? It might even be an amusing puzzle worthy of Sherlock Holmes to discover the sequence of holes in the very probable absence of caddies to act as our guides. If such a voyage of discovery were undertaken it would THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF have to be done thoroughly—with no shirking or thought of skipping. One venture might prove a failure, but the next would perhaps compensate by some rare and refreshing features. Of course, to do such a thing is a dream. But the beauty of dreams is, so one is told, that a man dreams the very thing which it is not in his nature to do if he is in his waking senses. And it should be insisted upon that if he were to embark on a cruise upon wheels it must be in something fitted magnifi- cently for every emergency. We could never be quite sure of not finding ourselves benighted, adrift in the hills or in some sheltered valley by the sea; and in those rather delightful circumstances it would be as well to have provision on board for making a night of it.

134 Chiberta. yth hole XIII A Game of Confidence HAT games are curious phenomena to those un- acquainted with them has been well brought out in Ta story by Mr. E. V. Lucas of a foreigner who goes up in a balloon with an Englishman and records his impres- sions of the manifestations of the national sporting instinct during a voyage over England. Being military by education and tradition, the stranger interprets the movements down below by military parallels, seeing everything, as it were, through his own martial spec- tacles. When, for example, he observes people walking in couples, followed by small boys bending beneath strange burdens, and the group stopping at intervals to perform mysterious and delicate rites, he jumps to the conclusion that they are taking part in tactical exercises. We ourselves would have recognised them instantly as engaged in a far more serious kind of occupation. He next sees in a field a number of white figures running about in every direction, evidently practising, as a man of his experience would imagine, military manoeuvres. In point of fact they are playing cricket. In another field both men and girls are mingled in a state of extreme agitation, armed with clubs, circling and dodging 135 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF one another—hockey. Others, again, leaping about within white lines, would surely appear to be occupied in complicated mathematical calculations connected with open warfare. This, it need hardly be mentioned, was a set of tennis. When at last he looks down on a crowd dashing here and there, kicking and struggling violently with one another, he is convinced that he is witnessing a battle. Here he is again mistaken. It is only an imitation on a very miniature scale with a football as an excuse for a pleasant way of getting rid of superfluous energy. What he evidently failed to appreciate was the fact that the idea of sport in this country is to interpret the pursuit of pleasure in terms of the pleasure of pursuit. Nor was it in the least surprising that he should wonder (quite literally) what on earth all these people were doing. Nor was there room for doubt that he was inclined to look down on it all as rather beneath him. It may not be convenient or temperamentally pleasant to ascend in a balloon in order to watch the vagaries of games from so detached an altitude, but one can with perfect con- venience and enjoyment watch championships. A better opportunity for such a purpose could not have been found than that which presented itself recently of passing within a week from Wimbledon to St. Andrews, at both of which places events of world-wide importance were being decided. What struck one most was the remarkable contrast of the two scenes. Nothing could have been more dissimilar, however one regarded it—except, maybe, for the presence of the photo- graphers who are inevitable on these occasions and never show any great variety. Take the difference of the setting. At Wimbledon there are the packed stands inset with faces like a pattern of coloured mosaic, the brisk noise and flutter of hands, the death-like silences broken by volleys of rapturous applause at the end of the rallies, and the voice of the umpire quietly calling the A GAME OF CONFIDENCE score. The excitement is continuous, sharp and breathless; at times it requires almost an effort of will to sit still. But at St. Andrews, during one of the Championships, the tension is longer drawn out. It might be described as one long suspense after another. The advantage, however, is to be found on the links that it is possible to move about freely (or as freely as the gentlemen with the red flags will allow you), and so par- tially relieve the agony of one's emotions. The intervals, too, of walking—or of the very reprehensible act of running which distresses the stewards—between the critical moments of waiting to see the result of a stroke that may mean so much in the final result help materially to lessen the strain. Then as regards the weather conditions, one cannot forget another very characteristic feature of Wimbledon, the occasions when one detects with a sense of growing irritation the ominous subtle rustling movement which heralds the approach of a storm by the opening of umbrellas round the central court, and then the gloomy ritual that follows of hoisting the hated tarpaulin. More cheerful (if the Fates permit; but they do not, alas, often relent) is the clamorous demand, as soon as it clears up a little, for unveiling the court once more during a temporary cessation of rain. The groundsmen, who come on the court to discharge their duties, receive an ovation on their entrance which must be overwhelming in its intensity, and must make them feel public benefactors if not actual heroes. On the whole, Wimbledon lives in the memory as much for being a tourna- ment of weather as a tournament of tennis. All these emotions, too, within the small space of a circle of humanity, packed like herrings, with only the smallest segment of sky visible overhead, which seems to have the effect of concentrating the heat or else of allowing the rain clouds to gather. At St. Andrews we go out prepared to face the elements, howevermuch it blows or pours, because no pause in the game is permissible. The spectators, at any rate, are never baulked of their exercise. The situation is entirely reversed.

••;• • . •'"•'.•••.•• • •'••.137 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF You are no longer chained to your seat like a galley slave, but follow the only game in the world in which two men will lead ten thousand for a jaunt of five miles across broken country. In the matter of play, again, at Wimbledon, it is true, you have an excellent opportunity of studying temperament at close quarters. In the singles it may be a duel fought to the fifth set and to the very last gasp at that; speed and stamina are the things that largely count. Of the five sets three must be won. Which three shall it be ? The player who sweeps the court like a tornado may make it the first three or fail in the end to win. With another, whose chances will arrive later, the fifth may be the one to aim at if he manages to survive. In that event he will have to repel the first fierce onset and tide it over as best he may. It requires the brain of a chess player or the imagination of a general in the field to think out a plan of campaign and decide the best chance of winning through. To pass to St. Andrews, what a contrast! There is little of this cut-and-thrust business. No stroke can be given away with impunity; any error may lead to disaster, and its results lie far ahead. The greatest care and deliberation is needed for the most elementary shot. Any one of these puny efforts may be critical; and the affair extends over days. It means steady plodding from the start to the finish, the stern cultivation of the moment and the gaining of full value for each separate stroke. After the incessant and swift action to which one had grown accustomed in the tennis arena, it seems at first slow anxious work. The deliberation demanded by a game where so little counts for so much creates a feeling exceedingly difficult at first to overcome. You have just left a scene where you were kept in a heat of expectation, as shocks and thrills followed one another fast and furiously. Now things have slowed down and seem almost oppressively deliberate. But you soon become acclimatised to the new movement, and no one can say that there will not be as much excitement presently as anyone could wish for. 138 A GAME OF CONFIDENCE In the meantime we are at first a little impatient with the halting movement. No one appears in a hurry. Indeed, hurry is a thing to be sternly avoided. Everything is done in method- ical detail with an assumption, at any rate, of indifference, even when you know that the player is intensely concentrated. Gradually, however, the impression of slowness vanishes, and you are carried away by the enthusiasm of the crowd bound up heart and soul in the common pursuit of adventure. Sympathisers will occasionally engage in conversation with the players—although this is a delicate matter—but small boys before now have been known with reckless daring to stride by the side of a hero and venture a remark on the weather. It is unfortunate, too, to say the least, if a friend with the best intentions in the world comes up at a critical point of the game, when things are going none too well, and chats about quite irrelevant matters with the helpful intention (as he is careful to explain afterwards) of " taking your mind off." Now this at once introduces a question of grave importance. We are at once dealing, not with the consideration of games in the abstract, but with the temperamental condition of a player when he is anxious to do something of his best. Why, we may ask, is it an act of reckless daring for small boys to intrude remarks upon the weather at what might possibly be an inopportune moment ? Or why is anyone slightly indignant at a well-intentioned friend trying to take your mind off the game? We are all agreed that the friend rather untactfully misjudged the situation, yet there is no question of the excel- lence of his motive, that he was wishing to stabilise his com- panion's mind in a moment of adversity—to restore, if possible, his confidence. He may not have chosen the best method of accomplishing this object, but the intention undoubtedly was to bring about a mental equilibrium which he considered essential under the circumstances. Confidence (so the critics universally agree) is the one X39. THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF sovereign asset needed for success. It will help, so they claim, to carry the player who possesses it to the highest pinnacles of achievement—provided, of course (although this is not always precisely stated), that he has a sufficiency of skill to justify his efforts. How often have we been urged to cultivate this divine gift, an unflinching trust in our ability to execute the things of which we may, or may not, be capable. It may be that it is a gift already providentially bestowed upon us in a sufficient measure to save us the trouble of having to summon it to our assistance by an intensive application of will-power; or, if it does not come to us naturally of its own accord, it seems, according to the wisest prophets, that it must be our constant endeavour to work up as much of this helpful aid to success as our souls can compass, and even to simulate, if necessary, a little of that assurance which will carry us triumphantly to the goal of our ambitions. This is the theory, so far as one can state it. As the proverb has it, the faint heart never wins. We must refuse to admit, even in our darkest hour, the remotest possibility of defeat. We must still assume, even when things are going badly, that God's in His heaven, All's well with the world, and refuse to believe otherwise. Or, if it comes to the worst, we can remember, as Don Quixote advised us: "Fortune leaves always one door open in disasters whereby to remedy them." That is the popular, or rather the orthodox, view of the great art of believing in oneself in spite perhaps of every evidence to the contrary. It may be at once admitted that such an optimistic frame of mind can be a source of immense comfort and complete satisfaction in every circumstance of life. The fortunate owner is to be sincerely congratulated if he can go through his allotted term of years with an impregnable belief in his destiny. It will mean that he is saved many unpleasant jolts and prob- 140 A GAME OF CONFIDENCE ably many quite unnecessary sensations of an otherwise dis- agreeable character. But the principle is made to apply with peculiar force to the golfer who is to be envied, as well as commended, if his composure is never likely to be shattered by distracting doubts. Sometimes, indeed, if he shows signs of diffidence, he may be severely handled for his weakness. His attitude to defeat (because one, at least, of two equally con- fident opponents, however confident they may both be, must in the ordinary course of events be defeated), when it does happen, should be to regard the event as an act of inexcusable negligence on the part of the powers who should have seen to it that such egregious mistakes never occurred. The theory thus baldly expressed can be found fully stated in most of the books devoted to the art of golf, and it is occa- sionally reiterated in the columns of the newspapers, especially when one of our countrymen has had the misfortune to fall to the prowess of an invader of our shores. It may be noticed also that the feeling is regarded as being, if anything, more efficacious on the putting green than in any other depart- ment of the game. Putting is an art of such perceptible delicacy that many people who attempt to solve its mysteries, and have never quite succeeded in doing so, fall back—shall we say as a last resort?—on the mysterious process of cultivating a condition of confidence by slightly obscure and artificial methods. One can describe such a degree of intense mental culture as a kind of make-belief or will-to-win, just as you happen to regard it, which will almost to a certainty bring about the most astonishing results. For no idea could be simpler. Putt confidently, and you will hole out every time. Try it, however, as an experiment and you may arrive at the conclusion that, at least in your own case, you don't. That, however, is scarcely to the point. It may be an un- worthy exception to prove a most desirable doctrine. The whole psychological process may depend on a form of mental gymnastic of which some of us to our sorrow are incapable. 141 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF It may be for us, in fact, a hopelessly difficult task to believe in the certainty of an occurrence which in our inmost hearts We know to be at least highly improbable. If, for example, we could rid ourselves of the conviction that the event is as im- probable as we believe it is, then all might be well; but we are confronted with the insuperable difficulty of reversing a proposition which to our cost unfortunately we know to be true. With others, on the other hand, it may come spon- taneously and need no effort of the imagination at all. Then, beyond any doubt, it is a priceless boon. To make quite certain that it was not merely a current literary theory, or perhaps a tradition of thought, which might have been misunderstood, the enquiry was put by us in the course of a round to an opponent, who happened at the moment to be acquitting himself superbly on the greens, as to the exact cause to which he attributed his excellent results. Every two or three yarder up to that point of the game had never deviated a fraction of an inch from the direct line to the hole, had dropped, in fact, with delightful strength into the very centre of the cup. The precision with which the deed was done, in spite of one's feelings of envy, had been, indeed, a privilege to watch. There could never be a better opportunity for put- ting the question. Here we felt we should have an unbiassed opinion while the oracle was still working. As was half expected, the reply was that it was " merely a matter of confidence." Precisely. He had been well grounded in the subject. To make doubly sure, it was asked whether what he exactly meant was that, provided he made up his mind that the ball would run into the hole, it would—well, run into the hole. The reply was in the affirmative; he could not very well explain it (this was a disappointment), but somehow, if you had confidence, you hit the ball better and more smoothly; it ran more truly off the club; it trickled along in the right direction and at the required strength. In other words, it did everything it should do. 142 A GAME OP CONFIDENCE These simple solutions, however, have a way of exciting in some minds a degree of scepticism. They appear too good, too simple, to be true. And golf, one learns by bitter experience, even if it may not always be regarded as a good game, is cer- tainly not a simple one. Who, any more than he, had an ex- planation to offer why such a thing should happen? To make matters worse, our friend missed a fairly easy putt on the very next green. What could be the cause? Had he ceased to be a believer just at the critical moment and let his confidence slip ? Or had he merely forgotten—forgetfulness is a terribly com- mon golfing complaint—to make up his mind properly over this not very exacting effort? To aggravate the situation still further, a half-stymie presently occupied his attention. After looking at it anxiously, he commented with a slight asperity of tone on the fact that he did not think there was room enough to get past. Without any intention of being untactful it was mildly suggested that it only needed confidence to avoid a collision. Perhaps he looked up a little suspiciously at the remark. There was no apparent reason, so far as one could see, why faith should not remove half-stymies or even whole stymies. Why make moun- tains out of molehills ? After this slightly regrettable incident, the spell seemed to be broken. We talked on other topics than the merely technical or psychological problems connected with the game. At the back of one's mind, however, the thought would reassert itself that there must be a fallacy lurking somewhere behind the idea. And simultaneously an alternative suggested itself which in the meantime had been overlooked, namely, that there was the converse of confidence, which also could do marvels. Despair. How often one reads in an account of some great duel on the links that a player holed a desperate putt across the green—say, at the seventeenth hole—to square the match. Who has ever yet read that the putt under these trying circumstances was a confident one ? It is hailed as " desperate " H3 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF even by the critics who adhere most strictly to the optimistic school of thought. For our own part, we would even go so far as to say that despair can offer the greater stimulus of the two when the pinch really comes—when one or the other sees defeat staring him in the face. " Well," he says to himself, " there's not much chance of this. It's no use bothering too much. But here goes! " A little of the tension is relaxed; he sits a little looser in the saddle. The ball starts on its way very steadily. We know it was struck smoothly and cleanly. It moves nearer and nearer—finally it drops. The not altogether (but nearly) unexpected has happened. If it were necessary to plump for either state of mind at a crisis would we not be prepared to back desperation—when the player is, as they say, " up against it "—to produce the marvel which can alone save him? It is a difficult point to decide, especially by anyone entirely incompetent to decide it; and probably no satisfactory answer in any case is possible. The man of confidence refuses to be ruffled and retains his easy composure. The fatalist, on the other hand, is alive to the chance of the miracle happening. He must not allow him- self to hope for it—that would only damage his chances—but sometimes, and not infrequently, he is rewarded. Unfortunately it is a rare thing to be able to catch a glimpse of the thoughts that pass through the minds of those fortunate mortals who seem always capable of commanding success. We are informed by those who have studied the matter closely that there are many selfs which make up our essential self, and that these are continually battling to assert themselves; one of them attracts attention to this circumstance, another to that. More often than not they form an ill-assorted com- pany; certainly, where golf is concerned, they seem able to distract in a peculiarly irritating and insistent manner. The main difficulty, then, is to preserve silence and order amongst them or at least to decline to listen too attentively to their discordant voices. 144 A GAME OF CONFIDENCE Many proofs of this clash of outlook must have occurred to most of us who visit the links. To refer again to Mr. Bobby Jones's historic rounds at Sunningdale, the prodigious consistency that was then in evidence pointed to a state of blissful manipulative and mental balance. Yet we were subsequently let into the secret that the refusal of a 5 to be marked on the card until well into the second round was getting sadly on Mr. Jones's nerves—as well it might. Only when the boon was granted and the 5 duly appeared did Mr. Jones feel entirely contented and happy. All was well again; the round proceeded gaily with the same magnificent pro- cession of 3's and 4's. We can imagine the urgency of that voice growing stronger and stronger." What about that 5 ? This won't do, you know. It is all wrong—or, rather, much too right. You had better let me come in and have done with it." Only when the importunate pleader consented to retire to its hidden recess did peace and confidence return once more. The ideal frame of mind, therefore, should correspond, if things are to go happily, to something of the perfection of the wireless instrument when it is undisturbed by hoots, whistles, and atmospherics. You cannot hope to command the lightning or rule out all local disturbances. These are bound to arise sooner or later. But on some fortunate days the instrument is as clear as a bell. That is the state of the happy golfer. The reverse condition can indeed be terribly upsetting. The instrument is then too susceptible to other influences. For no perceptible reason Paris and Daventry may be struggling for expression at the same moment—an unlooked-for duet, pos- sibly, between a French orator and an English soprano. The single purpose is at once wrecked. They are divided counsels making themselves heard, each provoking discord. One thinks, perhaps irreverently, of the linesV

Two Voices are there; one is of the sea, One of the mountains; each a mighty Voice. 145 L THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF There came a Tyrant, and with holy glee Thou fought'st against him; but hast vainly striven.

Altogether the affair is very puzzling. A particularly shrewd observer of the game once wrote on the subject of the ideal temperament (without defining the merits of confidence with exact precision) that to be conceited and nervous at one and the same time made for the worst of all possible frames of mind. Is not this a little of our meaning ? Conceit, after all, is but a depraved condition of confidence; and nervousness is the distracting effect of a divided state, a conflicting condition of mind, a chorus of discordant voices. Combined, conceit and nervousness do undoubtedly represent the conditions of the damned. To reverse the proposition may, for all we know, be to realise the easy ways of the blessed. And one last sidelight on this very debatable question may be taken from another sport, the Fancy, which Hazlitt rightly named " the most practical of all things," for the reason that it supplies the most humanly decisive method of arriving at results. He is writing of the historic meeting between the Gasman and Bill Neate; and the Gasman, it may be remem- bered, was inclined to "vapour and swagger too much." This leads up to the well-considered conclusion that u con- fidence is half the battle, but only half." Here at any rate we have something definite to go on; because a half, whatever be its nature, is not an advantage to be scorned lightly.

146 From Gullane Hill XIV East Lothian STORY is told of a Londoner who, on arrival at North Berwick, gazed out of the window at a land- Ascape blotted with rain and mist and in bitter accents exclaimed: " I don't call this East Lothian. I call it East Loathsome." The story is not repeated in order to spread abroad a wicked libel on a romantic and beautiful country, but rather to admit that North Berwick can have, like every other place in the world, its unlucky days—sometimes as many as three in succession—when the islands off the shore disappear entirely from view, the scenery is wrapped in a heavy mantle of grey, and a piercing wind may be blowing to intensify the general depression. Under these distressing circumstances almost any epithet would be excusable. But this unhappy state of affairs is the exception rather than the rule, and is quickly forgotten. We remember only the inspired moments, the bright crystal quality of the air, the stimulating breezes, the wide prospect of the shores of Fife behind which St. Andrews lurks unseen, and, above all, we think of the friendly islands, Craigleith, the Lamb, Fidra, and Eyebrough—without which North Berwick is inconsolable—standing proudly and gaily like sentinels on guard. Undoubtedly full sunshine is needed to do justice to 147 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF the scene. North Berwick must be able to spread her wings to be at her best, and then the most hardened critic might be tempted to call her East Lovely. We could if we chose enumerate the attractions of the coast:

St. Abbs, the Bass, North Berwick Law, Tantallon's dour and duchty wa'— But stop! war I to name them a'—

We need, in fact, only enlarge on two of them: the stately Bass Rock, where David Balfour spent a brief retirement in the company of Andie and the birds—" just the one crag of rock, as everybody knows, but great enough to carve a city from "—dreamy and opalescent in the blue afternoon against the warm sky away beyond the sunlit harbour on the right; and the Law, under whose shadow lies the quiet town. The Law is the odd conical hill on the landward side which makes its presence felt almost oppressively at times as it towers over the scene, appearing when you least expect it at every unlikely angle from the links. To be seen at its best it should be viewed at a more respectful distance; then it is as picturesque and omnipresent as Fujiyama in Hokusai's colour prints. Seen at a greater distance still from the top of Gullane Hill, it gives one the impression of having strayed from foreign parts and settled down in an uncongenial country, because it rises from the floor of the plain with all the impressiveness of a great prehistoric pyramid. Perhaps, too, its fantastic but obvious resemblance to a gigantic tee has before now impressed the Scottish mind and may explain the reason why a minister from the neighbouring village of Dirleton, finding himself by chance on the summit of the Great Pyramid with a golf ball in his pocket—one of those exceptional coincidences which ask for but never obtain a satisfactory explanation—promptly drove it by the aid of his umbrella far away in the direction of the Holy Land. EAST LOTHIAN Apart from such manifestations of zeal, it must not be thought that the praises of East Lothian links have escaped the patriotic fervour of her native poets. The beauties of the links that gather on GuUane Hill, surely one of the great views of the world, covering (so they say) on a clear day fully four- teen counties, are perhaps the most inspiring of all:

Folks praise the links ayont the Forth— St. Andrews, Elie, Leven; About Carnoustie, Dornoch Firth, Our ears they aft are deavin*.

But Gullane, oh, your wondrous charm A' other links surpasses; Inspired we climb your links as once The ancients climbed Parnassus.

There's heights and howes, there's bosky knowes, As far as eye can cover; By sea and land, a picture grand Dame Nature shows her lover.

See to the West, in azure drest, Auld Reekie proudly peerin', While in the North, oot owre the Forth, The Lomond hills are clearin'.

Far, far beyond the eerie Bass, The sea lies calmly dreamin', Wi* mony a sail o' pearly white Upon its bosom gleamin'.

One feels instinctively that the verses are partly inspired by the inevitable rivalry with St. Andrews—that city " situated on a wind-swept promontory"—out of sight from even Gullane 149 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF but never quite out of mind. Fife and Lothian were ever old antagonists. Each had its champions and local heroes vying with one another and always a little jealous. It was not entirely without meaning that Andrew Kirkaldy spoke somewhat slightingly of Muirfield as " just an auld watter meedie. I'm glad I'm gaun hame." But Ben Sayers, his foil and partner in many a great foursome, a man of small stature but nimble wit, accustomed when spurred to reminiscence to refer in accents of pride to his " feats of acrdbitism " in the days before he followed the links as his profession, would probably have been able to supply the appropriate taunt with reference to St. Andrews greens on the famous occasion when he was stymied by a mushroom—a difficulty from which he managed to extricate himself, it is needless to say, with his customary address. The St. Andrews amateurs as well were equally matched with the East Lothian celebrities, whom the caddies of the district habitually and familiarly called by their Christian names—" Johnny Laidlay, Bobby Maxwell, Cecil Hutchison." But it was always the more deferential " Mr. Sayers " with them—a fine distinction, perhaps, but one that has sometimes eluded us. What one feels chiefly about North Berwick is its romantic quality. Even the professional's shop has a touch of the delight- fully unexpected. You come suddenly on a quaintly submerged dwelling with a roof and a skylight in it flush with the soil, protected by wire netting to save it from stray golf balls. It is a little reminiscent of " Alice Underground " (as the original title of the book stood), because the entrance is down just such a tunnel as that into which Alice saw the White Rabbit with the pink eyes disappear as it took out a watch and ex- claimed " Oh, my ears and whiskers, how late it is getting 1" This was the first thing, it may be remembered, that sur- prised Alice; but it would never surprise us who have con- stantly seen White Rabbits hurrying to the professional's EAST LOTHIAN shop to buy a new driver or peculiar kind of putter in the hope of its working some new miracle. And, when you enter, you enter a magician's ,cave—racks full of new and brightly polished clubs, many of them of a refreshing novelty, drivers and brassies elegantly bound in the way fishing-rods are decorated, irons with Christian names instead of vulgar and ordinary titles, and putters so delight- fully and devilishly contrived that you promptly buy one on the spot because you cannot resist its sinister appeal; scarves, too, and stockings in rainbow colours, leather jerkins to keep out wind and weather, umbrellas in glittering hues, always cheerful if occasionally loud, magnificent bags with fascinating cubicles and rows of balls cosily tucked in their dormitories unconscious of the rude awakening in store for them. Was there ever a more wonderful shop than this ? Above ground, too, there is something of the same feeling of unreality. The stage seems set for some romantic drama; and we are not surprised that Robert Louis Stevenson, who always had an eye for a coast strewn with islands, should have seen his opportunity for the escape of Alan Breck when he hid in the whins waiting for his ship to take him to France. The actual spot where he lay may have been the Eel Burn at the further end of North Berwick links—" a little cressy burn . . . and the sandhills ran along the head of it like the ram- part of a town "; or it may have been further on by Archerfield, under the lee of Fidra, where we are told there was a good anchorage in westerly winds—"and there, from a long way off, we could see the Thistle was riding." At any rate we know that the pursuers came from Gullane way, and that the fugitives passed through Dirleton. The description exactly fits the links of Archerfield. " I mind, as we crawled on upon our bellies into that multiplicity of heights and hollows, keeping a bright eye upon all sides, and our hearts hammering at our ribs, there was such a shining of the sun and the sea, such a stir of the wind in the bent grass, and THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF such a bustle of down-popping rabbits and up-flying gulls, that the desert seemed to me like a place alive." Should you play a round any day at Archerfield you cannot fail to recognise the front of the sandhills; and it must surely have been here that Alan waded out to the boat. All the way from Edinburgh we find a chain of links that call up memories—Musselburgh, only twenty years junior to St. Andrews, a championship course in the old days, famous as a club-making centre and the headquarters of the Park family for over four hundred years; Prestonpans, the scene of Prince Charlie's victory, with links on which Sir Walter Scott once played, but then generally covered with fishing- nets so that the taking of divots out of them was likely at any moment to create a disturbance with the fishing folk; and, a little further still, Seton Green, over which Mary Queen of Scots enjoyed a round with Bothwell after Darnley's murder and thereby incurred some unkind criticism. But when we reach Gullane we come upon the four links of greatest interest to us—Gullane, with its threefold choice of courses, Muirfield, Archerfield and North Berwick—all of them remarkable for the contrasts they offer. They show in the most convincing way how character changes with environ- ment and design follows its natural trend. Musselburgh, of course, is a racecourse, and was known for the once famous stroke, the " Musselburgh run." Gullane is a hill; Muirfield undoubtedly is a field; Archerfield not a field in any sense, but Dirleton Common; and North Berwick, which ends the sequence, a panorama. These four lie so adjacently to each other that they were once " bracketed " by Mr. Laidlay when he played for a wager a ball from " The King's Chair "—the seventh tee at Gullane—to the eighteenth green at North Berwick in the incredibly small score of eighty-six strokes. To anyone who has walked round the coast and seen the yawning sand chasms of enormous width, and the rocks and woods to be circum- . '•;. • • ' , ; •-153 : • ••• EAST LOTHIAN vented, the performance is hard to believe. These obstacles in themselves were bad enough but scarcely as bad as the very first carry over a cornfield, a peculiarly difficult but happily rare hazard for a golf ball. The odd thing is that the compara- tively innocuous hazards of North Berwick links should have claimed a larger proportion of strokes than would have been thought necessary. But having escaped such terrible places, it was not unnatural that there should be the excuse for a reaction. As golf courses each of the four has its individual note. North Berwick, the oldest, bears the distinction that only age and careful development can ensure. And possibly the fact that courses were frequently played backwards—a custom that had much to commend it and might be revived with enter- taining results—was responsible for a certain unexpectedness in the lie of the holes which the necessary concentration over a small area of ground may have helped to accentuate. Beyond any question, North Berwick needs skill to play it well. Its merits, however, are best appreciated out of the season when the course is less frequented and more restful, especially at the points where certain converging routes meet. Here the recollection of a narrow escape, or even a direct hit, may well have an unsteadying effect on the nerves. The ground is admirable, and the greens the best on the coast; while the scenery, as one of the holes indicates, is perfection. Archerfield, in its natural state, has already been described sufficiently to show that playing on it is to enjoy an undis- turbed solitude. The course is, unfortunately, now little used, and therefore possesses almost an antiquarian interest as a survival of primitive golf that is still complete in itself although out of touch with the devastating distances to which we are accustomed. The fairways, one is left to imagine, were purely natural, and the greens rarely, if ever, cut. In the old days it was much the same with Gullane; but Gullane has increased and multiplied. 153 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF Luffness lies on its outskirts, a great course in every way with probably the best natural golfing ground in Scotland, if we except St. Andrews. It was on this course that a serious delay during a round was found to be due to the pains an American visitor was taking with a pocket range-finder where- with he. endeavoured to ascertain how far his ball lay from the greens. That may be a casual reminiscence which stamps the links on the memory; but Luffness covers only a part of a vast network of courses. At one time there was only the single course, and then the larks were said to sing on Gullane Hill as if it were the fane sacred to St. Cecilia herself; on any fine September day in '80 or thereabouts, we are assured, " it was possible to play round after round with a sense of absolute possession, for the only living things to be seen were the geese and an aged black cow that used to ruminate near the smithy." How changed is Gullane now! No longer can we be alone there, "silent, upon a peak in Darien "; for two courses march together across the tableland, and the third follows on the lower ground, frequented by the less ambitious, while a humbler fourth is reserved whereon the more juvenile talent can disport itself. Being on a hill, the ascent has to be made quickly if at all. Very wisely the difficulty is got over as quickly as possible. The second holes on both the first and second courses breast the summit, and although the ascent may be steep enough to discourage the weaker-hearted brethren, we are at least mercifully spared the infliction of any hazards put in our way. A hole without a bunker is generally a good one, and if one wishes for bunkers—alas, there have been dreadful but, it is hoped, unfounded rumours of an additional hundred!—it is only a short distance to Muirfield, where they are too plentiful to be altogether inviting. On the reverse slopes the ascent is gentler. One hole, at least, is a rival in steepness and wants some climbing—" The Ladder"—which needs a particularly high and decisive trajec- 154 EAST LO THIAN tory. The seventeenth holes, however, offer a slight com- pensation in calling for a drive into the blue towards a green waiting far below; and the last stretch along the level gives us just time before we finish to recover our equilibrium. If at Gullane the architecture is on the whole agreeably natural, Muirfield supplies a significant contrast and demands some notice for two reasons; because, firstly, it is a modern course, constructed severely on the penal principle; and, secondly, because it represents a conversion from a course of the older strategic variety, thereby courting a comparison which may be odious but is none the less inevitable. Round Muirfield, in consequence of this transformation, it is not unnatural that a storm of discussion should have raged concerning the comparative merits of the new and the old. Probably no other course has attracted quite the same dis- crepancy of opinion. Mr. Joshua Crane, an American critic, has placed it first in the list of our leading courses (with St. Andrews, sad to relate, last). On the other side of the argu- ment, a distinguished and courageous golfer once had the hardihood to suggest to a member of the Green Committee that the money expended on the conversion might just as well have been thrown into the sea. How can we decide be- tween them ? If only the money could have been thrown into the land more adjacent to the sea! There the ground and greens are almost made already; and what a magnificent circular course it would have been, with possibly a relief course in the centre. Popular opinion, it must in all fairness be said, inclines to favour the course as it stands; yet it is well to remember that Ibsen went so far as to declare that " right is alone on the side of the enlightened minority." Be that as it may, it is not diffi- cult to discover the reasons that account for a possibly mis- guided preference. The fairways are broad and generally straight, clearly defined by avenues of bunkers to indicate the route to the greens; the greens, too, are large and not too THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF dangerously guarded except in some extreme instances; the nature of the shot is clearly shown by this method, and needs little reflection beyond the manner of its execution; the position and number of the bunkers (at one hole as many as twenty- five may be counted, but that may be due to the multitude of architects who lent their assistance) are not too terrifying on a calm day to the expert player. But when the ground is fast and a stiff wind is blowing and the course is stretched to its fullest capacity of seven thousand yards there can be no question of its being a test both of power and accuracy. These considerations alone may render it acceptable for an Open Championship; but for the finer shades of match play in the Amateur the older course had many things to commend it. Multiplicity of bunkers can indeed be easily overdone. One short hole, for example, of 130 yards, with its full complement of a dozen or so, bears to the weary golfer a somewhat dismal resemblance to a heavily shell-swept area. Yet even here, where so many are already supplied, it has been suggested by an admirer that the position could be strengthened by a re- inforcement on the right in order to make it completely impregnable! But whether we applaud Muirfield as the culminating point of modern attainment or are tempted to criticise it for lack of imagination and the absence of that economy of means which is the secret of great art, we can unite in admiring without reserve the fine Raeburn hanging in the club-house, a portrait of a former Captain, John Taylor, represented in the full glory of the golfing costume of the period—beaver hat, high stock, red cutaway coat with velvet collar, the medal of The Honourable Company on his breast, and fawn-coloured knee- breeches and stockings. He is depicted standing with a driver of the old model in his hand, rather unconscious of his sur- roundings, although a lad in the background is teeing up his ball ready for him to play. What swells they were then 1 How magnificently they dressed the part! Possibly efficiency suffered 156 EAST LOTHIAN a little in consequence; but the splendour of the dress matches the great style of the painting and makes us realise how many possibilities of decoration we have lost in the humbler garb which we now affect. But we can console ourselves, as we gaze at the picture, with the reflection that no other game in the world can boast of a finer work of art; and that at least is a point to its credit.

157 XV Caddies we have Met ADDIES may have changed since the days of Old Edinburgh, when Smollett met them at public ban- Cquets. The more modern custom is to avail ourselves of their company only on the links: though we have heard that something of the ancient custom has survived in America, where bootblacks and other public servants are wont to enter- tain their clients in the spirit of generous reciprocity. There is one point, however, which concerns us very closely in our relations with caddies, that a good many people are apt to lay too great a stress on the solitariness of golf, its intro- spective side, that " importunate, tormenting, everlasting personal identity," the burden laid on the shoulders of the pilgrim. Perhaps it would be wiser to emphasise a few of the social advantages; for in whatever category you place golf as a game, is it not in many ways the most sociable of all? Look at the varied company you keep. You go out for a 158 CADDIES WE HAVE MET stroll of four miles or so with a friend or chance acquaintance. You may find yourself any day taking a walk with a great personage on one side and a ragamuffin on the other. Is there, we ask again, any other walk in life where such a contingency is likely to happen ? And whose opinion, if you were asked the question, would you be the most afraid of? Whose praise would you be yearn- ing to listen to ? In some portions of our island—perhaps not in all—it is reasonable to believe that the good opinion of your caddie is the one thing at the moment that is really of vital importance. In all these great questions of principle arising in golf, the mind instantly and naturally reverts to St. Andrews as the fountain-head and shining example. The gallant band of helpers there who consent to carry our clubs have always been, to adopt a current phrase, in a class by themselves. Not that our fellow counsellors from that great city may not be the kindliest of mortals, possessed of every desire for our good; but they can, in spite of that, be cruel taskmasters. There is always a feeling at the back of the mind of being surreptitiously under orders, of strong disciplinary influences being exerted. The plain fact is that one is answerable to one of the sub- ordinate priests of the Palladian Temple overlooking the first teeing ground—in itself a place of great ordeals. His demeanour suggests that he will be certain to report us if we are too egregiously bad. Forgiveness and final absolution can only be looked for by the payment of satisfactory dues and the performance of meritorious actions. Nothing else will suffice. If it happens to be your lucky day, there may be the pleasant feeling afterwards to look forward to of the prisoner who has narrowly escaped the gallows. An unforgettable first experience of ours was with a tall upstanding sailor man whose formidable appearance was heightened by a shock of red hair and a weather-beaten countenance that at once commanded respect. He wore circlets THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF of gold in his ears, and had the flaming aspect of an ancient Viking recently arrived on a raiding expedition from Scandi- navia. Immediately on our introduction he withdrew, and at the fatal moment when a voice was calling from the Starting Box had disappeared from view, leaving his victim alone under the wide open expanse of heaven with nothing except a driver amidst a seemingly death-like silence. Seen as through a grey mist the impudent Ball sits, mocking and gibbering at our terror. The agony is cut short as speedily as possible. And what matters it so long as one may proceed, still severely shaken, to a not ignominious distance from home ? Can one hope to derive any comfort for one's good deeds (if any) from the Viking? If you expect it you will be bitterly disappointed. Fine, brave words of encouragement do not lie within his province. He is dignified, indeed courteous, but his manner conveys a hint of condescension which does not admit of cordial approval. He makes you feel your place. He imposes his will upon you as with a gesture of casual indiffer- ence he hands a second club and gives a few directions of a brief and emphatic nature in an accent that is heard only to be obeyed. He drops a pace to the rear, and you would swear there was money on the match. So be careful, my friend, expect no praise, and thank your stars if you get safely over the Burn. If he tells you that " there is no harm done," accept it as a word of high praise, and be grateful for the most gracious compliment you are likely to get for a distinctly creditable shot. We parted at the end of the round on the best of terms. Jock even " begged the honour" of escorting us again. This was really nice of him, especially after a serious blunder committed at a critical point in the game when a distant Episcopalian steeple had been played on instead of the roof of a U.P. edifice to which particular attention had been drawn. Jock, as the sounder theologian of the two, was naturally profoundly shocked at the heresy, and made no consolatory remark at a hideous commitment in Hell Bunker. 160 CADDIES' WE HAVE MET Another professor might well have been one of Napoleon's Old Guard (in slightly reduced circumstances). A hawk-like nose came down and his chin went up in the manner of a famous character in fiction. He had something as well of the appearance of a bird of prey, with hooked nose and fierce bright eyes glimmering at one, and a look that was command- ing yet inscrutable. A pair of baggy red trousers below the long skirted coat he wore would have admirably fitted him for any European battlefield, especially as he carried the clubs under his arm in the old manner, as if prepared to charge the enemy with the bayonet at the least provocation and carry the ramparts in front of us. He, too, had beautiful manners, firm yet respectful. In the absence of a potentially greater player we had been adopted for the nonce as his prot6g6, so that it was evidently no time for trifling if a shred of the family honour was to be retained. At the end of a pleasant round it was necessary as a diplomatic precaution not to disturb the good feeling already existing. It was therefore expedient to dribble a small stream of silver into his palm until there were signs of a sufficiency to appease his humour. The bow, worthy of a court chamberlain, was a thing never to be forgotten. " Ye see," he said very kindly, " I'm a friend of the family and I won't be too hard on ye. That'll do fine." Still, it was a comfort to find that the others as well, whom he seemed to regard with an air of proprietorship, did not invariably escape scot free. On one fine morning the Medal had been won with his assistance, in what happened to be a record score for the event. But would you think our frierid was satisfied ? We watched him during the luncheon hour from the hotel windows, standing at the corner of the clubhouse preening his feathers, as it were, with his head lifted a little scornfully on his fellows, his hands deep in his pockets, a conqueror who had come out of a hard-won fight. But he had a criticism 161 M THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF to offer before the final parting at the railway station. Would take a word of advice ? There was one thing he had noticed, and that was that Mr. was generally short to- day. Now, that was a thing to be careful of. It was a habit that Mr. should do well to avoid in future. Apart from that he had little to say. Then, with a friendly gesture of farewell, he wished the gentleman a pleasant journey. Not all bearers of clubs, alas, rise quite to this high and distinguished level! Perhaps it is as well for our pride and inward satisfaction. Still, there are others who achieve no standard at all. Over one attracted, no doubt, by the busy season it is well to draw a veil. But then he was no fit repre- sentative to mix with the aristocracy of St. Andrews, only an alien spirit whose knowledge of golf was as infinitesimal as his record for sobriety, so far as one was able to judge, was a little dubious. The round ended in a manner that could scarcely reflect credit on the Old Course of St. Andrews. So we prefer to end our recollections with a fine stalwart man of over eighty, with gentle blue eyes and the softest possible lilt in his voice and the mien of a benevolent grand- father. That was the pleasantest day of all. Further away in the north one finds a less sophisticated society of helpers. There one goes round in the company of delightful boys with flaxen hair and bright faces and only a limited amount of English in their vocabulary. You can generally hear a clatter of Gaelic behind the clubhouse, and sometimes a chorus is joined of fresh voices which might have hailed from the Hebrides. With these companions one feels a prouder and more independent being. It is more like setting out for a walk with a faithful, cheery dog at one's heels for a run. Sometimes, as an evidence of goodwill, a bunch of white heather would be brought from the hills, and if this did not put a different complexion on one's game it is difficult to know what would. The caddies to be met with in England are of a different CADDIES WE HAVE MET type—many different types, if it comes to that—not so sure of themselves nor possessing an ancestry which can combine so successfully the dictator with the diplomat. They just lack, in fine, that highly professional touch which has needed centuries of tradition to bring to maturity. The dialect, too, is a thing that one misses. Round London the vernacular has not quite that roundness of style which mollifies the suggested rebuke or converts a faint approbation into a gem of precision. More depends, in fact, on the manner of address than meets the eye. And perhaps you do not so often find the same keen- ness or the same scientific discrimination. Still, there may be originality. In an account of a champion- ship in the West Country two caddies were given an honour- able mention in the columns of The Times—a high compliment to the profession! It appeared that the elder of the two wore a particularly stiff collar and his head was crowned with a bowler hat; the other, answering to the name of " George," played the organ—presumably in the parish church, which stood on the links. The costume of caddies may be a subject hitherto neglected, especially in regard to headgear; but the presence of a bowler hat would certainly be something of a solecism. Top hats we have seen on the links, not worn by caddies, but by strangers on their way to Ascot who stopped, very properly, to see a great round of 66 by Mr. Jones at Sunningdale. But it needs a great occasion to bring out these extremes of fashion. One welcomes them as one would wel- come a rare butterfly. One of the privileges, and not the least of them, that falls to the lot of the caddie is the recovery of balls in the ordinary course of a round; and he is expected by many exacting golfers to rival the eagle or the vulture in long-sightedness. Unfor- tunate occasions have been known when balls have been found illegitimately. On one occasion a notoriously long hitter drove a ball exceedingly far and commendably straight down the centre of the fairway over a slight rise in the ground halfway 163 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF which prevented a sight of its ultimate resting-place. To our surprise, when we made our way forward, nothing was in sight Had the ground swallowed it up? It had. But how, we never knew till long afterwards. The same phenomenon happened more than once, and there seemed to be no solution of the mystery. A year or so later the secret leaked out. Some imp of the guerilla tribe would lie under cover at a distance, run in if he saw his opportunity, seize the ball and lift a square of turf which formed the lid of a secret chamber in the middle of the fairway. There it would be dumped with the rest of the spoils in as secure a safe-deposit as could very well be in- vented Then, of course, he would retire gracefully and quickly from the scene (or possibly assist in the search) with nothing in his pockets to betray his innocence. A similar mystery on another course was solved by the schoolmaster, a member of the community with every op- portunity of being able to discover these local peculiarities. He enquired of a member of the club whether there had been many balls lost that season, and, if so, was it at any particular hole? As it happened, there had been a good many losses— at the eighth. " I thought as much," was the remark. I told the boys to write out the most exciting adventure they had had in their lives One of them gave a description of running out of a wood, ngoutofawood,picking up a ball and rushing back to cover as quickly as he could That set me wondering." The method of discovery, when you come to think of it, was so odd. That one so young should have prematurely committed the folly of writing his literary confessions! It is said that criminals give them- selves away sooner or later with some such silly little slip as

this. „ , , There are reasons which make it a safe rule to keep on good terms with one's caddie and never on any account, if it can be avoided, upbraid him. For one reason he is to a great extent defenceless; and for another an irritable or revengeful 164 CADDIES WE HAVE MET spirit is apt to be paid back with interest. This is all the more likely to happen if the player has only himself to thank for the cause of the outbreak. Such a player, in our hearing, was foolish enough to rebuke his attendant for not having counted his strokes at a certain hole. This was indeed, one thought at the time, playing with fire. At the next hole, a long one thickly bestrewn with bunkers, his anger and irritation mounted to such a pitch that his ball claimed acquaintance with the majority of them. Being one of those poor deluded people who refuse to pick up under any circumstances, he pursued the matter to the bitter end, and as he impatiently holed out and the ball tinkled into the hole a voice from the back remarked in a grave and impressive tone—" Sixteen."

165 XVI The Lost Chord GRAMOPHONE was recording an excellent render- ing (played very appropriately on the organ) of that Aintriguing melody which enjoyed such a wide popu- larity years ago—" The Lost Chord." Its exact meaning had always been, a little evasive—not that one ever took any great pains to unravel the many mysteries expressed in music. In the song evidently it was taken for granted that a chord had been lost; but why this should have happened or whether it was a common occurrence for musicians to lose sight of one of their chief means of expression never suggested itself. It was outside one's experience to enquire in what way chords went astray or were mislaid. The apparent fact was that the accompaniment opened with some very excellent examples of resonant and impressive arrangements of sound and, so far as one could see or hear, they seemed to gain in strength rather than show any signs of becoming lost in the distance. But suddenly an interpretation suggested itself as a flash of inspiration. The secret of its meaning seemed to be clear 166 THE LOST CHORD for the first time. Was it not, after all, that curious mystery which occurs, amongst other circumstances of life, in many games, the mystery of a sudden and unwarranted incapacity to repeat a previously familiar effort; when, in fact, you lose a familiar stroke just as one would imagine from the title of the song that the musician can lose a chord of music which once on a time conveyed to him an inexpressible joy. Who, indeed, has not experienced the tragedy of losing a stroke but could never explain it ? It might be some inexplic- able paralysis of the nerves that is responsible for these sudden lapses. Or might it be some disorder of the brain which impeded the execution of what was accomplished with such in- different ease only a short while ago? In other words, this appeared to suggest the mystery of the Lost Shot—the touch of the hand that had vanished, the indefinite something which can wilfully, without rhyme or reason, vanish into thin air and leave not a wrack behind. The cricketer knows the experience only too well—at least one speaks for the ordinary mortal, though it is to be doubted whether even the super-cricketer is entirely exempt. The batsman may find that he has suddenly lost the knack of a favourite stroke. It might be the hook to the boundary that was so invaluable and such a certainty; or it might be the snick through the slips which had helped him to score so freely; or in more recent years even the art of getting in front of your wicket to avoid losing it. The bowler, in his turn, can experience a similar trouble; he may be dismayed to find he cannot recover, do what he will, the peculiar spin of the fingers or the trick of swing that gained him his excellent average. With the golfer, the trouble probably is more frequent, more aggravating, and experienced in an acuter form than with the follower of any other game; chiefly because it is a game that engrosses his attention in a peculiarly effective manner and reacts very swiftly on his nervous centres. The golfer is by nature and habit a creature of swift mental change. He 167 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF gets firmly entangled in self-analysis and finds himself only too frequently thrown off his balance at the most inopportune moments. To his horror he discovers that an invaluable and trusty friend in the form of some pet stroke on which he prides himself has wandered into the limbo of lost souls; for a golf shot, even if it hasn't a soul of its own, is at least the second cousin to one. Has it not a vague Personality? Or (to be on safer ground) are we not justified in saying that it is an Abstraction that can exercise a beneficent or baneful influence, whichever it pleases, at its own sweet will? It was a matter for regret that the gramophone refused to utter the words of the song, because they might have indicated whether there was the same loss experienced in a game as that which could also baffle a musician; whether he, too, would find the chord he was accustomed to strike fade stealthily beyond his reach. It seems to be the unlucky fate of this melody to be bleated forth as a solo on the cornet or murmured rather dole- fully on the organ instead of being enriched by the human voice. One hears the music rolling and swelling into a grand volume of sound towards the climax, but it is difficult, if not impossible, to detect simply from the music itself what the chord really stood for or what was the precise idea in the composer's mind. The melody, it may be remembered, starts in a solemn key of monotony and rises to an impassioned burst of ecstasy at the end. One of two explanations might account for this. Did it mean that the chord so impressively struck in the opening phrase gathered force, like an avalanche, only to disappear over the edge in a resounding wail of despair? Or was it that the player, " Restless and ill at ease at the organ," was feeling his way upwards to the perfect consonance to finish in an exalted rhapsody of praise? Either explanation seemed on the face of it feasible, but one favoured the first and more pessimistic conclusion, be- cause in golf it is found that pessimistic conclusions as a rule THE LOST CHORD accord best with the facts. Still, in order to clear up the point, it was essential to procure a copy of the music and study the words (written by Miss Adelaide Proctor) in order to see what light she was prepared to throw on the matter. For Miss Proctor, if anyone, could furnish the clue. It appeared, according to the authoress, that the ideal chord (the perfect shot) was brought to light almost unconsciously. It happens in a moment of inspiration. It is welcomed with a glad feeling of profound emotion. Listen to what Miss Proctor says: I knew not what I was playing Or what I was dreaming then, But I struck one chord of music Like the sound of a great Amen.

Could the thought be better expressed ? That was it exactly. Without any wish to be irreverent or trivial, who has not known the stroke which sounds in his ears with all the im- pressiveness of a great Amen? There is the same conjunction of forces which rings through one's being with the perfection of rhythm and rises to an infallible and triumphant conclusion. Cannot we say in our humble way that

It flooded the crimson twilight Like the close of an Angel's Psalm, And it lay on my fevered spirit With a touch of infinite calm.

It linked all perplexed meanings Into one perfect peace, And trembled away into silence As if it were loth to cease.

The linking of " all perplexed meanings " is peculiarly apposite in these days of scientific enquiry into the technical 169 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF regions of a most elusive art. And the " perfect peace " de- scribes, as no other phrase could, the rare but therefore all the more delightful moments when we think we have dis- covered the ideal. If it does not describe the ecstatic discovery of a long-sought secret the lines can have little meaning. The infinite peace after the searching and distress of spirit! Surely it would not have the heart to desert us now when all the weary striving is past. Surely we could now rest in peace, satisfied that the perplexities are at last over and done with. The future is radiant with untold possibilities. But presently to our dismay disappointment falls on us like a cloud. The dream of certainty has vanished. What can have happened? It has disappeared and fled in the night. " I have sought, but I seek it vainly." There seems little chance of regaining even its echo—

It may be that Death's bright Angel Will speak in that chord again. It may be that only in Heaven . . .

Has it, alas, come to that ? The trivial follows so closely on the heels of the infinite that one fears to trace the analogy further. But we have known one of our greatest masters, to whom such a thing would appear to be an absurdity, assidu- ously seek to recover the elusive shot that even he had lost awhile and found so difficult to find again. To regain it he would play shot after shot with results that to the more obtuse observer would be perfection personified. With a clouded brow he would still remain dissatisfied. Then the inspiration returns for once; the chord is struck with its old sureness; his soul is " flooded with the crimson twilight." " That's it, sir, I think I've got it now." And very wisely he ceases to tempt a kindly providence further. For us lesser mortals we can recall many instances of some club or other which we regard with mingled feelings of fear 170 THE LOST CHORD and suspicion. Will it behave as beautifully to-day as it has behaved for a month past, or will it choose to play the traitor ? And if it will not perform its office on the lines we can formulate so accurately in our minds, why is it ? Why are we so suddenly helpless in the presence of hopeless impotence when the ease and certainty of only a moment ago seemed indestructible ? Nor do we ever know where this thing will happen. It may be the fickleness of the shot that hails from the tee, that erratic stroke which smiles with some of us only in the hour of con- fidence to dash our hopes to the dust. It may be the less maddening, yet sufficiently humiliating, error on a more puny scale—the lost chip which yesterday helped so gallantly to save or win a hole, but to-day fails in its cleanness and skids across the green or halts half-way. On the whole, with most of us the most destructive lapses occur at the extremes. If we are blessed with saneness on the tee, we find irretrievable ruin awaiting us on the green. We thought fondly we had discovered a faithful and fool-proof method. Yet the putt, that miserable and excruciatingly simple shot, by some accursed ingenuity, has gone astray. We cannot find it again in the full bloom of its beauty perhaps for a year. Then it may with great condescension make a reappearance and gladden our eyes and hearts. In the meantime we have discarded it—or, more correctly, it has discarded us—and if we are sufficiently philosophical, we accept the blow with resigna- tion. We were on good terms once on a time. Now it has cut us dead. These strange occurrences must surely be common enough. There should be a reason if we could only discover it. The brains of our wisest and greatest men have been applied to the disentanglement of the majority of our golfing perplexities; yet in all the volumes that have been written no light has been thrown on these fatalities. Not to be able to repeat ad nauseam, if necessary, lessons ground into our systems seems shameful and incredible. You did this, you did that and the other—you 171 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF would swear you could do it with your eyes shut—yet the certainty or the luck, whichever it is, has vanished. In searching for reasons we may think the causes are physical. The muscles may mutiny, complain of over-work and refuse to behave as they should. If that is so, there is nothing to be done; forced labour is never a successful remedy. Perhaps a set of nervous fibres strives to act in unison and one of the minor links fails. Or two of them have come to cross purposes for all we know, and no power we can devise will bring about a reconciliation until their jangled entities have agreed to forget and forgive. We cannot even tell where the liaison has proved at fault. In despair we invent a new formula, some makeshift that will tide us over the unhappy interval. Some new idea, like a new diet or a change of air, may work wonders for a while. We are not too hopeful. It is therefore difficult to resist the conclusion that it is not we who are masters of the shot, but that the shot is master of us. We personify the idea. It may be offended and stand on its dignity. It may be impelled to rebuke us for ingratitude or want of appreciation of its merits. There may be a hundred reasons for its displeasure. Trifle with its jealous disposition and it will leave us for ever. We know of one case where a devoted student of the game was forsaken for such an act of negligence. He had acquired, and was justly proud of, a beautifully controlled stroke, which worked with the precision of a machine-gun and the grace of an angel. It seemed capable of endless repetition. He wrote to his friends giving them precise details of exactly how he played it. But the temptation to improve on it (the merest fraction) was irresistible. A suspicion of some slight improve- ment—we refrain from specifying it for purely philanthropic reasons—would make it a joy for ever. True, he got the improvement; truer still, he never got rid of it. In the mean- time he had lost the shot and was never again in sight of it—or, should we not say ?—of Her. Can one doubt for a moment that 172; THE LOST CHORD it is a Goddess that plays these pranks with men ? Insult her or wound her susceptibilities by suggesting that she can be improved upon and the insult will never be forgiven. A common error exists that golf can be reduced to a cold mechanism, that it can be crystallised into an unnatural rigidity. So far from this being the case, it is quite evidently a game of continuous movement. The motions on the links are in the nature of brain waves which, like those of the ocean, continually come and go, creep up and break, resolve them- selves gently, or die with a resounding crash. No waves in nature are permanent; they lose repeatedly the regularity of their contours. They will roll mountains high and carry you on their crests; at the next moment you may find yourself plunged into the depths. The ideal to strive after is a steady progress, like a beautiful fugue in music, where chords do not burst like bubbles but succeed one another in rhythmical sequences, preparing for another movement as like as possible but never quite identical. Life indeed rebels against fixity of idea or form. It is useless to attempt to convert actions into vain repetitions. Chords are made to be broken. That is why they are made. If you happen to lose one of them by chance, there is no need to worry. You will presently strike another.

173 XVII In an English Garden F the biggest thrill in golf, as has been stated by a com- petent authority, is to " play it where the scenery is I equal to the game," then English gardens surely have a claim. Their scale may be miniature, but their beauty is frequently undeniable. To play over them may be an art that demands delicacy rather than brute force. Still it would be a mistake to imagine that garden golf is altogether easy or entirely unprofitable; it demands a temperament and not too critical an outlook to appreciate it. It may not completely satisfy the immensely powerful people who like to open their shoulders at the least provocation or the very energetic who are not content unless they walk vast distances; but it is ad- mirably adapted to the younger members of any community. These embryo golfers often find the links frequented by the grown-ups rather beyond their strength, and can quickly become discouraged. But a foursome with their elders in the 174 IN AN ENGLISH GARDEN evening round a garden course has its charm for every one concerned, and the junior partners are naturally elated and appreciate the compliment. There is one example of a garden course in Scotland—if it may be called by the name without disrespect—that is really above the heads of mere juveniles and will test the deftest player. But then it is exceedingly difficult, It lies—at least the most intriguing part of it—round a large carriage sweep which is out of bounds, like the Field at Hoylake, and has even greater magnetic attractions. The holes lie close in to the grass margins, and require the most adroit pitching. The ball must be compelled to rise at a steep angle and stop with the least possible amount of run; otherwise there is bound to be trouble. Some awkward obstacles, too, near the porch are not easy to negotiate. The main difficulty is with the necessary accuracy to carry the gravel surface; and opinion is divided as to the exact class of niblick which will produce the best results. The scenery in the distance, as seen from the higher ground where the course is laid out, is sufficiently imposing, extending as it does past a river at the foot of the escarpment up to the wooded hills beyond. Here at any rate there is no question of the scenery not being fully equal to the game. Other garden courses are more true to type. One that has many points in its favour is situated in Leicestershire, where the devotion due to hunting is not allowed to be wasted on ignominious engagements with a golf ball. In this particular case, however, juvenile interests had to be consulted and would not be denied. And as there was no convenient club in the neighbourhood—if there had been, the young players would have been quite lost at the longer holes—some one was induced (it was necessary that the architect should be a man of infinite tact) to lay out a course round the very attractive grounds. The garden lent itself admirably. Three excellent lawns, 175 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF normally used for tennis, became the greens, although perhaps they were too flat to be ideal. Each had to be approached from at least two different angles, and this was the basis which con- stituted the nucleus of the course. There were other grass alleys that came into play, lying between box and yew hedges. Pathways, herbaceous borders, pergolas and lofty cypress trees (these last had to be skirted as being too formidable), and one water hazard, a pond frequented by gold fish where in the summer months the water lilies did " ope' their golden eyes," all provided variety and incident. A long yew hedge at another hole invited a hooked shot from the upper end, and was an awkward hazard if the ball ran too fan Some sturdy box hedges, not quite as high as the younger players' heads, were an additional and formidable hazard, and provided the shortest and perhaps the most difficult hole of all. This, one might say, was the raw material out of which the course was designed. Possibly, if these different features could be truthfully visualised, it would be seen that here were numerous oppor- tunities for the exercise of skill and finesse. That is the strong point of juvenile golf, that you begin from the weaker end, as it were, of golf in the manner that was once recommended by Mr. Vaile and other experts whom he succeeded in converting, the principle being that the foundations of play should be laid with the putter, and that on this should be built up the more solid superstructure of the game on the same pattern. The weak point in the scheme was generally found to be that when the driver came into play the structure might prove somewhat top-heavy. Garden golf, however, takes a middle position in this matter, that the approaching is the thing of vital importance, to be followed up by good work on the green. Instead of concentra- ting on the drive, as is the more usual course of procedure, the handling of the mashie and the putter becomes second nature in the hands of the youngest performers; and few 176 IN AN ENGLISH GARDEN greens on this particular course could not be reached in a single shot. There was none of that monotonous striving to get mere distance which breaks the heart of the youthful enthusiast. Three or four brassy shots to a green can be a wearying performance and have a damping effect on the young idea. It is curious to note how almost every other form of golf has its literature but this. Inland Golf would seem to be the nearest approach to the subject; but, as it happens, one of the most inland types of all has been neglected. An admirable work might be designed with brief technical instructions— diagrams and the rest of it—hints as to the laying out of exceedingly short courses and possibly a few philosophical reflections inserted to add colour. But the main point is that garden courses need not be more difficult than the garden makes them. Practically they make themselves. If they are simple they will be sufficiently subtle. It is above all important that parents should be warned never to intrude their opinions as obstructionists. It would be a mistake, for example, to insist that tennis lawns should be kept, as it were, under glass cases. It ought not to be a tragic event if a few divots are taken out of them. The grass will soon grow again—that should be the reply—if the divots are re- placed carefully. And tennis lawns, it need scarcely be mentioned, with a good hole cut in them, must necessarily form the backbone, if one may use the expression, of any garden course worthy of the name. There is another reason, too, why lawns should not be regarded as sacred to an obviously inferior game, and that is the predominance of iron play owing to the restricted area of the ground, seeing that iron play must obviously be a marked feature of any golf confined to a garden. A sound knowledge of the principles of this branch of the science lies at the root of all future success, and, as we are well informed, the firm taking of turf is held by the best authorities to be of prime 177 N THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF importance in the art. Beyond insisting on the putting back of the turf taken there need be no actual discouragement. Any " coarseness " of play that might at times be apparent should point the way to a cleaner and neater method of execution. Another point is that no occasion arises for spoiling the beauty of a garden by artificial bunkering. This feature, which is sometimes introduced, carries the risks of imitation too far. It is in fact, a misunderstanding of the garden-golf-architect s province If a lawn is sacrificed to a perverted enthusiasm and disfigured by cutting shallow sand-baths, the effect is unsightly; it loses the dignity that is essential, and may even become contemptible. In this case parental criticism would be amply justified. . Why indeed, invent hazards when they can be found in abundance? The house itself-with its windows-can be used to advantage; and all the areas out of bounds have their appropriate penalties which will supply a fruitful source of argument and exercise indirectly a certain educational value of their own. If the need for extraneous obstacles—this is only a suggestion-is felt to be pressing they can easily be brought on the scene and removed later in the day to avoid untidiness. All these things need a sympathetic attitude from the authorities; but once this is frankly and unreservedly given, rapid progress can be made in evolving a new pastime which may be said as yet to be still in its infancy, even for infants. To return to the course we were discussing, it was suggested that we should write to the youngest of the family (a promising lady player, by the way) and ask for a description in detail, because a description from this source would give the angle of outlook from which, strictly speaking, juvenile golf should be regarded. If we could induce the lady to give her youthful and fresh impressions they would, beyond doubt, be a success. Incidentally an allusion was made to a well set-back mashie which might be an attraction—almost exactly her size and weight. 178 IN AN ENGLISH GARDEN The reply exceeded every expectation. It began with some private matter that is neither here nor there, chiefly in en- quiries as to the mashie and a favourite putter of our own. A fairly accurate account, the very thing that was wanted, followed—and it is not by any means to be despised as a piece of descriptive writing. The relevant part of the letter ran as follows: When you stand on the first tee, which is a path, you see in front of you rows of cabbages, gooseberries, raspberries, a thick box hedge and a very high pergola. All these things you have to carry before you reach the pretty. If you pull you are over the brick wall into the next garden. If you slice you are into a border, and if you hit too hard you are into the orchard or into a narrow ditch. The green is in the corner of the lawn, and is very difficult to approach to. The second hole is very tricky! In front of the tee is a tree, which you have to go over or under. The course is only about five yards wide, and is bordered on the left by a thick yew hedge and on the right by some trees. Below the green there is a thick box hedge, which you have to pick out of with the penalty of a stroke. And so the second hole is much harder than the first.

Here a few lines of poetry were added by way of literary effect: Along our paths box hedges grow, Some are quite tall and others low; And I've no doubt you'd never find A hedge of such a healthy kind.

We have, as well, a hedge of yew, Which stands in height quite twelve foot two. We have a swing all painted white In which we swing an awful height. 179 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF The mention of the swing is obviously to create atmo- sphere ; whether it was actually included as an advanced piece of garden-golf-architecture scarcely matters. The next hole, the third, was generally critical. There were two ways of playing it, the choice of which was always a matter of keen discussion, leading to hints of cowardice or inex- cusable rashness. The point of the hole was that it belonged to the " dog-leg " variety, as it is vulgarly called. But the young authoress gave it a prettier and more poetical title. Who the " manager " was is not quite clear from the context. The third hole is the famous Hidden Hole, in which a great many people come to grief. The tee is in a narrow alley, and the hole on the lawn round the corner of the alley. The manager of the course has a very risky shot round the corner with a putter. Most of the players are wise enough to keep to the middle of the course. At the other side of the green there is a path, and then a line of rhododendrons; and so it is fatal to go too far. The fourth hole you have to drive over some borders and a high pergola, in this shot you have to keep very straight, for on the left is the morning-room and on the right some very high cypresses. The fifth hole is a little cut shot. The tee is just behind a border which is rather wide, and in front of that the per- gola. The green is the same as the one at the third hole, which you know is very well guarded. The seventh hole is the Water Shot. You drive off behind the pond and rose garden on to the third green. The eighth is very tricky. There is a fairly high box hedge just in front of you, and the green is just the other side of it, and past the green is a new [yew?] hedge. This is the nine holes complete. A description of the ninth hole, for some reason, is omitted, 180 IN AN ENGLISH GARDEN but enough has been said to show that there are wider worlds of golf than round a garden, but surely none so pleasant as where flowers, swings, lily ponds, and orchards both alarm by the temptations they offer and charm by the seductive methods employed to put temptation in our way. The windows are perhaps the only things to be really afraid of. It is an excellent way, too, of seeing a garden, since you traverse it twice at least in the course of a game; anything on a larger scale would be a mistake. There is also the advantage from a gardening point of view that it gives every opportunity of a thorough exploration into unexpected corners—if you happen to be a little wild—curiosities of undergrowth which otherwise might have escaped notice. The only minor disadvantage one can think of is that people may be playing tennis at the same time and so get in the way. Unless they are very sympathetic (and in some cases they are quite unreasonable) they may be slightly annoyed by interruptions in the course of a rally by a cry of " Fore! " when a second and smaller ball crosses the line of vision. Still, when it comes to games, there must be an order of precedence.

181 Cathedral, St. Andrews XVIII The Last Green last hole of the course surely carries with it I memories different from any other. Yet in match JL. play—the essential test of golf—the eighteenth may not be the last green played on. The match may go to the first, if it be the nineteenth, or any other should the result be unduly protracted. Yet for the onlookers these strenuous occasions may be too often fraught with an excessive degree of excitement, sometimes too exacting to be endured. At St. Andrews once at least this proved to be the case. The final of the championship was then played on the afternoon of the last day—an affair over eighteen holes—yet these eighteen had not been sufficient for the parties engaged who finished all square at that point. The strain proved too great for the sister of one of the finalists; distrusting the force of her emotions she decided to stay behind and await the result. Presently two 182 THE LAST GREEN cyclists came riding up the hill. " Who's won? " she called out to them as they passed. The question unfortunately was taken in a more personal application than she intended." We're no' ridin' a race," came back the answer, " we're just oot for pleasure." But as a rule there are indelible memories lingering around the last hole of the round. So often in a game is it a question of the final spurt. Can we hold our lead? or, if we are behind, can we catch the other man in the nick of time ? The last green, how much may depend on it! What dramas have been enacted on its innocent surface I Think of what it means in the greatest test of all, an Open Champion- ship ! The labour and agony of four intensive days working up to an eventful curtain! The issue may hang on a hair, Suppose that the winner holes out in a certain aggregate of strokes and another lays his ball in the same number of strokes trembling on the lip. And others may be so close— if one can imagine the ball arrested at the fatal number—that the Championship is seen to have been won by bare inches. The responsibility might conceivably rest on that one last green for many sad recollections and vain regrets. It is indeed curious to reflect that victory in golf can be decided by inches or miles. In match play there is no actual finality except that half the distance at least must be covered. A man may win at the most remote corner of the links if he be so fortunate. There is nothing to prevent the game, theoretically, going to the 99th or until the Hght fails, or never be finished at all, like two parallel lines ending in infinity. Fortunately things need not be as bad as that, The last green generally supplies the coup de grace. There is a seuse of fitness that must affect players unconsciously and dispose them to end the matter there and then. To start all over again. is never the most cheerful prospect, nor does it seem to fit into the prearranged scheme. The most dramatic finishes have occurred in fiction because, 183 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF in this connection at least, fiction has proved stranger than truth. Take Mr. Oppenheim, for example. He has elevated golf to a lofty, if not sensational, pedestal in the category of games. In one of his most remarkable romances he makes the master criminal in the world and the master sleuth—two world champions, one might say—meet in a game that is intended to decide the fate of the crook, whether he retains his life and liberty or whether it means the end of his career. What finer test could be devised for such an issue? And a great note is struck when the famous detective has the match " in his pocket," as they say; yet he has not the heart to take his opportunities. At this superb crisis he is so overcome with emotion that he misses two short putts on the last green on purpose—a scandalous weakness for one of his profession. Could any other game in the world supply such a magnanimous climax ? Although dealing with a situation of another kind, one of the best golfing stories ever written appeared many years ago in the then delightfully illustrated Century Magazine. It was entitled " Even Threes," and in it was expounded the theory of the Colossal Fluke which may have occurred to many of us, but has surely never been so accurately stated. The point of the story is to tell how at last the deed was accomplished. The scene of this strange adventure was a fictitious course in America, winding in a manner characteristic of American courses amongst marshes, rivers, woods and jungles with many nerve-racking possibilities. The chief actor in the story might be described as an extreme instance of the Confirmed Pessimist who, if we are to believe his version of history as being strictly according to fact, never had a stroke of luck in his life, and was convinced into the bargain that he never would. He is so overwhelmed, when it comes all at once with a rush, that his pessimism seizes as a last resort upon the apparent misfortune that the miraculous happenings do not continue indefinitely as would surely have 184 THE LAST GREEN happened to others of a more fortunate disposition. He even reaches the stage in the course of his wonderful round when he believes himself cheated if a miracle does not happen with every stroke, the moral being that there are dangers even in pessimism when the habit is carried to excess. The scene opens with the usual gathering on the first tee— " lawyers who are neglecting their clients, doctors who have forgotten their patients, business men who have sacrificed their affairs, even ministers of the gospel who have forsaken their churches." This distinguished company is addressed by a thin dyspeptic stranger (rather of the Jingle type), who must be left to express his idea in his own words: Your course's rather short, isn't it? Imagine it's rather easy for a straight driver. What's your record? Seventy-one amateur? Rather high, isn't it? Do you get many cracks about here? Caddies seem scarce. Did either of you gentle- men ever reflect how surprising it is that better scores aren't made at the game ? Now, take seventy-one; that's only one under fours, and I venture to say at least six of your holes are possible twos and all the rest, some time or other, have been made in three. Yet you never hear of phenomenal scores, do you, like a run at roulette or poker? You get my idea ? The idea undoubtedly is a good one, but is coldly received in gloomy silence, the stranger being reminded that it is now his turn to drive off. Upon which he minimises his chances of illustrating his theory by promptly foozling. The ground is prepared in this way for the Pessimist, whose surprising adventures begin. His first shot is a beauty. But this does not offer him any consolation, because when he gets a good drive from the first tee he says he " messes up all the rest." On this occasion, however, everything does go right for 185 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF once. He holes his approach for a two. This makes him really angry. For anyone else except himself this would be the pre- lude to a good score. It is wasted for him, simply for the reason that disaster always breaks up his good beginnings. This time, however, is the great exception. Balls glance off tree trunks or railway trucks on to the fairway, skim over rivers, find marvellous lies in outrageously wild jungles; putts run in from every part of the green; extravagant twos and threes follow with amazing regularity until he finds himself two under threes with eight holes played. A few minor misfortunes happen, which the Pessimist gloomily notes as indicating an imminent collapse; but these only serve to equalise his score. He is now even threes and ought to have been better, so he claims passionately, if only one or two putts Had not stopped an inch or two short. " Lord! If I only could putt I" he cries in despair. The strain now becomes terrific. There is just a chance of a two on the last green to make it even threes once more—a desperate chance of getting down a putt of not more than thirty feet for the figures, the chance of a lifetime. But Boover- man, the Pessimist, has in the crisis gone to pieces. He stands shaking from head to foot.

" Picky," he said, mopping his face, " I can't do it. I can't putt it." " You must." " I've got buck fever. I'll never be able to putt it, never. . . . Look at that," he said, extending a fluttering hand. "I can't do it; I can never do it." " Old fellow, you must," said Pickings; " you've got to. Bring yourself together. Here! " He slapped him on the back, pinched his arms, and chafed his fingers. Then he led him back to the ball, braced him into position, and put the putter in his hands. 186 THE LAST GREEN " Buck fever," said Booverman in a whisper. " Can't see a thing." Pickings, holding the flag in the cup, said savagely: " Shoot! " The ball advanced in a zig-zag path, advancing from worm-cast to worm-cast, wobbling and rocking, and at last, as though ordained, fell plump into the cup! At the same moment Pickings and Booverman, as though carried off by the same cannon ball, flattened on the green.

The tragedy of it all was that on their return to the club- house no one would believe their story; and, unfortunately, there had been no caddies present to bear witness. At first they were welcomed as comedians of finished merit. The members rocked with laughter at the tale. Then laughter gradually turned to irritation, and, to com- plete the tragedy, grave suspicion was entertained of their sanity. Sic gloria! But speaking of glorious failures, another ideal may be suggested more impossible but nobler than even Even Threes. This ideal is not a thing to be done by a young man, but must be the goal of an old man's ambition. The feat is one that is not likely to be accomplished, yet it might come so near to accom- plishment that the failure would be almost a greater thing than the success itself. The successful effort can leave a sense of emptiness behind. Here the success is so improbable and remote that there is little likelihood of such dismal feelings arising. The problem in itself is fairly simple—the recording of a score of strokes equal to the player's years; and, if he fails, as fail he must, it will be interesting to see how far he has got in his round. The more one thinks of it the more elusive the task appears. It is the greatest of old men's games, for the young man will have to wait a long while for his chance. Suppose he is thirty; he might conceivably reach the turn in that number 187 THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OP GOLF of strokes. Let him pass fifty and the fun begins: he will get a little nearer. As he advances in maturity of years and happens to accomplish something nearer threes than fours, he is nearly there—one is speaking, of course, of the giants of the game. In the 'sixties he should be getting at least within sight of home. Can he creep a little higher? It is the last stretch up the icy, slippery, dizzy, wind-swept slopes of Everest. It will need a day of a thousand to gain the summit. If he is seventy-two and keeps near an average of fours he may have a three for the last hole. You slipped a valuable stroke only a short way back, Now you will have to shoot a birdie to win. But you won't. Next year you will have an extra stroke to play with. The summit of Everest will still be above you. She will smile down serenely with the enigmatic smile of Monna Lisa and beat you. She will see to it that each year as you grow older you will grow weaker. And so it will continue till in the end there will be little chance of success, even if you " live to be a centipede." Then, as a last reflection, one's mind turns to another green in Scotland, situated at St. Andrews, at the end of the city farthest from the links. One passes along the broad central street southwards, past the house with the French turrets where Mary of Scots once lived; after that a ruined gateway; and then, turning towards the sea, the skeleton of the cathedral is seen rearing its fragile walls to the sky:

A little city, worn and grey, The grey North Ocean girds it round, And o'er the rocks and up the bay The long sea-rollers surge and sound. And still the thin and biting spray Drives down the melancholy street, And still endure, and still decay, Towers that the salt winds vainly beat. 188 THE LAST GREEN Ghost-like and shadowy they stand, Clear mirrored in the wet sea-sand.

O ruin'd chapel, long ago We loiter'd idly where the tall Fresh-budded mountain-ashes blow Within thy desecrated wall; The tough roots broke the tomb below, The April birds sang clamorous, We did not dream, we could not know, How soon the Fates would sunder us!

O broken minster, looking forth Beyond the bay, above the town, O winter of the kindly North, O college of the scarlet gown, And shining sands beside the sea, And stretch of links beyond the sand, Once more I watch you, and to me It is as if I touched his hand! And therefore art thou yet more dear, O little city, grey and sere, Though shrunken from thine ancient pride, And lonely by the lonely sea.

Turning in at the gate a pathway opens between the lawns into the most delightful burial-ground in Scotland. And here the first thing to strike the eye is the simple reminder on the tombstones that the men of Scotland, like the men of ancient Egypt, were not averse to carrying their amusements into the other world. The patterns of golf balls and golf clubs engraved on the stone may not be supreme instances of decora- tive art, but they serve very well as invigorating symbols of immortality; and as emblems of beauty they compare at least favourably with the skull and crossbones ! THE ARCHITECTURAL SIDE OF GOLF The cheerful note is what appeals to us. And by far the most impressive is the buoyant relief of " Young Tommy," bright and alert, in an attitude showing his readiness to ap- proach to other than earthly greens. You observe his air of cheerful expectancy and untiring enthusiasm. " His many amiable qualities no less acknowledged than his golfing achievements. ... A flower that bloomed on the links of Time." What a eulogy! It links another world with the present. It takes the thoughts back to the Elysian Fields stretching to the margins of Eden. And yet it suggests peace:

For some we loved, the loveliest and the best That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest, Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before, And one by one crept silently to rest.

190 Appendices APPENDIX I The Reversible Course O play a course backwards was an alternative that commended itself for many sound reasons almost as soon as golf courses Tcame into being. Within living memory the Old Course at St. Andrews was habitually played in reverse, and for all we know it may still be so played. At North Berwick, and probably on most, if not all, of the older courses, the custom prevailed, in order, as it was said, to " rest the course." In other words, this procedure helped to preserve the fairways over a given area from being unduly cut up with divot marks—a point on which opinion was then particularly stringent; it also gave the grass time to recover in the places where divots had been cut. Some method of the kind was absolutely necessary when courses were so much shorter than they are now and required the playing of a greater number of strokes within a much more limited area. In fact, iron play was rather frowned upon and discouraged as being unduly destructive of good turf. The modern practice of tearing the fairways to pieces, as well as the tees at the shorter holes, would have been regarded—and rightly so—with horror. It will be remembered, too, that " the green," by which was meant the entire extent of the links, had very largely to look after itself. It was never so patched up or so carefully tended as it is to-day to help its wounds to heal. The course was reversed and played backwards at stated intervals to enable it to gain a little rest between whiles and re- cover the trueness of its surface. In addition to this, the immediate neighbourhood of the putting greens was found to be greatly benefited by a variation in the line of the approach. It will be worth while to note some of the indirect effects of so con- triving a course as to enable it to be played the other way round. We can still see the principle embedded in the Old Course at St. Andrews— the one course which is the best example of the evolutionary principles peculiar to golf. No doubt the history of the changes that have taken place there is well known to the majority of the students of the antiqui- ties of the game; how the play extended at first over only six holes; how these six were subsequently doubled by using them on a homeward journey of which we have evidence in a fine series of double greens; and how, finally, the twelve holes were made up to eighteen by the addition of a " loop " at the further extremity much in the same way 193 o APPENDIX I: THE REVERSIBLE COURSE that a new wing is added to a mansion which has outgrown its capacity. The impressive width of the large putting greens still remains as one of the most distinctive features of a historic course, although the course itself was once far narrower." Hell Bunker " was originally the threaten- ing hazard of " the Hole Across going out," showing us how almost absurdly to our eyes the play over the links was compressed. This compression is still often vividly brought to our notice at the most noteworthy holes, although more elbow-room in course of time has been providentially allowed. Still, according to Mr. Joshua Crane's somewhat remarkable system of reckoning the merits of individual courses, St. Andrews suffers the indignity of many bad marks set against her credit on account of the tightness of her " margins." These margins, however, have withstood the test of time and mark the limits within which the interior holes were played in either direction alternately. As regards the opening and finishing holes at St. Andrews nothing could be finer or more appropriate than the simplicity which adds dignity to design in providing a promenade for the townspeople over turf free from the disfigurement of unsightly artificial hazards. The Swilcan Burn and the Valley of Sin are quite adequate in themselves to justify these holes in the absence of any other distinctive golfing features. But once the play is opened after crossing the Burn we become in- volved in a network of holes over an exceptional golfing terrain, an undulating maze of attractive folds in the ground, amongst which the inexperienced would be quickly lost but for the guidance of expert conductors. The confusion is bound to be bewildering until familiarity breeds admiration. The mind at this crucial point of the round is kept constantly on the alert, so much so that whichever the way one might be playing, whether backwards or forwards, the interest stimulated by the complexity of the problem is equally keen. We are inclined to believe that these holes owe much of their fascina- tion to the fact that there were, and are still, reversible; that in this old and discarded principle of reversibility lies one of the great possibilities in the way of development so far as modern golf architecture is con- cerned. Such a scheme might conceivably be found to be the best anti- dote to an existing tendency towards the undue repetition of stock devices which are always liable to creep in and create a monotony of design. Anything that would be likely to conduce to greater freedom and elasticity is a development to be heartily welcomed by everyone. Surely there are many advantages to be gained in making two courses out of one, in doubling over the same ground the character of the strokes, APPENDIX I: THE REVERSIBLE COURSE in reversing on the technical side the penalties of pulled or sliced shots, and in adding on occasions an entire novelty to the approach shots ? To find an opportunity of putting the idea to a practical test by attempting the experiment on a course of the ordinary pattern is not always altogether easy; yet it must have suggested itself before now hundreds of times to many of our enterprising players. Some exceptional occasion is needed when the course is empty—during, for instance, the very early hours of the morning, or possibly during a deluge of rain when only fanatical enthusiasts would venture out on the links. One such experiment is within our recollection, when four Oxford under- graduates chose the latter of these alternatives during a hurricane of wind and rain, probably because they preferred a soaking at a reason- able hour to the less agreeable novelty of having to rise at daybreak. The experiment was certainly as entertaining to the spectator as to the players, since a number of fine shots during the round were needed to bring off approaches to distant greens from rough country at strange angles. The course in question was by no means so well adapted to a reversal as many we know of; it was bisected and bordered by roads which had to be crossed more frequently by the other way about than by the right way round. The culminating point of the match was reached in playing to the green of the last hole (owing to a slight error by one of the players) of a highly dangerous shot down the whole length of a street on which, fortunately, there was no traffic at the time, over a cross- road at the further end, at the same time narrowly shaving the club- house which by the more direct route would have had to be carried. Luckily everything went well, and nothing happened to mar the success of the venture. The conditions, at any rate on this course, were not of the best foi playing in reverse fashion; and on a certain number of courses it is obvious that such a scheme would be entirely out of the question. It will be as well therefore to enquire very briefly what are the ideal con- ditions and advantages to be gained by such a reversal, and also to enumerate the points of application which are involved. A glance at the accompanying skeleton plan of three holes designed on this prin- ciple will give an idea of the way in which a full round could under favourable conditions be made possible. In this plan it will be observed that only the more ambitious routes are indicated. In order to avoid confusion we have confined ourselves to marking the spoor of the Tiger, leaving the tracks of the Rabbit across his own fairway to the imagination of the reader to fill in as he pleases. A closer examination, however, will show that every consideration is 195 APPENDIX I: THE REVERSIBLE COURSE given to the weaker player whichever way the course is played. At the two longer holes he cannot reasonably expect to reach the green in the same number of strokes as his more powerful rival, but he has every opportunity of equalising on handicap terms. There is plenty of room for him if he chooses to take his chances. The advantages claimed for a reversible course may be summarised as follows: 1. As to the practical value of such a scheme one gain would be, as we have seen, that the greenkeeper finds a " resting " interval for the course (of, say, a month at a time) which would be of the greatest benefit over certain parts of the fairway in repairing divot holes. It would also give the grass during this period an excellent chance of recovery without interfering with the play. 2. In the neighbourhood of the greens, also, it can easily be realised how devastating can be the effect of continuous traffic to the entrance of a green. The ground through any kind of "bottle-neck " tends to become consolidated beyond the point that is desirable for the healthy growth of the delicate grasses. Concentrated traffic of the kind closes the pores of the ground and hinders the steady development of good turf, at the same time adding considerably to the task of the green- keeper in keeping the course in good order. If the ground periodically obtains a rest, the difficulty is appreciably less. Over the fairways there is not the same danger. Here the walking is much more widely dis- tributed, and the delicacy of the surface through the green is not of the same importance. 3. It is not suggested that every kind of ground is suitable for a reversible course. What might be called the heroic courses are prac- tically out of the question so far as reversibility is concerned except at enormous and unjustifiable expense. Prestwick, St. George's Sandwich and Gleneagles, to take three examples, would obviously be impossible to reverse whatever sums of money might be spent on them. It should be clearly understood that we are considering the matter purely on the supposition that the course must be equally good whichever way it is played. 4. The ideal site for a reversible course would be ground already under grass, such as park land. Here possibly the best golfing features might be rather conspicuous by their absence, but this, although a matter of importance, would not be a vital consideration when we weigh the advantages and disadvantages connected with courses on grass land already under cultivation. That is not to say, however, that the principle is in any way inap- 196 Tee APPENDIX I: THE REVERSIBLE COURSE plicable to courses where the ground is rich in natural golfing features, such as are to be found on the best of the Surrey heaths. The only point we wish to emphasise is that marked or bold inequalities of surface are not prima facie suitable for the purpose we are discussing. Obtrusive plateau greens, for example, if they are raised above a certain point, would at once involve serious difficulties, since in one direction it would be a question of playing up to a higher level and in the other of running down to a lower. 5. As regards the effect of wind on a course, there is nothing more irritating than having to play a long series of holes either with or against it. Far the better plan is for the direction of the holes to be well broken up during a round—as it were, by a process of tacking. When a course is so constructed that it is generally affected throughout by a prevalent wind from a certain quarter, which really does prevail, an alternative way of playing the course will be found to be a considerable relief—at any rate during certain periods of the year. 6. The most obvious advantage of all is the increased pleasure and variety in having two courses instead of one. To the practical mind, also, the idea should make a strong appeal because you practically get two courses for the same money, or (to put it in another way) you belong to two golf clubs for the payment of one subscription. Supposing that the course is really representative, at least 76 golfing shots of character will be available instead of the normal 38 (allowing for the customary two putts on each green); and as regards the additional pleasure gained by a change of direction it is only necessary to think of the experience of motoring along a country road and returning the same way. Two entirely different aspects of scenery are provided. When, therefore, this factor is combined on a golf course with an entirely separate range of shots, the gain must be acknowledged to be very considerable. A player would never grow tired of the course under these far more varied con- ditions. Another point is that there need not necessarily be the same lengths in regard to each of the individual holes; so that here again there would be an agreeable variation. 7. The questions of design that are involved are of the very first importance. The problem would naturally be considerably easier if the course were laid out with this particular end of reversibility in view; and, above all, the scheme lends itself to the " strategic " type of de- sign. Little, if any, additional bunkering on a strategic course would be needed for the reverse play. In fact, additional bunkers, except where absolutely necessary, would be both undesirable and superfluous. A dog-legged hole to the right would be converted automatically to a 197 APPENDIX I: THE REVERSIBLE COURSE *dog-legged hole to the left, and vice versa. As a matter of necessity also the tee shot at such holes would have to be placed in the reverse direc- tion—to the extreme right or left as the case might be. This of itself would demand a greater test of skill and intelligence on the part of the player. On a " penal " course, the fairway of which is smothered in bunkers, the result of attempting a reverse course would not only be tedious and boring, but quite without point or interest. The design would of its own accord fall to pieces. 8. The Adaptation of the ordinary type of course to the reversible might prove rather an expensive matter, although often it would prove a feasible proposition. The principle is obviously more suited to a new course. When a new course is in contemplation there could be no ob- jection to incorporating the idea in the skeleton plan provided that the ground lent itself to such a treatment. In such an event the additional cost would be comparatively little. The extra fairway area would not, even under the most adverse circumstances, have to be more than 25 per cent, of the whole. The greens, it is true, would have to be slightly larger (possibly an increase of 20 per cent.) than we should generally favour, but no larger than those that are usually constructed. Also, no extra tees would be required—certainly not more than are generally in use on an ordinary course. One reservation should be noted in this connection—that if the ground were badly shaped a certain increase of superficial area might be neces- sary. But, assuming that the ground were of ordinarily good formation, the normal one hundred and twenty-five acres would suffice. The chief difficulty with which the architect is faced in making full use of the really suitable golfing ground on any given property is not so much the getting of the player to the place where a green is eminently suitable as the getting him away from it without excessively long walks between the green and the next tee. For this reason an awkward piece of ground might make the designing of a reversible course extremely difficult, if not quite impossible. 9. Our view is that a course constructed on the principles we have been advocating should, if possible, be played in the same order of holes in either direction—that is to say, play would be from the club- house to Green 17, and in strictly reverse order until Green 1 is reached, when the play would be from Tee No. 2 to the 18th green. But there is no real necessity to make a hide-bound rule on the point. In"the centre of the course a divergence might be made if it were felt advisable, although it would probably present a few additional diffi- APPENDIX I: THE REVERSIBLE COURSE culties. The chief reason for our preference for a similar order of play is that it is generally the sidesof the greens which are guarded by bunkers. In principle the angle of the approach should be the same whichever way the course is played—that is, along the length of the green. Here, again, everything would depend on the lie of the ground and its peculiar formation. 10. As a last suggestion, supposing that it is admitted that the possibilities available on an eighteen-hole course belonging to a club are enhanced, do not the same possibilities apply with still greater force to the private course which often embraces only nine? There are none of the difficulties to be encountered in endeavouring to reconcile the conflicting views of individual members, nor is there the same likeli- hood of so many players being on the course at one and the same time that people will get in the way when the reverse nine holes are played to complete for all practical purposes a full eighteen of which every hole is different. Neither is the additional cost of construction or the additional area of ground required likely to cause any great hesitation if the advantages to be gained are carefully weighed. We have said that possibly the ideal ground for a reversible course is the kind which corresponds to park land or ground already under grass; and these are precisely the conditions which usually dictate the laying out of private courses. A little ingenuity on the lines we have put forward might help wonderfully to relieve the monotony of many of the minor links, without, so far as one can see, any corresponding disadvan- tages. But, whether short or long, there seems to be no very convincing reason, provided the conditions are favourable, why a method approved in the past should not be revived with even greater advantage in the present.

199 APPENDIX II Supplementary Notes on Green-keeping

THE CARE OF A NEWLY SOWN PUTTING GREEN

Early 1^ T° surprise need be occasioned by the fact that weeds, often Treatment |^^J m*ar8e quantities> comeUP wi tnx^e SraSS5 ^ut ** should not X. ^1 be assumed on that account that the seedsman has sold un- clean seed. Organic manure, which has been incorporated with the top soil, is often full of weed seeds, and it may be that it is the top soil itself which is not free from them. It is quite possible that before the soil was worked there was no sign of weeds on the ground, yet the mere fact of the newly tilled soil being exposed to the light and air frequently causes the germination of many hitherto dormant weed seeds. The vast majority of weeds will be annuals and will be destroyed by the mowing machine when it comes into action. But all tap-rooted weeds should be removed at once. This should be done carefully by hand, the green-keeper walking upon planks laid on the newly sown area. In normal circumstances, assuming that the greens have been sown in late August or early September (the correct months for the South of England and France), the young grasses should make their appearance in fourteen to twenty-one days according to the condition of the weather. As the young grasses come up they will lift the soil slightly, and this will be the time to apply a very light wooden roller. One application of the roller should be sufficient, the object being to reconsolidate the surface and thus prevent heavy rain or frost coming into direct contact with the tender roots. When the grass is about 3 inches long, the mowing machine (with knives as high as possible) should be put over the ground. A scythe in skilful hands would be even better. Under normal conditions two cuttings will be all that is required until the following spring. In any case, do not cut during the first season until the grass is at least 3 inches high. It occasionally happens that after two or three weeks the colour of the grass undergoes a considerable change, tending somewhat to re- semble iron rust. This is commonly known as " damping off " and need occasion no alarm. The areas affected should be dusted lightly with powdered charcoal. 20O APPENDIX II: NOTES ON GREEN-KEEPING Rolling It will be found in the majority of cases advisable, after the first cut- ting, to compress the surface with a wooden roller. Beyond this no more rolling will be needed until the middle of March, when a light iron roller may be used once and once only. After that, the amount of rolling to be given must depend on the circumstances of each individual case. On heavy soil little rolling, apart from that given by the mowing machine, will be necessary, but it should be an advantage to use the roller occa- sionally upon light sandy soil which has a tendency to be too friable. Very few putting greens suffer from under-rolling. Ninety per cent, are over-rolled. A good rule is to avoid the iron roller as you would the plague. The subsequent trouble frequently experienced with putting greens is, more often than not, due to over-rolling during the first two years. Lastly, worm-killer should not be applied for at least six months after sowing, that being the period usually considered necessary for grass to become established.

THE CARE OF ESTABLISHED PUTTING GREENS The upkeep of an established green must be considered from two points of view: (a) Healthy Condition, (b) Unhealthy Condition.

(a) HEALTHY CONDITION. Light Soils Dressings Under normal weather conditions the green should be dressed every three weeks during the growing season with compost mixed with a small quantity of high-grade sulphate of ammonia. This must not be given to young grass which has not yet become established. Let us assume that the superficial area of the green measures 900 square yards. Each dressing should consist of i\ cwt. of compost to which has been added 10 to 16 lb. of sulphate of ammonia. Light dressings of this mixture will in no way interfere with play. After applying the dressing, go over the green with long bamboo rods, or rub it well in with the back of a wooden rake. Heavy or Rich Soils Three dressings in all of the same mixture during the growing season should suffice. Charcoal In April, and again in September, dress each green with i| cwt. coarse charcoal. Let this be done when the ground is soft and moist. Half the green should be treated at a time, so as to interfere as little as possible with play. 201 APPENDIX II: NOTES ON GREEN-KEEPING Where charcoal is considered too expensive, a useful substitute will be found in coke breeze; but the latter should be used more sparingly than the charcoal. The iron roller may be used once after dressing with charcoal or coke breeze, but it should not be a heavy roller. If any use is made of ashes be careful to ascertain that they are free from sulphides. General Compost Dressings should be applied always when the ground is moist. During Dressing a spell of drought apply them after the green has been well watered. Large quantities of compost should always be kept in readiness. The heaps should be built up in a shady spot and consist of alternate layers of: (a) Leaf Mould or Light Soil, \b) Sharp Clean Sand, (c) Organic Fertiliser. Be careful not to build the compost heaps under pine trees. The resin in the pine needles tends to poison the compost. Also at certain times of the year a film of resinous matter falls from the trees, which also has an injurious effect. In all cases where the soil is poor and lacking in humus, mix HUMULL with the light soil or leaf mould of the compost heap, in the proportion of 30 per cent, humull and 70 per cent. soil. Having laid particular stress on the use of sulphate of ammonia, a word of warning is desirable. Beware of the sulphate of ammonia crank! He is to be found on many Club Committees. I once had the experience of encountering a peculiarly obnoxious smell in the neighbourhood of the compost dumps, which I discovered was created by an original experiment on the part of the Chairman of the Green Committee who was attempting to make a mixture of lime with sulphate of ammonia— both excellent materials in their way but as impossible to combine as oil and water, and productive into the bargain of far more pungent results. Each layer of the compost materials should be 6 to 12 inches thick. The heaps should be allowed to stand for eight months untouched. They should then be broken down, mixed up, and a new heap built. After a further period of four months, pass the material through a J-inch sieve and apply in a dry powdered form as indicated above. It is advisable that there should be a shed by the side of compost heaps to provide cover during the necessary sifting. During the winter months, when there is no frost in the ground, 202 APPENDIX II: NOTES ON GREEN-KEEPING apply three dressings of sharp sand instead of compost—about 3 cwt. to 900 square yards. This on every type of soil. Be careful that the sand is free of ferric oxide. Sea sand is not as a rule sharp enough for heavy soils. Drought After a prolonged drought the grass will be in a weak state; and in September it will be advisable to apply a well-balanced complete arti- ficial fertiliser (2 oz. to the square yard, mixed with 2 cwt. of sharp sand to secure even distribution). This will take the place of the ordi- nary September compost dressing. Water Remember that grass cannot be kept in a healthy condition unless it has plenty of water and unless the pores of the ground are kept well open. To ensure this latter point, there is no necessity to tine a healthy green every year, but it should be pricked over with a potato fork, driving the prongs into the ground for at least three inches. To use a spiked roller is not a sufficiently drastic treatment, although it has its uses prior to applying compost dressings. Artificial watering must be resorted to even as early as the end of March, if the winds are excessively drying, but of course not otherwise. Grass never recovers from a set-back in early spring. It is also a popular fallacy to suppose that you must not water in the sun. You may water in the sun without any harm being done, provided that the ground does not dry in the sun. Water should be applied in the form of a fine mist. The Majestic sprinkler may be recommended as the most suitable. To water a green of 900 square yards thoroughly, at least 6 cubic yards of water is necessary. With insufficient water the roots of the grasses remain too near the surface.

(b) UNHEALTHY CONDITION Artificials It is a very common error to imagine that compost dressings by them- selves will restore an impoverished or unhealthy green to a good con- dition. The actual percentage of available plant nutrients added to the soil by compost and sulphate of ammonia is relatively small. When the condition is unhealthy, the deficiency must be rectified by a well- balanced artificial fertiliser which should contain amongst others the following constituents: Soluble Phosphates. Insoluble Phosphates. Nitrogen. Ammonia. Potash. : 303 APPENDIX II: NOTES ON G R E E N - K E E P I N G Moss Moss is due either to over-acidity caused by bad drainage or to im- poverishment. It should be raked out in early March (tearing the ground to smithereens). Then apply first of all a dusting of lime to correct over- acidity, if over-acidity is the cause of the trouble; and after an interval of a week a slightly heavier dressing of compost should be applied mixed with a complete artificial fertiliser in the proportions of z oz. to the square yard (adding this instead of the sulphate of ammonia).

LEATHER JACKETS. Prevention Pests Dress the green in August, when the female lays the eggs, with a solution of pure nicotine, mixed with water. Proportion, ij oz. pure nicotine with 50 gallons of water. Cure. Examine the green in March to see if the grubs are present. If so, water the green with a solution of 4 per cent. liq. ammonia, which will bring the grubs to the surface; they can then be collected. There are other good proprietary compounds. WORMS. Apply a high-grade worm powder at the rate of \ lb. to the square yard. Then water thoroughly, bringing the powder into a froth, the early morning or evening being the best time. This should be carried out in damp, muggy mild weather during March, April, October or November. One application each year should be sufficient. Try a small area first to see if the worms are near the surface. Frost It is another popular delusion to suppose that harm results from playing on .greens during frosty weather. The only danger is when a quick thaw sets in after a period of hard frost, especially if there is any snow lying on the ground. At such times greens should be put out of action; but there is no need to put the whole course out of action, as temporary holes can be cut short of the greens for those who still wish to go on playing. Under no circumstances should snow be cleared from a putting green. When there is dew on the ground, go over the green with a bamboo before cutting. The Acid The chief difficulty will be to maintain the acid point at the right level. Point It is just as easy to over-feed a green as it is to starve it. The best green- keepers are inclined to get their greens too fat. The temptation to do so is very great; fat greens require less atten- tion and please the majority of players. Also, a good sole of grass is more easily maintained in summer. From the point of view of the game of golf, fat greens are hopelessly wrong, since putting loses all its charm if the greens are too slow. 204 APPENDIX II: NOTES ON GREEN-KEEPING

FAIRWAYS Fairways Do not aim at getting the sole of grass too perfect. The closer the and Rough ball lies to the ground the better will be the golf. A dry winter course can with the greatest ease be converted into a mud heap by one application of fertiliser to the fairway. I have known one application of basic slag introduce worms by the thousands. The rough at the sides of the fairways should be kept sufficiently short during the summer months to prevent the loss of balls. This can be done by cutting it two or three times with a hay-cutting machine during the growing period. The first cutting is invariably left too late. Lime With regard to the application of lime on putting greens, agricul- tural professors appear to believe that lime is an essential ingredient of plant life. Lime is not necessary for the finer varieties of grass of which putting greens should consist. In fact, these grasses prefer a mildly acid condition. On certain types of soil, however, a very light dressing of carbonate of lime every third year may be advisable to correct over- acidity. This should be applied in November—2 oz. to the square yard. During the hard growing season greens should be cut daily. The " catcher " need not be used during these months, but it will be found risky not to use it if there is a lot of poa annua or sagina on the greens, as these seed close to the ground and therefore easily spread. Sagina is almost certain to appear sooner or later. There is no cure for it, other than removing the turf. Tinkering In conclusion, it will be well for Green Committees to remember that the primary object of a golf course is to provide a place for the purpose of playing golf, and that, with this end in view, they must im- pose some moderation on their activities in, the matter of dressings. Greens should not be regarded as experimental grounds, or as places on which the latest recruit to the Committee should be permitted to run riot. Artificial Also, Green Committees should not run away with the idea that the Fertilisers Government requirements in the matter of notification of the chemical contents of an artificial fertiliser tell the whole story, and that as a con- sequence they can perfectly well make up their own mixture. Nothing can be further from the truth than this, as many clubs have found to their cost. It is sometimes said that those who rely on compost mixed with a little sulphate of ammonia for dressing greens forget that grass which is cut frequently requires some additional chemical substances, such as potash and phosphoric acid. But it must be remembered that compost itself contains an appreciable amount of both potash and phosphoric 205 APPENDIX Ii: NOTES ON GREEN-KEEPING acid sufficient, when the grass is healthy and the sulphate of ammonia is added, to give a proper balance without unduly disturbing a mildly acid condition of the soil. It is necessary, however, to distinguish between the treatment needed for healthy greens and those which are unhealthy. When greens are unhealthy, it is advisable to substitute for the sulphate of ammonia a well-balanced complete artificial fertiliser. I have rarely found an alkaline condition on a green where the putting is keen, except on a chalky down. On the other hand, I can remember no single case of slow greens that did not reveal an alkaline condition of soil, unless, of course, the slowness was due to the presence of moss. These observations would alone seem to justify the view that a mildly acid condition is the only one that provides the ideal putting surface. But acidity must not be overdone. Sulphate of ammonia is a dangerous toy for amateurs to play with and must not be regarded as a panacea for every ill. T. SIMPSON

206 Index Index Numbers within brackets refer to individual holes on the courses mentioned ACIDITY OF SOIL, 69, 74, 204 Course, planning a, 57, 59 Addington, New Course (8), 50 private, 54 Agricultural professors, 61 reconstruction, 60, 61 Ammonia, sulphate of, 66, 202 rigidity, 13 Approaching and Putting Course, Crane, Joshua, 155, 194 42 Cruden Bay (6), 49 Archerfield, 151, 153 Cruise of the Nona, The, 132 Architect, finesse of, 55 DARWIN, CHARLES, 133 BALL, GUTTY, 9,14 Design, conventional, 29 manufacturer, 15 mechanical rectitude, 80 restriction of, 34 primitive, 9 rubber-cored, 14, 16 rhythm, 31 Bass Rock, 148 simplicity, 81 Braid, James, 9, 123 Devon, 129 Breck, Alan, 151 Dornoch (4), 49 Bude, 130 Drainage, 86 Building estate, 56 Dressings, 65, 74, 201, 202 Bunkers, form of, 86-7 dangers of heavy, 75 drainage, 86, 88 functioning as landmarks, 23 EDINBURGH, 120 restriction, 25 Equity, balance of, 18, 21 Burns, diversion of, 61 Even Threes, 184 Everest, 188 CARD AND PENCIL, 13, 14 Casinos, adjuncts to, 54 FAIRNESS, 18 Cathedral, St. Andrews, 188 Fairways, 28 Cawdies, 122 bunkering centre of, 33 Championship, Amateur, 9 treatment, 70, 71, 203 Open, 9, 94, 183 Feather Age, 6 Chiberta, 73 Fertilisers, artificial, 66, 74, 203, Clay soil, 70 198 Coke breeze and charcoal, 70 Flexibility of course, 12,13,172 Competitions, 47 Fly Fishing, 113 Construction, artistic licence, 82 Foreman, importance of trained. Contractor, specialist, 82 82 Cornwall, 129 Frost, 197 Course, artistic licence, 82 Fujiyama, 148 flexibility of, 12, 13, 172 ideal, 47 GOLDEN AGE, 9 length, 22 Golf de Spa (17), 41 par of, 13 Grass, 61,68 209 INDEX Greens, 28, 68 MACHRIHANISH (18), 49 cardinal features of, 39-41 Mary Queen of Scots?; .152, 188 communications with, 28 Mashie niblick, 18 construction, 71 Mechanical play, 15 dressing, 65, 74, 75, 201, 202 Money prizes, 27 " framing," 38 Morals of Marcus Ordeyne, The, orientation, 15 in superficial area, 15 Morfontaine, 73 Greenkeeper, 67, 76 Moss, 65, 204 Gullane, 148, 152,154 Mount's Bay, 128 Muirfield, 150, 152,155; (9), 53 HAGEN, WALTER, 104 Mullion, 131 Hazards, 22, 37, 81 Musselburgh, 152 Hazlitt, 113, 146 Hobbema, 108 NEWQUAY, 130 Honourable Company, The, 156 North Berwick, 147, 152 Hoylake(i), 50; (7), 51 Redan, 41 Humphrey Clinker, 120 Hutchison, C. K., 150 OPPENHEIM, E. P., 184 Orientation of greens, 15 IBSEN, 155 Overfeeding, 67, 69, 75 Ice Age, 3 Ideal Course, definition, 47-9 PANS, 71 Inequality of treatment, 80 Par of course, 13 Initial work, faulty, 62-6 Peat, 71 Penal school, 29, 32, 33, 35 JONES, R. T., 21,38,116,145,163 Penzance, 127 Jorrocks, 125 Pepper, Colonel, no Pests, 197 KIRKALDY, ANDREW, 98,150 Pickwick, 125 Planning a course, 57, 59 LAIDLAW, J, E., 150, 152 Plans, details of, 59 Lamb, Charles, 123 Prestwick,79; (17), 48, 51 Land development scheme, 54 Primitive conditions, 7 Law, the, 148 Principal's Nose, 34 Leith, 120 Private courses, 54, 199 Lelant, 131 Proctor, Miss, 169 Length of courses, 22 Punch, no Lime, 73, 198 Lines of play, alternative, 30 Quixote, Don, 140 Liphook, 15; (5), 49; (14), 52 Lizard, the, 127, 131 RABBIT, THE, 17,19 Loop, the, 80 Raeburn, 156 Luck, element of, 26 Range-finding, 24, 154 Luffness, 154 Recovery, 16 210 INDEX Rigidity of courses, 13 Subtlety, 58 Road Hole, 97 Sunningdale, 116; (13), 52 Rolling, 194 Suppressio Veri, 36 Rough, cutting of, 76 Ruskin, 45 TAFT, EX-PRESIDENT, 104 Rye, 78; (8), 53 Target, 5, 6 limitation of, 37 ST. ANDREWS, 25, 30, 31, 46, 58, Teeing ground, 60 78, 92, 97, 137. i49. 155, i59. Tiger, the, 17, 19 182,193,194; (H)> Si;(17), 52 Times, The, 163 St. Enodoc, 130 Tinkering, 198 Sandwich, St. George's, (15), 52 Treasure Island, 133 Saunton, 46; (2814), 49; (17), 53 Tricotrin, 112 Sayers, Ben, 150 Troon, 79 Scott, Sir Walter, 152 Turfing, 64, 75 Sea Heatherick, 81 Turnberry, New Course (16), 51 Secret of a hole, 24 Seed beds, 63, 65 VAILE, P. A., 176 Seton Green, 152 Sheringham, 79 WALTON HEATH (II), 49; (17), 50 Sinister Street, 111 Walton, Izaak, 94,118 Skegness(15),49 Water, 65, 196 Skeleton plan, 59, 60 West Hill (15), 50 Smollett, 120,158 Westward Hot, 91; (5), 50; (16), Soil, 69 48,5a imported, 23, 73 Wimbledon, 136 movement of, 83-5 Wokmg, 47; (4), 34 Stevenson, R. L., 151 Worplesdon (n), 50 Stone Age, 8 Strategic school, 30-5, 81 " YOUNG TOMMY," 9,190 The Westminster Press 41 IA Harrow Road London W.9