[Cover]

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE.

Some pages of this work have been moved from the
original sequence to enable the contents to continue without
interruption. The page numbering remains unaltered.

[Pg 1]

MR. PUNCH’S GOLF STORIES

PUNCH LIBRARY OF HUMOUR

Edited by J.A. Hammerton

Designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the
cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic
draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to “Punch,” from its
beginning in 1841 to the present day.

[Pg 2]

THE GOLFERS DREAM

[Pg 3]

MR. PUNCH’S GOLF STORIES

TOLD BY HIS MERRY MEN AND ILLUSTRATED BY PHIL MAY, GEORGE DU MAURIER, L. RAVEN-HILL, F.H. TOWNSEND, HARRY FURNISS, E.T. REED, BERNARD PARTRIDGE, F. PEGRAM, A.S. BOYD, A.T. SMITH, A. WALLIS MILLS, DAVID WILSON, C.E. BROCK, GUNNING KING, C. HARRISON, G.L. STAMPA, TOM BROWNE AND OTHERS

[Pg 4]

The Punch Library of Humour

[Pg 5]

THE HUMOUR OF GOLF

There are few pastimes that supply their followers with more
innocent merriment than is afforded by “the royal and ancient.”
Certainly no outdoor game can make the neophyte feel more
utterly worm-like in his ability, for it is the peculiar quality of
golf to appear to be absurdly easy to the onlooker and preposterously
difficult to the unpractised player. It may be taken
that there is no better way of reducing a man’s self-conceit than
to place him on the teeing ground for the first time, present him
with a driver and invite him to strike a little rubber-cored ball
to a distance of 200 yards in a given direction. Consequently we
have here most excellent material for fun; and you may depend
upon it Mr. Punch has not had his eyes long shut to the
humours of the links. Despite the royalty and antiquity of
golf, it has been thoroughly democratised in modern times, and
its popularity, in the wide proportions to which it has attained,
is chiefly a matter of recent years. Despite the shortness of
[Pg 6]
the period that is represented by what we may call the vogue
of golf—a vogue that is by no means in danger of passing—Mr.
Punch has evidently found the game so rich in fun that
his merry knights of the pen and the pencil have contributed to
his pages as many pictures as to illustrate very lavishly this
volume and a good deal more literary matter than could be
used. In the days when croquet was as popular as golf is
to-day—the days of Leech and Keene—doubtless a volume could
have been drawn from Punch devoted entirely to that sport.
But it is worthy of note that an examination of these old croquet
pictures and jokes for a comparison of them with the contents
of the present volume leaves one with the conviction that the
humour of the present day is infinitely superior to the humour
of the days of Leech and Keene. Admirable draughtsmen
though these artists were, both of them, but Leech particularly,
were often content to let their masterly drawings appear with
the feeblest jokes attached. The standard of humour has been
immensely raised of late years, and Mr. Punch’s Golf
Stories is no bad evidence of that.

[Pg 7]

MR. PUNCH’S GOLF STORIES

“GOLFERS AS I ‘AVE KNOWN”

Golfers I divides in me own mind into three clarses; them as ‘its the
ball, them as skratches it, and them as neither ‘its nor skratches the
blooming ball but turns rarnd and wants to ‘it or skratch anyone as is
small and ‘andy. The first clars is very rare, the second is dreadfull
plentifull, and the third, thank ‘evins, can jeneraly be kep clear of by
them as knows the ropes. Sich as meself.

Any himprovement in golfers, as a clars, is doo to the ‘uge morril
hinfluence of us caddies, ‘oom
[Pg 8] some pretends to look down on.
Much can be done, even wif the most ‘ardened (and some of them golfers
is dreadfull ‘ardened), by firmness and hexample. “Show ’em from the
fust as you’ll stand no nonsense,” is allus my words when the yunger
caddies gathers ararn me fer hadvice. Me being older than me years, as
the sying is, and much looked up to. If, as I often ‘ears say, there’s
less of langwidge and more of golf upon these ‘ere links, it’s doo in no
small part to ‘im ‘oo pens these lines. ‘Oo’s ‘onnered nime is ‘Enery
Wilks.

I seldom demmeans meself to speak to the kulprits, for severil reasons
which I shall not go into, but I ‘ave other meffods. There’s sniffing,
fer instance. Much can be done by jerdishous sniffing, which can be
chinged to soot all cases. Or there’s a short, ‘ard, dryish larf, but
that ain’t allus sife. As a blooming rule, I rellies upon me sniff, me
smile and me eye. There’s few of them as can meet the last when I chuses
to turn it on. Not as I objecs very strongly to a little ‘onnest
cussing; it’s hinjustice and false haccusashun as I will not stand.

[Pg 10]

Sich are me meffods to them as needs ’em, but don’t think, becos at
times I’m cold like and ‘ard and stern, that I cannot be jentle wif them
as call fer jentleness. No blooming errer! ‘Enery Wilks is the lad to
‘oom old gents in need of keerfull nussing should be hintrusted by their
wives and keepers. I’m not allooding now to old tigers ‘oos stiple food
is red pepper in ‘uge quantitties, ‘oo turn upon yer like blooming
manniacks if yer blows yer nose quite inercent, and ‘oo report yer
before yer know if you’re standing on yer ‘ead or yer ‘eels. No, I’m not
allooding to old gentlemen like them! ‘Enery Wilks ‘as very little use
fer sich unguvverned creetures. In ‘is erpinyun they should not be let
abrord without a chine. But I am allooding to them ‘oos pashuns age ‘as
tamed, insted of blooming well hincreesed, to jentle ‘armless old
fellers, ‘oo will almost eat out of yer ‘and, as the sying is, an sich a
one is Mister Perceval Giggington.

Over sixty ‘e is, and allus kind and civvil and respeckfull, but ‘e ‘as
no more haptitood fer golf than a jeerarf. Sometimes I thinks, musing
kindly like, as ‘ow the old cove ‘ud be yunger if ‘e took the gime less
seerius. But ‘Enery Wilks ‘as little to reproche ‘imself about; ‘e, at
least, ‘as done what ‘e could to ‘elp old Giggs. ‘Is wife came down to
the Club ‘Ouse wif ‘im larst Toosday, jest as nice an old lidy as ‘e’s a
gent. She drew me on one side and spoke konfidenshul like, while the old
man was fussing and bleeting about ‘is clubs. It seems as she’d ‘eard of
me, and ‘eard nuthing but good. Which is only right.

[Pg 12]

“‘Enery,” she ses, “me ‘usband ‘as set ‘is ‘art,
as you well know, on going rarnd the course in
under an ‘undred and thirty strokes. It’s
beginning to tell on ‘is ‘ealth, the strine and
diserpointment, and I wants it stopped. ‘E’s
going rarnd allone wif you now, as the course is
clear, and I wants,” she ses, “I wants you to see
as ‘e does it!” she ses.

Well, nobody, excep one ignerrant, gellous,
preggerdiced skoolmaster, ‘as ever dared to call
‘Enery Wilks a fool. I took ‘er meaning in a
moment, and I touched me cap, quiet and konfident
like. “Mike yer mind easy, mum,” I ses in
my korteous way. “It shall be done, this very
day, if ‘Enery Wilks is spared,” I ses.

[Pg 14]

She nods and smiles and slips a bob into me
‘and, and then old Giggs finishes wurrying abart
‘is clubs and we makes a start. The old ‘un
‘ands ‘is card to me to keep, and I speaks to ‘im,
kind like but firm.

“I’ll keep the score, sir,” I ses. “Don’t yer
wurry abart yer strokes at all. What you’ve got
to do is to koncentrite yer mind upon yer gime.
For we’re a-goin to do it to-day,” I ses. ‘E ‘ears
me wif a little sorrerful smile, and I lived up to
them remarks. ‘E’d arsk me at the end of an ‘ole,
that ‘e’d fairly bitten along, ‘ow many ‘e’d taken,
but I would never tell ‘im. I jest kep ‘im upon
‘is legs wif kindly, jerdishous praise. Even after
that ‘ole where ‘e’d strook me wif ‘is ball from the
drive, although standing well be’ind ‘im, and been
in each bunker twice or more, I give ‘im a word
of ‘ope. It was niblick play and ‘ope all rarnd
the blooming course. And at the end, when I
added up ‘is card, strike me pink if ‘is score
weren’t an ‘undred and twenty-nine! And I sent
‘im ‘ome to ‘is wife, as pleased as any child.
There’s some, I dessay, as would ‘ave made ‘is
score an ‘undred and nineteen or even less, but
‘Enery Wilks ‘as allus known the virtew of
modderation.

[Pg 9]

Caddie (visiting). “What kind o’ player is he?”

Caddie (engaged). “‘Im? He just plays as if it was for pleesure!”

[Pg 11]

McFoozler (after a steady sequence of misses). “Ah–er–is there a limit for these links?”

[Pg 13]

Policeman. “Where did you get that bag?”

Bill Sykes (indignantly). “There you are! Nice thing, in a free country,
that a man can’t have a quiet hundred up without the police interfering!”

[Pg 15]

Jones has recently taken up golf. He is already proficient in one
department—the art of addressing the ball.

[Pg 16]

There’s some as takes their golf too seerius fer
their strength, like that pore old Mister Giggington,
of ‘oom I’ve told yer, and there’s some as
don’t take it seerius enuff. Under this ‘eading I
places Mister ‘Erminius Brellett. ‘E’s what
they call a litterry cove in privit life, and, wifout
wishing to be undoolly ‘arsh, I must say as I
beleeves it of ‘im. Strike me pink, if I didn’t
know as ‘e was litterry, I should go away sometimes
after ‘earing ‘im talk, and swear a hinfer-mashun
of loonacy agin ‘im! But Chawley
Martin, one of our caddies, ‘oo once spoke quite
hintermate and friendly like wif a reporter feller,
in connecshun wif a biking accerdent caused by
Chawley’s unforchernate pashun fer trick riding,
ses as ‘ow all these pore riters is alike. So you
and me should only pitty them. As fer ‘is golf,
exsentrick ain’t the word fer it. ‘E stands wif
both ‘is feet quite klose together, springs ‘igh into
the air wif a tremenjus swing, and strikes the ball
afore ‘e comes to earth agin. The erstonishing
thing is that ‘e does strike it abart once in three,
and when ‘e does it goes like old Gewillikins. It
just shows as there ain’t no rules abart some
peeple’s golf. But the sad part is as ‘e’s quite
proud of ‘is stile, insted of laberring to kerrect it
under my tewishun.

[Pg 18]

“I’m a mishonnery, a pyoneer of golf, ‘Enery,”
‘e ses to me quite recent. “‘Ow I plays it to-day,
the rest of the silly ‘ide-bound creetures will play
it to-morrow,” ‘e ses.

“Let’s ‘ope not, sir,” I ses, quite respeckfull
and reely meaning the words; fer, if yer think of
it, a course full of Mister ‘Erminius Brelletts
would be an ‘iddeous sight. ‘E glared at me fer a
moment quite dangerous, and then ‘e began to
larf. What wif ‘is livver, at which ‘e’s allus
cussing, and ‘is kurious ‘arf-irriterble, ‘arf-manniackal
temper, I can tell yer ‘e takes some ‘andling.
But ‘Enery Wilks knows ‘is ‘Erminius Brellett
by this time.

“Your one chawnce of fime, you retched child,”
‘e ses, and I found ‘is stile of speaking jest a little
gorling, “will rest on the fact that you karried the
clubs of ‘Erminius Brellett, pyoneer of golf and
[Pg 20]
unerpreshiated riter of himmortal books,” ‘e ses.
Well, yer can’t argue wif a man like that. Yer
can only yumour ‘im by respeckful silence, and
be reddy all the time to dodge if ‘is manyer turns
‘ommersidal all of a sudden.

‘E took on Mister Washer the other day, a
member ‘oom both ‘e and I ‘ave little liking fer.
At least, I can arnser fer meself. Fer ‘e’s one of
your pompus, strutting sort of fellers, ‘oo thinks
‘e’s good at golf, but ain’t. I ‘eard ‘im chalenge
Mister Brellett to play a rarnd fer ‘arf-a-crown,
and a less skilful stoodent of yuman nachure than
‘Enery Wilks could ‘ave told as they didn’t love
each other. I ‘ad a privit tuppence on the match
meself, wif old Washer’s caddy, although not very
‘opeful. ‘Owever, when ‘Enery Wilks’ money is
down, as the sying is, ‘e’s ‘ard to beat.

But things went badly wif us from the start. I
could see as ‘ow Mister Brellett was wurried abart
somethink, and in addition to that ‘e was acktaly
trying to play a keerful, sientifick gime. Oh, lumme,
it was orful, I can tell yer! We was skarcely
touching a ball, and old Washer, as pleesed as
[Pg 22]
a turkey-kock but far less hornimental, was
playing right above ‘isself. Fer a man like
meself, ‘oo’d staked above ‘is means, it was ‘art-breaking.
We lost five ‘oles bang orf, and then
Mister Brellett spoke ‘arf to me and ‘arf to ‘isself
as we walked to the sixth tee.

“It’s all that cussed nime!” ‘e ses. “If I
could only think of that, I’d be orlright. A
female nime fer a kerrecter in my new book.
‘Enery, what’s the nime of your yung woman?”
‘e ses, joking like. Well, love ain’t much in my
line, me ambishuns not letting me ‘amper meself
wif wimmen, but still a feller ‘as to keep ‘is ‘and
in. I won’t say as I ‘aven’t been more run after
than most, but some’ow that ain’t one of my
temptashuns. ‘Owever, more to pleese ‘er than
meself, I lets one of them, jest a school kiddy,
walk out wif me at times. She means well, I
do believe, but I’ve allus reckoned as ‘ow ‘er
nime’s agin ‘er.

“Hervangeline’s ‘er nime, Mister Brellett,” I
ses, deprerkating like. “But she can’t ‘elp it,”
I ses.

“By Jewpiter!” ‘e ‘owls. “Hervangeline’s the
[Pg 27]
very nime I’ve been ‘unting for. And now I’ll
win this match!” ‘e ses.

“You’ll win it orlright, sir,” I ses, ernest like.
“But, for ‘evin’s sake, stop playing sientifick!
Play the old gime as you’re pyoneer on, sir,”
I ses.

“I beleeve as ‘ow you’re right, ‘Enery,” ‘e ses,
thoughtful like; and then we come to the tee and
watched old Washer drive ‘is yusual straight,
shortish ball. Then Mister Brellett grips ‘is club,
takes ‘is yusual wicked, himmoril stance, springs
‘igh into the air wif an ‘arf-styfled yell, and, by
Gewillikins, drives sich a ball as the pro. ‘isself
might ‘ave been proud on! It knocked the kowardly
‘art out of old Washer, did that tremenjus
drive; and ‘e’s a man as only plays ‘is best
when ‘e’s winning easy. They ‘ad a narsty lead,
but we stuck to ’em like wax, ‘itting a turriffick
ball once out of three, or even oftener, and we won
at last quite ‘andsomely by three and two.

I remember as I bought bull’s-eyes fer Hervangeline
wif that ‘ere tuppence, becos in a meshure,
as you may say, she’d ‘ad an ‘and in the winning of
it. ‘Owever, wif a jenerosity unyusual in wimmen,
she hinsisted on sharing ’em wif ‘Enery Wilks,
‘oos skilful leedership ‘ad reely won the match.

[Pg 17]

“Keep your head still” is the first rule in golf, and Binks
means to do so.

[Pg 19]

Short-sighted Old Lady (to little Binks, who is going to the
golf-links). “How much will you charge me to mend this umbrella?”

[Pg 21]

Trials of a Novice.—”Something must be wrong. That’s the
third time running I’ve used this club!”

[Pg 23]

! ! ! !

Lily (from Devonshire, on a visit to her Scotch Cousin Margy
in St. Andrews, N.B.). “What a strange thing fashion is, Margy! Fancy a
game like golf reaching up as far north as this!”

[Pg 24]

THE HANDY CADDY

It was so handy when going out golfing.

It made such a capital caddy.

[Pg 25]

And jones could indulge in expletives
without being a bad example.

If the weather suddenly turned
off cold he had only to help himself to a top coat;

[Pg 26]

& If it rained
to an umbrella and sou’wester.

Also it gave quite a park-like appearance
to jones’ back garden.

[Pg 28]

Taking it all in all, ‘Enery Wilks ‘as very
little use for wimmen. Excep, of course, as
playthings and rellaxashuns after toil. As sich I
regards Hervangerline, of ‘oom I’ve told yer.
That is, when ‘er mood is dosile. At sich times,
when she is not trying to be yumourous or utherwise
acting the goat, the child can listen, wif
doo respekt, whilst ‘im she loves so well unbends
‘isself. It is ‘er privviledge to see ‘Enery Wilks
remove ‘is stern cold marsk. Yuss, I tollerates
Hervangerline, but I ‘ave little use fer uther
wimmen.

Speaking quite frenkly, I can find little to
kommend in the hexeckertive of these ‘ere links,
but there is one of their resent hinnervashuns in
pertickler that fills me wif cold rage. This is the
rule permitting lidy members to play on the course,
excep’ on Satterday and Sunday.

Lord knows as ‘ow the men is bad enuff to deal
wif. ‘Eadstrong, vain, irriterble and pig-‘eaded
[Pg 30]
they mostly is, but oh! strike me pink and
purple, if they ain’t fair angels, wings and all,
kompared to those dredfull, onreasoningable
wimmen! Onreasoningable is the one word as
I can use to deskribe them. And that don’t do
’em justise.

Wif a man, to some eggstent, you do know
where you are. You do know from eggsperiense
‘ow fur you may go wif ‘im, before ‘e katches you
a clump on the side of the ‘ead. But wif wimmen
no eggsperiense will ‘elp yer. Becos there ain’t
no rules abart them.

Lord knows as ‘ow I started out wif the idear
of pleesing ’em. I ses to Hervangerline, the
evening I ‘eard abart it, “We’re going to ‘ave
lidies on the course, kid,” I ses. “Your ‘Enery
will ‘ave to smarten ‘isself up a bit fer their dear
sakes,” I ses. Womanlike she begun to snif.

“You take care, ‘Enery Wilks,” she ses
worningly. “You take care of them desining
‘ussies. There’s many of ’em as will be after you,
I knows it well. Fer some wimmen,” she ses, sort
of sarkastic, “some wimmen will go after anythink
in trarsers,” she ses. Well, I wears nickers
[Pg 34]
meself as a general rule, but I knowed what she
meant. And, though of course I ‘id it from her,
pertending to be kontemptewous, I found ‘er
words quite pleesing. I thort to meself, komplasent
like, as ‘ow some of these lidy members
might show a prefferrence fer that one of our
caddies as is pollished and korteous and older
[Pg 35]
than ‘is years. But, apparriently, both I and
Hervangerline was rong—iddeously rong.

Fer it’s no good konseeling from meself, at
anyrate, as ‘ow I ‘aven’t been a komplete success
so fur wif our lidy members. Why sich should
be the case I cannot tell, but there it is. There’s
a preggerdise agin me as is kep’ alive by the
ontiring, revengfull tungs of Miss Trigsie Kornish
and Missis Jossephus ‘Askins. And this is ‘ow
that preggerdise begun.

[Pg 36]

They come along one morning and say as
‘ow they’re going to play a rarnd, and they’ll
share a caddy between them. And to my ondying
greef they picked on ‘Enery Wilks. Not as
there was anythink surprising in their doing that.
In their place I’d ‘ave picked on ‘im meself.
And I’m bound in justise to say as there was
nothing in their appeerance to set me agin them.
Missis ‘Askins is very yung and plessant-looking,
although she is married, and Miss Kornish is
darkish and carries ‘erself wif a sort of swing.
No, their looks was rite enuff; it was only their
dredfull ‘abit of cheating as made the trubble.

They started as frendly as love-birds, but by
the second ‘ole the fur was beginning to stand
[Pg 37]
up stiff upon their backs. It was their orful
onguvernabul keenness as did it. On the third
green Missis ‘Askins asks Miss Kornish ‘ow many
she’s played, and she tells ‘er, nine, quite brisk
like. Now both Misses ‘Askins and meself knew
quite well as ‘ow Miss Kornish ‘ad played ten;
indeed, I could see as ow Misses ‘Askins thort it
were eleven. They rangles a bit abart it, growing
gradewally more ‘eated, and then Misses ‘Askins
erpeals to me, and I gives it in ‘er favour, trying
very ‘ard to rap it up plessant like. Miss Kornish
glares at me like a cat ‘oom you’ve mannidged to
‘it wif a brick whilst it’s taking a stroll quite
inercent and leshurely; but she doesn’t say much
and we goes on.

Two ‘oles later it all ‘appens agin, only this
time it’s Missis ‘Askins ‘oo ‘as kondescended to
[Pg 38]
redooce ‘er score. They rages rarnd upon the
green, and then Miss Kornish erpeals to me,
and truth kompels me to erward the ‘ole to ‘er.
This time it’s Missis ‘Askins ‘oo glarnces at me
as though she’d like to cut orf my yung life. But
‘Enery Wilks can stand a lot of that.

So we goes on agin, wif the air growing ‘eavier
like, and three ‘oles later they both erpeals to me,
fer both is cheating. It was an ‘ard posishun fer
a yung feller as is only wishfull to pleese. ‘Owever,
I desided to give pore old Truth another chawnce;
although misdoubtfull. So I ses to them quite
respeckfull like, as ‘ow both their scores is
inakkerite and should I keep them both in
fuchure?

Oh Lumme, I’d like to forgit what ‘appened
then! All in a moment those two young wimmen
grew frendly agin to each other and konsentrited
all their rage and spite on ‘Enery Wilks. They
fell upon me wif their tungs, and I felt as though
I was being ‘it wif barbed wire and nettels. They
called me “impudent little boy,” me the chosin
‘ero of the yunger caddies, and I could only
garsp and trimble. Their crewel thretts brought
[Pg 40]
tears even to my proud eyes, and I almost beleeve
as ‘ow I grovvellel before them. It ‘urts me to
remember it.

When at last they ‘ad tired themselves out, they
finished their rarnd as though they ‘ad never ‘ad
an unkind thort towards each other, and I slunk
be’ind them, dased and silent, like a puppy ‘oos
been kicked.

And that’s—that’s what comes of edmitting
wimmen to a golf corse!

[Pg 29]

“THE BOGEY COMPETITION”

[Pg 31]

Little Albert (always thirsting for knowledge). “Uncle, do
they pronounce that ricochaying or ricochetting?”

[Pg 32]

1. “Carry your clubs, guvnor, for sixpence!”

“No, thanks, I don’t require a caddie.”

2. “Carry yer clubs for fourpence, boss!”

“Go away, boy, I’ll carry ’em myself.”

[Pg 33]

3. “Carry ’em for thrippence, mister”

(no response).

4. A smash!

[Pg 34]

5. (After the smash). “I say, captain, I’ll carry
your clubs for nothin’, jist for the fun of the thing!”

[Pg 35]

MR. PUNCH’S PATENT CADDIE CAR

[Pg 36]

Golf is now being played on the Norman Coast

Golf is being played very much in Egypt

[Pg 39]

A NEW DISEASE—THE GOLF TWIST

[Pg 40]

The above caddie (in the course of his third round with
Colonel Foozle, who always takes out a collection of two
dozen clubs, if only for the look of the thing) begins to
doubt if he, the caddie, really belongs to the idle classes,
as stated in the papers.

[Pg 41]

“HOW’S THAT, UMPIRE?”

Golf Player. “Now then, what are you grinning at, boy? Don’t you
know where the ball is?”

Caddie. “Yus, sir, I know, sir. Please, sir, that there dun
cow ‘ve swallered it!”

[Pg 42]

Scene—Country Police Court

Magistrate. “My boy, do you fully realise the nature of an oath?”

Boy. “Well, I oughter, considerin’ the times I’ve caddied for yer!”

[Pg 43]

Miggs and Griggs, who have got away for a week-end holiday,
have strayed on to the golf links, and have been watching
the colonel, who has been bunkered for the last ten minutes—and
the language!!

Miggs. “What’s he doing?”

Griggs. “I dunno. Think he’s trying to kill something.”

[Pg 44]

Yumin nachure is a kurius thing. I dunno
whether this thort ‘as okkurred to other peeple,
but I sees the truth of it more clearly every day.
You may studdy a man fer weeks and think as
‘ow you know ‘im inside out, and then, when you
try to make some use of ‘is pecooliarities, they
ain’t working that day, or else some little hannoying
trifle spiles your well lade skeems. Sich was
the sad case of Mister Hoctavius Glenwistle and
my friend Chawley Martin.

Mister Glenwistle is an oldish jentleman now,
but in ‘is day ‘e ‘as been a famus eggsplorer.
Jeograffy never being my strong point, I dunno
egsackly where ‘e went eggsploring, or why ‘e did
it. Chawley Martin, ‘oo’s jenerally ‘is caddie, is
my hinformant, and some days ‘e will ‘ave it that
Mister Glenwistle would once ‘ave reached the
Pole if ‘is boots ‘adn’t guv out, and at other times
‘e hinsists that it was Africer that ‘e visited. I
dunno, meself; per’aps the old jentleman ‘as been
[Pg 46]
to both them regins in ‘is time. But any’ow all is
agreed that once ‘e lived for nearly three weeks upon
an oldish poodle dawg—which is an orfull thort.

Sich an eggspeerience must leeve its mark upon
any man, ‘owever strong. It ‘as left its mark
upon Mister Hoctavius Glenwistle. Every blade
of ‘air ‘as vannished from ‘is skalp, and ‘is face is
a sort of dark brick colour wif light eyebrows. ‘E
still suffers from sunstroke, and Chawley Martin
‘as to carry a large red umbereller round the links
to pertect ‘is ‘ead.

I dunno whether it’s the sunstroke, or whether
it’s ‘is ondying remorce for that pore faithfull
poodle, but Mister Glenwistle suffers terrible from
absentmindedness. ‘E ‘as been known to swing
up ‘is great, red umbereller upon the tee and try
to drive wif that, and Chawley Martin allus ‘as to
watch ‘im keerfull to see what ‘e’ll be up to next.
‘E ‘ates to be disturbed when in one of ‘is mooning
fits, and is apt to swear terrible in some forrin’
langwidge, which Chawley thinks is Eskimo; but
still ‘e’s a jentleman all over, is Mister Hoctavius
Glenwistle. ‘Is tips is ‘andsome, and it don’t give
‘im no pleshure to repport an ‘armless lad.

[Pg 48]

One Sunday lately ‘e came down wif a frend for
an ‘ole day’s golf. Chawley Martin, as yusual,
was ‘is caddie, and I ondertook the manidgement
of the frend. All went well in the morning, excep’
that Mister Glenwistle fell into a sort of dream
upon the seventh green and ‘ad to be rarsed by
Chawley. It may ‘ave been Eskimo that ‘e spoke
to the boy when ‘e’d touched ‘im jently on the
arm, but it sounded wuss—much wuss.

‘Owever, we comes back at one to the club-‘ouse,
red umbereller and all, like Robbinson Crewso,
and they goes into lunch. Whilst they’re still
laying into the grub like winking, I and Chawley
Martin, ‘aving eaten our own frugil meal, sit down
near the ‘club-‘ouse and begin to polish up their
clubs. We fell a-talking about the great science
of golf, getting quite ‘eated in a little while, and
at last Chawley, to illerstrate ‘is own mistakin
theery, gets upon ‘is ‘ind legs. ‘E takes Mister
Glenwistle’s best driver from ‘is bag and shows
me what ‘e calls “a full swing, wif every
ounce of weight and rist and mussel crammed
into it.”

[Pg 50]

I was afeard ‘ow it would be. The length of the
club mastered ‘im. ‘E ‘it the onoffending turf a
crewel blow, and there was a narsty crack. ‘E
sits down beside me wif a garsp, and we looks at
Mister Glenwistle’s pet driver wif the ‘ead ‘arf off.

“What’s to be done, ‘Enery?” ‘e ses, after a
sort of sickly pawse.

Fer my part I’d been thinking ‘ard, me brain
being better than most.

“There’s three courses open to you, Chawley,
me lad,” I ses quietly. “You can do a guy at
once, and not come back—that’s one; or you can
tell Mister G. as you’ve been fooling wif ‘is clubs—that’s
another,” I ses, and waited fer ‘is
risponse.

“Let’s ‘ear the third,” he ses gloomily.

“Deceat is aborrent to my nachure,” I ses.
“But you’re made diferent, Chawley. You
could make use of ‘is absentmindedness and let
‘im think as ‘e broke it ‘isself. ‘Old it out to
‘im wif a sort of winning smile, when ‘e comes,
and say as ‘ow you’re afrade it will ‘ave to be
mended after all. It’s a fair sportin’ chawnce,”
I ses.

“‘Enery, you’re a fair marvel!” ‘e ses, after
[Pg 52]
pondering fer a minute. “I’ll try it on,” he ses.
And so we left it.

I didn’t see the meeting between Mister Glenwistle
and ‘is well-meaning caddie, becos my klient
sent me to get him a ball, but when I came back
I seed as ‘ow Chawley was sniffing slightly, and ‘is
large outstanding ears was reddened. ‘Is manner
was coldish like to me, but when the two ‘ad
drivin, I asked ‘im what ‘ad ‘appened.

“‘E just boxed me ears,” Chawley ses, “and
told me as ‘ow ‘e’d repport me if I lied to ‘im
agen,” ‘e ses.

Fer once I was reely taken aback.

“I can’t make it out, Chawley,” I ses. “Where
was ‘is yusual absentmindedness? It just shows
as ‘ow you can’t depend on nuthing in this world!
Did you do as I told you, winning smile and all?”
I asks ‘im.

“Yuss, I did,” ‘e ses, snappish like. “But it
seems as ‘ow ‘is interfeering frend ‘appened to look
out of the club-‘ouse when I was showing you
that swing, and seed it all. Anuther time you
can keep your winning smiles and your fat-‘eaded
hadvice to yourself, ‘Enery Wilks!” ‘e ses.

I didn’t answer ‘im, remembering ‘ow ‘is ‘uge
progecting ears was tingling, but I ses to meself,
“So much, ‘Enery Wilks, for yumin gratitood!”

[Pg 45]

Mr. Mothdriver, the famous, yet absent-minded, golf-naturalist,
invariably carries a butterfly-net in his golf-bag—for he agrees with
Mr. Horace Hutchinson that some of the best entomological specimens
can be captured in the course of playing the royal and ancient game.

[Pg 47]

Brer Rabbit. “I suppose you haven’t seen such a thing
as a golf-ball about anywhere, have you?”

[Pg 49]

First Enthusiast. “I say, will you play another round
with me on Thursday?”

Second Enthusiast. “Well, I’m booked to be married on
that day—but it can be postponed!“

[Pg 51]

The Golf Stream.—Flows
along the eastern coast of Scotland during the summer and autumn.

(Vide Report of British Association—Section V.).

[Pg 53]

Real Enjoyment.—Non-Golfer
(middle-aged, rather stout, who would like to play, and has been recommended
it as healthy and amusing). “Well, I cannot see where the excitement comes in in this game!”

Caddie. “Eh, mon, there’s more swearing used over
golf than any other game! D’ye no ca’ that excitement?”

[Pg 54]

A little success at golf, as I’ve notised,
jenerally makes a man wish for more. Like the
appertite of a young girl for chocerlates. I dunno
if you remember that nice old Mister Giggington,
of ‘oom I told you. Under my skillfull gidance,
and with the ade of a little inercent ‘anky-panky,
‘e kontrived to wander rarnd these ‘ere links in an
‘undred and twenty-nine. Well, ever since that
serprising triemph, ‘e ‘as been ‘ungering for fresh
feelds to konker, as you might say.

“I want to meet someone, ‘Enery, as I can
beat,” ‘e kep’ saying, quite truckewlent like. “I
don’t pretend as ‘ow I’m brillyent, but on my day
I do fancy that there’s wuss.”

“You keep on practising steddy, sir,” was my
invariable words, “and one of these days we shall
see you winning cups and medils.”

As nice and kind an old jentleman as ever
smashed a club is Mister Giggington, but I allus
[Pg 56]
‘ave to ‘andle ‘im like eggs to prevent ‘im losing
‘art. I didn’t think as ‘ow even ‘Enery Wilks
would be able to grattify ‘is ‘armless ambishun,
but the uther day I saw my chawnce.

It was a Toosday morning, and the course was
quite disserted, excep’ for Mister G., ‘oo was waiting
to start a practice rarnd wiv ‘is pashunt teecher.
Which is me. And then a new member come
along ‘oo was wishfull for a game, and dirrectly I
set eyes on ‘im, somethink, hinstink, I suppose,
seemed to tell me that ‘ere was the man for ‘oom
I ‘ad been waiting.

‘E was French, and I shall not attempt to rite
‘is name, the ‘ang of which I never reely kawt. ‘E
was a small, darkish, jornty man, and ‘is garmints
was a little briter and more cheerfull-looking than
you see in England. ‘E wore, among uther
things, a deer-storker ‘at wiv a fevver stuck in it.
But ‘is manners was reelly bewtifull. It was quite
a site to see ‘im click ‘is ‘eels togevver, and bow
to my himployer, and in a minute they ‘ad fixed
their match. I ‘ad ‘inted to Mister G. that ‘e
must hinsist on ‘aving a stroke an ‘ole, and that
was ‘ow they settled it. I never lerned what the
[Pg 58]
Frenchman’s ‘andicap was, but if the Champyon
‘isself ‘ad offered to take strokes from ‘im ‘e would
‘ave closed gladly wiv the offer. And yet there
was reelly nuthing erfensive about the little man.

I could see as ‘ow pore old Mister G. was
trimbling wiv a sort of serpressed egsitement, and
I wispered to ‘im that ‘e must play steddy and use
the niblick whenever possibul. The niblick, from
long practice in the bunkers, is ‘is club.

Me frend, Chawley Martin, was the Frenchman’s
caddie, and ‘e took ercasion to remmark to
me that we seemed in for somethink warmish. I
checked the boy wiv one of my glawnces, and
then we waited while ‘is hemployer took the
‘onner. That jentleman danced up to the tee,
waving rarnd ‘is head the longest and the bendiest
driver that I ‘ave ever seen, and ‘e didn’t trubble
to address the ball at all. ‘E just sprung at it and
‘it it wiv all ‘is might, and somethink fairly wistled
past Chawley’s ‘ead as ‘e stood a little be’ind the
tee box. The Frenchman ‘ad sliced at rite angels,
and for anythink I know ‘is ball is still in the air.
Certingly, we never saw it agin.

That slite misforchune appeered to egsite and
[Pg 60]
dimmoralise Chawley’s himployer, ‘oo may ‘ave
been quite a brillyent player on ‘is day, and I may
say at once that ‘e never reelly found ‘is game.
On the uther ‘and it seemed to put new life
and vigger into Mister G. Our erponent was
appariently trying ‘ard to do each ‘ole in a
brillyent one, but we was quite content to win
them in a steddy nine.

We ‘ad our misforchunes, of course. ‘Is deerest
frend wouldn’t ‘ardly say as ‘ow Mister G.’s
game is a long one, and each bunker seems to ‘ave
a sort of magnettick attrackshun for ‘is ball, but
whilst the Frenchman’s brassey remained unbroken
we knew that there was allus a chawnce
for the ‘ole. For ‘arf the rarnd it stood the crewel
strane and then it didn’t break. It jest seemed to
[Pg 62]
sort of dissolve into small peaces. But we was two
up by then and our tails was ‘igh in air.

As for the Frenchman, ‘is meffods at times was
reelly serprising. After that first drive Chawley
lade ‘isself down flat when ‘is hemployer drove,
but even in that posishun it didn’t seem ‘ardly
safe. That long, thin, bendy driver sent the ball
to all ‘ites and all angels, but never once in a
strate line. After a wile ‘e diskarded it, and guv a
fair, ‘onnest trial to every club in ‘is bag in turn.
I should never ‘ave been serprised to see ‘im drive
desperit like wiv ‘is putter, but even then Chawley
wouldn’t ‘ave dared say nuthink. ‘E was quite a
plessant, jentlemanly little man, but it didn’t do to
[Pg 64]
argue wiv ‘im. ‘E begun to scream and stamp at
once, and Chawley saw pretty soon that it was
best and safest to let ‘im play ‘is own game.

It was on the fiftienth green that the great match
was ended. Mister Giggington’s pluck and stamminer
‘ad been amasing for ‘is age, but the strane
and the joyfull egsitement was beginning to tell on
‘im. The Frenchman tried to bring off a thirty-yard
putt to save the ‘ole, and failed by some forty
yards. But ‘e took ‘is defeet like a nero. They
shook ‘ands on the green and ‘e said that it
warmed ‘is ‘art to reflect on the glory that ‘is
frendly foe ‘ad won. I beleeve as ‘ow there was
tears in the old jentleman’s eyes. ‘E turned to
me and I quite thort ‘e was going to grasp my
‘and, but instead of that ‘e put a bob into it
which was pretty near as good.

‘E ‘ll never make a golfer, but ‘Enery Wilks
will allus be pleesed and proud to gide ‘im rarnd
the course.

[Pg 55]

A Ruling Passion.—Mr. Meenister MacGlucky
(of the Free Kirk, after having given way more than usual to an expression
“a wee thing strong”—despairingly). “Oh! Aye! Ah, w-e-el! I’ll hae ta gie ‘t up!”

Mr. Elder MacNab. “Wha-at, man, gie up gowf?”

Mr. Meenister MacGlucky. “Nae, nae! Gie up the meenistry!”

[Pg 57]

A Poser.—”Farmers always grumbling? Well, supposin’
your pigs were down wi’ th’ fever, an’ your sheep
had got th’ influenza, if your crops were drownded in
eighteen inches o’ water, an’ your rent were overdue—what
would you do?”

“I?   I’d give it up and start a golf club!”

[Pg 59]

INGRATITUDE

Brown. “Why doesn’t Walker stop to speak? Thought he knew you!”

Smith. “Used to; but I introduced him to the girl he
married.  Neither of them recognises me now!”

[Pg 61]

GOLF

“Putting” on the “links”	The “tee” and the “caddie”
A showy manner of handling the “clubs”	A full drive
A beautiful “iron” shot	The “spoon”
The “cleek”	“Holed out”

[Pg 62]

A MORNING PERFORMANCE

[Pg 63]

FORE!

“Now, sir, be judge yourself, whether I in any just term
am affin’d to love the Moor.”

[Othello, Act I., Sc. 1.]

[Pg 64]

‘Onnesty is the best pollicy, and, ‘Evin knows,
‘Enery Wilks ‘as allus tried ‘is levil best to live up
to them golden words. But I reckon there is
[Pg 66]
certain excepshuns to the cast-iron ‘onnesty of all
of us, and every yumin being ‘as ‘is little weakness.
Mine is golf balls.

Tips is well enuff in their way, and I ‘ave
nuthing at all to say agin them, but the present
of a good ball is far more pleesing to the ‘art of
‘Enery Wilks. Praps it’s becos of ‘is allmost
inkonquerabul pride which shrinks at times from
taking munney from them ‘oom ‘e feels to be ‘is
equils or hinfeeriors; or praps it grattifies ‘is
artistick nachure to be given the himplements of
that great sience which ‘e onderstands so well.
Any’ow golf balls is my temptashun, and one which
once or twice in the course of my ‘onnerabul
kareer I ‘ave allowed meself to yeeld to.

Some golfers will ercashunally ‘and you tuppence
or an ‘arf-used ball, wif a jenial word of
thanks for your attenshuns which is worth more
to a proud nachure than the gift itself. And
there’s uthers ‘oo never think of doing nuthink of
the sort. Among them is Mister Schwabstein, ‘oo
is not French or Scotch, as you might think from
‘is name, but German, wiv praps a touch of
Jentile.

[Pg 68]

‘E’s a man what catches the eye on the links, it
being ‘is constant and hannoying ‘abbit to were a
peaked yotting cap, large specks, and a white silk
coat which was once a good deal whiter. An
egsellent sort of person, I dessay, in the ‘ome
sircle, but ‘ardly what you’d call a brillyent success
upon the links. They say as ‘ow ‘e ‘as more
munney than ‘e ritely knows what to do wiv, but I
fancy ‘e’s made it by never giving any of it away.
‘Owever, ‘Enery Wilks ‘as done ‘is best to put that
rite.

Let me diskribe to you a rarnd which ‘e played
the uther day wiv Mister ‘Erminius Brellett,
our litterry member, ‘oo allus seems to go out of
‘is way to play wiv kurious people. I ‘ave taken
Mister Schwabstein in charge before, but never
‘ave I seen ‘is pecooliarities so noticeabul as on
that day.

‘E took the ‘onner, and for about three minutes
‘e addressed the ball wiv ‘is ‘uge, thick, ugly driver,
which ‘as always rarsed my perfessional hindignashun.
‘E swung at last, quite slow like, but wiv
all ‘is great weight and strength piled into it. I
shall never know egsackly what ‘e did, becos the
[Pg 70]
tees was dry, and for the moment I was ‘arf
blinded by the dust. But there was a thud and a
krackling snap, and two things was flying through
the thick, dusty air. Them two missils was the
ball and the ‘ead of the driver, and they fell
togevver thirty yards from the tee. ‘E said somethink
which I couldn’t catch and didn’t want to,
and walked rarnd in a slow sircle, smiling to ‘isself.
‘E’s a man ‘oo allus smiles. It often seems to me
that it is ‘is misforchune.

Then Mister Brellett took one of ‘is yusual
springing drives, which ‘appened to come off, and
‘e won that fust ‘ole on ‘is head. Mister Schwabstein
kontrived to redooce ‘is brassey to fragmints
at the second ‘ole; and after that he took out ‘is
niblick, and nuthing wouldn’t perswade ‘im to put
it back. ‘E drove wiv that niblick, and ‘e played
‘is many shots through the green wiv it. And the
way that thick strong niblick eat into the turf was
enuff to brake the ‘art of ‘Enery Wilks. We moved
slowly forward, leaving be’ind us a line of crewel
deep kassims, which nuthink wouldn’t fill up.
And ‘is stile of bunker play was equilly distrucktive.

[Pg 72]

‘Is noshun of getting out was to distroy the wall
of the bunker wiv reppeated blows, and then to
force ‘is ball throo the rewings. I wouldn’t ‘ave
belleeved that meer wood and iron could ‘ave
done the work that that one German niblick did
wivout turning an ‘air.

‘E only smiled ‘is slow smile when Mister Brellett
or meself venchured a remmonstrance, and ‘e
would never pick up ‘is ball. ‘E persevered wiv
each ‘ole until at last ‘e ‘ad pushed the ball into
the tin, and then ‘e would turn and pat my ‘ead
wiv ‘is large ‘and. After the fust time I jenerally
dodged, and once ‘e turned and patted Mister
Brellett’s ‘ead by accerdent. Like most litterry
jents, the latter is rather touchy, and there was
neerly trouble; but some’ow, thanks to Mister
Schwabstein’s apparent onconshusness of offense,
it was erverted.

At the thirteenth ‘ole Mister Brellett was five
up. Mister Schwabstein put down a new ball, wiv
a sort of groan, and pulled it wiv ‘is niblick right
rarnd into the rough. For a long two minnutes
we ‘unted ‘igh and low, but nowhere could we find
that ball. If I’d seen it I would ‘ave handed it
[Pg 74]
over at once, sich being my boundin dooty. But I
never did see it. There was jest one little place
in that rough where some’ow it didn’t seem worth
while looking. We ‘ad to erbandon it at last;
and Mister Schwabstein lost the ‘ole and the
match.

Later in the day I wandered down on a sort of
ferlorn ‘ope to that bit of rough, and kuriously
enuff I walked bang on to that ball. There was
severil courses open to me. I might ‘ave ‘anded
it over to the orthorities, or I might ‘ave kep’ it as
a memmentoe of Mister Schwabstein’s unfaling
jenerosity and kortesy. But ‘Enery Wilks didn’t
see ‘is way to doing either of them two things.
‘E jest disposed of that fine new ball to the very
best hadvantage.

[Pg 65]

GOLFING NOTES

“Denmark is the latest of the Continental nations to receive golf.”—The Tatler.

But golf must have flourished at Denmark in Hamlet’s time,
judging by the above reproduction of a very ancient mural
decoration which has just come to light.

See also quotation Hamlet, Act II., Scene 2:—” … drives; in
rage, strikes wide!”

[Pg 67]

Encouragement.—Professional
Golfer (in answer to anxious question). “Weel, no, sir, at your time o’ life, ye
can never hope to become a player;
but if ye practise hard for three years, ye may be able to tell good play from bad when ye see it!”

[Pg 69]

Bertie (to caddie, searching for lost ball). “What
are you looking there for? Why, I must have driven it fifty yards further!”

Diplomatic Caddie. “But sometimes they hit a stone, sir, and bounce back a terrible distance!”

[Pg 71]

Old Hand. “Ah, I heard you’d joined.  Been round the links yet?”

New Hand. “Oh, yes. Went yesterday.”

Old Hand. “Whot did you go round in?”

New Hand. “Oh, my ordinary clothes!”

[Pg 73]

Golfing Amenities. (Overheard on a course
within 100 miles of Edinburgh).—Hopeless Duffer (who
continually asks his caddy the same question, with much grumbling at the non-success of his clubs).
 “And what shall I take now?”

His Unfortunate Partner (whose match has been lost and game spoilt, at last breaking
out). “What’ll ye tak noo! The best thing ye can tak is the fower fifteen for Edinburgh!”

The Pedantry of Sport.—First Golf
Maniac. I played a round with Captain Bulger
the other day.

Second G.M. When did you get to know
him?

First G.M. Oh, about the end of the Gutty Ball period.

[Pg 75]

Cheerful Beginner (who has just smashed the Colonel’s favourite
driver). “Oh, now I see why you have to carry so many clubs!”

[Pg 76]

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]

THE SCIENCE OF GOLF

[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 formulæ 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:—

This, of course, constitutes a new record, the old
one standing at about 330 yards.

The Golfer’s Friend after Long Drives—The Tea-Caddy.

Golf Motto.—The “Hole” hog or none.

[Pg 79]

A Last Resort.—Miss Armstrong
(who has foozled the ball six times with various clubs). “And which of the
sticks am I to use now?”

Weary Caddie. “Gie it a bit knock wi’ the bag!”

[Pg 81]

Caddie (in stage whisper to Biffin, who is frightfully nervous).
“Don’t you get nervous, sir. It’s all right.
I’ve told every one of ’em you can’t play!”

[Pg 83]

Fitzfoozle (a beginner, who is “teaching” a lady on the men’s links, and loses a club).
“Pardon me, sir. Have you seen a lady’s club anywhere?”

Admiral Peppercorn (very irate at being delayed, wishes ladies would play on their own course).
“No, sir, but there’s a goose club at the ‘Pig and Whistle,’ I believe. Try that!”

[Pg 85]

Golfer, whose ball has lodged under stone, has had several
unsuccessful shots, and finally, with a tremendous stroke,
smashed his club.

Old Man. “You put me in moind of my old jackass.”

Golfer. “What d’you mean, you idiot?”

Old Man. “Yer’ve got more strength than knowledge!”

[Pg 86]

THE MOAN OF THE MAIDEN

Virgil on Golf.—”Miscueruntque herbas et
non innoxia verba.” Georgics, 3, 283.

To Correspondents.—”An Inexperienced
Golfer” writes to inquire whether what he has
heard about “the Tee Duty” will in any way
affect the “caddies.”

[Pg 87]

Willing to Compensate.—Mrs. Lightfoot.
“Oh, wait a minute, Mr. Sharp—don’t drive yet. My
husband is still on the green.”

Mr. Sharp. “Never mind. I’ll risk it. For if I do bowl him over,
why, I’m ready to replace him any time!”

[Pg 88]

CAPABLE CADDIES

Rumour has it that a movement is on foot
amongst a certain section of the golfing public to
ensure that for the future all caddies on English
links shall be compelled to furnish satisfactory
proof that they are physically and morally qualified
for the porterage and cleaning of clubs, and
acquainted with the more rudimentary principles
of the game. To this end, it is reported, an
entrance examination paper is in course of preparation,
in which individuals aspiring to official
recognition as caddies will be required to obtain a
percentage of at least eighty marks. The following
questions are said to have been already
drafted:—

1. Write your name, legibly if possible, in the
top right-hand corner of the sheet.

(Do not trouble to insert your nickname,
as it is a matter of indifference to the
examiners whether you are locally known
as “Tiger,” “Ginger,” or “Bill Bailey.”)

2. State your age. If this is less than six, or
[Pg 90]
more than seventy-five years, you may omit the
remaining questions and retire at once from the
examination.

3. Are you married or single? Give reasons
for your answer.

4. Illustrate the finer points of distinction
between

(a) a niblick and a gutty;

(b) a bye and a bulger.

5. Are you a Protectionist or a Total Abstainer?

6. Rewrite the following passage, correcting
anything that may strike you as an error or an
incongruity:—”In an 18-hole match, X., a scratch
player with a handicap of 20, stood dormy 12 at
the 17th hole, but while half-way through the
final green was unfortunate enough to get badly
bunkered behind the tee-box. Being required to
play ‘two more’ to his opponent Y., who had
laid himself dead in 6, he only played one of
them, thus holing out in 5, and securing a victory
by the narrow margin of 4 up and 7 to play.”

7. Given that the regulation charge for a round
is a shilling, would you consider yourself justified
in attempting to exact an extra half-crown for
[Pg 92]
club-cleaning from a player in spectacles, with
a handicap of 27 and a wistful expression?
(Candidates are advised to say “No” to this
question.)

“As She is Spoke.“—(In the train from Nice.)
Enthusiastic Golfer (to friend, as train stops at Golfe-Juan):
“Oh, here we are! This must be the
place. ‘Golfe,’ golf. ‘Juan,’ jeu, play, you
know. Yes, this is evidently the station for the
links!”

The Natural Crest of every Golf Club.—The lynx.

Five-o’clock “Tees.”—Suburban golf.

[Pg 89]

Stimied.—Golfer. “Fore!”

Tinker. “What?” Golfer. “Get out of the way!”

Tinker. “What for?” Golfer. “I might hit you.”

Tinker. “Thee’d best not, young man!”

[Pg 91]

Licensed Caddy. “Carry your clubs, sir?”

Jones (who has chartered a small boy at a
cheap rate). “No, I’ve got a caddy.”

Licensed Caddy. “Carry your caddy, sir?”

[Pg 93]

The Ruling Passion.—Laden and perspiring stranger.
“Could you kindly tell me how far it is to the station?”

Sportsome Native. “About a full drive, two brassies and a putt.”

[Pg 94]

THE GOLF WIDOWS

“A BEAUTIFUL DRIVE.”

[Pg 95]

“—— HE WOULD HAVE SAID”

A beautiful stroke missed! A favourite club broken!
No words to bring relief!

American Friend (in the background, after a long pause).
“Wa’al, Brown, I guess that’s the most profane silence I’ve ever listened to!”

[Pg 97]

Subtle.—”Aren’t you a little off your game this morning, Mr. Smythe?”

“Oh, I’m not playing this morning, Miss Bertha. Only just amusing myself.”

[Pg 98]

SHOULD MARRIED MEN BE ALLOWED TO PLAY GOLF?

July 21.—Played Robinson, who would never
win a match if it wasn’t for his wife. Think that
I shall start a links for bachelors only. (Mem.—Suggest
to the committee that no married man is
allowed to play golf in the mornings or afternoons.)

Hole I. I played perfectly, holing beautiful
long putt. Robinson hopeless. One up.

Hole II. R. bunkered. Entirely his own fault.
Two up.

Hole III. Holed my approach, allowing for
both wind and slope of green; really a grand shot.
Caught sight of Mrs. R. as I walked to the next tee.
Three up.

Hole IV. Thought that I might have to speak
to Mrs. R. at any minute. Missed my drive in
consequence. Disgusting! Two up.

Hole V. R. seemed to be looking for his wife
instead of attending to what I was saying. My
[Pg 100]
drive lay on a buttercup, and who the deuce can
be expected to play off buttercups? One up.

Hole VI. Stymied R. quite perfectly. He pretended
to think that we were not playing stymies.
We were. Two up.

Hole VII. Saw Mrs. R. looking aimlessly out to
sea. These loafing ladies are enough to put any
man off his game. Why can’t they do something?
One up.

Hole VIII. R. may say what he likes, but he
waved to his wife. I was also annoyed by his
stockings, which I should think Mrs. R. knitted.
The sort of useless thing she would do. All square.

Hole IX. Got well away from Mrs. R., and
though my caddy coughed as I was approaching I
laid my ball dead. Beautiful shot. One up at the
turn.

Hole X. Had the hole in my pocket when R.
laid his approach dead. Ridiculous luck. All
square.

Hole XI. Just as I was driving I saw Mrs. R. still
looking at the sea. I complained, but R. took no
notice. At any rate she cost me the hole. One
down.

[Pg 102]

Hole XII. Vardon couldn’t have played better
than I did, and even R. had to say “Good shot!”
twice. All square.

Hole XIII. As I was putting I had a feeling in
my back that Mrs. R. had arrived at last. Missed
my putt and only halved the hole.

Hole XIV. Couldn’t see Mrs. R. anywhere.
Wondered where on earth she had got to, or
whether she was drowned. Of course I lost the
hole. One down.

[Pg 104]

Hole XV. A little dispute, as R. claimed that his
ball—which was under a wheelbarrow—was on
ground under repair. Absolutely foolish, and I
told him so. All square.

Hole XVI. Made a perfect drive, approach and
putt. Looked everywhere for Mrs. R. and couldn’t
see her. One up.

Hole XVII. Completely put off by wondering
when I should see Mrs. R. Most unfair. Told
my caddy I should report him to the committee.
All square.

Hole XVIII. Saw Mrs. R. on a hill half a mile
away. Got on my nerves. R. said, “Halloa,
there’s my wife! I thought she wasn’t coming
out this morning.” Lost the hole and the match,
and told the secretary that R.’s handicap ought to
be reduced.

[Pg 99]

“SHE WAS NOT A GOLFER”

Husband. “What on earth has happened to my driver?”

Wife. “Oh, I couldn’t find the hammer, so I used that thing.
It wasn’t much use, though.”

[Pg 101]

OUR VILLAGE

The Golf-Club in full swing.

[Pg 102]

She. “Why, Mr. Smith, you don’t mean to say you have taken up golf?”

Smith (age 78). “Yes. I found I was getting a bit too old for lawn tennis!”

[Pg 103]

ERRATIC

Pedestrian (anxious for his safety). “Now, which way are you going to hit the ball?”

Worried Beginner. “Only wish to goodness I knew myself!”

[Pg 105]

SWEET SIMPLICITY

Diffident Man (who does not know to how much of an
ingénue he is talking). “Have you been out long, Miss
Grace?”

Miss Grace (consulting her wrist-strap). “Oh, about
three-quarters of an hour. You see we were asked to come punctually.”

[Pg 106]

LINES ON THE LINKS

[Pg 107]

Foreigner (who has “pulled” badly, and hit his partner in
a tender spot), “Mille pardons, monsieur! My clob—he deceived me!”

[Pg 109]

Tommy. “I say, do you know who’s winning?”

Ethel. “I think uncle must be—I heard him offer to carry auntie’s clubs.”

[Pg 110]

THE HOLE CONCERN

Scene—Any golf-club where an alteration of the course is in prospect.
Time—Any time, from dawn to dusk.
Characters—Any number of Members, plus (on this occasion) an Inoffensive Stranger.

First Member (catching sight of Inoffensive
Stranger). Look here, Nobbs, you’re an impartial
judge, we’ll have your opinion. What I say is
this. If you take the present 4th hole and make
it the 13th, putting the tee back ten yards behind
the 12th, and carry the lower green fifteen yards
to the right, and play the 2nd, 5th and 16th holes
in reverse order, keeping clear of the ditch outside
the 4th green, you’ll bring——

Second Member. Oh, that’s rubbish. Anybody
with a grain of sense would see that you’d utterly
ruin the course that way. My plan is to take the
first three, the 11th, and the 14th—you understand,
Nobbs?—(slowly and emphatically) the first
three, the 11th, and the 14th.

Inoffensive Stranger. Yes?

[Pg 112]

Second M. (quickly). And leave ’em as they are.
Leave ’em just exactly as they are. Then you do
away with the next, make the 3rd into the 7th,
and——

I.S. (horribly confused). But——

Third M. Yes, I know—you’re thinking of the
crossing from the 14th. And you’re perfectly
right. Simply fatal, that would be; too dangerous
altogether. What we really want is a 2nd hole,
and my plan would make a splendid one—really
sporting, and giving these gentlemen who fancy
their play a bit to do.

Second M. Don’t know about that. Tried that
patent 2nd hole of yours this morning out of
curiosity. Holed it with my third, and might
have done it in two, with a bit of luck.

Third M. (whistles expressively). Oh, come!
Splendid player you are, and all that—handicap’s
fifteen, isn’t it?—but there aren’t many of us
who would stand here and say calmly that we’d
done a hole of 420 yards in three! Really, you
know——

Second M. 420 yards? 130, you mean.

Third M. (defiantly). 420, if an inch.

[Pg 114]

Second M. But look here, you told me yourself
only yesterday——

Third M. (slightly taken aback). Oh, ah, yes. I
understand now. I did think, at one time, of
making the 2nd a short hole. But this is quite a
different idea. Miles better, in fact. It flashed
across me quite suddenly at dinner-time last night.
Sort of inspiration—kind of thing you can’t account
for—but there it is, you see.

Fourth M. Well, what you fellows can argue
about like this beats me altogether. There’s only
one possible way of improving the course, and I
showed you the plan of it last week. It won’t be
adopted—not likely. So good, and simple, and
inexpensive that the committee won’t look at it.
Couldn’t expect anything else. Anyhow (with an
air of unappreciated heroism)—I’ve done my best for
the club!

(Sighs heavily, and picks up a newspaper.)

Fifth M. (brutally). Oh, we know all about that
blessed plan of yours. Now, I’m open to conviction.
Mind you, I don’t condemn anybody else’s
scheme. All that I say is, that if a man doesn’t
see that my plan is the best, he’s a dunder-headed
[Pg 116]
jackass, and that’s all about it. What do you
think, Mr. Nobbs?

I.S. (rather nervously). Well, really—I hardly
know—perhaps——

First M. (compassionately). Ah, it’s those whins
below the 17th that are bothering you. But if you
exchange the 8th and the 10th——

Second M. (abruptly). Rot!

(The battle continues. The Inoffensive Stranger
stealthily withdraws. (Curtain.))

[Pg 111]

A TOWN MOUSE

Jones. “Well, my little man, what are you thinking about?”

London Boy (who has never been out of Whitechapel before).
“I’m thinkin’ it’s time yer mother put yer into trousers!”

[Pg 113]

A MARTYR TO APPEARANCES

Young Lady. “I say, caddie, what does Mr. McFadjock do with all these clubs?”

Caddie (wofully preparing to follow his tyrant). “He makes me carry them!”

[Pg 115]

LINK(S)ED SWEETNESS

The Real Caddie (audibly). “This club is going to ruin—allowing
all these ladies to join!”

Miss Sharp. “They evidently can’t get gentlemen!”

[Pg 117]

Sanguine Golfer. “Is that on the ‘carpet,’ caddie?”

Caddie (as the ball swerves into cottage window). “Yus, sir; front parlour, sir!”

[Pg 118]

THE OLD TYPE OF LINK MAN.

Supper time.

---

[Pg 119]

THE NEW TYPE OF LINK MAN.

Tee time.

[Pg 120]

“A THREE-CARD LAY”

[Pg 121]

GLORIOUS UNCERTAINTY

Scene—At the Golf Club.

She. “Good-bye, Major. What’s the programme for to-morrow?”

The Major. “Oh, either skating or punting, according to the weather.”

[Pg 122]

GOLF AND GOOD FORM

Is it good form to golf? That is a question I
have been so repeatedly asked of late by correspondents
that I can no longer postpone my
answer. Now to begin with, I fear there is no
doubt that golf is a little on the down grade—socially.
Golf is no longer the monopoly of the
best set, and I am told that artisans’ clubs have
actually been started in certain districts. The
other day, as I was travelling in Lancashire, a
man in the same compartment—with the most
shockingly ill-cut trousers I ever saw—said to a
friend, “I like ‘Oylake, it’s ‘ealthy, and it’s ‘andy
and within ‘ail of ‘ome.” And it turned out that
the chief attraction to him at Hoylake was the golf.
Such an incident as this speaks volumes. But I
always try to see both sides of every question, and
there is unquestionably a great deal to be said in
favour of golf. It was undoubtedly played by
kings in the past, and at the present moment is
patronised by grand dukes, dukes, peers and
premiers.

[Pg 124]

GOLF AND DRESS.

But the real and abiding attraction of golf is
that it mercifully gives more opportunities to the
dressy man than any other pastime. Football
and cricket reduce everyone to a dead level in
dress, but in golf there is any amount of scope
for individuality in costume. Take the case of
colour alone. The other day at Finsbury Park
station I met a friend on his way home from a
day’s golfing, and I noticed that he was sporting
the colours of no fewer than five different clubs.
On his cap was the badge of the Camberwell
Crusaders; his tie proved his membership of the
Bickley Authentics; his blazer was that of the
Tulse Hill Nondescripts; his brass waistcoat
buttons bore the monogram of the Gipsy Hill
Zingari; the roll of his knickerbocker stockings
was embroidered with the crest of the Kilburn
Incogs. The effect of the whole was, if I may be
allowed the word, spicy in the extreme. Of course
it is not everyone who can carry off such a combination,
or who can afford to belong to so many
first-class clubs. But my friend is a very handsome
man, and has a handicap of plus two at Tooting Bec.

[Pg 126]

KNICKERBOCKERS OR TROUSERS.

The burning question which divides golfers into
two hostile camps is the choice between knickerbockers
and trousers. Personally I favour the
latter, but it is only right to explain that ever
since I was gaffed in the leg by my friend
Viscount —— when out cub-sticking with the
Cottesmore I have never donned knickers again.
To a man with a really well-turned calf and neat
ankles I should say, wear knickerbockers whenever
you get a chance. The late Lord Septimus
Boulger, who had very thick legs, and calves that
seemed to begin just above the ankles, used to
wear knickerbockers because he said it put his
opponent off his play. If I may say so without
offence, he was a real funny chap, though a careless
dresser, and I am told that his father, old Lord
Spalding, has never been the same man since his
death.

STOCKINGS AND CALVES.

Another advantage of knickerbockers is the
scope they afford for the display of stylish
stockings. A very good effect is produced by
having a little red tuft, which should appear under
[Pg 128]
the roll which surmounts the calf. The roll itself,
which should always have a smart pattern, is very
useful in conveying the impression that the calf is
more fully developed than it really is. I noticed
the other day at Hanger Hill that Sir Arlington
Ball was playing in a pair of very full knickers,
almost of the Dutch cut, and that his stockings—of
a plain brown colour—had no roll such as I
have described. Then of course Sir Arlington has
an exceptionally well-modelled calf, and when in
addition a man has £30,000 a year he may be
allowed a certain latitude in his dress and his
conduct generally.

BOOTS AND SHOES.

The question of footwear at golf is one of
considerable difficulty, but there is a general
feeling in favour of shoes. My friend the
Tooting Bec plusser affects a very showy sort of
shoe with a wide welt and a sort of fringe of
narrow strips of porpoise hide, which fall over the
instep in a miniature cataract. As regards the
rival merits of india rubber studs on the soles and
of nails, I compromise by a judicious mixture of
[Pg 130]
both. If a waistcoat be worn it should be of the
brightest possible colour. I saw Lord Dunching
the other day at Wimbledon Park in a charming
waistcoat. The groundwork was a rich spinach
green with discs of Pompeian red, and the buttons
were of brass with his monogram in blue and
white enamel in the centre. As it was a cold day
he wore a mustard-coloured Harris tweed Norfolk
jacket and a sealskin cap. Quite a large crowd
followed him, and I heard afterwards that he had
raised the record for the links to 193.

QUALIFICATIONS FOR A VALET.

One thing is certain—and that is we cannot all
be first-class players. Personally, owing to the
accident I have already referred to, I hardly ever
play at all, but I always make it a point, if I am
going on a visit to any place in the country where
I know there are no golf links, to take a few niblicks
with me. A bag for clubs only costs a few
shillings, and it looks well amongst your other
paraphernalia on a journey. In engaging a valet
again, always remember to ascertain whether he
knows the rules of the “royal and ancient game.”
[Pg 132]
I shall never forget my humiliation when down at
Lord Springvale’s. As I was taking part in a
foursome with the Hon. Agrippa Bramble, Lady
Horace Hilton, and the second Mrs. Bunkeray,
I got stuck in a furze-bush and my man handed
me a putter. I could have cried with vexation.

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

Cavendish, Chatsworth.—As to the treatment
of divots, different methods are recommended by
different authorities. My plan, and I am not aware
of a better, is to put them in my pocket when the
caddie is not looking. When thoroughly dried
they form an excellent peat for burning, or can
be used for bedding out rhododendrons.

“Nil Desperandum,” Beckenham.—The best
stimulant during match play is a beaten-up egg in
a claret glass of sloe gin. The eggs are best
carried in the pocket of your club-bag.

A. Flubb, Woking.—No, it is not good form
to pay your caddie in stamps.

Alcibiades, Wembley Park.—If you must
play golf on Sunday, I call it nothing short of
hypocritical to go down to the links in a tall hat.

[Pg 123]

Between Friends.—Mr. Spooner, Q.C. (a Neophyte).
“This is my ball, I think?”

Colonel Bunting (an adept). “By Jove, that’s a jolly good ‘lie’!”

Mr. Spooner. “Really, Bunting, we’re very old friends, of
course. But I do think you might find a pleasanter way
of pointing out a perfectly unintentional mistake!”

[Pg 125]

A Hero “Fin de Siècle.”—Podgers (of Sandboys Golf
Club). “My dear Miss Robinson, golf’s the only game
nowadays for the men. Lawn-tennis is all very well for
you girls, you know.”

[Pg 127]

If you should find a stray bull in possession of the links, and who is fascinated by your little red landmarks,
don’t try and persuade poor Mr. Littleman to drive him away. He is very plucky—but it isn’t golf.

[Pg 129]

His First Round.—Caddie (pointing to direction flag).
“You’d better play right on the flag, sir.”

Curate. “Thank you very much. But I have very grave doubts as to my ability to hit such a very small
mark at this distance!”

[Pg 131]

Ear Blinkers.—A suggestion for caddies of tender age
in attendance on hot-tempered Anglo-Indian military gentlemen learning golf.

[Pg 133]

Every Man to his Trade.—Exasperated Amateur (to fore-caddie, who will
NOT go on ahead). “Go along, man. Do get on towards the next green.”

Caddie. “Beg parding, Capting. You won’t never get him to go no more than twenty yards ahead.
‘E’s been used to carrying a flag in front of a steam-roller.”

[Pg 134]

LAYS FROM THE LINKS

I.—The History of a Match.

Let A be the Links where I went down to stay,
And B the man whom I challenged to play:—

C was the Caddie no golfer’s without,
D was the Driver I used going “out”:
E was the Extra loud “Fore!” we both holloa-ed,
F was the Foozle which commonly followed:
G was the Green which I longed to approach,
H was the Hazard which upset the coach:
I was B’s Iron-shot (he’s good for a younker),
J was his Joy when I pitched in the bunker.
K was the Kodak, that mischief-contriver,
L was B’s Likeness—on smashing his driver:
M was the Moment he found out ’twas taken.
N was his Niblick around my head shaken:
O was the Oil poured on waters so stormy,
P was the Putt which, next hole, made me dormy.
Q was the Quality—crowds came to look on:
R the Result they were making their book on:
S was the Stymie I managed to lay,
T was Two more, which it forced him to play;
U was the Usual bad work he let fly,
V was the Vengeance he took in the bye.

W the Whisky that night: I must own
X was its quantity—wholly unknown;
Y were the Yarns which hot whisky combine with,
Z was the Zest which we sang “Auld Lang Syne“.

[Pg 136]

II.—A Toast.

[Pg 135]

Short-sighted Lady Golfer. “Hi! have you seen a golf-ball fall anywhere here, please?”

[Victim regards ball with remaining eye.]

[Pg 137]

Very mild Gentleman (who has failed to hit the ball five times in succession). “Well ——”

Up-to-date Caddy (producing gramophone charged with appropriate expletives). “Allow me, sir!”

[Mild Gentleman DOES allow him, and moreover presents him with a
shilling for handling the subject in such a masterly manner.]

[Pg 139]

First Golfer (to Second Golfer, who is caught in a bunker).
“Well, Jones told me this morning he did this hole yesterday in four.”

Second Golfer (who stammers). “If Jones s-s-said he did it in four, he was a l-l-l-l——”

First Golfer. “Steady, friend, steady!”

Second Golfer. “——he was a l-lucky beggar!”

[Pg 140]

GOLF-LAND—HOLE BY HOLE

Hole 1.—Halved in 28. D.J. gets into the
current with his 16th (a beauty) and is rescued
by life-boat.

Hole 2.—Abandoned. A green-finder with a
divining-rod, which is convertible into an umbrella,
states that Primitive Baptists are using the green
for purposes of total immersion.

Hole 3.—Abandoned. A regatta is found to be
taking place in the big bunker.

Hole 4.—Halved in 23. S.J. discovered with
life-belt round him which he has stolen from the
flag. Reported death of a green-keeper, lost in
trying to rescue two caddies from the bunker going
to the 11th hole.

Hole 5.—Abandoned out of sympathy with the
green-keeper.

Hole 6.—Abandoned. S.J. gets his driver
[Pg 142]
mixed in his life-belt, with the result that his
braces burst. D.J. claims hole on the ground
that no player may look for a button for more
than two minutes. Mr. Vardon, umpiring from
balloon, disallows claim. Both players take to
canoes.

Hole 7.—D.J.’s canoe upset by body of drowned
sheep as he is holing short put. Mr. Vardon
decides that corpses are rubs on the green.

Hole 8.—Abandoned, owing to a fight for life-belt.

Hole 9.—Halved in 303, Mr. Vardon keeping
the score.

Hole 10.—D.J. saves S.J.’s life. Hole awarded
to S.J. by Mr. Vardon out of sympathy. S.J.
one up.

Hole 11.—S.J. saves D.J.’s life and receives
the Humane Society’s monthly medal and the
hole from Mr. Vardon as a reward of courage.
S.J. two up.

Hole 12.—Abandoned. Collection made for the
widows of drowned golfers, which realises ninepence.
S.J. subsequently returns from a long,
low dive.

[Pg 144]

Holes 13 and 14.—Won by D.J. in the absence
of S.J., who attends funeral water-games in honour
of the green-keeper. All square.

Holes 15 and 16.—Abandoned by mutual consent,
whisky being given away by the Society of Free-drinkers.
Instant reappearance of the green-keeper.

Holes 17 and 18.—Unrecorded. Mr. Vardon
declares the match halved.

[Pg 141]

FORE and AFT

[Pg 143]

Short-sighted Golfer (having been signalled to come on by
lady who has lost her ball). “Thanks very much.
And would you mind driving that sheep away?”

[Pg 145]

Extract from the rules of a local golf club:—”Rule V.—The committee
shall have the power at any time to fill any vacancy in their body.”

[Pg 146]

A LESSON IN GOLF

“You won’t dare!” said I.

“There is nothing else for it,” said Amanda
sternly. “You know perfectly well that we must
practise every minute of the time, if we expect to
have the least chance of winning. If she will
come just now—well!” Amanda cocked her
pretty chin in the air, and looked defiant.

“But—Aunt Susannah!” said I.

“It’s quite time for you to go and meet her,”
said Amanda, cutting short my remonstrances;
and she rose with an air of finality.

My wife, within her limitations, is a very clever
woman. She is prompt: she is resolute: she has
the utmost confidence in her own generalship.
Yet, looking at Aunt Susannah, as she sat—gaunt,
upright, and formidable—beside me in the dogcart,
I did not believe even Amanda capable of the
stupendous task which she had undertaken. She
would never dare——

I misjudged her. Aunt Susannah had barely
[Pg 148]
sat down—was, in fact, only just embarking on her
first scone—when Amanda rushed incontinently in
where I, for one, should have feared to tread.

“Dear Aunt Susannah,” she said, beaming
hospitably, “I’m sure you will never guess how
we mean to amuse you while you are here!”

“Nothing very formidable, I hope?” said Aunt
Susannah grimly.

“You’ll never, never guess!” said Amanda;
and her manner was so unnaturally sprightly that
I knew she was inwardly quaking. “We want to
teach you—what do you think?”

“I think that I’m a trifle old to learn anything
new, my dear,” said Aunt Susannah.

I should have been stricken dumb by such a
snub. Not so, however, my courageous wife.

“Well—golf!” she cried, with overdone cheerfulness.

Aunt Susannah started. Recovering herself,
she eyed us with a stony glare which froze me
where I sat.

“There is really nothing else to do in these
wilds, you know,” Amanda pursued gallantly,
though even she was beginning to look frightened.
[Pg 150]
“And it is such a lovely game. You’ll like it
immensely.”

“What do you say it is called?” asked Aunt
Susannah in awful tones.

“Golf,” Amanda repeated meekly; and for the first time her voice shook.

“Spell it!” commanded Aunt Susannah.

Amanda obeyed, with increasing meekness.

“Why do you call it ‘goff’ if there’s an ‘l’
in it?” asked Aunt Susannah.

“I—I’m afraid I don’t know,” said Amanda
faintly.

Aunt Susannah sniffed disparagingly. She condescended,
however, to inquire into the nature of
the game, and Amanda gave an elaborate explanation
in faltering accents. She glanced imploringly
at me; but I would not meet her eye.

“Then you just try to get a little ball into a
little hole?” inquired my relative.

“And in the fewest possible strokes,” Amanda
reminded her, gasping.

“And—is that all?” asked Aunt Susannah.

“Y—yes,” said Amanda.

“Oh!” said Aunt Susannah.

[Pg 152]

A game described in cold blood sounds singularly
insignificant. We both fell into sudden silence
and depression.

“Well, it doesn’t sound difficult” said Aunt
Susannah. “Oh, yes, I’ll come and play at ball
with you if you like, my dears.”

“Dear Auntie!” said Amanda affectionately.
She did not seem so much overjoyed at her
success, however, as might have been expected.
As for me, I saw a whole sea of breakers ahead;
but then I had seen them all the time.

We drove out to the Links next day. We were
both very silent. Aunt Susannah, however, was
in good spirits, and deeply interested in our clubs.

“What in the world do you want so many sticks
for, child?” she inquired of Amanda.

“Oh, they are for—for different sorts of ground,”
Amanda explained feebly; and she cast an agonised
glance at our driver, who had obviously overheard,
and was chuckling in an offensive manner.

We both looked hastily and furtively round us
when we arrived. We were early, however, and
fortune was kind to us; there was no one else there.

“Perhaps you would like to watch us a little
[Pg 154]
first, just to see how the game goes?” Amanda
suggested sweetly.

“Not at all!” was Aunt Susannah’s brisk
rejoinder. “I’ve come here to play, not to look
on. Which stick——?”

“Club—they are called clubs,” said Amanda.

“Why?” inquired Aunt Susannah.

“I—I don’t know,” faltered Amanda. “Do
you Laurence?”

I did not know, and said so.

“Then I shall certainly call them sticks,” said
Aunt Susannah decisively. “They are not in the
least like clubs.”

“Shall I drive off?” I inquired desperately of
Amanda.

“Drive off? Where to? Why are you going
away?” asked Aunt Susannah. “Besides, you
can’t go—the carriage is out of sight.”

“The way you begin is called driving off,” I
explained laboriously. “Like this.” I drove
nervously, because I felt her eye upon me. The
ball went some dozen yards.

“That seems easy enough,” said Aunt
Susannah. “Give me a stick, child.”

[Pg 156]

“Not that end—the other end!” cried Amanda,
as our relative prepared to make her stroke with
the butt-end.

“Dear me! Isn’t that the handle?” she
remarked cheerfully; and she reversed her club,
swung it, and chopped a large piece out of the
links. “Where is it gone? Where is it gone?”
she exclaimed, looking wildly round.

“It—it isn’t gone,” said Amanda nervously,
and pointed to the ball still lying at her feet.

“What an extraordinary thing!” cried Aunt
Susannah; and she made another attempt, with
a precisely similar result. “Give me another
stick!” she demanded. “Here, let me choose
for myself—this one doesn’t suit me. I’ll have
that flat thing.”

“But that’s a putter,” Amanda explained
agonisedly.

“What’s a putter? You said just now that
they were all clubs,” said Aunt Susannah, pausing.

“They are all clubs,” I explained patiently.
“But each has a different name.”

“You don’t mean to say you give them names
like a little girl with her dolls?” cried Aunt
[Pg 157]
Susannah. “Why, what a babyish game it is!”
She laughed very heartily. “At any rate,” she
continued, with that determination which some of
her friends call by another name, “I am sure
that this will be easier to play with!” She
grasped the putter, and in some miraculous way
drove the ball to a considerable distance.

“Oh, splendid!” cried Amanda. Her troubled
[Pg 158]
brow cleared a little, and she followed suit, with
mediocre success. Aunt Susannah pointed out
that her ball had gone farther than either of ours,
and grasped her putter tenaciously.

“It’s a better game than I expected from your
description,” she conceded. “Oh, I daresay I
shall get to like it. I must come and practise
every day.” We glanced at each other in a silent
horror of despair, and Aunt Susannah after a few
quite decent strokes, triumphantly holed out.
“What next?” said she.

I hastily arranged her ball on the second tee:
but the luck of golf is proverbially capricious.
She swung her club, and hit nothing. She swung
it again, and hit the ground.

“Why can’t I do it?” she demanded, turning
fiercely upon me.

“You keep losing your feet,” I explained
deferentially.

“Spare me your detestable slang terms,
Laurence, at least!” she cried, turning on me
again like a whirlwind. “If you think I have
lost my temper—which is absurd!—you might
have the courage to say so in plain English!”

[Pg 160]

“Oh, no, Aunt Susannah!” I said. “You
don’t understand——”

“Or want to,” she snapped. “Of all silly
games——”

“I mean you misunderstood me,” I pursued,
trembling. “Your foot slipped, and that spoilt
your stroke. You should have nails in your boots,
as we have.”

“Oh!” said Aunt Susannah, only half pacified.
But she succeeded in dislodging her ball at last,
and driving it into a bunker. At the same
moment, Amanda suddenly clutched me by the
arm. “Oh, Laurence!” she said in a bloodcurdling
whisper. “What shall we do? Here
is Colonel Bartlemy!”

The worst had happened. The hottest-tempered
man in the club, the oldest member, the best
player, the greatest stickler for etiquette, was hard
upon our track; and Aunt Susannah, with a red
and determined countenance, was urging her
ball up the bunker, and watching it roll back
again.

“Dear Auntie,” said Amanda, in her sweetest
voice, “you had much better take it out.”

[Pg 162]

“Is that allowed?” inquired our relative
suspiciously.

“Oh, you may always do that and lose a
stroke!” I assured her eagerly.

“I shan’t dream of losing a stroke!” said Aunt
Susannah, with decision. “I’ll get it out of this
ditch by fair means, if I have to spend all day
over it!”

“Then do you mind waiting one moment?” I
said, with the calmness of despair. “There is a
player behind us——”

“Let him stay behind us! I was here first,”
said Aunt Susannah; and she returned to her
bunker.

The Links rose up in a hillock immediately
behind us, so that our successor could not see us
until he had reached the first hole. I stood with
my eye glued to the spot where he might be
expected to appear. I saw, as in a nightmare, the
scathing remarks that would find their way into
the Suggestion Book. I longed for a sudden and
easy death.

At the moment when Colonel Bartlemy’s
rubicund face appeared over the horizon, Aunt
Susannah, flushed but unconquered, drew herself
up for a moment’s rest from toil. He had seen
her. Amanda shut her eyes. For myself, I
would have run away shamelessly, if there had
been any place to run to. The Colonel and Aunt
[Pg 164]
Susannah looked hard at each other. Then he
began to hurry down the slope, while she started
briskly up it.

“Miss Cadwalader!” said the Colonel.

“Colonel Bartlemy!” cried Aunt Susannah;
and they met with effusion.

I saw Amanda’s eyes open, and grow round
with amazed interest. I knew perfectly well that
she had scented a bygone love affair, and was
already planning the most suitable wedding-garb
for Aunt Susannah. A frantic hope came to me
that in that case the Colonel’s affection might
prove stronger than his zeal for golf. They were
strolling down to us in a leisurely manner, and
the subject of their conversation broke upon my
astonished ears.

“I’m afraid you don’t think much of these
Links, after yours,” Colonel Bartlemy was saying
anxiously. “They are rather new——”

[Pg 166]

“Oh, I’ve played on many worse,” said Aunt
Susannah, looking round her with a critical eye.
“Let me see—I haven’t seen you since your
victory at Craigmory. Congratulations!”

“Approbation from Sir Hubert Stanley!”
purred the Colonel, evidently much gratified.
“You will be here for the twenty-seventh, I
hope?”

“Exactly what I came for,” said Aunt
Susannah calmly.

“Though I don’t know what our ladies will say
to playing against the Cranford Champion!”
chuckled the Colonel; and then they condescended
to become aware of our existence. We
had never known before how exceedingly small it
is possible to feel.

“Aunt Susannah, what am I to say? What
fools you must think us!” I murmured miserably
to her, when the Colonel was out of earshot looking
for his ball. “We are such raw players ourselves—and
of course we never dreamt——”

Aunt Susannah twinkled at me in a friendly
manner. “There’s an ancient proverb about eggs
and grandmothers,” she remarked cheerfully.

[Pg 168]

“There should be a modern form for golf-balls
and aunts—hey, Laurence?”

Amanda did not win the prize brooch; but
Aunt Susannah did, in spite of an overwhelming
handicap, and gave it to her. She does not often
wear it—possibly because rubies are not becoming
to her: possibly because its associations are too
painful.

THE LOST GOLFER

[The sharp decline of ping-pong, whose attractions at its
zenith seduced many golfers from the nobler sport, has left
a marked void in the breasts of these renegades. Some of
them from a natural sense of shame hesitate to return to
their first love. The conclusion of the following lines
should be an encouragement to this class of prodigal.]

[Pg 147]

The Retort Courteous.—(The Major-General waiting to drive, to girl carrying baby, who
blocks the way). “Now then, hurry on please with that baby.”

Girl. “Garn! Baby yerself, playing at ball there in your knickerbockers an’ all!”

[Pg 149]

A GOLF TOURNAMENT IN YE TIME OF YE ROMANS

From a rare old frieze (not) in ye British Museum.

[Pg 151]

“Anyway, it’s better to break one’s——clubs than to lose one’s —— —— temper!!”

[Pg 153]

A Place for Everything.—Obstructive Lady (in reply to the golfer’s warning call). “The whole
world wasn’t made for golf, sir.”

Youngster. “No; but the links wis. ‘Fore!”

[Pg 155]

Unenviable position of Mr. Pottles, whose record drive has just landed fairly in the ribs of irascible old
Colonel Curry, out for his constitutional canter.

[Pg 157]

Aunt Jabisca (pointing to earnest golfer endeavouring to play
out of quarry). “Dear me, Maud, what a respectably
dressed man that is breaking stones!”

[Pg 159]

Suggestion for a rainy day. Spillikins on a grand scale.

[Pg 161]

GOLF À LA WATTEAU—AND OTHERWISE

[Pg 163]

Major Brummel (comparing the length of his and his opponent’s “drives”). “I think I’m shorter
than Mr. Simkins?”

Small Caddie (a new hand, greatly flattered at being asked, as he thinks,
to judge of their personal appearance). “Yes, sir, and fatterer too, sir!”

[Delight of the gallant Major.]

[Pg 165]

ARRY AT GOLF.

[Pg 167]

Miss Dora (to Major Putter, who is playing an important match,
and has just lost his ball). “Oh, Major, do come and take your horrid
ball away from my little dog. He won’t let me touch it, and I know he must be ruining his teeth!”

[Pg 169]

Tennis Player (from London). “Don’t see the
fun o’ this game—knockin’ a ball into a bush, and then
‘untin’ about for it!”

[Pg 170]

THE AMERICAN HUSBAND.

[Pg 171]

THE ENGLISH WIFE.

[Pg 173]

A TOO-FEEBLE EXPLETIVE

MacSymon. “I saw you were carrying for the professor yesterday, Sandy. How does he play?”

Sandy. “Eh, yon man’ll never be a gowffer. Div ye ken what he says when he foozles a ba’?”

MacSymon. “No. What does he say?”

Sandy. “‘Tut-tut!‘”

[Pg 174]

THE LINKS

[Pg 176]

[Pg 178]

[Pg 175]

THE MISERIES OF A VERY AMATEUR GOLFER

He is very shy, and unfortunately has to drive off in front of the lady champion and a large gallery. He
makes a tremendous effort. The ball travels at least five yards!

[Pg 177]

Golfer. “And what’s your name?”

Caddie. “They ca’ me ‘breeks, but ma maiden name is Christy.”

[Pg 179]

“Mummy, what’s that man for?”

[Pg 180]

Distinction without Difference.—Sensitive Golfer (who has foozled). “Did you laugh at me, boy?”

Caddie. “No, sir; I wis laughin’ at anither man.”

Sensitive Golfer. “And what’s funny about him?”

Caddie. “He plays gowf awfu’ like you, sir!”

[Pg 181]

Jones cannot see his ball
anywhere, although he is positive it fell about there somewhere.

[Pg 182]

NEVER HAVE A CADDIE WITH A SQUINT!

[Pg 186]

[Pg 185]

Another Lenten Sacrifice.—Golf Caddie (to
Curate). “High tee, sir?”

Curate. “No; put it on the ground. I give up sand during Lent.”

[Pg 187]

Voice from the Hill. “Now then, you young coward,
don’t stand about all day. Why don’t you take it away from the dog?”

[Pg 189]

Boy (to young lady, who has been unfortunate enough to upset Colonel Bunker).
“You’d better ride on before ‘e gets ‘is breath, miss!”

Young Lady. “Why?”

Boy. “I’ve ‘eard ‘im play golf!!!“

[Pg 190]

A GROWL FROM GOLFLAND

[Pg 191]

A golf case was recently before the Court of Appeal. Why
not a Golf Court on the links?

GOLF VICTOR!

BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.