The differences between your game and our game start well before stepping onto the first tee
The old empire may have crumbled away, but we Brits can at least still point to one area in which our currency remains strong: the quality and quantity of golf on offer. An intrepid tourist can find most of the world’s true links on these shores, plus an extraordinary heathland belt, hundreds of fine parklands, and more. The origins of the game linger stubbornly here, along with the legacies of many a great architect.
But when I say “find,” I mean it, for among the myriad quirks that charm and disarm our golfing visitors, actually locating the places you mean to see is one of the foremost. So think of this as a sort of guide to golf in Britain, if you like. Some field notes. A wry look at the sort of things our clubs might ask of you.
IDENTIFYING TARGETS
First, you must decide where you’d like to go. But all is not what it seems, for some clubs operate under multiple aliases, perhaps to keep traffic down. What a contact recommends as “Pulborough” is near the town of Pulborough, true, but it is West Sussex Golf Club you are looking for on the map. For Royal North Devon, you are urged to head to “RND” or “Westward Ho!” the exclamation mark presumably added by Old Tom Morris when he and his horse finally found the place. They are worth the effort, though.
The classic Norfolk links “Hunstanton” is in Hunstanton, which is all well and good if you are typing it into your GPS, but if you mention it out loud, it doesn’t matter whether you say “Hunstanton” or the strangely curtailed “Hun’ston,” for both will be corrected depending on who you ask. I’m not sure anyone really knows which one is right.
And we haven’t got the time to get into Irish place names or the dual language signposts that lurk down Welsh lanes, from which spring guttural noises that suggest that the “l” and “d” keys need oiling.
THE BOOKING PROCESS
You’ve narrowed the list to half a dozen courses and are ready to make some bookings. At this stage, a whole new dance begins, for though the modern world is built on convenience and immediacy, British golf clubs might as well still be taking inquiries by quill pen and carrier pigeon.
For some clubs, you will effectively have to beg. Several formal letters of introduction may be required, each one confirming that you are not a convicted felon, or, worse still, a hacker.
Nowhere will a pricing policy be explicit, but you will be charged as if you are intending to buy the clubhouse itself, not just a tee time. Then, just as you complete the transaction, you will discover there are no tee times, only a verbal promise that “we’ll get you out somewhere in the late afternoon.” This is as close to a confirmation as you will get, and if this happens to be the final leg of your tour, quietly pray that the airline you’ve booked will be as understanding on your departure time as you are with the golf club.
ON ARRIVAL
The next hurdle—once you’ve successfully found the venue—may be a large, rusting gate, with an intercom system next to it. Each of the buttons will have a cryptic description of an agent you might call for assistance, and each option will bring with it a loud ringing noise that will likely echo unanswered for all eternity. But sooner or (most probably) later, the gate will either grind open for no apparent reason, or someone will approach from the other side, granting access but not leaving you with any idea how you will escape in many hours’ time.
How and where to park is another minefield. There may be Member Parking, designated or otherwise, but in any case, each space will be large enough for roughly two-thirds of a car. You won’t find a sign that tells you where to park, nor where the clubhouse or first tee is, but you’ll likely see several that warn you in no uncertain terms that “Thieves Operate in This Area.” They will suggest that “Valuables Should Not Be Left Anywhere,” though you can be sure that no one wants to see your suitcase in the dusty locker room.
If the golf course you have managed to finally locate is “Brancaster” (formally Royal West Norfolk, which is in Brancaster, very near Hunstanton, or “Hun’ston”), there’s a chance that the car park and golf course will be cut off by the high tide while you are out playing. Good golf is typically played with a clear head; with all this collateral concern floating around, you’ll do well to remember how to walk, let alone play.
COSTUME DRAMA
Once you have identified the clubhouse, keep an eye out for the Dress Code. This could be a large notice on the wall or the figment of some ancient member’s imagination, but if you wish to play golf or dine at some point, adherence to this Code is essential—and probably expensive. The shop staff will provide the sort of welcome you might expect if placing a nation under occupation, but it won’t stop them fleecing you for compliant socks.
You may well have been asked to remove your hat inside the last clubhouse you entered, before leaving it on the windowsill, but don’t panic: The Pro sells expensive caps, too.
It is worth noting, if the majestic Walton Heath is on your itinerary (which is refreshingly called only “Walton Heath,” though the facilities comprise the “Old” and the “New”—both of which are very old—and very occasionally a composite course), that they’ve done away with the Dress Code. Or perhaps no one could remember what it said. This may seem a particularly progressive move, but what this may mean in practice is that you no longer have to look for the signs but are perhaps expected to smell what is and isn’t appropriate.
FOOD & BEVERAGE
While you wait for the nod to play from the caddiemaster (who was unable to find a single caddie for your vast tour bag, but is presumably kept on because he looks like he was here in the beginning), you might consider a bowl of tepid soup with some stale bread, but no one seems to know what the soup is. There is coffee in a glass pot next to the newspaper, but it equates to not much more than brown water, which you will be reminded of later either in the slowly dripping shower or at the on-course fountain. All three will be at a similar temperature, which indicates that the coffee could still be there from Tuesday, as is the paper.
If you have time for “proper lunch,” and it’s one of the places famous for this element—“Muirfield,” perhaps, aka The Honourable Company of Edinburgh Golfers or “HCEG,” which is located in Gullane (or “Gill-ann”?), not Edinburgh; a lunch club with a golf course—you may or may not need a ticket that may or may not indicate the number of courses you are entitled to, and you may or may not be expected to queue, or just sit down. None of this will be clear, so use your intuition.
Choose one option, and hope to get it right the second time, at least. And be careful about where you sit. Not only are some clubhouses adjacent to play, with glass windows the delicate barrier between the ball and the bar, but some are actually in play. Moortown, for example. At Woking, a quiet drink on the terrace can feel like London during The Blitz on a busy day, with apologetic balls raining down upon the tables from the 14th fairway.
The wine list will have actual wine stains on it, but while it is listed in price order, don’t be too flash and head for the bottom item; the first few “House Wines” are likely just a fruitier version of the brown water we’ve already encountered. The second-most-expensive claret will do, and you will do well to leave a few extra glasses around the place for the Steward: It might help not being locked out later. Air conditioning will not exist, or if it does, will be stuck on either “ice-bath” or “sauna.” But if it is hot in the Dining Room, don’t presume that the growing puddle of sweat beneath you is a license to remove your jacket. In many cases this will still be required, along with a tie, though one or two of the locals may be sporting a gravy-stained cravat, instead. And formal dress may also be required in the Smoking Room, though no one can smoke in there, of course.
Golf in Britain is a pilgrimage. You travel back to the places where the pioneers forged the game and its customs—to the Littlestones and the Pennards and the Hollinwells of this world—and at some points it may seem as if nothing much has changed. The traditions are quaint, if confusing, but the golf is magnificent, so stay patient, for the rewards are well worth the effort.
