Mr. Punch's Golf Stories by J. A. Hammerton (best romance books of all time TXT) 📗

The dawn of the morn, the daylight's sinking,

Shall find me on the Links, and thinking,

Of Tee, Tee, only Tee!

When rivals meet upon the ground,

The Putting-green's a realm enchanted,

Nay, in Society's giddy round

My soul, (like Tooting's thralls) is haunted

By Tee, Tee, only Tee!

For that at early morn I waken,

And swiftly bolt my eggs and bacon,

For Tee, Tee, only Tee!

I'm game to start all in the dark,

To the Links hurrying—resting never.

The Caddie yawns, but, like a lark,

I halt not, heed not, hastening ever

To Tee, Tee, only Tee!

Of chilly fog I am no funker,

I'll brave the very biggest bunker,

For Tee, Tee, only Tee!

A spell that nought on earth can break

Holds me. Golf's charms can ne'er be spoken;

But late I'll sleep, and early wake,

Of loyalty be this my token,

To Tee, Tee, only Tee!

Golf caddies are now very much in the public eye. The education of some of them is certainly not all that it should be. "Here's an honour for us!" cried one of them excitedly the other day, as he pointed to a paragraph in the paper headed, "King Alfonso visits Cadiz."

[Pg 78]

[A certain make of field-glasses is advertised just now as "suitable for golf-players, enabling them before striking to select a favourable spot for the descent of their ball." There can be little doubt that this brilliant hint will be further developed, with some such results as those outlined in the following anticipation.]

As I told Jones when he met me at the clubhouse, it was a year or more since I had last played, so the chances were that I should be a bit below form. Besides, I was told that the standard of play had been so raised——

"Raised? I should just think it has!" said Jones. "Why, a year ago they played mere skittles—not what you could properly call golf. Got your clubs? Come along then. Queer old-fashioned things they are, too! And you're never going out without your theodolite?"

"Well," I said with considerable surprise, "the fact is, I haven't got one. What do you use it for?"

"Taking levels, of course. And—bless me, you've no inflater, or glasses—not even a wind-gauge! Shall I borrow some for you?—Oh, just as you like, but you won't be able to put up much of a game without them."

[Pg 80]

"Does your caddie take all those things?" I asked, pointing to the curious assortment of machinery which Jones had put together.

"My caddies do," he corrected. "No one takes less than three nowadays. Good; there's only one couple on the first tee, so we shall get away in half an hour or so."

"I should hope so!" I remarked. "Do you mean that it will be half an hour before those men have played two shots?"

"There or thereabouts. Simkins is a fast player—wonderful head for algebra that man has—so it may be a shade less. Come and watch him; then you'll see what golf is!"

And indeed I watched him with much interest. First he surveyed the country with great care through a field-glass. Then he squinted along a theodolite at a distant pole. Next he used a strange instrument which was, Jones told me, a wind-gauge, and tapped thoughtfully at a pocket-barometer. After that he produced paper and pencil, and was immersed apparently in difficult [Pg 82] sums. Finally, he summoned one of his caddies, who carried a metal cylinder. A golf ball was connected to this by a piece of india-rubber tubing, and a slight hissing noise was heard.

"Putting in the hydrogen," explained Jones. "Everything depends upon getting the right amount. New idea? Not very; even a year ago you must have seen pneumatic golf balls—filled with compressed air? Well, this is only an obvious improvement. There, he's going to drive now."

And this he did, using a club unlike anything I had seen before. Then he surveyed the putting-green—about half a mile away—through his glasses, and remarked that it was a fairish shot, the ball being within three inches of the hole. His companion, who went through the same lengthy preliminaries, was less fortunate. In a tone of considerable disgust he announced that he had over-driven the hole by four hundred yards.

"Too much hydrogen," murmured Jones, "or else he got his formul� muddled. Well, we can start now. Shall I lead the way?"

[Pg 84]

I begged him to do so. He in turn surveyed the country, consulted instruments, did elaborate sums, inflated his ball.

"Now," he said, at length settling into his stance, "now I'll show you."

And then he missed the ball clean.

... Of course he ought not to have used such language, and yet it was a sort of relief to find something about the game which was entirely unchanged.

Royal and Ancient Records.—The Glasgow Evening Times displayed the following headings on the occasion of His Majesty's visit to North Berwick:—