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Title: The Complete Golfer [1905]

Author: Harry Vardon

Release Date: February 17, 2009 [EBook #28107]

Language: English

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COMPLETE GOLFER

[1905] ***

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T H E C O M P L E T E G O L F E R

Portrait

T H E

C O M P L E T E G O L F E R

BY

H A R RY VA R D O N

OPEN CHAMPION, 1896, 1898, 1899, 1903

AMERICAN CHAMPION, 1900

WITH SIXTY-SIX ILLUSTRATIONS

SECOND EDITION
METHUEN & CO.

36 ESSEX STREET W.C.

LONDON

First Published June 1905

Second Edition June 1905

P R E FA C E

MANY times I have been strongly advised to write a book on

golf, and now I

offer a volume to the great and increasing public who are

devoted to the game.

So far as the instructional part of the book is concerned,

I may say that, while I

have had the needs of the novice constantly in mind,

and have endeavoured to the best of my ability to put
him on the right road to success, I have also presented
the full fruits of my experience in regard to the fine
points of the game, so that what I have written may be
of advantage to improving golfers of

all degrees of skill. There are some things in golf which

cannot be explained in

writing, or for the matter of that even by practical

demonstration on the links.

They come to the golfer only through instinct and experience.

But I am far from

believing that, as is so often said, a player can learn next

to nothing from a book.

If he goes about his golf in the proper manner he

can learn very much indeed.

The services of a competent tutor will be as necessary to

him as ever, and I must

not be understood to suggest that this work can to any

extent take the place of that compulsory and most invaluable
tuition. On the other hand, it is next to impossible
for a tutor to tell a pupil on the links everything about
any particular

stroke while he is playing it, and if he could

it would not be remembered.
Therefore I hope and think that, in conjunction with
careful coaching by those who are qualified for the task,
and by immediate and constant practice of the methods which
I set forth, this book may be of service to all
who aspire to play a

really good game. If any player of the first degree of

skill should take exception

to any of these methods, I have only one answer to make,

and that is that, just as

they are explained in the following pages, they are precisely

those which helped

me to win my five championships. These and no others I

practise every day upon

the links. I attach great importance to the photographs

and the accompanying

diagrams, the objects of which are simplicity and lucidity.

When a golfer is in difficulty with any particular stroke—and
the best of us are constantly in trouble

with some stroke or other—I think that a careful

examination of the pictures

relating to that stroke will frequently put him right, while

a glance at the companion in the "How not to do
it" series may reveal to him at once the error

into which he has fallen and which has hitherto

defied detection. All the illustrations in this volume have
been prepared from photographs of myself in

the act of playing the different strokes on the Totteridge

links last autumn. Each

stroke was carefully studied at the time for absolute

exactness, and the pictures

now reproduced were finally selected by me from about two

hundred which

were taken. In order to obtain complete satisfaction, I

found it necessary to have

a few of the negatives repeated after the winter had set

in, and there was a slight

fall of snow the night before the morning appointed for

the purpose. I owe so much—everything—to the great game of
golf, which I love very dearly, and

which I believe is without a superior for deep human and

sporting interest, that I

shall feel very delighted if my "Complete Golfer" is found

of any benefit to others who play or are about to play. I
give my good wishes to every golfer, and

express the hope to each that he may one day regard

himself as complete. I fear

that, in the playing sense, this is an impossible ideal.

However, he may in time

be nearly "dead" in his "approach" to it.

I have specially to thank Mr. Henry Leach for the invaluable

services he has

rendered to me in the preparation of the work

H.V.

TOTTERIDGE, May 1905.

C O N T E N T S

CHAPTER I

PAGE

GOLF AT HOME

The happy golfer—A beginning at Jersey—The Vardon family—An

anxious tutor—

Golfers come to Grouville—A fine natural course—Initiation

as a caddie—Primitive golf—How we made our clubs—Matches in
the moonlight—Early progress—The

study of methods—Not a single lesson—I become a

gardener—The advice of my

employer—"Never give up golf"—A nervous player to begin

with—My first

competition—My brother Tom leaves home—He wins a prize

at Musselburgh—I

decide for professionalism—An appointment at Ripon.

CHAPTER II

SOME REMINISCENCES

11

Not enough golf—"Reduced to cricket"—I move to Bury—A match

 with Alexander Herd

—No more nerves—Third place in an open competition—I play for

the Championship

—A success at Portrush—Some conversation and a match

with Andrew Kirkaldy—

Fifth for the Championship at Sandwich—Second at the Deal

tournament—Eighth in

the Championship at St. Andrews—I go to Ganton—An invitation

to the south of

France—The Championship at Muirfield—An exciting finish—A stiff

problem at the

last hole—I tie with Taylor—We play off, and I win the
Championship—A tale of a putter—Ben Sayers wants a
"wun'"—What Andrew thought of Muirfield—I win the Championship
again at Prestwick—Willie Park as runner-up—My great match
with

Park—Excellent arrangements—A welcome victory—On money matches in

general—

My third Championship at Sandwich—My fourth at

Prestwick—Golf under

difficulties.

CHAPTER III

THE WAY TO GOLF

25

The mistakes of the beginner—Too eager to play a round

—Despair that follows—A

settling down to mediocrity—All men may excel—The sorrows of

a foozler—My

advice—Three months' practice to begin with—The makings of

a player—Good golf is

best—How Mr. Balfour learned the game—A wise example—Go to

the professional—

The importance of beginning well—Practise with each club separately—

Driver, brassy,

cleek, iron, mashie, and putter—Into the hole at last—Master of

a bag of clubs—The

first match—How long drives are made—Why few good players are
coming on—Golf

is learned too casually.

CHAPTER IV

THE CHOICE AND CARE OF CLUBS

37

Difficulties of choice—A long search for the best—Experiments

with more than a hundred irons—Buy few clubs to begin with—
Take the professional's advice—A

preliminary set of six—Points of the driver—Scared wooden clubs

are best—

Disadvantages of the socket—Fancy faces—Short heads—Whip in

the shaft—The

question of weight—Match the brassy with the driver—Reserve

clubs—Kinds of

cleeks—Irons and mashies—The niblick—The putting problem—It

is the man who

putts and not the putter—Recent inventions—Short shafts for all

clubs—Lengths and weights of those I use—Be careful of
your clubs—Hints for preserving them.

CHAPTER V

DRIVING—PRELIMINARIES

52

Advantage of a good drive—And the pleasure of it—More about

the driver—Tee low—

Why high tees are bad—The question of stance—Eccentricities and

bad habits—Begin

in good style—Measurements of the stance—The reason why—The

grip of the club—

My own method and its advantages—Two hands like one—

Comparative tightness of

the hands—Variations during the swing—Certain disadvantages of

the two-V grip—

Addressing the ball—Freaks of style—How they must be compensated for—

Too much

waggling—The point to look at—Not the top of the ball, but

the side of it.

CHAPTER VI

DRIVING—THE SWING OF THE CLUB

64
"Slow back"—The line of the club head in the upward swing—The
golfer's head must be kept rigid—The action of the wrists
—Position at the top of the swing—Movements of

the arms—Pivoting of the body—No swaying—Action of the feet

and legs—Speed of

the club during the swing—The moment of impact—More about the

wrists—No pure

wrist shot in golf—The follow-through—Timing of the body action—Arms

and hands

high up at the finish—How bad drives are made—The causes

of slicing—When the

ball is pulled—Misapprehensions as to slicing and pulling—

Dropping of the right shoulder—Its evil consequences—No trick
in long driving—Hit properly and hard—

What is pressing and what is not—Summary of the drive.

CHAPTER VII

BRASSY AND SPOON

78

Good strokes with the brassy—Play as with the driver—The

points of the brassy—The stance—Where and how to hit the
ball—Playing from cuppy lies—Jab strokes from

badly-cupped lies—A difficult club to master—The man with the

spoon—The lie for the baffy—What it can and cannot do—Character
of the club—The stance—Tee shots

with the baffy—Iron clubs are better.

CHAPTER VIII

SPECIAL STROKES WITH WOODEN CLUBS

85

The master stroke in golf—Intentional pulling and slicing—The

contrariness of golf—

When pulls and slices are needful—The stance for the

slice—The upward swing—

How the slice is made—The short sliced stroke—Great

profits that result—Warnings against irregularities—How to pull
a ball—The way to stand—The work of the right hand—A
feature of the address—What makes a pull—Effect of wind
on the flight of

the ball—Greatly exaggerated notions—How wind increases the

effect of slicing and pulling—Playing through a cross wind—
The shot for a head wind—A special way of

hitting the ball—A long low flight—When the wind comes from
behind.

CHAPTER IX

THE CLEEK AND DRIVING MASHIE

98

A test of the golfer—The versatility of the cleek—Different

kinds of cleeks—Points of the driving mashie—Difficulty of
continued success with it—The cleek is more

reliable—Ribbed faces for iron clubs—To prevent skidding—The

stance for an

ordinary cleek shot—The swing—Keeping control over the right

shoulder—

Advantages of the three-quarter cleek shot—The push shot—My

favourite stroke—The

stance and the swing—The way to hit the ball—Peculiar

advantages of flight from the

push stroke—When it should not be attempted—The advantage

of short swings as

against full swings with iron clubs—Playing for a low ball

against the wind—A particular stance—Comparisons of the
different cleek shots—General observations and

recommendations—Mistakes made with the cleek.

CHAPTER X

PLAY WITH THE IRON

112

The average player's favourite club—Fine work for the iron—Its

points—The right and the wrong time for play with it—Stance
measurements—A warning concerning the

address—The cause of much bad play with the iron—The swing—Half shots
with the

iron—The regulation of power—Features of erratic play—Forced and

checked swings

—Common causes of duffed strokes—Swings that are worthless.

CHAPTER XI

APPROACHING WITH THE MASHIE

118
The great advantage of good approach play—A fascinating
club—Characteristics of a good mashie—Different kinds of
strokes with it—No purely wrist shot—Stance and

grip—Position of the body—No pivoting on the left toe—The

limit of distance—Avoid

a full swing—The half iron as against the full mashie—The swing—

How not to loft—

On scooping the ball—Taking a divot—The running-up approach—A

very valuable

stroke—The club to use—A tight grip with the right hand—Peculiarities

of the swing

—The calculation of pitch and run—The application of cut and spin—A

stroke that is

sometimes necessary—Standing for a cut—Method of swinging and

hitting the ball—

The chip on to the green—Points of the jigger.

CHAPTER XII

ON BEING BUNKERED

131

The philosopher in a bunker—On making certain of getting

out—The folly of trying for

length—When to play back—The qualities of the niblick—Stance and

swing—How

much sand to take—The time to press—No follow-through in a

bunker—Desperate

cases—The brassy in a bunker—Difficulties through prohibited

grounding—Play

straight when length is imperative—Cutting with the niblick.

CHAPTER XIII

SIMPLE PUTTING

141

A game within another game—Putting is not to be taught

—The advantage of experience

—Vexation of missing short putts—Some anecdotes—Individuality

in putting—The

golfer's natural system—How to find it—And when found make

a note of it—The
quality of instinct—All sorts of putters—How I once putted
for a Championship—The

part that the right hand plays—The manner of hitting the

ball—On always being up and "giving the hole a
chance"—Easier to putt back after overrunning than when short

—The trouble of Tom Morris.

CHAPTER XIV

COMPLICATED PUTTS

150

Problems on undulating greens—The value of practice—Difficulties of

calculation—The

cut stroke with the putter—How to make it—When it is

useful—Putting against a sideways slope—A straighter line for the
hole—Putting down a hill—Applying drag to

the ball—The use of the mashie on the putting-green—Stymies—

When they are

negotiable and when not—The wisdom of playing for a half—

Lofting over the stymie

—The run-through method—Running through the stymie—How to play the

stroke, and

its advantages—Fast greens for fancy strokes—On gauging the speed

of a green.

CHAPTER XV

SOME GENERAL HINTS

160

Too much golf—Analysis of good strokes—One's attitude towards

one's opponent—

Inaccurate counting of strokes—Tactics in match play—Slow couples

on the course—

Asking for halves—On not holing out when the half is given—
Golfing attire—Braces

better than belts—Shoes better than boots—How the soles

should be nailed—On

counting your strokes—Insisting on the rules—Play in frosty

weather—Chalked faces

for wet days—Against gloves—Concerning clubs—When confidence in a

club is lost
—Make up your mind about your shot—The golfer's lunch—Keeping
the eye on the

ball—The life of a rubber-core—A clean ball—The caddie's

advice—Forebodings of

failure—Experiments at the wrong time—One kind of golf at

a time—Bogey beaten, but how?—Tips for tee shots—As to
pressing—The short approach and the wayward

eye—Swinging too much—For those with defective sight—Your opponent's

caddie—

Making holes in the bunkers—The golfer's first duty—Swinging on

the putting-greens

—Practise difficult shots and not easy ones, etc.

CHAPTER XVI

COMPETITION PLAY

177

Its difficulties—Nerves are fatal—The philosophic spirit—Experience

and steadiness—

The torn card—Too much hurry to give up—A story and a moral—
Indifference to your

opponent's brilliance—Never slacken when up—The best test of golf—

If golf were

always easy—Cautious play in medal rounds—Risks to be

taken—The bold game in

match play—Studying the course—Risks that are foolishly taken—New

clubs in

competitions—On giving them a trial—No training necessary—As

to the pipe and

glass—How to be at one's best and keenest—On playing in the

morning—In case of a

late draw—Watch your opponents.

CHAPTER XVII

ON FOURSOMES

188

The four-ball foursome—Its inferiority to the old-fashioned game—

The case of the long-

handicap man—Confusion on the greens—The man who drives last—

The old-
fashioned two-ball foursome—Against too many foursomes—Partners and
each other

—Fitting in their different games—The man to oblige—The

policy of the long-

handicap man—How he drove and missed in the good old

days—On laying your

partner a stymie—A preliminary consideration of the round

—Handicapping in

foursomes—A too delicate reckoning of strokes given and received—A

good foursome

and the excitement thereof—A caddie killed and a hole lost—A

compliment to a golfer.

CHAPTER XVIII

GOLF FOR LADIES

198

As to its being a ladies' game—A sport of

freedom—The lady on the links—The

American lady golfer—English ladies are improving—Where they fail,

and why—

Good pupils—The same game as the man's—No short swings for ladies
—Clubs of too

light weight—Their disadvantages—A common fault with the sex—

Bad backward

swings—The lady who will find out for herself—Foundations of a

bad style—The way

to success.

CHAPTER XIX

THE CONSTRUCTION OF COURSES

205

Necessity for thought and ingenuity—The long-handicap man's

course—The scratch

player's—How good courses are made—The necessary land—A long

nine-hole course

better than a short eighteen—The preliminary survey—A patient

study of possibilities

—Stakes at the holes—Removal of natural disadvantages—"Penny

wise and pound foolish"—The selection of teeing grounds—A few
trial drives—The arrangement of long and short holes—The best two-
shot and three-shot holes—Bunkers and where to

place them—The class of player to cater for—The scratch man's

game—The shots to

be punished—Bunkers down the sides—The best putting greens—Two tees

to each

hole—Seaside courses.

CHAPTER XX

LINKS I HAVE PLAYED ON

219

Many first-class links—The best of all—Sandwich—Merits of the

Royal St. George's course—Punishments for faults and rewards for
virtue—Not a short course—The best

hole—The Maiden—Other good holes—Prestwick an excellent course—The

third and

the ninth holes—The finest hole anywhere—Hoylake—Two or three

tame holes—A

means of improvement—Good hazards and a premium on straight

play—St. Andrews

—Badly-placed bunkers—A good second hole—The finest one-shot

hole to be found

anywhere—An unfair hole—The best holes at Muirfield—Troon—North

Berwick—

Cruden Bay—Dornoch—Machrihanish—A splendid course at Islay—The

most

difficult hole I know—Gullane—Kilspindie—Luffness—Links in Ireland—

Portrush—

Portmarnock—Dollymount—Lahinch—Newcastle—Welsh courses—Ashburnham—

Harlech—On the south and south-west coasts—The rushes at

Westward Ho!—

Newquay—Good holes at Deal—Littlestone—Rye—The advantage of

Cromer—

Brancaster—Hunstanton—Sheringham—Redcar—Seaton

Carew—St.

Anne's—

Formby—Wallasey—Inland courses—Sunningdale—A splendid course—Another at

Walton Heath—Huntercombe—London links—Courses in the country—

Sheffield—
Manchester—Huddersfield—"Inland" courses at the seaside—A warning.

CHAPTER XXI

GOLF IN AMERICA

232

Good golf in the United States—My tour through the country—Mr.

Travis's victory in our

Amateur Championship—Not a surprise—The man who played the

best golf—British

amateurs must wake up—Other good Americans will come—Our casual

methods of

learning golf—The American system—My matches in the States—A

good average—

Driving well—Some substantial victories—Some difficult matches—Course

records—

Enthusiasm of the American crowds—The golf fever—The king of

baseball takes to golf—The American Open Championship—A hard
fight with J.H. Taylor—A welcome

win—Curious experiences in Florida—Greens without grass—The plague

of locusts—

Some injury to my game—"Mr. Jones"—Fooling the caddies—Camping

out on the links—Golf reporting in America—Ingenious and good—
Mistakes made by non-golfing writers—Lipping the hole for a
hundred dollars.

CHAPTER XXII

CONCERNING CADDIES

245

Varieties of caddies—Advice to a left-handed player—Cock-shots at

Ganton—Unearned

increments—An offer to carry for the fun of the thing

—The caddie who knows too much—My ideal caddie—His
points—The girl caddie—A splendid type—Caddies'

caustic humour—Some specimens of it—Mr. Balfour's taste

in caddies—When the

caddie is too anxious—Good human kindness—"Big

Crawford"—"Lookin' aifter

Maister Balfour"—An ingenious claim—A salute for the Chief

Secretary—A story of a distressed clergyman—Sandy Smith—The
clothes he wore—An excess of zeal—The
caddies' common-sense—When his lot is not a happy one.

CHAPTER XXIII

REFLECTIONS AND RECOLLECTIONS

259

Good golf to come—Giants of the past—The amateurs of to-

day—The greatness of

"Freddy" Tait—Modern professionals—Good sportsmen and good

friends—A

misconception—The constant strain—How we always play our best—

Difficult tasks—

No "close season" in golf—Spectators at big matches—Certain

anecdotes—Putting for applause—Shovelling from a bunker—The greatest
match I have ever played in—A

curious incident—A record in halves—A coincidence—The exasperation

of Andrew—

The coming of spring—The joyful golfer.

APPENDIX (Rules of the Game)

267

INDEX

279

L I S T O F I L L U S T R AT I O N S

PORTRAIT

Frontispiece

PLATE

PAGE

I. My set of clubs

48

II. The grip with the left hand

58

III. The overlapping grip

58
IV. The overlapping grip

58

V. The overlapping grip

58

VI. Driver and brassy. The stance

66

VII. Driver and brassy. Top of the swing

66

VIII. Driver and brassy. Top of the swing from behind

66

IX. Driver and brassy. Finish of the swing

66

X. How not to drive

72

XI. How not to drive

72

XII. How not to drive

72

XIII. How not to drive

72

XIV. Driver and brassy. Stance when playing for a slice

86

Driver and brassy. Top of the swing when playing for a

XV.

86

slice

XVI. Driver and brassy. Finish when playing for a slice

86

XVII. Driver and brassy. Playing for a pull. Stance

90

Driver and brassy. Top of the swing when playing for a

XVIII.

90

pull

XIX. Driver and brassy. Finish when playing for a pull

90

XX. Driver and brassy. Stance for a low ball against the
wind

96

XXI. Driver and brassy. Stance for a high ball with the wind

96

XXII. Full shot with the cleek. Stance

102

XXIII. Full shot with the cleek. Top of the swing

102

XXIV. Full shot with the cleek. Finish

102

XXV. Full shot with the cleek. Finish

102

XXVI. The push shot with the cleek. Stance

106

XXVII. The push shot with the cleek. Top of the swing

106

XXVIII. The push shot with the cleek. Finish

106

XXIX. A low ball (against wind) with the cleek. Stance

106

A low ball (against wind) with the cleek. Top of the

XXX.
106

swing

XXXI. A low ball (against wind) with the cleek. Finish

106

XXXII. Faulty play with the cleek

110

XXXIII. Faulty play with the cleek

110

XXXIV. Faulty play with the cleek

110

XXXV. Faulty play with the cleek

110

XXXVI. Faulty play with the cleek

110

XXXVII. Full iron shot. Stance

114

XXXVIII. Full iron shot. Top of the swing

114

XXXIX. Full iron shot. Finish

114

XL. Play with the iron for a low ball (against wind). Stance

114

Play with the iron for a low ball (against wind). Top of

XLI.

114

the swing

XLII. Play with the iron for a low ball (against wind). Finish

114

XLIII. Mashie approach (pitch and run). Stance

122
XLIV. Mashie approach (pitch and run). Top of the swing

122

XLV. Mashie approach (pitch and run). Finish

122

XLVI. Mistakes with the mashie

122

XLVII. Mistakes with the mashie

122

XLVIII. Mistakes with the mashie

122

Running-up approach with mashie or iron. Finish, with

XLIX.

122

stance also indicated

L. A cut approach with the mashie. Stance

122

LI. A cut approach with the mashie. Top of the swing

122

LII. A cut approach with the mashie. Finish

122

The niblick in a bunker. Top of an ordinary stroke

when it

LIII.

136

is intended to take much sand

"Well out!" Finish of an ordinary stroke in a bunker

when

LIV. much sand is taken

136

Another bunker stroke. Top of the swing when intending

LV.

136

to take the ball cleanly and with a little cut

LVI. Finish, after taking the ball cleanly from a bunker

136

LVII. Putting

146

LVIII. Putting

146

DIAGRAMS.

Trajectory of ball when a distant slice is required

89

Trajectory of ball in the case of a quick slice

90

Method and effect of pulling into a cross wind from the

right 94

The push shot with the cleek

106

Putting with cut on a sloping green

154

Nails in golfing boots and shoes

167

Points to look at when addressing the ball

170

T H E C O M P L E T E G O L F E R

C H A P T E R I

GOLF AT HOME

The happy golfer—A beginning at Jersey—The Vardon family—An

anxious
tutor—Golfers come to Grouville—A fine natural course—Initiation
as a

caddie—Primitive golf—How we made our clubs—Matches in the

moonlight

—Early progress—The study of methods—Not a single

lesson—I become a

gardener—The advice of my employer—"Never give up golf"—A

nervous

player to begin with—My first competition—My brother Tom leaves

home—

He wins a prize at Musselburgh—I decide for

professionalism—An

appointment at Ripon.

I HAVE sometimes heard good golfers sigh regretfully, after holing

out on the

eighteenth green, that in the best of circumstances as to

health and duration of life they cannot hope for more than
another twenty, or thirty, or forty years of golf,
and they are then very likely inclined to be a little
bitter about the good years of their youth that they may have
"wasted" at some other less fascinating sport. When the
golfer's mind turns to reflections such as these, you may
depend

upon it that it has been one of those days when everything

has gone right and nothing wrong, and the supreme joy
of life has been experienced on the links.

The little white ball has seemed possessed of a soul—a

soul full of kindness and

the desire for doing good. The clubs have seemed

endowed with some subtle

qualities that had rarely been discovered in them before. Their

lie, their balance,

their whip, have appeared to reach the ideal, and such

command has been felt over them as over a dissecting instrument
in the hands of a skilful surgeon. The

sun has been shining and the atmosphere has sparkled when,
flicked cleanly

from the tee, the rubber-cored ball has been sent singing
through the air. The drives have all been long and straight, the
brassy shots well up, the approaches

mostly dead, and the putts have taken the true line to the tin.
Hole after hole has
been done in bogey, and here and there the common enemy has
been beaten by a stroke. Perhaps the result is a
record round, and, so great is the enthusiasm for the
game at this moment, that it is regarded as a great
misfortune that the sun has

set and there is no more light left for play. These are the times
when the golfer's

pulse beats strong, and he feels the remorse of the man with
the misspent youth

because he was grown up and his limbs were setting before

ever he teed a ball.

Well, at least I can say that I have not missed much of

the game that I love

with a great fondness, for I played a kind of prehistoric

golf when I was a bad

boy of seven, and off and on I have played it ever

since. It was fortunate for me

that the common land at Jersey was years ago the ideal thing
for a golfing links,

and that golfers from abroad found out its secret, as they
always do. If they had

failed to do so in this case, I might still

have been spending my life in

horticultural pursuits. For I was born (on May 9, 1870) and

bred in Jersey, at that

little place called Grouville, which is no more than

a collection of scattered cottages and farmhouses a few miles
from St. Heliers. Both my parents were

natives of Jersey, and my father, who was seventy-four

on the 5th of last

November, has been a gardener there all his life,

holding the proud record of having changed his place
of employment only once during the whole period.

There was a big family of us—six boys and two girls—and

all, except one of my

sisters, are still alive. My brothers were George, Phil,

Edward, Tom, and Fred, and I came fourth down the list,
after Edward. As most golfers know, my brother

Tom, to whom I owe very much, is now the professional

at the Royal St.

George's Club at Sandwich, while Fred is a professional

in the Isle of Man. In due course we all went to the
little village school; but I fear, from all that I
can

remember, and from what I have been told, that knowledge had little
attraction

for me in those days, and I know that I very often played

truant, sometimes for

three weeks at a stretch. Consequently my old schoolmaster,

Mr. Boomer, had no

particular reason to be proud of me at that time,

as he seems to have become since. He never enjoys a
holiday so much in these days as when he comes over

from Jersey to see me play for the Open Championship, as

he does whenever the

meeting is held at Sandwich. But when I did win a

Championship on that course,

he was so nervous and excited about my play and my

prospects that he felt

himself unequal to watching me, and during most of the

time that I was doing my four rounds he was sitting in
a fretful state upon the seashore. I was a thin

and rather delicate boy with not much physical strength, but
I was as enthusiastic as the others in the games
that were played at that time, and my first ambition
was to excel at cricket. A while afterwards I became
attached to football, and I

retained some fondness for this game long after I took up

golf. Even after my golfing tour in America a few years ago,
when quite at my best, I captained the

Ganton football team and played regularly in its matches.

One day, when I was about seven years of age, a

very shocking thing

happened at Grouville. All the people there lived a

quiet, undisturbed life, and had a very wholesome
respect for the sanctity of the Sabbath day. But of
all days

of the week it was a Sunday when a small party of

strange gentlemen made their

appearance on the common land, and began to survey and to

mark out places for

greens and tees. Then the story went about that they were making
preparations to
play a game called golf. That was enough to excite the
wrathful indignation of

all the tenant-farmers round about, and without delay

they began to think out means for expelling these
trespassers from the common land. A tale of

indignation spread through Grouville, and these golfers, of

whom I remember

that Mr. Brewster was one, were not at first regarded in the
light of friendship.

But they soon made their position secure by obtaining all

necessary authority

and permission for what they were about to do from the constable
of the parish,

and from that day we had to resign ourselves to the fact

that a new feature had

entered into the quiet life of Jersey. The little party went
ahead with the marking

out of their course, though indeed the natural state

of the place was so perfect from the golfer's point
of view that very little work was necessary, and no first-
class golf links was ever made more easily. There were sand
and other natural hazards everywhere, the grass was short and
springy just as it is on all good sea-coast links,
and all that it was necessary to do was to put a
flag down where each

hole was going to be, and run the mower and the roller over
the space selected

for the putting green. Rooms were rented at a

little inn hard by, which was forthwith rechristened the
Golf Inn, and the headquarters of the Jersey golfers are
still at the same place, though a large club-room has
been added. That was the beginning of the Royal Jersey Golf
Club. The links as they were when they

were first completed were really excellent—much better than they

are to-day, for

since then, in order to prevent the sand being blown

all over the course by the strong winds which sweep across
the island, the bunkers have in most cases been

filled with clay, which has to a great extent spoiled them.

When everything was ready, more of these golfers came across

from England

to play this new game which we had never seen before, and all
the youngsters of
the locality were enticed into their service to carry their clubs.
I was among the

number, and that was my first introduction to the game. We

did not think much

of it upon our first experience; but after we had

carried for a few rounds we came to see that it
contained more than we had imagined. Then we were seized

with a desire to play it ourselves, and discover what we

could do. But we had no

links to play upon, no clubs, no balls, and no money.

However, we surmounted

all these difficulties. To begin with, we laid out a special

course of our very own.

It consisted of only four holes, and each one of them was

only about fifty yards

long, but for boys of seven that was quite enough. We made our
teeing grounds,

smoothed out the greens, and, so far as this part of the

business was concerned,

we were soon ready for play. There was no difficulty about balls,
for we decided

at once that the most suitable article for us, in the

absence of real gutties, was the

big white marble which we called a taw, and which was about
half the size of an

ordinary golf ball, or perhaps a little less than that. But

there was some anxiety

in our juvenile minds when the question of clubs came

to be considered, and I think we deserved credit for
the manner in which we disposed of it. It was

apparent that nothing would be satisfactory except a club

fashioned on the lines

of a real golf club, and that to procure anything of

the sort we should have to make it ourselves. Therefore, after
several experiments, we decided that we

would use for the purpose the hard wood of the tree which
we called the lady oak. To make a club we cut a thick
branch from the tree, sawed off a few inches

from it, and then trimmed this piece so that it had a

faint resemblance to the heads of the drivers we had seen
used on the links. Any elaborate splicing
operations were out of the question, so we agreed that we
must bore a hole in the

centre of the head. The shaft sticks that we chose

and trimmed were made of good thorn, white or black,
and when we had prepared them to our satisfaction

we put the poker in the fire and made it red hot, then bored
a hole with it through

the head, and tightened the shaft with wedges until the club was
complete. With

this primitive driver we could get what was for our

diminutive limbs a really long ball, or a long taw as
one should say. In these later days a patent has been

taken out for drivers with the shaft let into the head, which are
to all intents and

purposes the same in principle as those which we used to make

at Grouville.

By and by some of us became quite expert at the making

of these clubs, and

we set ourselves to discover ways and means of improving

them. The greater

elaboration of such brassies as we had seen impressed us, and

we also found

some trouble with our oak heads in that, being green, they were
rather inclined to

chip and crack. Ultimately we decided to sheathe the heads

entirely with tin. It

was not an easy thing to make a good job of this, and we

were further troubled

by the circumstance that our respective fathers had no

sympathy with us, and

declined upon any account to lend us their tools. Consequently

we had no option

but to wait until the coast was clear and then surreptitiously borrow
the tools for

an hour or two. We called these tin-plated drivers our

brassies, and they were certainly an improvement on our original
clubs. Occasionally a club was made in

this manner which exhibited properties superior to those possessed

by any other,

as clubs will do even to-day. Forthwith the reputation of the

maker of this club
went up by leaps and bounds, and he was petitioned by others
to make clubs for

them, a heavy price in taws and marbles being offered for the
service. The club

that had created all this stir would change hands two
or three times at an

increasing price until it required the payment of four

or five dozen marbles to become possessed of it. But the
boy who owned the treasure was looked upon as

the lord of the manor, and odds were demanded of him in

the matches that we

played.

We practised our very elementary kind of golf whenever we could,

and were

soon enthusiastic. I remember particularly that many of our

best matches were

played in the moonlight. The moon seemed to shine more

clearly at Jersey than

in England, and we could see splendidly. Four of us would go

out together on a

moonlight night to play, and our little competition

was arranged on the medal system by scores. Usually a
few marbles were at stake. To prevent the loss of taws
one of us was sent ahead to watch for their coming and
listen for the faint

thud of their fall, while the other three drove from the tee. Then the
three came

forward while the watcher went back to drive, and I

am sorry to say that our keenness in those days led
us to disregard certain principles of the sportsman's code of
honour which we appreciated better as we grew up. What
I mean is that

the watcher was often handicapped in a way that he little

suspected, for when he

went back to the tee, and we went forward and found that
our balls were not always so well up as we had hoped,
we gave them a gentle kick forwards; for in

the dim light we were able to do this unknown to each other.

But in legitimate

play we often got a 3 at these fifty-yard holes, and with

our home-made clubs,
our little white taws, our lack of knowledge, and our
physical feebleness all taken into consideration, I say we have
often done less creditable things since then.

After such beginnings, we progressed very well. We began to carry more

and

more for the golfers who came to Grouville; we found or were

given real balls

that took the place of the taws, and then a damaged club
occasionally came our

way, and was repaired and brought into our own service.
Usually it was

necessary to put in new shafts, and so we burnt holes in

the heads and put in the

sticks, as we did with clubs of our own make; but

these converted clubs were disappointing in the matter of
durability. It happened once or twice that golfers

for whom we had been carrying gave us an undamaged club as

a reward for our

enthusiasm, and we were greatly excited and encouraged when such

a thing

happened. I used to carry clubs about twice a

week. I remember that Mr.

Molesworth and Dr. Purves, both well known in the golfing

world, were two

players for whom I very often carried, and only the other
day when I saw the former at the Professional Tournament
at Richmond, watching the play, I was

able to remind him of those times and of a

particular shot he once played. We young caddies were very eager
to learn the game thoroughly, and we were in the

habit of watching these golfers very closely, comparing their

styles, and then copying anything from them that seemed
to take our fancy. I may say at once, in

reply to a question that I am often asked, and which

perhaps my present readers

may themselves be inclined to put, that I have never in

my life taken a single golfing lesson from anyone, and
that whatever style I may possess is purely the

result of watching others play and copying them when I

thought they made a

stroke in a particularly easy and satisfactory manner.

It was my habit for very many years after these
early days, until in fact I had won the Open

Championship, to study the methods of good golfers in

this way, and there are few from whom one is not able to
learn something. I cannot say that the play of

any one man particularly impressed me; I cannot point

to any player, past or present, and declare that I
modelled my style on his. It seemed to me that I
took

a little from one and a little from another until my

swing was a composition of the swings of several
players, and my approach shots likewise were of a very
mixed parentage. Of course when I took a hint from the play
of anyone I had been watching it required much subsequent
practice properly to weld it into my

own system; but I think that this close watching of

good players, and the

borrowing from their styles of all information that you

think is good, and then constantly practising the new idea
yourself, is an excellent method of improving

your golf, though I do not recommend it as the sole method

of learning, despite

the success which I personally have achieved. However, this is

a matter for later

consideration.

As we were such a large family and my father's means

were very limited,

there was the necessity which is common in such cases for all
of the boys to turn

out early in life and do something towards helping the

others, and accordingly I

went to work when I was thirteen. Some time afterwards I became

gardener to

the late Major Spofforth of Beauview, who was himself a very

keen golfer, and

who occasionally gave me some of his old clubs. Now and

then, when he was in

want of a partner, he used to take me out to play with

him, and I shall never forget the words he spoke
to me one day after we had played one of these

matches. "Henry, my boy," he said, "take my advice, and never

give up golf. It may be very useful to you some day."
Certainly his words came true. I can only
remember about these games that I was in the habit of getting
very nervous over

them, much more so than I did later on when I played

matches of far more

consequence. I joined a working men's golf club that

had been formed, and it was through this agency that I
won my first prize. A vase was offered for

competition among the members, the conditions being that six

medal rounds

were to be played at the rate of one a month. When

we had played five, I was leading by so very many
strokes that it was next to impossible for any of the others
to catch me up, and as just then my time came for
leaving home and going

out into the greater world of golf, the committee kindly gave
me permission to

play my last round two or three weeks before the

proper time. It removed all doubt as to the destination
of the prize, which has still one of the most honoured

places on my mantelpiece. At that time my handicap for

this club was plus 3, but

that did not mean that I would have been plus 3 anywhere else.
As a matter of

fact, I should think I must have been about 8 or 10.

By this time my younger brother Tom had already gone away

to learn club-

making from Lowe at St. Anne's-on-Sea. He played very much

the same game of

golf as I did at that time, and it was his venture and

the success that waited upon

it that made me determine to strike out. While Tom was at

St. Anne's he went on

a journey north to take part in a tournament at Musselburgh,

where he captured

the second prize. Thereupon I came to the conclusion that,

if Tom could do that,

then I too with a little patience might do the same.

Indeed, I was a very keen golfer just then. At
last Lowe was summoned to Lord Ripon's place at Ripon,
near Harrogate, to lay out a new nine-holes course, and Tom
wrote to me saying

that they would be wanting a professional there, and

if I desired such an

appointment I had better apply for it without delay. I

did so, and was engaged. I

was twenty years of age when I left home to assume these

duties.

C H A P T E R I I

SOME REMINISCENCES

Not enough golf—"Reduced to cricket"—I move to Bury—A match

with Alexander Herd—No more nerves—Third place in an
open competition—I

play for the Championship—A success at Portrush—Some conversation

and a

match with Andrew Kirkaldy—Fifth for the Championship at

Sandwich—

Second at the Deal tournament—Eighth in the Championship

at St. Andrews

—I go to Ganton—An invitation to the south of France—The

Championship

at Muirfield—An exciting finish—A stiff problem at the last

hole—I tie with

Taylor—We play off, and I win the Championship—A tale of a

putter—Ben

Sayers wants a "wun'"—What Andrew thought of

Muirfield—I win the

Championship again at Prestwick—Willie Park as runner-up—My great

match

with Park—Excellent arrangements—A welcome victory—On money matches

in general—My third Championship at Sandwich—My fourth at

Prestwick—

Golf under difficulties.

NO true golfer is satisfied with a little of the game,

if there is no substantial

reason why he should not have much of it. I was

greenkeeper as well as

professional to the Studley Royal Golf Club, Ripon;

but golf did not seem to have taken a very deep root there up
to that time. There was so little of it played

that I soon found time hang heavily upon my hands, and

in the summer I was reduced to playing cricket, and
in fact played more with the bat than I did with

the driver. There were one or two good players on the

links occasionally, and now and then I had some good games
with visitors to the place. One day after such a match
my opponent remarked very seriously to me, "Harry, if you
take my advice you will get away from here as quickly as
you can, as you don't get

half enough golf to bring you out." I took the advice very
much to heart. I was

not unduly conceited about my golf in those days,

and the possibility of being Champion at some future time
had taken no definite shape in my mind; but I was

naturally ambitious and disinclined to waste any opportunities that

might present

themselves. So, when I saw that the Bury Golf Club were advertising
for a

professional, I applied for the post and got it. It was

by no means a bad nine-holes course that I found at
Bury, and I was enabled to play much more golf than

at Ripon, while there were some very good amateurs

there, Mr. S.F. Butcher

being one of the best. I was now beginning to play

fairly well, and the first professional match of my
life was arranged for me, Alexander Herd of

Huddersfield being my opponent in this maiden effort, upon

the result of which a

stake of a few pounds a side depended. Herd was by that

time a famous player

and accomplishing some very fine golf, so that on paper

at all events the

unknown Bury professional had no chance whatever. So indeed

it proved. It was fixed that we were to play thirty-six
holes, home and home, Herd having the

privilege of playing on his own course first. I

forget how many he was up at Huddersfield, but it was so
many that I had practically no chance of wiping out

the difference when I brought my opponent to Bury, and in

the end he won quite

easily. "Sandy" Herd, as we all call him, and I have

had many great matches since then, and many of them of
far greater consequence than this, but I shall never
forget this beginning. Neither in those days, nor in
the others that soon followed, when it became clear that I
had a chance of becoming Champion, was

I ever in the least troubled with nervousness. I was

completely cured of my early

complaint. Moreover, I have not known what it is to be

nervous even in a

Championship round when my fate depended upon almost every

stroke, and

particularly on those at the last few holes. The

feeling that was always

uppermost in my mind was that I had everything to gain and

nothing to lose. It is

only when a man has everything to lose and nothing to gain

that he should

become uneasy about his game. When you have won a few prizes
and there are

critical eyes upon you, there may be some excuse for nerves,
but not before. All

young players should grasp the simple truth of this

simple statement; but it is surprising how many fail to do
so. No stroke or game ever seemed to cause me

any anxiety in those young days, and my rapid success may have
been in a large

measure due to this indifference.

In 1893 I decided that I would enter for the Open

Championship, which in

that year was played for at Prestwick, and I went north

in company with my

brother Tom, stopping on our way to take part in the

tournament at Kilmalcolm,

which was attended by most of the other professionals. I did

fairly well in this,

the first open competition for which I entered, being bracketed with
poor Hugh

Kirkaldy for third place. But I failed in the

Championship competition, as, of course, I fully expected
to do. That was Willie Auchterlonie's year, and I was
some way down the list. I started in great style, and, though
I broke down badly
later on, there was just the consolation left for me that after all
I did better than

my partner, Willie Campbell.

There were some curious circumstances attending the first big

success of any

kind that I achieved. This was at Portrush in Ireland,

shortly after the

Championship meeting, and the competition was a

professional tournament. I was drawn against Andrew
Kirkaldy in the first round, and his brother Hugh was

one of the next pair, so it seemed that the two

Kirkaldys would meet in the second round. Andrew assumed
that that would happen, as he had every right to

do, and he was heard to remark that it was rather

hard luck that the brothers should be set against each other in
this manner so early in the competition. The

night before the match-play part of the business commenced, I

was walking

down one of the streets of Portrush when I encountered Andrew

himself, and in

his own blunt but good-humoured way he remarked, "Young

laddie, d'ye think y're gaun to tak the money awa' with ye?
Ye've no chance, ye ken." I said nothing in reply,
because I felt that he spoke the truth. Next day a
heavy gale was

blowing, and I started very cautiously. The first hole

was on the side of a hill, and when my ball lay a yard
from the flag and I had the next stroke for the hole,

it was trembling in the wind and threatening every moment to

start rolling. So I

waited for it to steady itself, and my waiting

exasperated Andrew to such an extent that at length he
exclaimed, "Man, d'ye ken I'm cauld? Are ye gaun to keep
me waiting here a' nicht?" Then I took the putt and
missed it, so the hole

was halved. However, I set about my opponent after that, and

had begun to enjoy

the game immensely by the time we reached the turn. At

this point two of the holes ran parallel to each other,
and as we were playing one of them we passed

Hugh and his partner going up to the other. "Man,

Andrew, hoo's the game?"
called out brother Hugh. "Man alive, I'm five doon!" Andrew
replied in tones of distress. "Ma conscience!" muttered
Hugh as he passed along. Andrew was more

than five down at the finish of that game, and in the

second round I had the satisfaction of removing the
remaining member of the Kirkaldy family from the

competition, while in the semi-final I beat an old Open

Champion, D. Brown.

But in the final, Herd defeated me on the last green,

and so I had to be content

with the prize given for runner-up. Shortly afterwards I

won another prize in a tournament at Ilkley, this time
accounting for Herd as well as my brother Tom and many other
well-known players. Tom was professional at Ilkley, and
the

course there was a very difficult nine holes.

I did better in the competition for the Open Championship

in the following

year when the meeting was held at Sandwich, playing a

particularly good game

on the second day, when my 80 and 81 were one of the

two lowest combined

returns. At the finish I was fifth, and felt very

pleased to occupy the position, for the excellence of
the golf that I witnessed was a surprise to me. From
Sandwich

the professionals went on to Deal, where a tournament

was held, in which I

managed to secure second place. It was Herd who beat

me once again. At St.

Andrews in the 1895 Competition, I returned the lowest

score in the first round,

but could only tie for the ninth place at the

finish. My old friend, J.H. Taylor, who made his first
essay to capture the blue ribbon of golf at Prestwick at
the same time that I did, was the winner at both this and
the previous Championship

meeting. A few months later I left Bury for Ganton;

Tom, who had been over

there with some Ilkley players at the Yorkshire meeting, having

heard that they

were in need of a new professional, and written to me

at once with advice to apply. Between leaving Bury and going
 to Ganton I had three weeks of good

golf at Pau, in the south of France, the great and unexpected

honour being paid

me of an invitation to form one of a small party

of professionals for whom a series of matches and
competitions had been arranged there. Taylor, Herd,

Archie Simpson, Willie Auchterlonie, and Lloyd, the local

professional, were the

others. Professional golfers when they are out together

usually manage to have a

pretty good time, and this occasion was no exception. Knowing

a little French, I

was once appointed cashier and paymaster for the party, but
I did not know

enough of the language to feel quite at home when large

figures were the subject

of discussion, and I remember that the result was an

awkward incident at

Bordeaux on the return journey. We were called upon to

pay excess fare for the

luxury of travelling in the express, and, failing to

understand the ticket collector,

I was filling his hand with francs, one by one, waiting

for him to tell me when he

was in possession of the required amount. But he needed

more and more, and the

situation was becoming embarrassing, when the guard whistled

and the train

moved off. If it had not been for that intervention we might

still have been paying him excess fare. I went to
Ganton immediately on my return, and in the

spring of that year, 1896, a match between

Taylor and myself was arranged on my new course, when
I had the satisfaction of winning.

I was looking forward very keenly to the Open

Championship that year. It

was at Muirfield, and it took place only four or five weeks after
this encouraging

victory over Taylor. In the meantime I had been a little

off my game, and when I
teed my first ball at Muirfield it seemed to me that I
was as likely to make a bad

drive as a good one, and I was equally uncertain with all

the other clubs in my bag. But as it happened I was
fortunate enough to be playing well during the competition,
and was close up at the end of the first day, with Taylor
in the next

place above me. The next day I was again playing well,
and the result was

exciting. Taylor was doing his rounds only a few holes in

front of me, and late in

the contest it became apparent that the issue would be left

between us. I did not

know exactly what I had to do to win until about

four holes from the finish, when someone, who had seen
Taylor putt out at the last green, came up to me and
told me what number of strokes was still left to me
to play if I were to tie

with him. When I came to the last hole I had set me what
I think was the most

anxious problem that has ever come my way since I first took
up golf. I had five

strokes left to play in order to tie with Taylor and give

me the right to play off

with him for the Championship, and four left with which to win
it outright. It is a

fairly long hole—a drive and a good brassy, with a very

nasty bunker guarding

the green. Thus, while it was an easy 5, it was a

difficult 4, and the bold golfer

who made his bid for the low figure might possibly be
punished with a 6. My drive was good, and then I had to
make my choice between the bold game and

the sure one. A Championship hung upon the decision. The

prospect of being the

winner in less than five minutes was tempting. The brassy

would give me the

Championship or nothing. The iron would admit me to the

privilege of playing

off with Taylor another day. I hesitated. I think I

would have taken the iron in any case; but just when I
was longing for an inspiration, my eye wandered
among the spectators some sixty or seventy yards in front
of me, and I caught sight of my friend James Kay
of Seaton Carew making frantic efforts to attract

my attention, and pointing with his hand to the ground on

the near side of the bunker as a hint to play short. That
settled it. I played short, got my 5, and tied

with Taylor with a total score of 316.

The play-off was full of interest and excitement. Taylor

and I were granted

permission to take part in a tournament at North Berwick before

we settled the

question between us. When at length we teed up again

at Muirfield, I felt as though I were fit to play for
anything, and started in a way that justified my confidence,
for I picked up a useful lead of five strokes in
the first half-dozen holes. After that Taylor settled down
to most brilliant golf, and brought my lead

down to a single stroke; but at the end of the first

round I was two to the good.

To my exasperation, this lead disappeared with the very first stroke

that I made after lunch. There is a wood running
along the left-hand side of the line of the first hole on this
course. With my cleek shot from the tee I pulled the
ball into

this dismal place, and by the rule in force at the

time I lost two strokes and played again from the tee, Taylor
holing out in 3 to my 5. However, at this crisis

I came out again and won a stroke at each of the next

three holes, and only lost

one of them from that point to the seventeenth. Two strokes

to the good and two

holes to go—that at least seemed good for the

Championship. On the

seventeenth green, my brother Tom, who was carrying my clubs

for me, took a

lot of trouble to point out the line of a putt the

whole length of the green, but something prompted me to
take an entirely different course, and I holed the putt,

gaining another stroke. There we were, Taylor and I, at

that last hole again, but

this time we were together, and I had a big advantage over

my good friend on this occasion. There was more mental
golf to be played, and though Taylor's
ordeal was the more trying, neither of us had any
difficulty in coming to a decision. My course was clear.
With a lead of three strokes I had to play for a
5,

as on the previous occasion, because it was certain to

give me the

Championship. Taylor's only chance was to blaze away with both

his driver and

his brassy, and trust to getting his second shot so well

placed on the green as to

secure a 3, which, in the event of my dropping a

stroke through an accident in

the bunker or elsewhere and taking 6, would enable him

to tie. I obtained my 5

without difficulty, but Taylor's gallant bid for 3 met with

an unhappy fate, for his

second shot was trapped in the bunker, and it took him

6 to hole out. And so with

a score of 157 to Taylor's 161, I was Open Champion

at last, and for the first time in my life I felt some
emotion as a golfer. I was too dazed to speak,
and it

seemed as if my feet had taken root on the eighteenth green,

for I don't think I

moved for several minutes.

There is a little tale I want to tell about that

Championship, illustrating the old saying that golf is a
very funny game, and giving some point to a

recommendation that I shall have to make later on. Never

in my life have I

putted better than I did in those two rounds. If,

when I had a putt the whole length of the green, I
did not actually rattle it into the tin, I laid it
stone dead on

the lip of the hole; on no green did I take more than two
putts. Yet in the various

rounds I had played on several days before my

putting had been very indifferent.

How came this remarkable change? It seems to me that it was

entirely due to a chance visit that I paid to Ben
Sayers's shop when I was at North Berwick in the

interval between tieing with Taylor and playing the

deciding rounds. I told the clubmaker who was in charge
that I was off my putting, and wanted a new

putter. Hitherto I had been playing with one of the bent-

necked variety. While I

was looking about the shop my eye was attracted by an

old cleek that lay in a corner—a light and neglected club,
for which nobody seemed to have any use.

The strange idea occurred to me that this would make a

grand putter, and so I told the man to take out the old
shaft and put a new and shorter one in, and when

this process had been completed I determined to experiment with

it in the play-

off with Taylor. I fancied this new discovery of mine and

had confidence in it, and that was why I got all those
long putts down and achieved the golfer's

greatest ambition. But though I keep it still and treasure

it, I have never played

with that putter since. It has done its duty.

I must tell just one other story concerning this Muirfield

Championship.

Among the favourites at the beginning of operations were Ben

Sayers and

Andrew Kirkaldy, and a victory on the part of either

of them would have been most popular in the North, as
it would have settled the cup on the other side of

the Tweed. Ben was rather inclined to think his own

prospects were good.

Someone asked him the day before the meeting who was
the most likely

Champion. "Jist gie me a wun' an' I'll show ye wha'll

be the Champion," he replied, and he had some reason for
the implied confidence in himself, for he knew Muirfield very
well, and no one had better knowledge of how to play
the

strokes properly there when there was a gale blowing

over the course, and

pulling and slicing were constantly required. But neither Ben

nor Andrew was as

successful as was wished, and not unnaturally they thought

somewhat less of

Muirfield than they had done before. Therefore it was not fair
to ask Kirkaldy, after the competition had been completed, what
he really considered to be the merits of the course. I
was standing near him when a player came up and
bluntly

asked, "What d'ye think o' Muirfield now, Andrew?"

Andrew's lip curled as he replied, "No for gowff ava'. Just
an auld watter meedie. I'm gled I'm gaun hame."

But the inquirer must needs ejaculate, "Hooch ay, she would
be ferry coot whateffer if you had peen in Harry
Fardon's shoes."

There was an exciting finish also to the 1898 Championship,

which was held at Prestwick. The final struggle was left to
Willie Park and myself, and at the end

of the third round, when Willie was three strokes to the

good, it seemed a very

likely victory for him. In the last round I was playing

a hole in front of him, and

we were watching each other as cats watch mice the whole way round
the links.

I made a reckoning when we reached the turn that I had

wiped out the three strokes deficit, and could now discuss
the remainder of the game with Park

without any sense of inferiority. I finished very steadily,

and when Park stood on

the last tee just as I had holed out, he was left to get
a 3 at this eighteenth hole to

tie. His drive was a beauty, and plop came the ball down
to the corner of the green, making the 3 seem a
certainty. An immense crowd pressed round the

green to see these fateful putts, and in the excitement of

the moment, I, the next

most concerned man to Park himself, was elbowed out. I just

saw his long putt

roll up to within about a yard of the hole, which

was much too dead for my liking. Then, while Park
proceeded to carry out his ideas of accomplishing a

certainty, I stood at the edge of the crowd, seeing

nothing and feeling the most

nervous and miserable man alive. Never while playing

have I felt so

uncomfortable as during those two or three minutes.

After what seemed an

eternity there rose from all round the ring one long
disappointed "O-o-o-h!" I didn't stop to look at the ball, which
was still outside the hole. I knew that I had

won the Championship again, and so I hastened light-

heartedly away. I must

admit that Park was playing an exceedingly fine game at that

time, and it was only the fact that I was probably playing
as well as ever I did in my life that enabled me to
get the better of him. The day after winning the
Championship I

gained the first prize in a tournament at the adjoining course

of St. Nicholas, and

thereafter I frequently took part in competitions, winning much

more often than

not.

But the most important event, and the biggest match I ever
had with anyone,

was my engagement with Willie Park, who, not altogether

satisfied at having

missed the Championship by a putt, challenged me to play

him home and home

matches, thirty-six holes each time, for £100 a side. There was some
difficulty in

arranging final details, but eventually we agreed to play

at North Berwick and Ganton, North Berwick first.
I have never seen such a golfing crowd as there was
at North Berwick the day we played there. All
golfing Scotland seemed to

be in attendance, and goodness knows how many people

would have been watching the play if it had not happened that
the lukewarm golfers went instead

to Edinburgh to see the Prince of Wales, who was

visiting the capital that day. As

it was, there were fully seven thousand people on

the links, and yet this huge crowd—surely one of the very
biggest that have ever watched a golf match—

was perfectly managed, and never in the least interfered

with a single stroke made by either Park or myself.
The arrangements, indeed, were admirable. In

order to keep the crowd informed of the state of the game at

each hole, two flags

were made, one being white with a red "P" on it, and the
other red with a "V"
worked on in white. When Park won a hole the flag with
his initial was hoisted,

and the "V" was sent up when I won a hole, both flags being
waved when it was

a half. At each teeing ground a rope three hundred yards

long was stretched, and

fourteen constables and a like number of honorary officials

took control of it. In

order to prevent any inconvenience at the dyke on the

course, a boarding, forty

feet wide and fifty yards out of the line from the tee to the
hole, was erected, so

that the crowd could walk right over. Mr. C.C. Broadwood, the Ganton
captain,

acted as my referee, and Lieutenant "Freddy" Tait served in

the same capacity on behalf of Park. One of the most
laborious tasks was that undertaken by the two

Messrs. Hunter, who acted as forecaddies, and did their work

splendidly. In two

practice rounds that I played before the great

encounter opened I did 76 each time, and I felt very fit
when we teed up on the eventful morning. And I played

very steadily, too, though my putting was sometimes a little

erratic, and Park is

one of the greatest putters who have ever lived. The early
part of the game was

very extraordinary in that the first ten holes were halved in

4, 5, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 5, 4,

4. Then Park drew first blood, but in the end I finished

two up on the day's play.

When Park came to Ganton three weeks later, I beat him on

the two matches by

11 up with 10 to play. Naturally he was disappointed,

but he was very

sportsmanlike. He was acknowledged to be the greatest match-

player of his time.

I do not care for myself to lay any more stress on

the importance of this match,

or of the value of my own achievement; but those who have

taken up golf quite
lately can have no conception of the stir that it caused.
It was the event of my lifetime.

The remembrance of this encounter brings forward the

question of big

money matches generally, which several people have declared they

would like to

see renewed. Fifty years ago they were common enough,

and there are great stories told of foursomes between Allan
Robertson and Tom Morris on the one

side and the brothers Dunn on the other for a stake

of £400, and so on. The sightseers of golf ask why there
are no such matches now. I think it is because

golf professionals have to work too hard for the money they
earn, and they do not care for the idea of throwing it away
again on a single match. They do not

receive large "benefits" or gate money, as do professionals

in other branches of sport. So they deem it best to be
careful of their savings. Besides, such matches

tend to create bad feeling among the players, and we

professionals are such a happy family that we distrust any
scheme with such a tendency. Moreover, golf

at the present time is a delightfully pure game, so far

as gambling is concerned—

purer than most others—and such matches would very likely

encourage the

gambling idea. That would be a misfortune. I contend that after

all, for the best

and fairest and most interesting trial of strength there

is nothing like a good tournament where each player has
to test himself against all comers. Every man

plays to win, the golf is generally good, and what more is

wanted?

When I won the Championship again in the following year at

Sandwich, my

success was chiefly due to my brassy play, which

was better than it ever was before or has been since. From
my brassy strokes the ball was often enough laid

dead near the hole; certainly my second shots were

always the winning shots.

The game seemed very easy to me then, and I gained the

Championship for the

third time with less difficulty than on either of the two

previous occasions. In 1900 I made a long tour in America,
and won the American Championship.

Concerning these events I desire to write at some length

in a later chapter. The

greatest success which I have ever achieved in face of

difficulties was when I again became Open Champion at
Prestwick in 1903. For some time beforehand I

had been feeling exceedingly unwell, and, as it appeared

shortly afterwards,

there was serious trouble brewing. During the play for the
Championship I was

not at all myself, and while I was making the last round
I was repeatedly so faint

that I thought it would be impossible for me to

finish. However, when I holed my last putt I knew that I
had won. My brother Tom was runner-up, six strokes

behind, and, glad as I was of the distinction of having

equalled the record of the

two Morrises in having won the Championship four times,

I could have wished,

and did wish, that Tom had been the victor. In all the
circumstances I was very

much surprised that I did so well. The last day's work was an
enormous strain, yet on the following day I played in
a tournament at Irvine, won the first prize,

and broke the record of the course. It is wonderful what

golf can be played when

one's mind is given to the task, whatever the adverse factors

in the case may be.

However, these are the events of recent golfing history,

and I have no desire

to inflict upon my readers a narrative of any more of

them. As nearly as I can reckon, I have up to date
won the first prize in forty-eight first-class

tournaments, and by being four times British Open

Champion and once

American have still that record to my credit. And I hope

to play many of my best
games in the future, for it takes longer to kill the
golf in a man than it does to breed it.

C H A P T E R I I I

THE WAY TO GOLF

The mistakes of the beginner—Too eager to play a round—

Despair that follows

—A settling down to mediocrity—All men may excel—The sorrows

of a

foozler—My advice—Three months' practice to begin with—The

makings of

a player—Good golf is best—How Mr. Balfour learned the

game—A wise

example—Go to the professional—The importance of beginning well—

Practise with each club separately—Driver, brassy, cleek, iron,

mashie, and

putter—Into the hole at last—Master of a bag of clubs—The

first match—

How long drives are made—Why few good players are coming
on—Golf is

learned too casually.

THERE are different ways of learning to play the great game of

golf, each of

which enjoys its share of patronage. Here as elsewhere, there are,

of course, the

two broad divisions into which the methods of doing

all things are in the first instance classed—the right
way and the wrong way—and, generally speaking,

the wrong way has proved the more popular and is accountable
for much of the

very bad golf that one sees almost every day upon the
links. There are two

mistakes to which the beginner is much addicted, and to them

is due the unhappy

circumstance that in so many cases he never gets his

club handicap down to

single figures. Before he has ever played golf in his

life, but at that interesting period when he has made up his
mind to do so, and has bought his first set of clubs,
he is still inclined to make the same error that is made
by so many people
who know nothing of the game, and loftily remark that they
do not want to know

anything—that it is too absurdly simple to demand

serious thought or attention,

and can surely need no special pains in learning to play.

Is not the ball quite still

on the tee before you, and all that is necessary being to

hit it, surely the rest is

but a question of strength and accuracy of aim? Well, we

need not waste time in

discussing the opinions of the scoffers outside, or in

submitting that there never

was a game less easy to learn than golf. But the man who has
been converted to

golf most frequently has a vestige of this superstition of

his heathen days

lingering with him, and thus at the outset he is not

inclined to waste any time, as

he would say, in tuition, particularly as it happens that

these new converts when

quite fresh are invariably most delightfully enthusiastic. They

have promised

themselves a new sensation, and they are eager to get on to

the links and see how

much further than the two hundred yards that they have heard
about they can

drive at the first attempt or two. Then comes the inevitable

disappointment, the

despair, the inclination to give it up, and finally the

utter abject despondency which represents the most miserable state
on earth of the golfer, in which he must be
closely watched lest he should commit murder upon
the beautiful set of

clubs of which at the beginning he was so proud, and

which he spent his

evenings in brightening to the degree that they resembled the

family plate. Then

after this passage through purgatory come the first gleams

of hope, when two

holes in succession have been done in only one over bogey, and
 a 24 handicap

man has actually been beaten by 3 up and 2 to play—a

conquest which, if it is

the first one, is rarely forgotten in the golfer's lifetime.

After that there is a steady settling down to mediocrity. There
is afterwards only an occasional fit of despair,

the game is for the most part thoroughly enjoyed, there are times
when, after a

round in which driving and putting have been rather better

than usual, the golfer

encourages himself over his cup of tea with the fancy that after
all he may some

day win a medal and become a senior; but in the main

the conviction forces itself

upon him that it is impossible that he can ever become a

really fine player. He

argues that this is not at all his own fault. He

points out to himself that circumstances are too strong
for him. He considers that he is not very young—at

least not so young as many of the experts of his club who

have been golfing ever since they were boys. His limbs
have not that suppleness which makes the

scratch player. His eye is not so keen as theirs.

Besides, he is a business man who has to give up so
much of his time to the earning of his daily bread that
it is

impossible he should ever devote himself to the game with

that single-

mindedness which alone can ensure proficiency. He must

take himself as he

finds himself, and be satisfied with his 18 handicap. These

are the somewhat

pathetic excuses that he makes in this mood of

resignation. Of course he is

wrong—wrong from the beginning to the end—but there is little

satisfaction in

that for the earnest lover of the game who would see
all men excel, and who knows only too well that this failure
is but a specimen of hundreds of his kind—

good golfing lives thrown away, so to speak. If

a man is not a cripple, if he suffers from no physical
defect, there is no reason why he should not learn
 to play a good game of golf if he goes about it in
the right way. There is indeed a

one-armed golfer who plays a very fair game, and one may admit
all these things

without in any way suggesting that golf is not a game for

the muscles and the nerves and all the best physical qualities
of a well-grown man. No great amount

of brute force is necessary, and fleetness of foot,

which men lose as they grow old, is never wanted; but still golf
is a game for manly men, and when they take

it up they should strive to play it as it deserves

to be played.

Now I know what severe temptation there will be to all

beginners to

disregard the advice that I am about to offer them;

but before proceeding any further I will invite them
to take the opinion of any old golfer who, chiefly through
a careless beginning (he knows that this is the cause),
has missed his way in the golfer's life, and is still
plodding away as near the limit handicap as

he was at the beginning. The beginner may perhaps be

disposed to rely more

upon the statement of this man of experience and disappointment

than on that of

the professional, who is too often suspected of having

his own ends in view

whenever he gives advice. Let the simple question be put

to him whether, if he

could be given the chance of doing it all over again

from the beginning, he would not sacrifice the first three or
six months of play to diligent study of the

principles of the game, and the obtaining of some sort of

mastery over each

individual shot under the careful guidance of a skilled

tutor, not attempting

during this time a single complete round with all his clubs
in action, and refusing

all temptations to play a single match—whether he would not

undergo this slow and perhaps somewhat tedious period
of learning if he could be almost certain of

being able at the end of it to play a really good game

of golf, and now at this later period of his career
to have a handicap much nearer the scratch mark than
his existing one is to the border-line between the
senior and the junior? I am confident that in the great
majority of cases, looking back on his misspent

golfing youth, he would answer that he would cheerfully do

all this learning if he

could begin again at the beginning. Now, of course, it is too

late, for what is once

learned can only with extreme difficulty be unlearned, and it

is almost

impossible to reform the bad style and the bad habits which
have taken root and

been cultivated in the course of many years; and if it

were possible it would be

far more difficult than it would have been to learn the

game properly at the beginning.

My earnest advice to the beginner is to undergo this

slow process of tuition

for nothing less than three months, and preferably more. It is

a very long time, I

know, and it may seem painfully tedious work, simply

knocking a ball

backwards and forwards for all those months; but if he

does not accept my

suggestion he will have harder things to try his patience

during many years

afterwards, while, if he takes my advice, he may be down

very near to scratch at

the end of his first year, and he will be very thankful that
he spent the period of

probation as he did. He will constantly be giving a half

to players who have been

playing for more years than he has months, and he will be

holding his own in the

very best golfing company. He will be getting the finest

delight out of the game

that it is possible to get. It is said that the long

handicap man gets as much pleasure out of the game as the
short handicap man. As the former has never been a short
handicap man he is evidently not qualified to judge. The
scratch man, who has been through it all, would never change
his scratch play for that of
his old long-handicap days—at least I have never yet met the
scratch man who

would. No doubt the noble army of foozlers derive

an immense amount of

enjoyment from the practice of their game, and it is my

earnest prayer that they

may long continue to do so. It is one of the glorious

advantages of golf that all,

the skilled and the unskilled, can revel in its fascinations

and mysteries; but there

is no golfing delight so splendid as that which is

obtained from playing the perfect game, or one which
nearly approaches it. The next best thing to it is

playing what one knows to be an improving game, however bad,

and the golfer whose play has been incorrectly established
has not often even the knowledge

that his game is improving. He declares more often than not that
it gets worse,

and one is frequently inclined to believe him.

Now the middle-aged man may say that he is too old to go

in for this sort of

thing, that all he wants is a little fresh air and

exercise, and as much enjoyment

as he can get out of playing the game in just the same

sort of way that the "other

old crocks" do. He would rather play well, of

course, if it were not too late to begin; but it is too
late, and there is an end of it. That is the way in
which he puts

it. So large a proportion of our new converts to golf belong

to this middle-aged

class, that it is worth while giving a few

special words of advice to them. Mr.

Forty and Mr. Forty-Five, you are not a day too old, and
I might even make scratch men of you, if I were to
take you in hand and you did all the things I told

you to do and for as long as I told you. Given fair

circumstances, there is no reason why any man should
despair of becoming either a scratch player or
one

who is somewhere very near it, and it is as easy to learn

 to play well as it is to

learn to play badly.

So I advise every golfer to get hold of the game stroke

by stroke, and never

be too ambitious at the commencement. I have heard it

stated on very good

authority that when Mr. Balfour first began to play he submitted

himself to very

much the same process of tuition as that which I am

about to advise, and that under the guidance of Tom Dunn he
actually spent a miserable fortnight in

bunkers only, learning how to get out of them from every

possible position. The

right honourable gentleman must have saved hundreds of strokes

since then as

the result of that splendid experience, trying as it must

have been. He is in these

days a very good and steady player, and he might be still

better if parliamentary

cares did not weigh so heavily upon him. I may humbly

suggest that the way in

which he began to play golf was characteristic of his wisdom.

Therefore, when the golfer has become possessed of his first

set of clubs, let

him proceed to the shop of a good professional player—

presumably it will be the

shop where he bought his clubs—and let him place himself

unreservedly in the

hands of this expert in the game. Most professionals are good

players and good

teachers, and the golfer cannot go far wrong in this matter

if he allows himself to be guided by his own
instincts. I say that he should place himself unreservedly
in

this man's hands; but in case it should be necessary I

would make one exception

to this stipulation. If he thinks well of my advice

and desires to do the thing with

the utmost thoroughness from the beginning, he may request

that for the first lesson or two no ball may be put upon
 the ground at which to practise swings.

The professional is sure to agree that this is the best way,

though he encounters

so few beginners who are prepared to make all the sacrifices

that I have

suggested, that he might have hesitated in recommending this

course of

procedure himself.

A golfer's swing is often made for good or ill in

the first week of his

experience. His first two days of practice may be of the

greatest importance in fashioning his style. If, when he takes
his first lesson or two and makes his first

few swings, he has a ball on the ground before him

which he is trying to hit, all

his thoughts will be concentrated on what appears to him

to be the necessity of

hitting it—hitting it at any cost. No matter what he has

been told about the way

to swing, he will forget it all in this moment of

anxiety, and swing anyhow. In such circumstances a
really natural and proper swing is rarely
accomplished,

and, before the golfer is aware of the frightful injustice

he has done himself, his

future prospects will probably have been damaged. But if he

has no ball before

him he will surely learn to swing his club in exactly the

way in which it ought to

be swung. His whole mind will be concentrated upon getting

every detail of the

action properly regulated and fixed according to the advice

of his tutor, and by

the time he has had two lessons in this way he will have
got so thoroughly into

the natural swing, that when he comes to have a ball teed

up in front of him he

will unconsciously swing at it in the same manner as he

did when it was absent,

or nearly so. The natural swing, or some of its best

features, will probably be there, although very likely they will
be considerably distorted.

At the same time the young golfer must not imagine because
he has mastered

the proper swing when there is no ball before him,

that he has overcome any considerable portion of the
difficulties of golf, for even some of the very best
players find that they can swing very much better without a
ball than with one.

However, he may now taste the sweet pleasure of driving a

ball from the tee, or

of doing his best with that object in view. His

initial attempts may not be brilliant; it is more than likely
that they will be sadly disappointing. He may take

comfort from the fact that in ninety-nine cases out of a

hundred they are so. But

by and by a certain confidence will come, he will cease,

under the wise advice of

his tutor, to be so desperately anxious to hit the ball

anyhow so long as he hits it,

and then in due course the correctness of swing which he was

taught in his first

two days will assert itself, and the good clean-hit drives
will come. There will be

duffings and toppings and slicings, but one day there will be
a long straight drive

right away down the course, and the tyro will be told that the
professional

himself could not have done it better. This is one of

the most pleasurable

moments in life.

His system of practice thereafter should be upon the

following lines. He

should continue to practise diligently with his driver until

he gets these good, long balls nearly every time, sternly
resisting the temptation even to so much as

look at any of the other nice new clubs that he has

got in his bag, and whose mysteries he is exceedingly curious
to investigate. It may take him a week or a

fortnight or a month to master the driver; but he should

do it before he gives a
thought to any other club. When he can use the driver with
confidence, he may

take out his new brassy and go through the same process
with that, until he feels

that on a majority of occasions, from a fairly decent

lie, he could depend upon

making a respectable brassy shot. He will find

unsuspected difficulties in the brassy, and in doing his
best to overcome them he will probably lose to some extent
the facility for driving which he had acquired. Therefore,
when he has become a player with his brassy, he should
devote a short space of time to

getting back on to his drive. It will not take him long,

and then he should take

out both the clubs he has been practising with and hammer
away at the two of

them together, until after a large amount of extra

practice he finds that he is fairly reliable in
driving a ball from the tee to begin with, and
putting in a creditable second shot with his brassy from
the lie upon which he found his ball.

During this second stage of learning he must deny

himself the pleasure of

trying his iron clubs just as rigorously as he restrained

himself from the brassy

when he was practising drives only; but when the driver and
the brassy are doing

well, he may go forward with the cleek. He will not find

this learning such dull

work after all. There will be something new in store

for him every week, and each new club as it is taken
out of the bag will afford an entirely new set of
experiences. After the driver and the brassy it will be
like a new game when he

comes to try cleek shots, and in the same way he will

persevere with the cleek

until it is evident that he really knows how to use it.

The driver, the brassy, and

the cleek may then be practised with on the same occasion, and
if he has made

the best use of his time and is an apt pupil, he will

find himself now and then,

with these three shots taken in turn, getting

beyond the green at some of the longest holes. Next
it will be the turn of the iron, and so in due season
he will be

able to practise with the driver, the brassy, the cleek,

and the iron. The mashie will follow, and then the five
of them together, and at last he may have an afternoon on
the green trying his skill with a putter, and
listening for the first time to the music of the ball—no such
music as this to the golfer's ear, though it

consists of but a single note—as it drops into the tin

and is holed out at last.

He is at work now with all the clubs that are usually

necessary to play a hole;

but at the risk of seeming over careful I would warn

him once more against

going along too fast, and thinking that even at this stage he is
able to embark on

match play with all the days of studentship left behind. When
he takes out his full set of clubs, he will find,
in using them as occasion demands, that he is strangely
erratic all of a sudden with one or two of them.
Let him have half an

hour's practice once more alone with these troublesome

fellows until the old

order of things has been restored. Let him treat all other
offenders in the same manner. He must be determined that
there shall not be a club in his bag that shall

be allowed to play these tricks with him. Let one day's

hard labour be the

invariable penalty, until at last they are all obedient in his

hands, and the joyful

day comes when he feels that he can pick any tool out of his
golfing bag and use

it skilfully and well, and that after examining a ball

in any lie, at any distance from the hole, or with any hazard
before him, he knows exactly how it should be

played, and feels that he has a very reasonable chance of

playing it in that way

and achieving the success that such a shot deserves. Such a

stroke will not be brought off correctly every time; the
golfer has not yet been born who always does the right
thing in the right way. But the more one practises the more

frequently will he succeed. Following Mr. Balfour's good example,

the beginner
may do worse than spend a few days trying the most
difficult strokes he can

discover on his links, for in actual play he will find

himself in these difficult places often enough to begin with,
and a little special study of such shots at the

outset will prove a very valuable investment of time. The ball

should be thrown

down carelessly at different places, and should be played

from the spot at which

it settles, however uninviting that spot may be.

When he has secured a fair command over all his clubs,

from the driver to

the niblick, the golf student may play a round of the links;
but he should do so

only under the watchful eye of the professional, for he

will find that in thus marching on from hole to hole, and
perhaps getting a little excited now and then

when he plays a hole more than usually well, it is only too

easy to forget all the

good methods in which he has been so carefully trained, and

all the wise maxims

he knows so well by heart that he could almost utter them in

his sleep. Let him

play a few rounds in this way, and in between them

devote himself as

assiduously as ever to practise with individual clubs, before

he thinks of playing

his first match. He must settle his game on a

secure foundation before he

measures his strength against an opponent, for unless it

is thus safeguarded it is

all too likely that it will crumble to ruins when the enemy
is going strongly, and

the novice feels, with a sense of dismay, that he

is not by any means doing himself justice. Of course
I am not suggesting that he should wait until he has
advanced far towards perfection before he engages in his
first match. When he has thoroughly grasped the principles and
practice of the game, there is nothing

like match play for proving his quality, but he should

not be in haste thus to indulge himself. Any time from three
 to six months from the day when he first

took a club in hand will be quite soon enough, and if

he has been a careful student, and is in his first match not
overcome with nerves, he should render a

good account of himself and bring astonishment to the

mind of his adversary

when the latter is told that this is the first match of a

lifetime.

During the preparatory period the golfer will be wise to

limit his practices to

three or four days a week. More than this will only tire him and
will not be good

for his game. I have only now to warn him against a

constant attempt, natural but

very harmful, to drive a much longer ball every time

than was driven at the previous stroke. He must bring
himself to understand that length comes only

with experience, and that it is due to the swing becoming

gradually more natural

and more certain. He may see players on the links

driving thirty or forty yards further than he has ever
driven, and, wondering why, he is seized with a

determination to hit harder, and then the old, old story of

the foozled drive is told

again. He forgets that these players are more experienced

than he is, that their swing is more natural to them,
and that they are more certain of it. In these
circumstances the extra power which they put into their stroke is
natural also. To

give him an exact idea of what it is that he ought to be

well satisfied with, I may

say that the learner who finds that he is putting just two
or three yards on to his

drive every second week, may cease to worry about the future, for
as surely as

anything he will be a long driver in good time.

In the course of this volume there are several chapters

describing the way in
which the various strokes should be played, but I am
no believer in learning golf

from books alone. I do not think it likely that

the professional teacher who is giving the pupil lessons will
disagree with any of the chief points of the methods

that I explain, and, read in conjunction with his frequent

lessons at the beginning

of his golfing career, and later on studied perhaps

a little more closely and critically, I have hope that they
will prove beneficial. At all events, as I have
already suggested, in the following pages I teach the
system which has won

Championships for me, and I teach that system only.

It is perhaps too much to hope, after all, that any very large
proportion of my

readers will make up their minds to the self-sacrificing

thoroughness which I

have advocated, and undertake a careful preparation of from three

to six months'

duration before really attempting to play golf. If they all

did so we should have

some fine new players. It is because they do not learn to

play in this way that so

few good players are coming to the fore in these days. One
is sometimes inclined

to think that no new golfer of the first class has come

forward during the last few

years. In my opinion it is all due to the fact that

nowadays they learn their game

too casually.

C H A P T E R I V

THE CHOICE AND CARE OF CLUBS

Difficulties of choice—A long search for the best—Experiments

with more than a hundred irons—Buy few clubs to begin with—
Take the professional's advice

—A preliminary set of six—Points of the driver—Scared

wooden clubs are

best—Disadvantages of the socket—Fancy faces—Short heads—Whip

in the

shaft—The question of weight—Match the brassy with the

driver—Reserve

clubs—Kinds of cleeks—Irons and mashies—The niblick—The

putting

problem—It is the man who putts and not the putter—Recent

inventions—

Short shafts for all clubs—Lengths and weights of those I

use—Be careful of

your clubs—Hints for preserving them.

THE good golfer loves his clubs and takes a great and justifiable
pride in them.

He has many reasons for doing so. Golf clubs are not like most
other implements

that are used in sport. A man may go to a shop and

pick out a cricket bat or a billiard cue with which he
may be tolerably certain he will be able to play something
approaching to his best game when he is in the mood for
playing it.

The acquaintance which is begun in the shop is complete a

few days later. But a

man may see a golf club which he strongly fancies and

buy it, and yet find himself utterly incapable of using
it to good advantage. He may purchase club after club, and still
feel that there is something wanting in all of them,
something

which he cannot define but which he knows ought

to exist if his own peculiar style of play is to be
perfectly suited. Until he finds this club he is groping
in the

dark. One driver may be very much like another, and even to
the practised eye

two irons may be exactly similar; but with one the golfer
may do himself justice,

and with the other court constant failure. Therefore, the

acquisition of a set of clubs, each one of which enjoys the
complete confidence of its owner, is not the

task of a week or even a year. There are some golfers who

do not accomplish it

in many years, and happy are they when at last they have
done so. Then they have a very sincere attachment to each one
of these instruments, that have been

selected with so much difficulty. It is not always

possible to give reasons for their excellence, for the subtle
qualities of the clubs are not visible to the naked
eye. Their owners only know that at last they have found the clubs
that are the

best for them, and that they will not part with them for any
money—that is, if they are golfers of the true breed. In
these days I always play with the same set

of irons. They are of different makes, and to the

average golfer they appear quite

ordinary irons and very much like others of their class. But
they are the results of

trials and tests of more than one hundred clubs.

Therefore no golfer in his early days should run away with

the idea that he is going to suit himself entirely with
a set of clubs without much delay, and though

his purse may be a small one, I feel obliged to suggest

that money spent in the

purchase of new clubs which he strongly fancies,

during his first few years of play, is seldom
wasted. Many of the new acquisitions may be condemned
after a

very short trial; but occasionally it will happen that

a veritable treasure is discovered in this haphazard manner.
With all these possibilities in view, the beginner,
knowing nothing of golf, and being as yet without a
style to suit or any

peculiar tastes that have to be gratified, should restrain

himself from the desire to

be fully equipped with a "complete outfit" at the very

beginning of his career.

Let him buy as few clubs as possible, knowing that it is

quite likely that not one

of those which he purchases at this stage will hold a place in

his bag a year or

two later. As he can have no ideas at all upon the

subject, he should leave the entire selection of his first
bag to some competent adviser, and he will not generally
find such an adviser behind the counter at a
general athletic outfitting

establishment in the town or city, which too often

is the direction in which he takes his steps when he has
decided to play the game. In these stores the old and

practised golfer may often pick up a good club at a

trifling cost; but the beginner
would be more likely to furnish himself with a set which
would be poor in

themselves and quite unsuited for his purpose.

The proper place for him to go to is the professional's

shop which is attached

to the club of which he has become a member. Nearly

all clubs have their own

professionals, who are makers and sellers of clubs, and

I know no professional

who is not thoroughly conscientious in this part of his

business. It pays him to give the completest satisfaction to
his clients, and particularly to the members of

his own club. This professional is also a first-class

golfer, who knows all, or nearly all, that there is to be
known about the game, and who in his time has had

imposed upon him the difficult task of teaching hundreds of

beginners their first

steps in golf. Thus he knows better than any man the

erratic tendencies of the golfing initiate and the best means
of counteracting them. Experience has given

him the faculty for sizing up the golfing points of

the tyro almost at the first glance, and therefore he can
supply him at the beginning with those clubs with

which certainly he will have most chance of success. He will

suit his height and

his build and his reach, and he will take care that the clubs
in the set which he

makes up are in harmony with each other and will have that lie
which will best suit the player who is to use them. And
even though, when the beginner gathers

knowledge of the game and finds out his own style—which

neither he nor the

professional can determine in advance—some of them may

gradually become

unsuitable to him, they are nevertheless likely to be in

themselves good clubs.

A beginner may at the outset limit himself to the

purchase of six new clubs.

He must have a driver, a brassy, a cleek, an iron,

a mashie, and a putter. At an

early opportunity he may add a niblick to this small set, but

 there is no need to

invest in it at the outset, and as this club is one

which is least likely to require change, it is best that it
should not be bought until the player has some ideas
of

his own as to what is wanted. By way of indicating what

will be needful to make

this set complete for the purposes of good golf, when the player
has obtained a

fairly complete experience, I may mention the instruments that

I take out when

playing an important match. I have two drivers, one

brassy, a baffy or spoon, two

cleeks (one shorter than the other), an iron, sometimes

one mashie, sometimes

two (one for running up and the other for pitch shots), a
niblick, and sometimes

two putters (one for long running-up putts and the other
for holing out). This selection may be varied slightly
according to the course on which the match is to

be played and the state of the weather, but in general

principles the constitution

of the bag remains the same, and a player who is

equipped with such a set ought

to be able to play any hole in any way, and if he cannot

do so it is his own skill

that is lacking and not an extra club. We may now consider

in order a few of the

points of these clubs. I shall have occasion, when

dealing with the method of play with each of them, to call
attention to many points of detail which can only

be properly explained when indicating particular objects which

it is desired to achieve with them, so for the present
I shall confine myself chiefly to general features.

Take the driver to begin with, and the preliminary word of advice
that I have

to offer concerning the choice of this club is at variance

with the custom of the

present moment, though I am confident that before long

the golfing world will again come round to my view of the
matter—not my view only, but that of many
of the leading amateur and professional players. One of
the problems which

agitate the mind of the golf-club maker deals with the

best and most effectual

method of attaching the head of the club to the shaft.

For a very long period this was done by what we call
scaring or splicing, the neck of the club having a
long

bevel which was spliced with the shaft and bound round for several
inches with

black twine. Latterly, however, a new kind of club has become

the fashion with

all but the oldest and most experienced players, and it is

called the socket driver.

The continuation of the neck of this club is shorter than

in the case of the spliced

driver, and instead of there being any splicing at

all, a hole is bored vertically into the end of the neck
and the shaft fitted exactly into it, glued up, and
finally

bound round for less than an inch. This club certainly looks neater
than the old-

fashioned sort, and the man who is governed only by

appearances might very

easily imagine that it is really more of one piece than

the other, that the union of

the shaft with the head has less effect upon the play of
the club, and that therefore it is better. But experience
proves that this is not the case. What we want at this
all-important part of the driver is spring and life.
Anything in the nature of a deadness at this junction of
the head with the shaft, which would, as

it were, cut off the one from the other, is fatal to a

good driver. I contend that the

socket brings about this deadness in a far greater

degree than does the splice.

The scared or old-fashioned drivers have far more spring

in them than the new

ones, and it is my experience that I can constantly get a

truer and a better ball with them. When the wood of the shaft
and the wood of the neck are delicately

tapered to suit each other, filed thin and carefully

adjusted, wood to wood for several inches, and then glued
and tightened up to each other with twine for several
inches, there is no sharp join whatever but only such
a gradual one as never makes itself felt in practice.
Moreover, these clubs are more serviceable, and will stand much
more wear and tear than those which are made with sockets.

Sometimes they give trouble when the glue loosens, but the
socketed club is

much easier to break. On club links generally in these days

you will probably see

more socketed drivers and brassies (for these remarks apply to

all wooden clubs)

than those that are spliced; but this is simply the result
of a craze or fashion with

which neat appearance has something to do; and if you desire

to convince

yourself that I am right, take note of the styles of

the drivers used by the best players at the next first-class
amateur or professional tournament that you

witness. The men who are playing on these occasions are ripe
with experience,

and so long as they get the best results they do not care
what their clubs look

like.

The head of the club should be made of persimmon or

dogwood—both very

hard and full of driving power. Usually the bare face of

such a club is good enough for contact with any ball on
any tee, but the time will come when the golfer, developing
innumerable fads and fancies, will reach the conclusion that he
must have an artificial face of some kind fitted on at
the place of contact with

the ball. Or such an artificial face may become necessary by

reason of the wear

and tear on the face of the driver. Why forsake the old
leather face? There is an

idea abroad in these days that it is too soft and dead for
the purposes of the new

rubber-cored ball; and the impression that the latter likes the
very hardest surface

it is possible to apply to it has resulted in horn,

vulcanite, and even steel faces being fitted to
drivers and brassies. I do not think that in actual
practice they are
any better than leather, though some golfers may persuade
themselves that they

are. If a man, who is a good and steady driver, makes

several drives from the tee

with a club which has a leather face, and several more with
another possessing a

steel or vulcanite face, I am confident that he will on the

average get at least as

far with the leather as with the other, and I shall be

surprised, if the test is fair

and reliable, if he does not get further. I have leather

faces on my drivers, and I

think that latterly I have been driving further than I ever

did. A point of objection

to the harder surfaces, which at times is very serious, is

that the ball is very much

more liable to skid off them than off others, and thus the
golfer may often blame

himself for shots that look like a mixture of foozle and

slice when the fault is not

his at all, but that of the peculiarity of the club with which
he is so much in love.

On the other hand, it must be admitted that he scores over

his opponent with the

leather-faced club when the weather is wet, for the leather

is then liable to soften

and becomes very dead.

Never select a club because it has a long head, but let

your preference be in

favour of the shorter heads. The beginner, or the

player of only moderate

experience, puts it to himself that it is a very difficult

thing always to strike the

ball fairly on the face of the club, and that the longer
the face is the more room

he has for inaccuracy of his stroke. But he is wrong.

Whatever the length of the

face, unless the ball is hit fairly and squarely in the

centre, it will not travel properly, and the effect is really
 worse when the point of contact is a little off the

centre in a long-faced club than when it is the same

distance removed from the centre of a short face.
Moreover, despite this fact, which will soon become

apparent to the golfer, the knowledge that he has a long-

faced driver may very easily get him into a loose way of
playing his tee shots. He may cease to regard

exactness as indispensable, as it always is. The tendency

of late years has been to

make the heads of wooden clubs shorter and still

shorter, and this tendency is well justified.

The question of the whip or suppleness of the shaft must

generally be

decided by individual style and preference; but I

advise the beginner against

purchasing a whippy driver to start with, whatever he may

do later on. He should

rather err on the side of stiffness. When a man is well

on his drive, has a good

style, and is getting a long ball from the tee every time,
it is doubtless true that

he obtains better results from a shaft with a little

life in it than from a stiff one.

But the advantage is not by any means so great as might be

imagined, and many

fine players drive their best balls with stiff clubs. It must always
be remembered

that when the stroke is not made perfectly there is a

much greater tendency to slice with a supple shaft than
with a stiff one, and the disadvantages of the former are
especially pronounced on a windy day. It is all a matter
of preference

and predilection, and when these are absent the best thing to
do is to strike the

happy medium and select a shaft that is fairly supple

but which still leaves you

in the most perfect command of the head of the club, and

not as if the latter were

connected with your hands by nothing more than a slender rush.

Weight again is largely a matter of fancy, and

there is no rule to the effect that a slender player
 should use a light club and one of powerful build a
heavy

one; indeed, one constantly finds the slim men employing the
most ponderous

drivers, as if, as it were, to make up for their

own lightness, while heavy men will often prefer clubs that
are like pen-holders to them. Once more I suggest the

adoption of the medium as being generally the most

satisfactory. I have a strong

dislike to drivers that are unusually light, and I do

not think that anyone can consistently get the best results
from them. They entail too much swinging, and

it is much harder to guide the club properly when the weight

of the head cannot

be felt. Of course a club that is strongly favoured

by a golfer and suits him excellently in all respects
save that it errs on the side of lightness, can easily
be

put right by the insertion of a little lead in the sole.

Little need be said in this place about the selection of the

brassy. Whatever

may be the amount of whip in the shaft of the

driver, the brassy should not possess any undue suppleness,
for it has heavier and rougher work to do than the

club which is used for the tee shots, and there must be very
little give in the stick

if satisfactory results are to be obtained when the ball

is lying at all heavily. The

head and the face should be small; but in other respects

the pattern of the driver

should be closely adhered to, for it is one of the

principles of my tuition that when the golfer takes his brassy
in his hand to play his second shot, he should be

brought to feel as nearly as possible that he is merely

doing the drive over again.

Many authorities recommend that the shaft of the brassy shall be

an inch or so

shorter than that of the driver; but I can see no

necessity for its being shorter; and, on the other hand, for
the reason I have just stated, I think it is
eminently

desirable that it should be exactly the same length. On

this point I shall have more to say in another
chapter. Care should be taken that both the brassy and
the

driver have exactly the same lie, that is to say, that when
the soles of both clubs

are laid quite flat upon the ground the shafts shall
be projecting towards the golfer at precisely the same angle.
If they have not the same lie, then, if the player takes up
the same stance at the same distance from the ball when
making

a brassy shot as when he struck the ball from the tee

with his driver, the sole of

the club will not sweep evenly along the turf as it comes on
to the ball, and the

odds will be against a good shot being made.

I am a strong believer in having reserve drivers

and brassies, even if one is

only a very moderate golfer. Everybody knows what it is to

suffer torture during

the period when one is said to be "off his drive," and

I think there is no remedy for this disease like a change
of clubs. There may be nothing whatever the matter

with the club you have been playing with, and which at
one time gave you so much delight, but which now seems so
utterly incapable of despatching a single

good ball despite all the drastic alterations which you make in
your methods. Of

course it is not at all the fault of the club, but I

think that nearly everybody gets

more or less tired of playing with the same implement, and at

length looks upon

it with familiar contempt. The best thing to do in such

circumstances is to give it

a rest, and it will soon be discovered that absence makes the

heart grow fonder in

this matter as in so many others. But the reserve clubs

which are taken out while the first string are resting
should be in themselves good and almost as exactly suitable
to the player's style as the others. It is a
mistake to take up a club which

has been regarded as a failure, and in which one has no

confidence. Therefore, I
suggest that so soon as the golfer has really found
his style and is tolerably certain about it, and the
exact kind of club that he likes best, he should fit
himself up with both a spare driver and a spare brassy,
and give them each a turn

as occasion demands. It is hardly necessary to add that

whenever an important game is being played, considerable wisdom
will be exercised if the reserves are

taken out in the bag along with the clubs with which
it is intended to play, for though breakages are not
matters of everyday occurrence, they do happen

sometimes, and nothing would be more exasperating in such a

contingency than

the knowledge that for the rest of the game you would be
obliged to play your

tee shots with your brassy or your brassy shots with your cleek.

The driving cleek, for long shots, should have a fairly

straight face with very

little loft upon it. It should have a thick blade,

should be fairly heavy, and its shaft should be stout
and stiff. This makes a powerful club, with which
some fine long work can be accomplished. I am inclined
to think that one reason why

so many players find it extremely difficult to get good work

out of their cleeks,

is that they use them with heads too thin and light. A
large proportion of the cleeks one sees about are too delicate and
ladylike. It is sometimes expected of a

cleek that it will despatch a ball for, say, a hundred and

sixty yards, and no club

will do that, no matter how skilful the golfer who wields

it may be, unless there

is sufficient weight in it. A second cleek, which will

be found in the bag of the

experienced golfer, will have a thinner blade and much more loft
upon it, but in

other respects will be very much like the other one, though not
nearly so heavy.

This instrument is for the shorter cleek-shot distances, which are

just so long that

an iron cannot reach them.

There is great diversity in irons, and the player may be

 left in the first place

in the hands of his professional adviser, and afterwards to

his own taste, with the

single hint from me that undue lightness should at all times

be avoided. Of the

two mashies which the complete golfer will carry out with him
on to the links,

one, for pitching the ball well up with very little run to
follow, will have a deep

face, will be of medium weight, and be very stiff in

the shaft. I emphasise the deep face and the rigidity of
the shaft. This mashie will also have plenty of loft

upon it. The other one, for use chiefly in running up

to the hole, will have a straighter face, but will
otherwise be much the same. However, not all golfers consider
two mashies to be necessary, and I myself depend
chiefly upon one. Of

the niblick it need only be said that it must be strong,

heavy, and well lofted.

I have stated that the golfer may carry two putters in

his bag; but I mean that

he should do so only when he has a definite and

distinct purpose for each of them, and I certainly do not
advise his going from one kind to the other for the

same sort of putt. There is great danger in such

a practice. If he is doing very poor putting with one
club, he will naturally fly for help to the other one, and
the

probability is that he will do just as badly with that. Then he

returns to the first

one, and again finds that his putts do not come off,
and by this time he is in a hopeless quandary. If he has
only one putter he will generally make some sort of

a success of it if he can putt at all, and my

private belief is that the putter itself

has very little to do with the way in which a golfer

putts. It is the man that counts

and not the tool. I have tried all kinds of putters in my

time, and have generally

gone back to the plainest and simplest of all. I have

occasionally used the

aluminium putter. It has much to recommend it to those

who like this style of implement, and Braid always does very
well with it. The Travis or Schenectady

putter, which was so popular for a short time after

the Amateur Championship

last year, owing to the American player having done such

wonderful things with

it, I do not succeed with. When I try to putt with it

I cannot keep my eye away

from its heel. But the fact is, as I have already indicated,
that you can putt with

anything if you hit the ball properly. Everything depends on

that—hitting the ball

properly—and no putter that was ever made will help you to

hole out if you do

not strike the ball exactly as it ought to be struck,

while if you do so strike it, any

putter will hole out for you. The philosophy of putting is

simple, but is rarely appreciated. The search for the magic
putter that will always pop the ball into the

hole and leave the player nothing to do will go on for

ever.

One other observation that I have to make on clubs in general

is, that I think

it is a mistake to have the shafts any longer than

is absolutely necessary. Some

golfers think that an iron or a cleek is just the right length

for them when there

are still a few inches of stick projecting inwards, towards

their bodies, when they have made their grip. Why that spare stick?
It cannot possibly be of any use, and

may conceivably be harmful. It is surely better to have

it cut off and then to grip

the club at the end of the handle. A larger sense of

power and control is obtained

in this manner. My own clubs seem to most golfers who

examine them to be on

the short side, and this is a convenient opportunity

for giving a few details concerning my favourites, which
may prove of interest to the readers of these
notes. I should prefix the statement with the observation
that I am 5 feet 9¼
inches in height, and that normally I weigh 11½
stones. Young players who

might be inclined to adapt their clubs to my

measurements should bear these

factors in mind, though I seem to be of something like

average height and build.

Here, then, are the statistics of my bag:—

Club.

Length.

Weight.

Driver

42

inches 12¾ oz.

Brassy

42

"

12½ "

Driving mashie

38

"

14½ "

Driving cleek

37

"

13½ "

Light cleek

37

"

13½ "

Iron

35½
"

15¼ "

Mashie

36½

"

15¼ "

Niblick

37

"

19

"

Putter (putting cleek) 33½

"

15

"

Each measurement was made from the heel to the end of the shaft.

PLATE I. MY SET OF CLUBS

PLATE I. MY SET OF CLUBS

I have two explanations to make concerning this list of

dimensions. I have

included the driving mashie, of which I have said nothing

in this chapter. It is an

alternative club, and it is better that it should be

discussed exclusively in its proper place, which is when cleek
shots are being considered. Again, on making

a critical examination of these measurements, the

golfer of a little experience will promptly ask why my
mashie is an inch and a quarter longer than my
iron. It

is longer because one has sometimes to play high lofting

shots over trees and the

like, and in such cases the loft of the mashie is

necessary and a considerable amount of power as well—hence the
extra stick.

As I have said, the collection of a set of clubs that

 conform in essentials to

their owner's ideal is a very slow and often an expensive

process. A club that was

bought in the shop for six shillings might have cost its
owner six sovereigns when the many unsatisfactory and discarded
articles that were bought while this

one perfect gem was being searched for are taken into
account. Therefore it

behoves the man who is to any extent satisfied with his

clubs to take a proper pride in them and look well after
them. I like to see a golfer play with bright irons, and
shafts that give evidence of tender and affectionate
care. It jars upon

one's nerves to see rusty irons and mashies which

have evidently not been

cleaned for months, and which are now past hope. Such a man
does not deserve

to have good clubs, nor to play good strokes with them. But
many golfers, even

when they have a tender and careful regard for the

excellent merits of their favourites, seem to imagine that
the beginning and end of their duty towards

them is to keep their irons bright and free from the slightest
semblance of rust.

More often than not the shaft is never given a

thought, and yet a perfect shaft that just suits the man
who has to play with it is one of the rarest and most
difficult things to discover. It would be difficult to
replace it, and to keep it in its

best condition it needs constant care and attention. An

unreasoning golfer may play with his clubs on wet days, see that
the irons are brightened afterwards, and

store his collection in his locker without another thought

concerning them. And

then some time later when he is out on the links snap goes one
of his shafts, and

"Confound that rotten wood!" he exclaims. But it is not

a case of rotten wood at all. When shafts are
constantly allowed to get wet and are afterwards merely

wiped with a rag and given no further attention, all the life
dries out of the wood,

and they are sure to break sooner or later. It should

be your invariable practice,
when you have been out on a wet day, first to see that your
shafts are well dried

and then to give them a thoroughly good oiling with linseed

oil, applied with a

rag kept specially for the purpose. This will keep them in
excellent condition.

The tops of the club heads may be oiled in the same

way; but extreme care

should be taken that not a drop of oil is allowed to

touch the face of the wooden

clubs. It would tend to open the grain, and then,

when next you played in the wet, the damp would get inside
the wood and cause it gradually to rot. I counsel

all golfers when playing in wet weather to have covers

or hoods attached to their bags, so that the heads of their
instruments may always be kept in shelter. This

will do much for their preservation, and at the same time

add materially to the satisfaction of the player, for he can
never feel that he has the means to do himself justice on
the tee when the head of his driver is in a half
soaked state. No

player, whatever his abilities as a golfer, should

refrain from exercising this precautionary measure because he
has seen only the very best players doing so,

and because he fancies it may be regarded by his

friends as affectation. The fact

that it is chiefly the best players who do these

things only indicates that they know better than others what
is due to their clubs and how to look after them.

There is no affectation in copying their methods in this

respect.

C H A P T E R V

DRIVING—PRELIMINARIES

Advantage of a good drive—And the pleasure of it—More about

the driver—Tee

low—Why high tees are bad—The question of stance—Eccentricities

and bad

habits—Begin in good style—Measurements of the stance—The

reason why

—The grip of the club—My own method and its advantages—Two

hands like

one—Comparative tightness of the hands—Variations during the swing

—

Certain disadvantages of the two-V grip—Addressing the ball—Freaks

of style

—How they must be compensated for—Too much waggling—The point

to

look at—Not the top of the ball but the side of it.

IT has been said that the amateur golfers of Great Britain

are in these days

suffering from a "debauchery of long driving." The general sense

of Mr. Travis's remark is excellent, meaning that there is
a tendency to regard a very long drive

as almost everything in the playing of a hole, and

to be utterly careless of straightness and the short game so
long as the ball has been hit from the tee to

the full extent of the golfer's power. A long drive is

not by any means everything,

and the young golfer should resist any inclination to strive

for the 250-yard ball

to the detriment or even the total neglect of other

equally important, though perhaps less showy, considerations in
the playing of a hole. But having said so

much, and conveyed the solemn warning that is necessary, I

am obliged to admit

that the long driver has very full justification for himself,
and that the wisely regulated ambition of the young player
to be one is both natural and laudable.

The long drive, as I say, is not everything; but to play

well it is as necessary to

make a good drive as to hole a short putt, or nearly so,

and from the golfer who

does not drive well a most marvellous excellence is required in

the short game if

he is to hold his own in good company, or ever be

anything more than a long-

handicap man. The good drive is the foundation of a good game,

and just as one
and one make two, so it follows that the man who drives
the longer ball has the

rest of the game made easier and more certain for him. This
apart, there is no stroke in golf that gives the same amount
of pleasure as does the perfect driving

of the ball from the tee, none that makes the heart feel
lighter, and none that seems to bring the glow of delight
into the watching eye as this one does. The man who has
never stood upon the tee with a sturdy rival near him and
driven a

perfect ball, the hands having followed well through

and finished nicely up

against the head, while the little white speck in the distance,
after skimming the

earth for a time, now rises and soars upwards, clearing all
obstacles, and seeming

to revel in its freedom and speed until at last

it dips gracefully back to earth again—I say that the man who
has not done this thing has missed one of the joys

of life. I have heard the completest sportsmen say that there are
very few things

in the entire world of sport that can be compared

with it, and none that is superior.

So now let us get on to our drive.

In the first place, the driver must be selected, and

the hints I have already given upon the choice of clubs
will serve tolerably well in this respect. Let it only
be said again that the golfer should do his utmost
to avoid extremes in length or shortness. One hears of the
virtues of fishing-rod drivers, and the next

day that certain great players display a tendency to

shorten their clubs. There is

nothing like the happy medium, which has proved its

capability of getting the longest balls. The length of
the club must, of course, vary according to the height

of the player, for what would be a short driver for a

six-foot man would almost

be a fishing-rod to the diminutive person who stands but

five feet high. Let the

weight be medium also; but for reasons already stated

do not let it err on the side

of lightness. The shaft of the club should be of moderate

suppleness. As I have
said, if it is too whippy it may be hard to control,
but if it is too stiff it leaves too much hard work
to be done by the muscles of the golfer. Practising what
I

preach, my own drivers are carefully selected for this

delicate medium of

suppleness of shaft, and when a stick is found that

is exactly perfect it is well worth great care for ever. Also
I reiterate that the head of the club should not be

too large; driving is not thereby made any easier, and

carelessness is encouraged.

The face should not be quite vertical: if it were, only the

top edge and not the full

face would be seen when the stance had been taken and
the club head was

resting upon the tee in its proper place. There must be

just so much loft that the

face can be seen when the golfer is ready and in

position for the swing. But avoid having too much loft filed
on the club as a fancied remedy for driving too

low and getting into all the bunkers. You do not fail to
get the ball up because

there is not sufficient loft on the club, but because you

are doing something wrong which can easily be remedied; while,
on the other hand, be very careful of

the fact that, as you add loft to the face of the driver
so at the same time you are

cutting off distance and losing both power and the delightful
sense of it. When

the weather is wet, it is a good plan to chalk the

face of the club, as this counteracts the tendency of the
ball to skid from it.

Tee the ball low, rejecting the very prevalent but erroneous idea
that you are

more certain of getting it away cleanly and well when it

is poised high off the ground. The stroke that sweeps
the ball well away from the low tee is the most

natural and perfect, and it follows that the ball, properly

driven from this low tee,

is the best of all. Moreover, one is not so liable to

get too much underneath the
ball and make a feeble shot into the sky, which is one of
the most exasperating

forms of ineffectual effort in the whole range of

golf. Another convincing

argument in favour of the low tee is that it preserves

a greater measure of similarity between the first shot and
the second, helping to make the latter, with

the brassy, almost a repetition of the first, and

therefore simple and

comparatively easy. If you make a high tee, when you come to

play your second

stroke with your brassy, you will be inclined to find fault

with even the most perfect brassy lies—when the ball is
so well held up by the blades of grass that

the best possible shot with this far-sending club should be the
result. If you are

favoured with an ordinary brassy lie, you imagine the ball

to be in a hole, exclaim that you are badly cupped, and
call out vexatiously for an iron. This is

the regular result of playing from a high tee, whereas,

when the low one is systematically adopted, the difference
between the play with the driver and with

the brassy from a good lie is inconsiderable, the brassy

is used more frequently,

and the results are regularly better. As I have already

suggested, one of the principles of my long game is to make
the play with the brassy as nearly similar

to that with the driver as possible, and a low tee is

the first step in that direction.

There are wide variations in the stances adopted by different

players, and

extremes of one sort or another are usually the result

of bad habits contracted in

the early stages of initiation into the mysteries of the game.

Sometimes the ball

is seen opposite the toe of the left foot; at others it

is far away to the right. Either

of these players may get long balls constantly, but it is in

spite of the stance and

not because of it, for they are contending against a

handicap all the time, and have unconsciously to introduce
other mannerisms into their play to counteract
the evil which a bad stance inevitably brings about. It
is certain that if they had

driven in the easier way from their youth upwards,

they would in their golfing prime have been getting
longer balls than those with which they are after
all apparently satisfied. But I have already admitted generally,
and here again admit

in a specific instance, the dissatisfaction, and even danger,

that is likely to accrue

from an attempt to uproot a system of play which

has been established in an individual for many years. One
can only insist upon the necessity of starting well, and plead
earnestly to any readers who may not yet be far
advanced in their

experience of the game, to see that their play is based

on wise and sure

foundations. There is nothing of my own discovery or

invention in my stance for

the drive. It is simply that which is theoretically and

scientifically correct, being

calculated, that is, to afford the greatest freedom of

movement to the arms, legs,

and body in the swinging of the club, so that the strength

may be exerted to the

fullest advantage at the right moment and continued in its

effect upon the ball for

the longest possible period.

First, then, as to distance from the ball. The player should

stand so far away

from it that when he is in position and the club face is

resting against the teed ball, just as when ready to strike
it, the end of the shaft shall reach exactly up to

his left knee when the latter is ever so slightly bent. In

this position he should be

able, when he has properly gripped the club, to reach

the ball comfortably and

without any stretching, the arms indeed being not quite straight
out but having a slight bend at the elbows, so that
when the club is waggled in the preliminary address to the
ball, plenty of play can be felt in them. I must now
invite the player who is following me in these remarks to
give his attention simultaneously
to the photograph of myself, as I have taken my
stance upon the tee for an ordinary drive (Plate VI.),
with the object of getting the longest ball possible
under conditions in all respects normal; and to the small
diagram in the corner of

the picture giving all the measurements necessary to a

complete understanding

of the position. I may point out again that my height is

5 feet 9¼ inches, and that

the length of my driver from the heel to the end of

the shaft is 42 inches. My stature being medium, the
majority of players who desire to follow my

suggestions will be able to do so without any altering of

the measurements given

in these diagrams; and, indeed, until any variation in height

one way or the other

becomes considerable, there is no necessity to vary them.

Remember that in this

and all subsequent illustrations the line marked A points

to the direction in which

it is desired that the ball should travel, and that the

B line over which the player

stands is at right angles to it. Those who wish

at this moment to examine the stance in the most practical
manner, and to compare it with that which they have

been in the habit of playing from, need hardly be informed

that at the corners of

nearly every carpet there are rectangular lines

either in the pattern or made by borders, which may
be taken to represent those in the diagram, and a
penny

placed at the junction will stand for the ball. It will be

observed that, for the most

lucid and complete exposition of the stances, in this and all

subsequent cases, the

diagrams have been turned about, so that here the player

has, as it were, his back

to the reader, while in the photographs he is, of

course, facing him. But the stances are identical. The
diagrams have been drawn to scale.

It will be noticed, in the first place, that I have my

toes turned well outwards.
The pivoting which is necessary, and which will be
described in due course, is done naturally and without any
effort when the toes are pointed in this manner.

While it is a mistake to place the feet too near each

other, there is a common tendency to place them too far
apart. When this is done, ease and perfection of

the swing are destroyed and power is wasted, whilst

the whole movement is

devoid of grace. It will be seen that my left foot is

a little, but not much, in advance of the ball. My
heel, indeed, is almost level with it, being but an
inch

from the B line at the end of which the ball is teed.

The toe, however, is 9½

inches away from it, all measurements in this case and others
being taken from

the exact centre of the point of the toe. The point

of the right toe is 19 inches distant from the B
line, and while this toe is 27½ inches from the A line
the other

is 34 inches from it, so that the right foot is 6½

inches in advance of the left.

After giving these measurements, there is really little more

to explain about the

stance, particularly as I shall show shortly how

variations from it almost

certainly bring about imperfect drives. Theoretically, the reason

for the position

is, I think, fairly obvious. The right foot is in

advance of the left, so that at the

most critical period of the stroke there shall be

nothing to impede the follow-through, but everything to
encourage it, and so that at the finish the body itself

can be thrown forward in the last effort to continue

the application of power. It

would not be in a position to do so if the left foot

were in front to bar the way.

The position of the ball as between the right foot and the
left is such that the club

will strike it just at the time when it is capable of

doing so to the utmost advantage, being then, and for the very
minute portion of a second during which
ball and club may be supposed to remain in contact,
moving in as nearly as

possible a straight line and at its maximum speed.

PLATE II. THE GRIP WITH THE LEFT HAND

PLATE II. THE GRIP WITH THE LEFT HAND

PLATE III. THE OVERLAPPING GRIP

PLATE III. THE OVERLAPPING GRIP

PLATE IV. THE OVERLAPPING GRIP

PLATE IV. THE OVERLAPPING GRIP

PLATE V. THE OVERLAPPING GRIP

PLATE V. THE OVERLAPPING GRIP

Now comes the all-important consideration of the grip. This is

another matter

in which the practice of golfers differs greatly, and

upon which there has been much controversy. My grip is
one of my own invention. It differs materially

from most others, and if I am asked to offer any excuse

for it, I shall say that I adopted it only after a
careful trial of all the other grips of which
I had ever heard, that in theory and practice I find
it admirable—more so than any other—

and that in my opinion it has contributed materially to

the attainment of such skill as I possess. The favour which
I accord to my method might be viewed with

suspicion if it had been my natural or original grip,

which came naturally or accidentally to me when I first began
to play as a boy, so many habits that are bad being
contracted at this stage and clinging to the player
for the rest of his life. But this was not the case, for when
I first began to play golf I grasped my

club in what is generally regarded as the orthodox manner,

that is to say, across

the palms of both hands separately, with both thumbs

right round the shaft (on the left one, at all events),
and with the joins between the thumbs and first fingers
showing like two V's over the top of the shaft. This
is usually described

as the two-V grip, and it is the one which is

taught by the majority of

professionals to whom the beginner appeals for first instruction

in the game. Of
course it is beyond question that some players achieve
very fine results with this

grip, but I abandoned it many years ago in favour of

one that I consider to be better. My contention is that this
grip of mine is sounder in theory and easier in

practice, tends to make a better stroke and to

secure a straighter ball, and that players who adopt
it from the beginning will stand a much better chance
of

driving well at an early stage than if they went in

for the old-fashioned two-V.

My grip is an overlapping, but not an interlocking one.

Modifications of it are used by many fine players, and it
is coming into more general practice as its merits are
understood and appreciated. I use it for all my
strokes, and it is only

when putting that I vary it in the least, and then the

change is so slight as to be

scarcely noticeable. The photographs (Plates II. , III., IV. , and

V.) illustrating the grip of the left hand singly, and
of the two together from different points of view,

should now be closely examined.

It will be seen at once that I do not grasp the club across

the palm of either

hand. The club being taken in the left hand first, the
shaft passes from the knuckle joint of the first finger across
the ball of the second. The left thumb lies

straight down the shaft—that is to say, it is just to the

left of the centre of the shaft. But the following are the
significant features of the grip. The right hand is

brought up so high that the palm of it covers over the

left thumb, leaving very

little of the latter to be seen. The first and second

fingers of the right hand just reach round to the thumb
of the left, and the third finger completes the

overlapping process, so that the club is held in the grip as

if it were in a vice. The

little finger of the right hand rides on the first

finger of the left. The great advantage of this grip
is that both hands feel and act like one, and if, even while

sitting in his chair, a player who has never tried it

before will take a stick in his
hands in the manner I have described, he must at once be
convinced that there is

a great deal in what I say for it, although, of course,

if he has been accustomed to

the two V's, the success of my grip cannot be guaranteed

at the first trial. It needs

some time to become thoroughly happy with it.

We must now consider the degree of tightness of the grip

by either hand, for

this is an important matter. Some teachers of golf and

various books of

instruction inform us that we should grasp the club firmly

with the left hand and

only lightly with the right, leaving the former to do

the bulk of the work and the

other merely to guide the operations. It is astonishing with what

persistency this

error has been repeated, for error I truly believe it

is. Ask any really first-class player with what comparative
tightness he holds the club in his right and left hands,
and I am confident that in nearly every case he will
declare that he holds

it nearly if not quite as tightly with the right hand as

with the left. Personally I

grip quite as firmly with the right hand as with the

other one. When the other way is adopted, the left hand being tight
and the right hand simply watching it,

as it were, there is an irresistible tendency for the latter

to tighten up suddenly at

some part of the upward or downward swing, and, as surely

as there is a ball on

the tee, when it does so there will be mischief. Depend

upon it the instinct of activity will prevent the right
hand from going through with the swing in that indefinite
state of looseness. Perhaps a yard from the ball in the
upward swing,

or a yard from it when coming down, there will be a

convulsive grip of the right

hand which, with an immediate acknowledgment of guilt, will

relax again. Such

a happening is usually fatal; it certainly deserves to

be. Slicing, pulling,
sclaffing, and the foundering of the innocent globe—all these
tragedies may at times be traced to this determination of
the right hand not to be ignored but to have its part
to play in the making of the drive. Therefore in
all respects my right

hand is a joint partner with the left.

The grip with the first finger and thumb of my right

hand is exceedingly firm, and the pressure of the little
finger on the knuckle of the left hand is very

decided. In the same way it is the thumb and first

finger of the left hand that have most of the gripping work
to do. Again, the palm of the right hand presses

hard against the thumb of the left. In the upward swing this
pressure is gradually

decreased, until when the club reaches the turning-point there

is no longer any such pressure; indeed, at this point
the palm and the thumb are barely in contact.

This release is a natural one, and will or should come

naturally to the player for

the purpose of allowing the head of the club to swing well

and freely back. But

the grip of the thumb and first finger of the right hand, as
well as that of the little

finger upon the knuckle of the first finger of the left

hand, is still as firm as at the

beginning. As the club head is swung back again towards the ball,
the palm of

the right hand and the thumb of the left gradually come together
again. Both the

relaxing and the re-tightening are done with the most perfect
graduation, so that

there shall be no jerk to take the club off the straight

line. The easing begins when the hands are about
shoulder high and the club shaft is perpendicular,

because it is at this time that the club begins to pull,

and if it were not let out in

the manner explained, the result would certainly be a half

shot or very little more

than that, for a full and perfect swing would be an

impossibility. This relaxation

of the palm also serves to give more freedom to the wrist

 at the top of the swing

just when that freedom is desirable.

I have the strongest belief in the soundness of the grip

that I have thus

explained, for when it is employed both hands are acting

in unison and to the utmost advantage, whereas it often
happens in the two-V grip, even when

practised by the most skilful players, that in the downward

swing there is a sense

of the left hand doing its utmost to get through and of

the right hand holding it

back.

There is only one other small matter to mention in

connection with the

question of grip. Some golfers imagine that if they rest the

left thumb down the

shaft and let the right hand press upon it there will be a
considerable danger of

breaking the thumb, so severe is the pressure when the

stroke is being made. As

a matter of fact, I have quite satisfied myself that if

the thumb is kept in the same

place there is not the slightest risk of anything of the

kind. Also if the thumb

remains immovable, as it should, there is no possibility of

the club turning in the hands as so often happens in
the case of the two-V grip when the ground is hit

rather hard, a pull or a slice being the usual consequence.

I must be excused for

treating upon these matters at such length. They are often

neglected, but they are

of extreme importance in laying the foundations of a good

game of golf.

In addressing the ball, take care to do so with the

centre of the face of the club, that is, at the desired
point of contact. Some awkward eccentricities may frequently be
observed on the tee. A player may be seen addressing
his ball from

the toe of the driver, and I have even noticed the

address being made with the head of the club quite
inside the ball, while in other cases it is
the heel of the club which is applied to the object
to be struck. The worthy golfers who are responsible for
these freaks of style no doubt imagine that they are doing
a wise

and proper thing, and in the most effectual manner

counteracting some other

irregularity of their method of play which may not be

discoverable, and which is

in any case incurable. Yet nothing is more certain than that

another irregularity

must be introduced into the drive in order to correct the one

made in the address.

To the point at which the club is addressed it will naturally

return in the course

of the swing, and if it is to be guided to any

other than the original place, there

must be a constant effort all through the swing to effect

this change in direction,

and most likely somewhere or other there will be

sufficient jerk to spoil the drive. In the case where the ball
is addressed with the toe of the club, the player

must find it necessary almost to fall on the ball in coming

down, and it is quite

impossible for him to get his full distance in such

circumstances.

A waggle of the head of the club as a preliminary

before commencing the

swing is sometimes necessary after the stance and grip have

been taken, but

every young golfer should be warned against excess in

this habit. With the stance

and grip arranged, the line of the shot in view, and a full
knowledge of what is

required from the stroke, there is really very little more

that needs thinking about

before the swing is taken. One short preliminary

waggle will tend to make the player feel comfortable and confident,
but some golfers may be observed trying

the patience of all about them by an interminable process

of waggling, the most

likely result of which is a duffed shot, since, when

 at last the stroke is made, the

player is in a state of semi-catalepsy, and has no clear

idea of what he is going to

do or how he is going to do it.

In addressing the ball, and during the upward and downward

swings until it

has been safely despatched, the sight should be kept riveted,

not on the top of the

ball, as is customary, but upon the ground immediately to

the right of it (see diagram on p. 170). To the point
where the gaze is fixed the head of the club will automatically
be guided. That is why you are told to keep your eye
on the ball.

But you do not want to hit the top of the ball. So look
to the side, where you do

want to hit it.

C H A P T E R V I

DRIVING—THE SWING OF THE CLUB

"Slow back"—The line of the club head in the upward swing—The

golfer's head must be kept rigid—The action of the wrists
—Position at the top of the swing

—Movements of the arms—Pivoting of the body—No swaying—Action

of

the feet and legs—Speed of the club during the swing—The moment
of impact

—More about the wrists—No pure wrist shot in golf—The follow-through—

Timing of the body action—Arms and hands high up at the finish

—How bad

drives are made—The causes of slicing—When the ball is

pulled—

Misapprehensions as to slicing and pulling—Dropping of the right

shoulder—

Its evil consequences—No trick in long driving—Hit properly

and hard—

What is pressing and what is not—Summary of the drive.

NOW let us consider the upward and downward swings of

 the club, and the

movements of the arms, legs, feet, and body in

relation to them. As a first injunction, it may be
stated that the club should be drawn back rather more

slowly than you intend to bring it down again. "Slow back"

is a golfing maxim

that is both old and wise. The club should begin to gain speed
when the upward

swing is about half made, and the increase should be

gradual until the top is reached, but it should never
be so fast that control of the club is to any extent
lost

at the turning-point. The head of the club should be taken

back fairly straight from the ball—along the A line—for
the first six inches, and after that any

tendency to sweep it round sharply to the back should be

avoided. Keep it very

close to the straight line until it is half-way up. The

old St. Andrews style of driving largely consisted in this
sudden sweep round, but the modern method

appears to be easier and productive of better results.

So this carrying of the head

of the club upwards and backwards seems to be a very simple

matter, capable of

explanation in a very few words; but, as every golfer

of a month's experience knows, there is a long list
of details to be attended to, which I have not yet
named, each of which seems to vie with the others in its
attempt to destroy the

effectiveness of the drive. Let us begin at the top,

as it were, and work

downwards, and first of all there is the head of the golfer

to consider.

The head should be kept perfectly motionless from the time of

the address

until the ball has been sent away and is well on its flight.
The least deviation from this rule means a proportionate danger
of disaster. When a drive has been

badly foozled, the readiest and most usual explanation is

that the eye has been taken off the ball, and the wise old
men who have been watching shake their heads solemnly, and
utter that parrot-cry of the links, "Keep your eye on the

ball." Certainly this is a good and necessary rule so far

 as it goes; but I do not believe that one drive
in a hundred is missed because the eye has not
been kept

on the ball. On the other hand, I believe that one of the

most fruitful causes of

failure with the tee shot is the moving of the head.

Until the ball has gone, it should, as I say, be as nearly
perfectly still as possible, and I would have written

that it should not be moved to the extent of a

sixteenth of an inch, but for the fact

that it is not human to be so still, and golf is always

inclined to the human side.

When the head has been kept quite still and the club has reached
the top of the

upward swing, the eyes should be looking over the middle

of the left shoulder,

the left one being dead over the centre of that shoulder. Most
players at one time

or another, and the best of them when they are a little

off their game, fall into every trap that the evil spirits
of golf lay for them, and unconsciously experience

a tendency to lift the head for five or six inches away

from the ball while the upward swing is being taken. This is
often what is imagined to be taking the eye

off the ball, particularly as, when it is carried to

excess, the eye, struggling gallantly to do its duty, finds
considerable difficulty in getting a sight of the ball

over the left shoulder, and sometimes loses it altogether for

an instant. An

examination of the photograph showing the top of the swing

(Plate VII. ) will make it clear that there is very little
margin for the moving of the head if the ball

is to be kept in full view for the whole of the time.

PLATE VI. DRIVER AND BRASSY. THE STANCE

PLATE VI. DRIVER AND BRASSY. THE STANCE

PLATE VII. DRIVER AND BRASSY. TOP OF THE SWING

PLATE VII. DRIVER AND BRASSY. TOP OF THE SWING

PLATE VIII. DRIVER AND BRASSY. TOP OF THE SWING. FROM

BEHIND
PLATE VIII. DRIVER AND BRASSY. TOP OF THE SWING. FROM
BEHIND

PLATE IX. DRIVER AND BRASSY. FINISH OF THE SWING

PLATE IX. DRIVER AND BRASSY. FINISH OF THE SWING

In the upward swing the right shoulder should be

raised gradually. It is unnecessary for me to submit any
instruction on this point, since the movement

is natural and inevitable, and there is no tendency towards

excess; but the arms

and wrists need attention. From the moment when the club is
first taken back the

left wrist should begin to turn inwards (that is

to say, the movement is in the same direction as that taken
by the hands of a clock), and so turn away the face

of the club from the ball. When this is properly done,

the toe of the club will point to the sky when it is level
with the shoulder and will be dead over the middle of the
shaft. This turning or twisting process continues all
the way until

at the top of the swing the toe of the club is pointing

straight downwards to the

ground. A reference to Plate VII. will show that this has been
done, and that as the result the left wrist finishes the
upward swing underneath the shaft, which is

just where it ought to be. When the wrist has not

been at work in the manner indicated, the toe of the club
at the top of the drive will be pointing upwards. In

order to satisfy himself properly about the state of affairs

thus far in the making

of the drive, the golfer should test himself at the

top of the swing by holding the

club firmly in the position which it has reached, and then

dropping the right hand

from the grip. He will thus be enabled to look right round,

and if he then finds

that the maker's name on the head of the club is horizontal,

he will know that he

has been doing the right thing with his wrists, while
if it is vertical the wrist action has been altogether
wrong.

During the upward swing the arms should be gradually

let out in the
enjoyment of perfect ease and freedom (without being spread-
eagled away from

the body) until at the top of the swing the left

arm, from the shoulder to the elbow, is gently touching the
body and hanging well down, while the right arm is

up above it and almost level with the club. The picture

indicates exactly what I

mean, and a reference to the illustration showing what ought

not to be the state

of affairs generally when the top of the swing is

reached (Plate XI. ), should convince even the veriest
beginner how much less comfortable is the position of

the arms in this instance than when the right thing has been done,
and how laden

with promise is the general attitude of the player in

the latter position as compared with his cramped state in
the former. I think I ought to state, partly in

justice to myself, and partly to persuade my readers

that the best way in this case, as in all others, is the
most natural, that I found it most inconvenient and

difficult to make such extremely inaccurate swings as those

depicted in this and other photographs of the "How not
to do it" series, although they are by no means
exaggerations of what are seen on the links every day,
even players of several years' experience being constantly responsible
for them.

In the upward movement of the club the body must pivot

from the waist

alone, and there must be no swaying, not even to the extent

of an inch. When the

player sways in his drive the stroke he makes is a body

stroke pure and simple.

The body is trying to do the work the arms should do,

and in these circumstances

it is impossible to get so much power into the stroke as

if it were properly made,

while once more the old enemies, the slice and the pull, will come
out from their

hiding-places with their mocking grin at the unhappy golfer.

The movements of the feet and legs are important. In addressing

the ball you
stand with both feet flat and securely placed on the ground,
the weight equally

divided between them, and the legs so slightly bent at the

knee joints as to make

the bending scarcely noticeable. This position is maintained

during the upward

movement of the club until the arms begin to pull at

the body. The easiest and most natural thing to do
then, and the one which suggests itself, is to raise
the heel of the left foot and begin to pivot on the left toe,
which allows the arms to

proceed with their uplifting process without let or

hindrance. Do not begin to pivot on this left toe
ostentatiously, or because you feel you ought to do so,
but

only when you know the time has come and you want to, and do
it only to such

an extent that the club can reach the full extent of

the swing without any

difficulty. While this is happening it follows that the weight

of the body is being

gradually thrown on to the right leg, which accordingly stiffens

until at the top of

the swing it is quite rigid, the left leg being

at the same time in a state of comparative freedom,
slightly bent in towards the right, with only just enough
pressure on the toe to keep it in position.

To the man who has never driven a good ball in his

life this process must

seem very tedious. All these things to attend to, and

something less than a

second in which to attend to them! It only

indicates how much there is in this wonderful game—more by
far than any of us suspect or shall ever discover. But

the time comes, and it should come speedily, when they are
all accomplished

without any effort, and, indeed, to a great extent,

unconsciously. The upward swing is everything. If it is bad
and faulty, the downward swing will be wrong

and the ball will not be properly driven. If it is

perfect, there is a splendid prospect of a long and
straight drive, carrying any hazard that may lie before
the
tee. That is why so very much emphasis must be laid on
getting this upward

swing perfect, and why comparatively little attention need be

paid to the

downward swing, even though it is really the effective

part of the stroke.

Be careful not to dwell at the turn of the swing. The

club has been gaining in

speed right up to this point, and though I suppose

that, theoretically, there is a pause at the turning-point,
lasting for an infinitesimal portion of a second, the
golfer should scarcely be conscious of it. He must be
careful to avoid a sudden

jerk, but if he dwells at the top of the stroke for

only a second, or half that short

period of time, his upward swing in all its perfection will

have been completely

wasted, and his stroke will be made under precisely the same
circumstances and

with exactly the same disadvantages as if the club had been

poised in this

position at the start, and there had been no attempt

at swinging of any

description. In such circumstances a long ball is an

impossibility, and a straight

one a matter of exceeding doubt. The odds are not very

greatly in favour of the

ball being rolled off the teeing ground. So don't

dwell at the turn; come back again with the club.

The club should gradually gain in speed from the moment of

the turn until it

is in contact with the ball, so that at the moment of

impact its head is travelling

at its fastest pace. After the impact, the club head

should be allowed to follow the ball straight in the line
of the flag as far as the arms will let it go, and
then,

having done everything that is possible, it swings itself

out at the other side of the shoulders. The entire
movement must be perfectly smooth and rhythmical; in

the downward swing, while the club is gaining speed,

there must not be the
semblance of a jerk anywhere such as would cause a jump, or
a double swing, or

what might be called a cricket stroke. That, in a few

lines, is the whole story of

the downward swing; but it needs some little elaboration

of detail. In the first place, avoid the tendency—which
is to some extent natural—to let the arms go

out or away from the body as soon as the downward movement

begins. When

they are permitted to do so the club head escapes from its

proper line, and a fault

is committed which cannot be remedied before the ball

is struck. Knowing by instinct that you are outside the
proper course, you make a great effort at

correction, the face of the club is drawn across the ball,

and there is one more slice. The arms should be
kept fairly well in during the latter half of the
downward swing, both elbows almost grazing the body.
If they are properly

attended to when the club is going up, there is much

more likelihood of their coming down all right.

The head is still kept motionless and the body pivots easily
at the waist; but

when the club is half-way down, the left hip is allowed to

go forward a little—a

preliminary to and preparation for the forward movement of

the body which is

soon to begin. The weight is being gradually moved

back again from the right leg to the left. At the moment
of impact both feet are equally weighted and are

flat on the ground, just as they were when the ball was being
addressed; indeed,

the position of the body, legs, arms, head, and every other detail
is, or ought to

be, exactly the same when the ball is being struck as

they were when it was addressed, and for that reason I refer
my readers again to the photograph of the

address (No. VI. ) as the most correct position of

everything at the moment of striking. After the impact the
weight is thrown on to the left leg, which stiffens,

while the right toe pivots and the knee bends just as its
partner did in the earlier
stage of the stroke, but perhaps to a greater extent,
since there is no longer any

need for restraint.

Now pay attention to the wrists. They should be held fairly

tightly. If the club

is held tightly the wrists will be tight, and vice versâ.

When the wrists are tight there is little play in them,
and more is demanded of the arms. I don't believe in

the long ball coming from the wrists. In defiance of

principles which are

accepted in many quarters, I will go so far as to say

that, except in putting, there

is no pure wrist shot in golf. Some players attempt to play

their short approaches

with their wrists as they have been told to do. These men are
likely to remain at

long handicaps for a long time. Similarly there is a kind of

superstition that the

elect among drivers get in some peculiar kind of "snap"—a

momentary forward

pushing movement—with their wrists at the time of

impact, and that it is this wrist work at the critical
period which gives the grand length to their
drives, those extra twenty or thirty yards which
make the stroke look so splendid, so

uncommon, and which make the next shot so much easier. Generally
speaking, the wrists when held firmly will take very good
care of themselves; but there is a

tendency, particularly when the two-V grip is used, to

allow the right hand to take charge of affairs at the
time the ball is struck, and the result is that the
right

wrist, as the swing is completed, gradually gets on to the

top of the shaft instead

of remaining in its proper place. The consequence is a

pulled ball,—in fact, this

is just the way in which I play for a pull. When the fault
is committed to a still

greater extent, the head of the club is suddenly turned

over, and then the ball is

foundered, as we say,—that is, it is struck downwards, and

struggles, crippled and done for, a few yards along the ground
in front of the tee. I find that ladies

are particularly addicted to this very bad habit. Once again

I have to say that if

the club is taken up properly there is the greater

certainty of its coming down properly, and then if you keep
both hands evenly to their work there is a great
probability of a good follow-through being properly effected.

When the ball has been struck, and the follow-through is being

accomplished, there are two rules, hitherto held sacred,

which may at last be broken. With the direction and force of the
swing your chest is naturally turned

round until it is facing the flag, and your body now abandons
all restraint, and to

a certain extent throws itself, as it were, after

the ball. There is a great art in timing this
body movement exactly. If it takes place the fiftieth part
of a second

too soon the stroke will be entirely ruined; if it comes

too late it will be quite ineffectual, and will only
result in making the golfer feel uneasy and as if
something had gone wrong. When made at the proper instant
it adds a good

piece of distance to the drive, and that instant, as

explained, is just when the club

is following through. An examination of the photograph indicating

the finish of

the swing (No. IX.) will show how my body has been thrown
forward until at this stage it is on the outward side
of the B line, although it was slightly on the

other side when the ball was being addressed. Secondly, when the ball
has gone,

and the arms, following it, begin to pull, the head,

which has so far been held perfectly still, is lifted
up so as to give freedom to the swing, and
incidentally it

allows the eyes to follow the flight of the ball.

PLATE X. HOW NOT TO DRIVE

PLATE X. HOW NOT TO DRIVE

In this case the player's feet are much to close together,

and there is a space between the hands as there
should never be, whatever style of grip is favored.
Also the right hand is too much underneath the shaft. The result
 of these faults will usually be a pulled ball, but
a long drive of any sort is impossible.

PLATE XI. HOW NOT TO DRIVE

PLATE XI. HOW NOT TO DRIVE

In this case the left wrist instead of being underneath

the handle is level with it—a common and dangerous fault.
The left arm is spread-eagled outwards, and the toe of
the club is not pointing downwards as it ought to be.
The pivoting on the left toe is very imperfect. There is
no power in this position. Sometimes the result is a
pull, but frequently the ball will be foundered. No length
is possible.

PLATE XII. HOW NOT TO DRIVE

PLATE XII. HOW NOT TO DRIVE

This is an example of a bad finish. Instead of being

thrown forward after the impact the body has fallen away.
The usual consequence is a sliced ball, and this is also
one of the commonest causes of short driving.

PLATE XIII. HOW NOT TO DRIVE

PLATE XIII. HOW NOT TO DRIVE

Here again the body has failed to follow the ball after
impact. The stance is very bad, the forward position of
the left foot preventing a satisfactory follow-through. The
worst fault committed here, however, is the position taken by
the left arm. The elbow is far too low. It should be
at least as high as the right elbow.

Result—complete lack of power and length.

I like to see the arms finish well up with the hands level
with the head. This

generally means a properly hit ball and a good follow-through.

At the finish of

the stroke the right arm should be above the left, the
position being exactly the

reverse of that in which the arms were situated at the

top of the swing, except that now the right arm is not
quite so high as the left one was at the earlier stage.

The photograph (No. IX.) indicates that the right arm is some
way below the

level of the shaft of the club, whereas it will be remembered

that the left arm was almost exactly on a level with
it. Notice also the position of the wrists at the finish
of the stroke.
Having thus indicated at such great length the many points
which go to the

making of a good drive, a long one and a straight

one, yet abounding with ease

and grace, allow me to show how some of the commonest faults

are caused by

departures from the rules for driving. Take the sliced ball,
as being the trouble from which the player most
frequently suffers, and which upon occasion will

exasperate him beyond measure. When a golfer is slicing

badly almost every

time, it is frequently difficult for him to discover immediately

the exact source of

the trouble, for there are two or three ways in which it comes
about. The player

may be standing too near to the ball; he may be pulling

in his arms too suddenly

as he is swinging on to it, thus drawing the club

towards his left foot; or he may

be falling on to the ball at the moment of impact.

When the stance is taken too

near to the ball there is a great inducement to the arms to

take a course too far

outwards (in the direction of the A line) in the

upward swing. The position is cramped, and the player
does not seem able to get the club round at all

comfortably. When the club head is brought on to the ball

after a swing of this

kind, the face is drawn right across it, and a slice is

inevitable. In diagnosing the

malady, in cases where the too close stance is

suspected, it is a good thing to apply the test of
distance given at the beginning of the previous chapter,
and see

whether, when the club head is resting in position against

the teed ball, the other

end of the shaft just reaches to the left knee when it is

in position, and has only

just so much bend in it as it has when the ball is being

addressed. The second method of committing the slicing sin
is self-explanatory. As for the third, a player falls
on the ball, or sways over in the direction of the
tee (very slightly, but it is the trifles that matter
most) when his weight has not been properly balanced to start
with, and when in the course of the swing it
has been moved suddenly from one leg to the other instead
of quite gradually. But sometimes

falling on the ball is caused purely and simply by

swaying the body, against which the player has already
been warned. When the slicing is bad, the methods

of the golfer should be tested for each of these

irregularities, and he should remember that an inch difference in
any position or movement as he stands upon

the tee is a great distance, and that two inches is

a vast space, which the mind

trained to calculate in small fractions can hardly conceive.

Pulling is not such a common fault, although one which

is sometimes very

annoying. Generally speaking, a pulled ball is a much better

one than one which

has been sliced, and there are some young players who are rather
inclined to purr

with satisfaction when they have pulled, for, though the ball
is hopelessly off the

line, they have committed an error which is commoner with those whose
hair has

grown grey on the links than with the beginner whose handicap is
reckoned by

eighteen or twenty strokes. But after all pulling is not

an amusement, and even

when it is an accomplishment and not an accident, it

should be most carefully regulated. It is the right hand which
is usually the offender in this case. The wrist

is wrong at the moment of impact, and generally at

the finish of the stroke as well,—that is, it is on
the top of the club, indicating that the right hand has done

most of the work. In a case of this sort the top edge

of the face of the club is usually overlapping the bottom
edge, so that the face is pointing slightly

downwards at the moment of impact; and when this position

is brought about

with extreme suddenness the ball is frequently foundered. If it

escapes this fate,

then it is pulled. A second cause of pulling is a

 sudden relaxation of the grip of

the right hand at the time of hitting the ball. When

this happens, the left hand, being uncontrolled, turns over
the club head in the same manner as in the first case,
and the result is the same.

I have found from experience that it is necessary to

enjoin even players of

some years' standing to make quite certain that they are

slicing and pulling, before they complain about their doing so and
try to find cures for it. In a great

number of cases a player will take his stance in quite

the wrong direction, either

too much round to the right or too much to the left, and when
the ball has flown

truly along the line on which it was despatched, the golfer

blandly remarks that it

was a bad slice or a bad pull, as the case may

be. He must bring himself to understand that a ball is
neither sliced nor pulled when it continues flying

throughout in the direction in which it started from the

tee. It is only when it begins performing evolutions in the air
some distance away, and taking a half wheel to the right
or left, that it has fallen a victim to the slice
or pull.

There is one more fault of the drive which must be

mentioned. It is one of

the commonest mistakes that the young golfer makes, and one
which afflicts him most keenly, for when he makes it his
drive is not a drive at all; all his power, or

most of it, has been expended on the turf some inches behind
the ball. The right

shoulder has been dropped too soon or too low. During the
address this shoulder

is necessarily a little below the left one, and care must be

taken at this stage that

it is not allowed to drop more than is necessary. At the

top of the swing the right

shoulder is naturally well above the other one, and at the moment
of impact with

the ball it should just have resumed its original position

slightly below the left. It

often happens, however, that even very good golfers, after a period
 of excellent

driving, through sheer over-confidence or carelessness, will fall

into the way of

dropping the right shoulder too soon, or, when they do

drop it, letting it go altogether, so that it fairly sinks
away. The result is exactly what is to be
expected. The head of the club naturally comes down with the
shoulder and flops

ineffectually upon the turf behind the tee, anything from two
to nine inches

behind the ball. Yet, unless the golfer has had various
attacks of this sort of thing

before, he is often puzzled to account for it. The remedy

is obvious.

I can imagine that many good golfers, now that I near the
end of my hints on

driving, may feel some sense of disappointment because I have

not given them a

recipe for putting thirty or forty yards on to their

commonplace drives. I can only

say that there is no trick or knack in doing it, as is often

suspected, such as the

suggestion, already alluded to, that the wrists have a little

game of their own just

when the club head is coming in contact with the ball. The
way to drive far is to

comply with the utmost care with every injunction that I have
set forth, and then

to hit hard but by the proper use of the swing. To

some golfers this may be a dangerous truth, but it must
be told: it is accuracy and strength which make the

long ball. But I seem to hear the young player wail,

"When I hit hard you say

'Don't press!'" A golfer is not pressing when he swings

through as fast as he can

with his club, gaining speed steadily, although he is often told

that he is. But it

most frequently happens that when he tries to get this extra pace
all at once, and

not as the result of gradual improvement and perfection

of style, that it comes not smoothly but in a great jerk
 just before the ball is reached. This is certainly

the way that it comes when the golfer is off his game,
and he tries, often unconsciously, to make up in force
what he has temporarily lost in skill. This really
is pressing, and it is this against which I must warn
every golfer in the

same grave manner that he has often been warned before. But
to the player who, by skill and diligence of
practice, increases the smooth and even pace of his swing,
keeping his legs, body, arms, and head in their proper places
all the time,

I have nothing to give but encouragement, though long

before this he himself

will have discovered that he has found out the wonderful, delightful
secret of the

long ball.

Two chapters of detailed instruction are too much for a player

to carry in his

mind when he goes out on to the links to practise drives,

and for his benefit I will

here make the briefest possible summary of what I have

already stated. Let him

attend, then, to the following chief points:—

Stance. —The player should stand just so far away from

the ball, that when the face of the driver is laid
against it in position for striking, the other end of
the

shaft exactly reaches to the left knee when the latter is

slightly bent. The right foot may be anything up to seven
inches in front of the left, but certainly never

behind it. The left toe should be a trifle in

advance of the ball. The toes should

be turned outwards. Make a low tee.

Grip. —As described. Remember that the palm of the right hand
presses hard

on the left thumb at all times except when nearing and at

the top of the swing.

The grip of the thumb and the first two fingers of each hand
is constantly firm.

Upward Swing. —The club head must be taken back in a

straight line for a few inches, and then brought round
gradually—not too straight up (causing
slicing) nor too far round in the old-fashioned style.
The speed of the swing increases gradually. The elbows are
kept fairly well in, the left wrist turning inwards and
finishing the upward swing well underneath the shaft. The
body

must not be allowed to sway. It should pivot

easily from the waist. The head must be kept quite still.
The weight is gradually thrown entirely on to the
right

leg, the left knee bends inwards, the left heel rises, and
the toe pivots. There must be no jerk at the turn of the
swing.

Downward Swing. —There should be a gradual increase of

pace, but no jerk

anywhere. The arms must be kept well down when the club is
descending, the

elbows almost grazing the body. The right wrist should not
be allowed to get on

to the top of the club. The head is still motionless.

The left hip is allowed to move forward very slightly
while the club is coming down. The weight of the

body is gradually transferred from the right leg to the left, the
right toe pivoting

after the impact, and the left leg stiffening. The right shoulder
must be prevented

from dropping too much. After the impact the arms should be
allowed to follow

the ball and the body to go forward, the latter movement

being timed very

carefully. The head may now be raised. Finish with the arms
well up—the right

arm above the left.

Slicing. —This may be caused by standing too near to the

ball, by pulling in

the arms, or by falling on the ball.

Pulling. —Usually caused by the head of the club being

turned partly over when the ball is struck, or by
relaxing the grip with the right hand.
I can only agree with those who have followed me so patiently
through these

two chapters, that to drive a golf ball well is a thing not

to be learned in a week

or a month.

C H A P T E R V I I

BRASSY AND SPOON

Good strokes with the brassy—Play as with the driver—The points

of the brassy

—The stance—Where and how to hit the ball—Playing from cuppy

lies—Jab

strokes from badly-cupped lies—A difficult club to master—The

man with the

spoon—The lie for the baffy—What it can and cannot do—

Character of the

club—The stance—Tee shots with the baffy—Iron clubs are better.

WHEN to your caddie you say "Give me my brassy" it is

a sign that there is

serious work to be done—as serious and anxious as any

that has to be

accomplished during the six or seven minutes' journey from

the tee to the hole.

Many golfers have a fondness for the brassy greater even

than for the driver, and

the brassy shot when well played certainly affords a

greater sense of satisfaction

than the drive—great as is the joy of a good drive—because

one is conscious of

having triumphed over difficulties. When the ball is lying very

well when it has to be played through the green,
the driver is naturally taken, but when the lie is

very low, approaching even to a cuppy character, the brassy is

called for so that

an effort may be made to pick the ball up cleanly and

despatch it to the full distance. Again, the stroke with
the brassy must always be a first-class one. One

that is a little inferior to the best may place the player

in serious difficulties. On

the other hand, the brassy seldom flatters its user,

 though in the hands of a master player it is
perhaps the club that will gain a stroke for him more often
than any other, the last bunker being surmounted and the green
reached without

any need for a short approach with an iron club. Therefore the
golfer must make

up his mind to attain excellence with the brassy, for

mediocrity with it will always handicap him severely.

I have already insisted that the method of play, the

stance, the swing, and all

the rest of it, should be the same with the brassy as

with the driver, and that I do

not believe in allowing the slightest difference, the only result

of which can be to

increase the difficulty of the brassy shot. Given a

ball through the green lying fairly well, a level
piece of earth to stand upon, and a practically
unlimited distance to be played, then the brassy stroke
is absolutely identical with the drive, and if the ball is
sufficiently well teed, or its lie is clean enough, there
is

no reason whatever why the driver should not be taken

for the stroke. Obviously,

however, as the lie which you get for your second shot
depends on chance, and

must be taken as it is found, there are times when a

variation from the standard

method of driving will be necessary, and it is to the

process of play on these occasions that I shall chiefly direct
my remarks in this chapter.

First, however, as to the brassy itself. Its shaft should

be slightly stiffer than

that of the driver, for it has much harder and rougher

work to accomplish, for which the whippy stick of a
slender driver would be too frail. In a desperate
case, when the ball is lying in an apparently impossible
place, the brassy is sometimes taken, in the hope that
the best may happen and the situation be

saved. That is why the brassy has a sole of brass

which will cut away

obstructions behind the ball as the head of the club is

swept on to it. It often happens that you must hit, as it
were, an inch or two behind the ball in order to

get it up. Therefore let the shaft be strong. It should

 be exactly the same length

as that of the driver, and not a half inch or an inch

shorter, as is often recommended. I do not accept any
argument in favour of the shorter shaft. The

golfer having driven from the tee needs to be persuaded

that he has again what is

practically a driving shot to make for his second, and thus

to be imbued with that

feeling of experience and confidence which makes for success. When

the clubs

are of the same length there is equal familiarity in using them;

but if he is given

a shorter club to play his brassy shot with, he feels that

there is something of a

novel nature to be done, and he wonders how. The face of

the brassy should be a

little shorter than that of the driver, to permit of

its being worked into little depressions in which the ball
may be lying; but this variation of the construction

of the head should not be carried to excess. Obviously

there needs to be more loft on the face of the club than
on that of the driver.

The stance for the brassy stroke (see Plate VI.) is

generally the same as for the drive, and for reasons
already stated my recommendation is that, so far as
circumstances will permit,—we are not on the teeing ground
when we are

playing the brassy,—it should always be the same. If

the player feels it to be desirable, he may stand an
inch or two nearer to the ball, and perhaps as much

behind the ball when he wishes to get well underneath so

as to lift it up. The swing should be the same, save that
more care should be taken to ensure the grip

with the hands being quite tight, for as the club head comes into
contact with the

turf before taking the ball, the club may turn in the
hands and cause a slice or pull unless perfect
control be kept over it.

A more important question is, where and how to hit the

ball. If it is lying fairly well, it is only necessary
to skim the top of the turf and take it cleanly.

There is no necessity in such a case, as is too often

imagined by inexperienced
players, to delve down into the turf so that the ball may be
lifted up. If the stroke

is played naturally, in the way I have indicated, the loft

on the face of the brassy

is quite sufficient to give the necessary amount of rise to

the ball as it leaves the

club. But if, as so often happens, the ball is just a

trifle cupped, a different attitude must be adopted
towards it. It is now desired that the club should
come

down to the turf about an inch behind the ball, and with this
object in view the

eyes should be directed to that point, but as in

addressing the ball the said point

may be covered by the head of the club, the sight should

be set, not really on to

the top of the club head, but to an imaginary spot just at

the side of the ball, so that when the club is drawn back
the turf and the point to look at come into full

view and retain the attention of the eyes until the stroke
has been made. When

the club is swung down on to that spot, its head will plough
through the turf and

be well under the ball by the time it reaches it, and the
desired rise will follow.

Swing in the same manner as for the drive. The commonest

fault in the playing

of this stroke comes from the instinct of the player

to try to scoop out the ball from its resting-place, and
in obedience to this instinct down goes the right shoulder when
the club is coming on to the ball. In the theory
of the beginner this course of procedure may seem wise and
proper, but he will inevitably be disappointed with the result,
and in time he will come to realise that all attempts

to scoop must fail. What the club cannot do in the

ordinary way when pushed through the turf as I have indicated,
cannot be done at all, and it is dangerous to

the stroke and dangerous to one's game to trifle with the

grand principles.

When the ball is really badly cupped, a moment must be

given for inspection

and consideration, for the situation is an awkward one. At

 the first glance an iron

club is usually suggested, but there are many times when

the golfer prefers to take the brassy if there is a
reasonable chance of its proving effective. In a case

of this sort the ordinary methods of brassy play must

necessarily be departed from. What is wanted is a jabbing-out
stroke, and to effect it properly the sight

must be set (as before) and the club come down on a spot
almost two inches behind the ball. There must be no
timidity about hitting the ground or anxiety about the
follow-through, for in this case the follow-through, as we have

understood it so far, is next to an impossibility, and must

not be sought for. In the

upward swing the club should be taken out straighter

than usual, that is to say, the club head should be kept
more closely to the A line, and it should not be
carried so far back as if an ordinary shot were being
played. Obviously the club

must be held with an absolutely firm grip, and for the proper
execution of a shot

like this the shaft should be exceptionally strong and

stiff. If there is the least suggestion of whip in it
the ball is not extricated in the same way, and moreover

there is sometimes a danger of breaking a slender

stick. However, if the golfer only carries one brassy
in his bag—and the average player will seldom carry
two

—this stroke might as well be risked, when the necessity for

it arises, with the

brassy that is carried for all-round work.

Beyond these few observations there is little more

to be said about simple brassy play, although it is
so difficult to master thoroughly, so supremely

important to a good game, and so full of variety and

interest. In the use of no club is constant and strenuous
practice better rewarded by improvement in play

and strokes gained.

The man with the spoon is coming back again to the links,
and this seems to

be the most convenient opportunity for a few remarks on play

with this club—

the baffy, as it is frequently called. One rarely

mentions the spoon without being
reminded of the difficulty as to the nomenclature of golf
which beset a certain Frenchman on his first
introduction to the game. "They zay to me," he
complained, "'Will you take ze tee?' and I answer, 'Ah, oui,'
but they give me no

tea, but make a leetle hill with the sand. Then they zay,
'Will you take the spoon?' They have give me no tea, but no
matter. I answer again, 'Ah, oui,

monsieur,' but they give no spoon either. So I give up the

thought of the tea, and

play with the new club that they do give to me." However, that
is neither here nor there. The baffy, or spoon, is
a very useful club, which at one time was a great
favourite with many fine players, and if it has of late years
been largely superseded by the cleek, it is still most
valuable to those players who are not so

skilful or reliable with this latter instrument as they would

like to be. The baffy

demands, for the achievement of such success as it can

afford, a fairly good lie,

and when this is given it is a tolerably easy club to

play with. A good lie is essential because of its
wooden head and long face, which prevent it from

getting down to the ball when the latter is at all

cupped, as the cleek would do, or

as the brassy may be made to do when the jab shot is

played. The baffy with its

long face cannot be burrowed into the turf so easily, nor

can it nick in between

the ball and the side of the cup, but it makes a bridge
over it, as it were, and thus

takes the ball right on the top and moves it only a few yards.
A cleek would take

the turf and the ball and make a good hit. Therefore, when the
lie is not

reasonably perfect, the baffy is of little use, though in

favourable circumstances

it is a useful stick. The shaft should be slightly

longer than that of the cleek, but

appreciably shorter than that of the brassy, and it should

be fairly stiff. Its face,

as already remarked, is much longer than that of the

brassy, and it is given several degrees more loft.

The method of play with the spoon is very much the same as
with the brassy, with only such modifications as are
apparently necessary. For example, the club

being shorter, the feet will be placed slightly nearer to

the ball; and although the

baffy calls for a fairly long swing, the player will

find that he is naturally indisposed to take the club head so
far round to his back as he was with the other

and longer wooden clubs. In other respects, the

upward and downward swing,

the grip, the follow-through, and everything else are the same.
With many

players the club is a particular favourite for the tee shot

at short holes of, say, 140 to 160 yards length with
a tolerably high bunker guarding the green—a type

of hole very frequently encountered, and which simply calls for

steady, sure play

to get the bogey 3. The baffy does its work very well
in circumstances of this kind, and the ball is brought up
fairly quickly upon the green; but the man who is

skilled with his irons will usually prefer one of them for
the stroke, and will get

the coveted 2 as often as the man with the spoon.

C H A P T E R V I I I

SPECIAL STROKES WITH WOODEN CLUBS

The master stroke in golf—Intentional pulling and slicing—The

contrariness of

golf—When pulls and slices are needful—The stance for

the slice—The

upward swing—How the slice is made—The short sliced stroke—Great

profits

that result—Warnings against irregularities—How to pull a ball—

The way to

stand—The work of the right hand—A feature of the address—What

makes a

pull—Effect of wind on the flight of the ball—Greatly

 exaggerated notions—

How wind increases the effect of slicing and pulling—Playing

through a cross

wind—The shot for a head wind—A special way of hitting

the ball—A long

low flight—When the wind comes from behind.

WHICH is the master stroke in golf? That is an engaging

question. Is it the

perfect drive, with every limb, muscle, and organ

of the body working in

splendid harmony with the result of despatching the ball

well beyond two

hundred yards in a straight line from the tee? No, it is

not that, for there are some

thousands of players who can drive what is to all intents

and purposes a perfect

ball without any unusual effort. Is it the brassy shot

which is equal to a splendid

drive, and which, delivering the ball in safety over the

last hazard, places it nicely upon the green, absolving the
golfer from the necessity of playing any other approach? No,
though that is a most creditable achievement. Is it the

approach over a threatening bunker on to a difficult

green where the ball can hardly be persuaded to remain, yet
so deftly has the cut been applied, and so finely has the
strength been judged, that it stops dead against the hole,
and for a

certainty a stroke is saved? This is a most satisfying

shot which has in its time

won innumerable holes, but it is not the master stroke

of golf. Then, is it the putt

from the corner of the green across many miniature hills

and dales with a

winding course over which the ball must travel, often

far away from the direct line, but which carries it at last
delightfully to the opening into which it sinks just

as its strength is ebbing away? We all know the thrilling

ecstasy that comes from

such a stroke as this, but it has always been helped

by a little good luck, and I

would not call it the master stroke. There are inferior

players who are good putters. Which, then, is the master
stroke? I say that it is the ball struck by any

club to which a big pull or slice is intentionally applied

for the accomplishment

of a specific purpose which could not be achieved in any

other way, and nothing

more exemplifies the curious waywardness of this game of ours than

the fact that

the stroke which is the confounding and torture of

the beginner who does it

constantly, he knows not how, but always to his detriment,

should later on at times be the most coveted shot of
all, and should then be the most difficult of accomplishment.
I call it the master shot because, to accomplish it with
any

certainty and perfection, it is so difficult even to the

experienced golfer, because

it calls for the most absolute command over the club and every
nerve and sinew

of the body, and the courageous heart of the true sportsman whom
no difficulty

may daunt, and because, when properly done, it is a

splendid thing to see, and for a certainty results in
material gain to the man who played it.

PLATE XIV. DRIVER AND BRASSY. STANCE WHEN PLAYING FOR A

SLICE

PLATE XIV. DRIVER AND BRASSY. STANCE WHEN PLAYING FOR A

SLICE

PLATE XV. DRIVER AND BRASSY. TOP OF THE SWING WHEN

PLAYING FOR A SLICE

PLATE XV. DRIVER AND BRASSY. TOP OF THE SWING WHEN PLAYING

FOR A SLICE

PLATE XVI. DRIVER AND BRASSY. FINISH WHEN PLAYING FOR A

SLICE

PLATE XVI. DRIVER AND BRASSY. FINISH WHEN PLAYING FOR A

SLICE

I will try, then, to give the golfers who desire them some
 hints as to how by

diligence and practice they may come to accomplish these master

strokes; but I

would warn them not to enter into these deepest intricacies

of the game until they have completely mastered all ordinary
strokes with their driver or brassy and can absolutely rely
upon them, and even then the intentional pull and slice

should only be attempted when there is no way of

accomplishing the purpose

which is likely to be equally satisfactory. Thus, when a

long brassy shot to the

green is wanted, and one is most completely stymied by a

formidable tree

somewhere in the foreground or middle distance, the only way

to get to the hole

is by working round the tree, either from the right or from

the left, and this can

be done respectively by the pull and the slice. Of the

two, the sliced shot is the

easier, and is to be recommended when the choice is quite

open, though it must

not be overlooked that the pulled ball is the longer. The

slicing action is not quite

so quick and sudden, and does not call for such extremely
delicate accuracy as

the other, and therefore we will deal with it first.

The golfer should now pay very minute attention to the

photographs (Nos.

XIV., XV., and XVI.) which were specially taken to illustrate these
observations.

It will be noticed at once that I am standing very much

more behind the ball than

when making an ordinary straight drive or brassy stroke,

and this is indeed the

governing feature of the slicing shot as far as the

stance and position of the golfer, preparatory to taking
it, are concerned. An examination of the position of

the feet, both in the photograph (XIV.) and the

accompanying diagram, will show that the left toe is now
exactly on the B line, that is to say, it is just
level
with the ball, while the right foot is 25½ inches
away from the same mark,

whereas in the case of the ordinary drive it was only

19. At the same time the right foot has been moved very much nearer
to the A line, more than 10 inches in

fact, although the left is only very slightly nearer. Obviously

the general effect of

this change of stance is to move the body slightly round

to the left. There is no

mystery as to how the slice is made. It comes simply as

the result of the face of

the club being drawn across the ball at the time of impact,
and it was precisely in

this way that it was accidentally accomplished when it was

not wanted. In

addressing the ball there should be just the smallest trifle

of extra weight thrown

on the right leg; but care must be taken that this

difference is not exaggerated.

The golfer should be scarcely conscious of it.

The grip is made in the usual manner, but there is

a very material and all-important difference in the upward
swing. In its upward movement the club head

now takes a line distinctly outside that which is taken in the

case of the ordinary

drive, that is to say, it comes less round the body and keeps
on the straight line

longer. When it is half-way up it should be about two

or three inches outside the

course taken for the full straight drive. The object of

this is plain. The inflexible

rule that as the club goes up so will it come down, is in

operation again. The club

takes the same line on the return, and after it has

struck the ball it naturally, pursuing its own direction, comes
inside the line taken in the case of the ordinary

drive. The result is that at the moment of impact,

and for that fractional part of a

second during which the ball may be supposed to be

clinging to the club, the face of the driver or brassy
 is being, as it were, drawn across the ball as if
cutting

a slice out of it. There is no means, so far as I

know, of gauging how unthinkably

short is the time during which this slicing process is

going on, but, as we observed, when we were slicing
unintentionally and making the ball curl round

sometimes to an angle of ninety degrees before the finish

of its flight, it is quite

long enough to effect the most radical alteration in what

happens afterwards. In

that short space of time a spinning motion is put

upon the ball, and a curious impulse which appears to
have something in common with that given to a

boomerang is imparted, which sooner or later take effect. In

other respects, when a distant slice is wanted, the same
principles of striking the ball and finishing the

swing as governed the ordinary drive are to be observed.

What I mean by a

distant slice is one in which the ball is not asked to go

round a corner until it is

well on its way, the tree, or whatever it is that has

to be circumvented, being half-way out or more, as shown
in the diagram on opposite page. This is the most
difficult kind of slice to perform, inasmuch as the ball
must be kept on a straight line until the object is approached,
and then made to curl round it as if

by instinct. In such a case the club should be drawn very

gradually across, and

not so much or so suddenly as when the slice is wanted

immediately.

TRAJECTORY OF BALL WHEN A DISTANT SLICE IS REQUIRED.

TRAJECTORY OF BALL WHEN A DISTANT SLICE IS REQUIRED.

TRAJECTORY OF BALL IN THE CASE OF A QUICK SLICE.

TRAJECTORY OF BALL IN THE CASE OF A QUICK SLICE.

When the tree or thicket that stymies you is only twenty

or thirty yards away,

the short sliced shot is not only the best but perhaps the
only one to play, that is

to say, if it is first-class golf that is being practised and

there is an opponent who
is fighting hard. Take a case for exemplification—one which
is of the

commonest occurrence. There is a long hole to be played, and

some thirty yards

from the point which will be reached by a good drive, but

well away to the right

there is a spinny of tall trees. The golfer is badly

off the line with his drive, with

the result that he now has the trees in the direct line
between him and the hole

which is the best part of a hundred yards from the other edge
of the wood, or say

a hundred and forty from where the ball is lying.

He might by a wonderfully lofted shot play the ball over
the obstacle, but he would have to rise at such an

angle that any length would be an impossibility, and he

would be short of the green. The only alternative to the slice
would be to accept the loss of a stroke as

inevitable, play away to the right or left, and then get

on to the green with the next one. Thus in either case
a valuable stroke is lost, and if the enemy is
playing

the correct game the loss may be most serious. The short or
quick slice comes to

the rescue admirably. Turn the ball round the spinny, give it
as much length as

you can in the circumstances, and if the job has been well
done you will be on

the green after all with the highly comforting sensation

that for once you have proved yourself a golfer of the
first degree of skill, and have snatched a half when the
hole seemed lost. The diagram here presented illustrates
the best

possibilities of a quick slice. I can explain in a

line exactly how this is done, but

I cannot guarantee that my readers will therefore be able

to do it until they have

practised, and practised, and practised yet again. Instead of

hitting the ball with

the middle of the club face as in playing for the

distant slice as already
explained, hit it slightly nearer the heel of the club. Swing
upwards in the same

way, and finish in the same way, also. Taking the ball with
the heel results in the

slice being put on more quickly and in there being more of it,
but I need hardly

observe that the stroke must be perfectly judged and

played, and that there must

be no flaw in it anywhere, or disaster must surely

follow. As I say, it is not an easy shot to accomplish,
but it is a splendid thing to do when wanted,
and I strongly recommend the golfer who has gained proficiency
in the ordinary way

with his wooden clubs, to practise it whenever possible

until at length he feels some confidence in playing it. It
is one of those strokes which mark the skilled

and resourceful man, and which will win for him many a
match. Beyond the

final admonition to practise, I have only one more piece of advice

to give to the

golfer who wants to slice when a slice would

be useful, and that is in the downward swing he must
guard against any inclination to pull in the arms too
quickly, the result of his consciousness that the club has
to be drawn across the

ball. Whatever is necessary in this way comes naturally as

the consequence of taking the club head more outwards than usual
in the upward swing. Examine

the photographs very carefully in conjunction with the study

of all the

observations that I have made.

PLATE XVII. DRIVER AND BRASSY. PLAYING FOR A PULL. STANCE

PLATE XVII. DRIVER AND BRASSY. PLAYING FOR A PULL. STANCE

PLATE XVIII. DRIVER AND BRASSY. TOP OF THE SWING WHEN

PLAYING FOR A PULL

PLATE XVIII. DRIVER AND BRASSY. TOP OF THE SWING WHEN

PLAYING FOR A PULL

PLATE XIX. DRIVER AND BRASSY. FINISH WHEN PLAYING FOR A

PULL
PLATE XIX. DRIVER AND BRASSY. FINISH WHEN PLAYING FOR A

PULL

Now there is the pulled ball to consider; for there are times
when the making

of such a shot is eminently desirable. Resort to a slice

may be unsatisfactory, or

it may be entirely impossible, and one important factor in

this question is that the

pulled ball is always much longer than the other, in

fact it has always so much

length in it that many players in driving in the

ordinary way from the tee, and desiring only to go straight
down the course, systematically play for a pull and

make allowances for it in their direction. Now examine Plate

XVII. and the accompanying diagram illustrating the stance
for the pull, and see how very

materially it differs from those which were adopted for

the ordinary drive and that in which a slice was asked for.
We have moved right round to the front of

the ball. The right heel is on the B line and the toe 4
inches away from it, while

the left toe is no less than 21½ inches from this line, and
therefore so much in

front of the ball. At the same time the line of the stance
shows that the player is

turned slightly away from the direction in which he proposes

to play, the left toe

being now only 26½ inches away from the A line, while the right
toe is 32 inches

distant from it. The obvious result of this stance is

that the handle of the club is

in front of the ball, and this circumstance must be

accentuated by the hands being held even slightly more forward
than for an ordinary drive. Now they are

held forward in front of the head of the club. In the grip

there is another point of

difference. It is necessary that in the making of this stroke

the right hand should

do more work than the left, and therefore the club should
be held rather more loosely by the left hand than by its
partner. The latter will duly take advantage of
this slackness, and will get in just the little extra work that
is wanted of it. In the

upward swing carry the club head just along the line which it would
take for an

ordinary drive. The result of all this arrangement, and

particularly of the

slackness of the left hand and comparative tightness of the right,

is that there is a

tendency in the downward swing for the face of the club

to turn over to some extent, that is, for the top edge of
it to be overlapping the bottom edge. This is

exactly what is wanted, for, in fact, it is quite

necessary that at the moment of impact the right hand should
be beginning to turn over in this manner, and if the

stroke is to be a success the golfer must see that

it does so, but the movement must be made quite smoothly and
naturally, for anything in the nature of a jab,

such as is common when too desperate efforts are made to

turn over an unwilling

club, would certainly prove fatal. It follows from what

has been happening all the way through, that at the finish
of the stroke the right hand, which has matters

pretty well its own way, has assumed final ascendancy and is
well above the left.

Plates XVIII. and XIX. should be carefully examined.

The pulled ball is particularly useful in a cross

wind, and this fact leads us naturally to a consideration
of the ways and means of playing the long shot with

the wooden club to the best advantage when there are winds of
various kinds to

test the resources of the golfer. Now, however, that this

question is raised, I feel

it desirable to say without any hesitation that the majority

of golfers possess vastly exaggerated notions of the
effect of strong cross winds on the flight of
their ball. They greatly overestimate the capabilities of
a breeze. To judge by their observations on the tee,
one concludes that a wind from the left is often sufficient to
carry the ball away at an angle of forty-five degrees, and
indeed sometimes, when it does take such an exasperating course,
and finishes its

journey some fifty yards away from the point to which it was
desired to despatch
it, there is an impatient exclamation from the
disappointed golfer, "Confound this wind! Who on earth can play
in a hurricane!" or words to that effect. Now I

have quite satisfied myself that only a very strong wind

indeed will carry a properly driven ball more than a very
few yards out of its course, and in proof of

this I may say that it is very seldom when I have to

deal with a cross wind that I

do anything but play straight at the hole without any

pulling or slicing or making

allowances in any way. If golfers will only bring themselves to

ignore the wind,

then it in turn will almost entirely ignore their straight

ball. When you find your

ball at rest the aforementioned forty or fifty yards from the point
to which you

desired to send it, make up your mind, however unpleasant it

may be to do so,

that the trouble is due to an unintentional pull or

slice, and you may get what consolation you can from the fact
that the slightest of these variations from the

ordinary drive is seized upon with delight by any wind,

and its features

exaggerated to an enormous extent. It is quite possible,

therefore, that a slice which would have taken the ball only twenty
yards from the line when there was

no wind, will take it forty yards away with the kind assistance of
its friend and

ally.

METHOD AND EFFECT OF PULLING INTO A CROSS WIND FROM THE

RIGHT.

METHOD AND EFFECT OF PULLING INTO A CROSS WIND FROM THE

RIGHT.

However, I freely admit that there are times when

it is advisable to play a fancy shot when there is an excess
of wind, and the golfer must judge according

to circumstances. Let me give him this piece of advice:

very rarely slice as a remedy against a cross wind.
Either pull or nothing. If there is a strong
wind coming from the right, the immature golfer who has been
 practising slices argues

that this is his chance, and that it is his obvious duty

to slice his ball right into

the teeth of that wind, so that wind and slice will neutralise each
other, and the

ball as the result will pursue an even course in the

straight line for the flag. A few trials will prove to
him that this is a very unsatisfactory business, and after

he has convinced himself about it I would recommend him to

try pulling the ball

and despatching it at once along a line to the right

directly against that same wind. When the pull begins to
operate, both this and the wind will be working

together, and the ball will be carried a much greater

length, its straightness depending upon the accuracy of allowance.
The diagram explains my meaning.

But I reiterate that the ordinary shots are generally the

easiest and best with which to get to the hole. The principle
of the golfer should be, and I trust is, that

he always wants to reach the hole in the simplest

and easiest way, with a

minimum of doubt and anxiety about any shot which he is called

upon to play,

and one usually finds that without these fancy shots

one comes to the flag as easily as is possible in
all the circumstances. Of course I am writing more

particularly with the wind in mind, and am not recommending

the ordinary shot

when there is a tree or a spinny for a stymie, in

contradiction to what I have said

earlier in this chapter.

However, there is one kind of wind difficulty which it is

certainly necessary

to deal with by a departure from the ordinary method of

play with the driver or

the brassy, and that is when the wind is blowing straight

up to the player from the hole, threatening to cut
off all his distance. Unless measures are taken to prevent
it, a head wind of this description certainly does make play
extremely

difficult, the comparative shortness of the drive making an unduly

long approach shot necessary, or even demanding an extra stroke
 at long holes in order to reach

the green. But, fortunately, we have discovered a means

of dealing very

satisfactorily with these cases. What we want to do is

to keep the ball as low down as possible so as to cheat
the wind, for the lower the ball the less

opportunity has the breeze of getting to work upon it. A

combination of two or

three methods is found to be the best for obtaining this low

turf-skimming ball,

which yet has sufficient driving power in it to keep up

until it has achieved a good length. Evidently the first thing
to do is to make the tee—if it is a tee shot

—rather lower than usual—as low as is consistent with safety

and a clean stroke.

The player should then stand rather more in front

of the ball than if he were playing for an ordinary drive,
but this forward position should not by any means

be so marked as it was in the stance for the

pulled drive. A reference to Plate

XX. and the diagram will show that now we have the ball
exactly half-way

between the toes, each toe being twelve inches to

the side of the B line, while both are an inch nearer
to the ball than was the case when the ordinary drive was

being made. But the most important departure that we make from
the usual

method of play is in the way we hit the ball. So

far we have invariably been keeping our gaze fixed on a point
just behind it, desiring that the club shall graze

the ground and take the ball rather below the centre. But
now it is necessary that

the ball shall be struck half-way up and before the

club touches the turf.

Therefore keep the eye steadily fixed upon that point (see the right-
hand ball in

the small diagram on page 170) and come down exactly on it.
This is not an easy thing to do at first; it
requires a vast amount of practice to make sure of
hitting

the ball exactly at the spot indicated, but the stroke when
properly made is an excellent and most satisfying one. After
striking the ball in this way, the club head should continue
its descent for an instant so that it grazes the turf
for the first time two or three inches in front of the spot
where the ball was. The passage

of the club through the ball, as it were, is the same as

in the case of the push shot

with the cleek, and therefore reference may usefully be made

to the diagram on

page 106, which illustrates it. A natural result

of the stance and the way the stroke is played is that
the arms are more extended than usual after the impact,

and in the follow-through the club head keeps nearer to the

turf. So excellent are

the results obtained when the stroke is properly played,

that there are many fine

players, having a complete command over it, who

systematically play it from the tee whether there is
a wind to contend against or not, simply because of
the length and accuracy which they secure from it. Braid is one
of them. If the teeing

ground offers any choice of gradient, a tee with a

hanging lie should be selected,

and the ball is then kept so low for the first forty
or fifty yards that it is practically impossible for the
wind to take it off the line, for it must be remembered
that even when the wind comes dead from the front, if there
is the

slightest slice or pull on the ball to start with,

it will be increased to a disconcerting extent before the
breeze has done with it.

PLATE XX. DRIVER AND BRASSY. STANCE FOR A LOW BALL

AGAINST THE WIND

PLATE XX. DRIVER AND BRASSY. STANCE FOR A LOW BALL

AGAINST

THE WIND

PLATE XXI. DRIVER AND BRASSY. STANCE FOR A HIGH BALL WITH

THE WIND

PLATE XXI. DRIVER AND BRASSY. STANCE FOR A HIGH BALL WITH

THE WIND

When the wind is at the back of the player blowing hard

towards the hole,
the situation presents no difficulty and needs very little
consideration. The object

in this case is to lift the ball well up towards the clouds

so that it may get the full

benefit of the wind, though care must be taken that plenty

of driving length is put

into the stroke at the same time. Therefore tee the ball rather
higher than usual,

and bring your left foot more in a line with it than you would
if you were playing

in the absence of wind, at the same time moving both

feet slightly nearer the ball. Plate XXI. will make the details
of this stance quite clear. The ball being teed unusually
high, the golfer must be careful not to make any unconscious

allowance for the fact in his downward swing, and must see
that he wipes the tee

from the face of the earth when he makes the stroke.

Though in my explanations of these various strokes

I have generally

confined myself to observations as to how they may be

made from the tee, they

are strokes for the driver and the brassy,—for all

cases, that is, where the long ball is wanted from the
wooden club under unusual circumstances of difficulty.

Evidently in many cases they will be more difficult to accomplish

satisfactorily from a brassy lie and with the shorter
faced club than when the golfer has

everything in his favour on the teeing ground, and it

must be left to his skill and

discretion as to the use he will make of them when playing

through the green.

C H A P T E R I X

THE CLEEK AND DRIVING MASHIE

A test of the golfer—The versatility of the cleek—Different

kinds of cleeks—

Points of the driving mashie—Difficulty of continued

success with it—The
cleek is more reliable—Ribbed faces for iron clubs—To prevent
skidding—

The stance for an ordinary cleek shot—The swing—Keeping

control over the

right shoulder—Advantages of the three-quarter cleek shot—The push

shot—

My favourite stroke—The stance and the swing—The way to hit

the ball—

Peculiar advantages of flight from the push stroke—When it

should not be

attempted—The advantage of short swings as against full

swings with iron

clubs—Playing for a low ball against the wind—A particular

stance—

Comparisons of the different cleek shots—General observations

and

recommendations—Mistakes made with the cleek.

IT is high time we came to consider the iron clubs that are

in our bag. His play

with the irons is a fine test of the golfer. It calls for

extreme skill and delicacy,

and the man who is surest with these implements is

generally surest of his

match. The fathers of golf had no clubs with metal

heads, and for a long time after they came into use there
was a lingering prejudice against them; but in these days
there is no man so bold as to say that any long hole can
always be played so well with wood all through as with a
mixture of wood and iron in the

proper proportions. It may be, as we are often told, that

the last improvement in

iron clubs has not yet been made; but I must confess
that the tools now at the disposal of the golfer come
as near to my ideal of the best for their purpose as
I

can imagine any tools to do, and no golfer is at

liberty to blame the clubmaker

for his own incapacity on the links, though it may

frequently happen that his choice and taste in the matter of
his golfing goods are at fault. There are many

varieties of every class of iron clubs, and their gradations of

 weight, of shape, of

loft, and of all their other features, are delicate almost to

the point of invisibility; but the old golfer who has an
affection for a favourite club knows when another

which he handles differs from it to the extent of a

single point in these

gradations. Some golfers have spent a lifetime in the search

for a complete set of

irons, each one of which was exactly its owner's ideal,

and have died with their

task still unaccomplished. Happy then is the player who

in his early days has irons over all of which he has
obtained complete mastery, and which he can rely

upon to do their duty, and do it well, when the match is keen

and their owner is

sorely pressed by a relentless opponent.

First of these iron clubs give me the cleek, the most powerful
and generally

useful of them all, though one which is much abused

and often called hard

names. If you wish, you may drive a very long ball with a
cleek, and if the spirit

moves you so to do you may wind up the play at the hole

by putting with it too.

But these after all are what I may call its unofficial uses, for
the club has its own

particular duties, and for the performance of them there is no

adequate substitute.

Therefore, when a golfer says, as misguided golfers

sometimes do, that he

cannot play with the cleek, that he gets equal or superior

results with other clubs,

and that therefore he has abandoned it to permanent seclusion

in the locker, you

may shake your head at him, for he is only deceiving himself.

Like the wares of

boastful advertisers, there is no other which is

"just as good," and if a golfer finds that he can do
no business with his cleek, the sooner he learns
to do it the
better will it be for his game.

And there are many different kinds of cleeks, the choice from
which is to a

large extent to be regulated by experiment and individual fancy.

Some men fancy

one type, and some another, and each of them obtains

approximately the same

result from his own selection, but it is natural that a

driving cleek, which is specially designed for obtaining
length, having a fairly straight face and plenty of
weight, will generally deliver the ball further than those
which are more lofted

and lighter. Making a broad classification, there are

driving cleeks, ordinary

cleeks, pitching cleeks, and cleeks with the weight in

the centre. For the last-named variety I have little
admiration, excellent as many people consider them

to be. If the ball is hit with absolute accuracy in the

centre of the club's face every time, all is well; but it
is not given to many golfers to be so marvellously

certain. Let the point of contact be the least degree

removed from the centre of the face, where the weight
is massed, and the result will usually be disquieting,

for, among other things, there is in such cases a great liability

for the club to turn

in the hands of the player.

As an alternative to the cleek the driving mashie has

achieved considerable

popularity. It is undoubtedly a most useful club, and

is employed for the same class of work as the cleek, and,
generally speaking, may take its place. The distinctive features
of the driving mashie are that it has a deeper
face than that of

the cleek, and that this depth increases somewhat more rapidly
from the heel to

the toe. By reason of this extra depth it is often

a somewhat heavier club, and there is rather less
loft on it than there is on the average cleek. When
you merely

look at a driving mashie it certainly seems as if it

may be the easier club to use,

but long experience will prove that this is not the case. In this
respect I think the
driving cleek is preferable to either the spoon or the
driving mashie, particularly

when straightness is an essential, as it usually is when

any of these clubs is being

handled. It frequently happens that the driving mashie is

used to very good effect

for a while after it has first been purchased; but

I have noticed over and over again that when once you are off
your play with it—and that time must come, as

with all other clubs—it takes a long time to get back to form
with it again,—so

long, indeed, that the task is a most painful and depressing

one. Five years ago I

myself had my day with the driving mashie, and I played

so well with it that at

that time I did not even carry a cleek. I used to drive

such a long ball with this

instrument, that when I took it out of my bag to play with

it, my brother

professionals used to say, "There's Harry with his driver

again"; and I remember that when on one occasion Andrew
Kirkaldy was informed that I was playing a

driving mashie shot, he was indignant, and exclaimed,

"Mashie! Nay, man,

thon's no mashie. It's jest a driver." Then the day came

when I found to my sorrow that I was off my driving
mashie, and not all the most laborious practice

or the fiercest determination to recover my lost form with

it was rewarded with

any appreciable amount of success. After a time I got back

to playing it in some

sort of fashion, but I was never so good with it again as

to justify me in sticking

to it in preference to the cleek, so since then I

have practically abandoned it.

This, I am led to believe, is a fairly common

experience among golfers, so the moral would seem to be, that
you should make the most of your good days with

the driving mashie, that at the first sign of decaying power

with the club another and most thorough trial should be
given to the deserted cleek, and that at this crisis that
club should be persevered with in preference to the tool which
has failed. The driving mashie usually demands a
good lie if it is to be played with

any amount of success. When, in addition to the lie being

cuppy, the turf is at all

soft and spongy—and these two circumstances are frequently

combined—the

ball very often skids off the face of the club,

chiefly because of its

perpendicularity, instead of rising nicely from the moment

of impact as it would

do when carefully played by a suitable cleek. Of course

if the turf is firm there is

much greater chance of success with the driving mashie

than if it is loose. But one finds by long experience that
the cleek is the best and most reliable club for

use in all these difficult circumstances. Even the driving

cleeks have a certain amount of loft on their faces which
enables them to get nicely under the ball, so

that it rises with just sufficient quickness after being struck. And
there is far less

skidding with the cleek.

This question of skidding calls to mind another feature

of iron clubs

generally, and those which are designed for power and

length in particular,

which has not in the past received all the consideration that
it deserves. I am about to speak of the decided advantage
which in my opinion accrues from the

use of iron clubs with ribbed faces in preference to those which

are smooth and

plain. Some golfers of the sceptical sort have a notion

that the ribs or other marking are merely ornamental, or,
at the best, give some satisfaction to the fancy; but these
are certainly not their limits. The counteraction to
skidding by the ribbed face is undoubtedly very great, and
there are certain circumstances in

which I consider it to be quite invaluable. Suppose the ball

is lying fairly low in

grass. It is clear to the player that his iron club, as

it approaches it, will be called

upon to force its way through some of the grass, and that
 as it comes into contact

with the ball many green blades will inevitably be crushed

between the face of

the club and the ball, with the result, in the case of
the plain-faced club, that further progress in the
matter of the follow-through will be to some extent

impeded. But when the face of the club is ribbed, at the

instant of contact between ball and club the grass that comes
between is cut through by the ribs, and thus there
is less waste of the power of the swing. The
difference may be only small; but whether it is an ounce
or two or merely a few pennyweights, it is

the trifle of this kind that tells. And, of course, the

tendency to skid is greater than ever when the grass through
the green, or where the ball has to be played

from, is not so short as it ought to be, and the

value of the ribbed face is correspondingly increased.

PLATE XXII. FULL SHOT WITH THE CLEEK. STANCE

PLATE XXII. FULL SHOT WITH THE CLEEK. STANCE

PLATE XXIII. FULL SHOT WITH THE CLEEK. TOP OF THE SWING

PLATE XXIII. FULL SHOT WITH THE CLEEK. TOP OF THE SWING

PLATE XXIV. FULL SHOT WITH THE CLEEK. FINISH

PLATE XXIV. FULL SHOT WITH THE CLEEK. FINISH

PLATE XXV. FULL SHOT WITH THE CLEEK. FINISH

PLATE XXV. FULL SHOT WITH THE CLEEK. FINISH

Now we may examine the peculiarities of play with the

cleek, the term for

the remainder of this chapter being taken to include the

driving mashie. It will be

found that the shaft of the cleek is usually some two to four
inches shorter than

the driver, and this circumstance in itself is sufficient

to demand a considerable

modification in the stance and method of use. I now

invite the reader to examine

the photograph and diagram of the ordinary cleek shot

(Plate XXII.), and to compare it when necessary with Plate VI.,
representing the stance for the drive.

It will be found that the right foot is only 21½ inches from
 the A line as against

27½ when driving, and the left toe is only 24 inches from
it as compared with 34. From this it appears that the left
foot has been brought more forward into line

with the right, but it is still behind it, and it

is essential that it should be so, in order that the arms
may be allowed a free passage through after the
stroke. The

feet remain about the same distance apart, but it should

be noticed that the whole

body has been moved forward some four inches in relation

to the ball, the

distances of the right and left toes from the B line being
respectively 19 and 9½

inches in the case of the drive and 15 and 12 in that

of the cleek shot. The stance

in the case of all iron clubs should be studied with great

care, for a half inch the

wrong way seems to have a much greater power for evil than it
does in the case of wooden clubs.

The handle of the cleek is gripped in the same

manner as the driver, but

perhaps a little more tightly, for, as the club comes

severely into contact with the

turf, one must guard against the possibility of its

turning in the hands. Ground the club behind the ball
exactly in the place and in the way that you intend
to hit

it. There is a considerable similarity between the swings

with the driver and the

cleek. Great care must be taken when making the backward swing
that the body

is not lifted upwards, as there is a tendency for it

to be. When pivoting on the left

toe, the body should bend slightly and turn from the waist,
the head being kept

perfectly still. Thus it comes about that the golfer's system

appears to be working

in three independent sections—first from the feet to the hips, next

from the hips

to the neck, and then the head. The result of this combination
 of movements is

that at the top of the swing, when everything has happened

as it should do, the

eyes will be looking over the top of the left shoulder—just

as when at the top of

driving swing. The body should not be an inch higher

than when the address was

made, and the right leg will now be straight and stiff.
When the club is held tightly, there will be practically
no danger of overswinging; but, as with the drive, the
pressure with the palms of the hands may be a little
relaxed at the top.

The backward swing must not be so rapid that control

of the club is in any degree lost, and once again the
player must be warned against allowing any

pause at the top. In coming down the cleek should gain

its speed gradually, so that at the time of impact it
is travelling at its fastest pace, and then, if the toes

are right and the shoulders doing their duty, the

follow-through will almost

certainly be performed properly. The right shoulder must be

carefully watched

lest it drops too much or too quickly. The club must, as it

were, be in front of it

all the way. If the shoulder gets in front, a sclaffed

ball is almost sure to be the

result, the club coming into contact with the turf much too
soon. If the stroke is

finished correctly, the body will then be facing the flag.

So much, for the time being, for the full shot with the
cleek. Personally,

however, I do not favour a really full shot either

with the cleek or any other iron

club. When the limit of capability is demanded with this or most

other iron clubs

in the bag, it is time to consider whether a wooden

instrument should not be

employed. Therefore I very seldom play the full cleek shot, but
limit myself to one which may be said to be
slightly above the three-quarters. This is usually quite
sufficient for all purposes of length, and it is easier
with this limit of swing
to keep the wrists and the club generally more under control.
Little more can be

said by way of printed instruction regarding the ordinary

cleek shot, which is called for when the distance to be
played falls short of a full brassy, or, on the
other hand, when the lie is of too cuppy a character
to render the use of the brassy possible with any amount
of safety.

THE PUSH SHOT WITH THE CLEEK. THE PUSH SHOT WITH THE

CLEEK.

Many players, however, who are young in experience, and

some who are

older too, seem to imagine that the simplest stroke, as just

described, is the limit

of the resources of the cleek, and never give it credit

for the versatility which it

undoubtedly possesses. There is another shot with the cleek

which is more

difficult than that we have just been discussing, one which

it will take many weeks of arduous practice to master, but
which, in my opinion, is one of the most

valuable and telling shots in golf, and that is the push which
is a half shot. Of all

the strokes that I like to play, this is my favourite. It

is a half shot, but as a matter of fact almost as
much length can be obtained with it as in any other
way. It is a

somewhat peculiar shot, and must be played very exactly.

In the first place,

either a shorter cleek (about two inches shorter, and

preferably with a little more

loft than the driving cleek possesses) should be used,

or the other one must be gripped lower down the handle. A
glance at Plate XXVI. and the diagram in the corner
will show that the stance is taken much nearer to the
ball than when an ordinary cleek shot was being played,
that particularly the right foot is nearer, and that the
body and feet have again been moved a trifle to the left.
Moreover, it

is recommended that in the address the hands should

be held a little more

forward than usual. In this half shot the club is not swung
so far back, nor is the
follow-through continued so far at the finish. To make a
complete success of this

stroke, the ball must be hit in much the same manner as

when a low ball was wanted in driving against the wind. In
playing an ordinary cleek shot, the turf is

grazed before the ball in the usual manner; but to

make this half or push shot perfectly, the sight should be
directed to the centre of the ball, and the club

should be brought directly on to it (exactly on the

spot marked on the diagram on

page 170). In this way the turf should be grazed for the
first time an inch or two on the far side of the ball.
The diagram on this page shows the passage of the
club through the ball, as it were, exactly. Then not only is
the ball kept low, but

certain peculiarities are imparted to its flight, which

are of the utmost value when a half shot with the cleek is
called for. Not only may the ball be depended

upon never to rise above a certain height, but, having

reached its highest point, it

seems to come down very quickly, travelling but a few yards more,
and having

very little run on it when it reaches the turf again.

When this shot is once mastered, it will be found that these
are very valuable peculiarities, for a long approach shot
can be gauged with splendid accuracy. The ball is sent
forwards and upwards until it is almost overhanging
the green, and then down it comes close to the pin. I
admit that when the ball is hit in this way the shot is made
rather difficult—though not so difficult as it looks—and, of
course, it is not absolutely imperative that this method
should be followed. Some good players

make the stroke in the same way as the full shot, so

far as hitting the ball is concerned, but in doing so they
certainly lose the advantages I have pointed out,

and stand less chance of scoring through a finely placed

ball. I may remark that

personally I play not only my half cleek stroke but all my

cleek strokes in this

way, so much am I devoted to the qualities of flight

which are thereby imparted

to the ball, and though I do not insist that others

should do likewise in all cases, I

am certainly of opinion that they are missing something when

 they do not learn

to play the half shot in this manner. The greatest danger

they have to fear is that

in their too conscious efforts to keep the club clear of the

ground until after the

impact, they will overdo it and simply top the ball, when,
of course, there will be

no flight at all. I suggest that when this stroke is

being practised a close watch should be kept over the
forearms and wrists, from which most of the work is wanted.
The arms should be kept well in, and the wrists should
be very tight and

firm. It should be pointed out that there are some

circumstances in which it is not

safe to attempt to play this stroke. When the club comes

to the ground after impact with the ball, very little turf
should be taken. It is enough if the grass is

shaved well down to the roots. But if the turf is soft

and yielding, the club head

will have an inevitable tendency to burrow, with the result

that it would be next

to impossible to follow-through properly with the stroke, and

that the ball would

skid off, generally to the right. The shot is therefore played

to greatest advantage on a hard and fairly dry
course.

PLATE XXVI. THE PUSH SHOT WITH THE CLEEK. STANCE

PLATE XXVI. THE PUSH SHOT WITH THE CLEEK. STANCE

PLATE XXVII. THE PUSH SHOT WITH THE CLEEK. TOP OF THE SWING

PLATE XXVII. THE PUSH SHOT WITH THE CLEEK. TOP OF THE SWING

PLATE XXVIII. THE PUSH SHOT WITH THE CLEEK. FINISH

PLATE XXVIII. THE PUSH SHOT WITH THE CLEEK. FINISH

PLATE XXIX. A LOW BALL (AGAINST WIND) WITH THE CLEEK.

STANCE

PLATE XXIX. A LOW BALL (AGAINST WIND) WITH THE CLEEK.

STANCE

PLATE XXX. A LOW BALL (AGAINST WIND) WITH THE CLEEK. TOP
OF THE SWING

PLATE XXX. A LOW BALL (AGAINST WIND) WITH THE CLEEK. TOP OF

THE SWING

PLATE XXXI. A LOW BALL (AGAINST WIND) WITH THE CLEEK.

FINISH

PLATE XXXI. A LOW BALL (AGAINST WIND) WITH THE CLEEK. FINISH

Many people are inclined to ask why, instead of playing

a half shot with the

cleek, the iron is not taken and a full stroke made with
it, which is the way that a

large proportion of good golfers would employ for reaching the

green from the

same distance. For some reason which I cannot explain,

there seems to be an

enormous number of players who prefer a full shot with

any club to a half shot

with another, the result being the same or practically so. Why
is it that they like

to swing so much and waste so much power, unmindful

of the fact that the

shorter the swing the greater the accuracy? The principle of

my own game, and that which I always impress upon others
when I have an opportunity, is, "Reach

the hole in the easiest way you can." The easier way is
generally the surer way.

When, therefore, there is a choice between a full shot with

one club or a half shot

with another, I invariably ask the caddie for the instrument

with which to make

the half shot. Hence, apart from the advantageous

peculiarities of the stroke

which I have pointed out, I should always play the half

cleek shot in preference

to the full iron, because, to my mind, it is easier and

safer, and because there is

less danger of the ball skidding off the club. In the same
way I prefer a half iron

shot to a full one with the mashie. If the golfer

 attains any proficiency with the

stroke, he will probably be very much enamoured of it, and

will think it well worth the trouble of carrying a club
specially for the purpose, at all events on all

important occasions.

There is another variety of cleek shot which calls for separate

mention. It is

played when a low ball is wanted to cut its way

through a head wind, and for the

proper explanation of this useful stroke I have

supplied a special series of

photographs from which it may be studied to advantage. As

will be seen from

them, this stroke is, to all intents and purposes, a

modified half or push stroke,

the most essential difference being in the stance. The feet are
a trifle nearer the

ball and considerably more forward, my right heel as a matter

of fact being only

2½ inches from the B line. Take a half swing, hit the

ball before the turf as in the

case of the push, and finish with the shaft of the club almost
perpendicular, the

arms and wrists being held in severe subjection throughout.

The ball skims

ahead low down like a swallow, and by the time it begins

to rise and the wind to

act upon it, it has almost reached its destination, and

the wind is now welcome as

a brake.

Having thus dealt with these different cleek shots

separately, I think some

useful instruction may be obtained from a comparison of them,

noting the points

of difference as they are set forth in the photographs.

An examination of the pictures will at once suggest that
there is much more in the stance than had been

suspected. In the case of the full cleek shot it is

noticeable that the stance is opener than in any of the
others, and that the body is more erect. The object
 of

this is to allow freedom of the swing without

altering the position of the body

during the upward movement. I mean particularly that the

head is not so likely to get out of its place
as it would be if the body had been more bent while
the address was being made. It ought not to be, but is the case,
that when pivoting on

the left foot during the progress of a long upward

swing, there is a frequent inclination, as already
pointed out, to raise the body, so that the position of
the

latter at the top of the swing is altogether wrong, and

has to be corrected in the

downward swing before the ball is reached. When, as often

happens, this is done

too suddenly, a sclaff is the result. Therefore an

obvious recommendation is to stand at the ball with the same
amount of erectness as there will be at the top of

the swing. And remember that when you pivot on the left toe,
the lift that there is

here should not spread along to the head and shoulders, but
should be absorbed,

as it were, at the waist, which should bend inwards and

turn round on the hips.

Once the head has taken its position, it should never

move again until the ball has been struck. Mind that you
do not fall away from the ball when the club is

about to come into contact with it. I have observed a

considerable tendency in that direction on the part of many
young players. I have pressed several of these

points home in other places, but the success of the stroke

is so bound up with a

proper observation of them that I think they cannot

be too frequently or too strongly insisted upon.

If we take one more glance at all the different cleek stroke

photographs, we

shall see that in each case the toes are turned well outwards.
I find that unless they take this position the player has
not the same freedom for turning upon them. In the case of
full shots the weight is more evenly divided upon both
feet

than in the case of others. Thus, when the stance for a

 half or three-quarter cleek

shot is taken, the weight of the body falls more on the

right leg than on the left.

As you have not to swing so far back, you are able to

maintain this position. You

could not do so if a full stroke were being taken; hence

you would not then adopt

it. Again, one allows the wrists and muscles less play
in the case of half shots than in full ones. There is more
stiffness all round. This, however, must not be

taken to suggest that even in the case of the full shot there
is any looseness at the

wrists. If there were, it would be most in

evidence just when it would be most fatal, that is to
say, at the moment of impact. The wrists must always
be kept severely under control. It will also be noticed from
the photographs, that at the

top of the swings for both the full shot and the half shot
the body is in much the

same position, but when the low shot against the wind is being
played it is pushed a little forward. I mention
these details by way of suggesting how much

can be discovered from a close and attentive study of

these photographs only.

Little things like these, when not noticed and attended

to, may bother a player for many weeks; while, on the
other hand, he may frequently find out from a scrutiny of the
pictures and diagrams the faults which have baffled him
on the links. In this connection the "How not to do it"
photographs should be of particular value to the player who
is in trouble with his cleek. Look at the faulty

stance and address in Plate XXXII. At the first glance

you can see that this is not a natural stance; the player
is cramped and uncomfortable. The grip is altogether

wrong. The hands are too far apart, and the right
hand is too much under the shaft. The body would not hold its
position during the swing, and in any case a

correct swing would be impossible. Yet this photograph does not

exaggerate the

bad methods of some players. In Plate XXVII. we have

the player in a stance which is nearly as bad as
before; but it is evident that in this case the body
has

been lifted during the upward swing, and the left hand
 is rather too much on the

top of the shaft.

PLATE XXXII. FAULTY PLAY WITH THE CLEEK

PLATE XXXII. FAULTY PLAY WITH THE CLEEK

The stance in this case is very bad. The whole of the weight
is on the left leg instead of being evenly divided. The
hands are too far apart, and the right hand is far too
much underneath the shaft. Moreover the player is bending
too far towards his ball. He must stand up to his work.
The almost certain consequence of this attitude is a
foozle.

PLATE XXXIII. FAULTY PLAY WITH THE CLEEK

PLATE XXXIII. FAULTY PLAY WITH THE CLEEK

Some very common and very fatal defects in the swing are
illustrated here. It is evident that both the body and the
head have been lifted as the club has been swung up, and
the whole arrangement is thus thrown out of gear. Both
hands are in wrong positions (compare with XXIII ) with the
result that the toe of the club is pointing sideways
instead of to the ground. Result—the player is likely
to strike anything except the ball.

PLATE XXXIV. FAULTY PLAY WITH THE CLEEK

PLATE XXXIV. FAULTY PLAY WITH THE CLEEK

Here at the finish of the stroke the position of the

arms is exceedingly bad. They are bent and huddled up towards
the body, plainly indicating that they did not go through
with the ball. There was no power in this stroke, nothing
to send the ball along. Therefore length was impossible,
and a foozle was quite likely.

Compare with XXIV.

PLATE XXXV. FAULTY PLAY WITH THE CLEEK

PLATE XXXV. FAULTY PLAY WITH THE CLEEK

The mistakes here are numerous, but less pronounced than before.
The stance is not accurate, but it is not bad enough
to be fatal in itself. The play is very uncomfortable
with his left arm, which is in a badly cramped position.
The hands are too far apart and the left wrist is too high.
The result is rather doubtful.

Quite possibly the ball will be pulled. Anyhow a good shot

is out of the question.
PLATE XXXVI. FAULTY PLAY WITH THE CLEEK

PLATE XXXVI. FAULTY PLAY WITH THE CLEEK

In the case of this finish the player has fallen away

from the ball instead of going forward with it as in

XXIV . It is evident that the club has been drawn across

the ball. Result—a slice.

Evidently it will take some time to bring the cleek

completely into

subjection. There is, of course, no such thing as an all-round

club in golf, but the

nearest to it is this one, and the man who is master

of it is rarely in a serious difficulty. He can even
play a respectable round with a cleek alone, and there is

no form of practice less wearisome, more diverting, or more

eminently valuable

and instructive, than that which is to be obtained on a

fine afternoon by taking

out the cleek and doing a round of the course with it from
the tee to the hole in

every case, and making use of all the different strokes

that I have described in the course of this chapter.

C H A P T E R X

PLAY WITH THE IRON

The average player's favourite club—Fine work for the iron—Its

points—The

right and the wrong time for play with it—Stance measurements—A
warning

concerning the address—The cause of much bad play with the

iron—The

swing—Half shots with the iron—The regulation of power—Features

of

erratic play—Forced and checked swings—Common causes of duffed

strokes

—Swings that are worthless.

WHEN I mention that useful iron-headed club that goes by the

simple name of

iron, I am conscious that I bring forward a subject

that is dear to the hearts of many golfers who have not
yet come to play with certainty with all their

instruments. For the iron is often the golfer's favourite club,

and it has won this

place of affection in his mind because it has been found

in the course of long experience that it plays him fewer tricks
than any of the others—that it is more

dependable. This may be to some extent because with the

average golfer such fine work is seldom required from the
simple iron as is wanted from other clubs

from time to time. The distance to be covered is

always well within the

capabilities of the club, or it would not be employed, and

the average golfer of

whom we speak, who has still a handicap of several

strokes, is usually tolerably

well satisfied if with it he places the ball anywhere on

the green, from which point he will be enabled to hole
out in the additional regulation two strokes. And

the green is often enough a large place, so the iron is

fortunate in its task. But it

goes without saying that by those who have the skill

for it, and sufficiently realise the possibilities of all their
tools, some of the finest work in golf may be

done with the iron. When it is called for the player

is within easy reach of the hole. The really long work
has been accomplished, and the prime consideration

now is that of accuracy. Therefore the man who feels himself

able to play for the

pin and not merely for the green, is he who is in

the confidence of his iron and

knows that there are great things to be done with it.

The fault I have to find with the iron play of most golfers
is that it comes at

the wrong time. I find them lunging out with all their
power at full shots with their irons when they might
be far better employed in effecting one of those
pretty low shots made with the cleek at the half swing. It
is not in the nature of

things that the full iron should be as true as the half

cleek, where there is such a

reserve of strength, and the body, being less in a state of

strain, the mind can be
more concentrated on straightness and the accurate
determination of length. I

suspect that this full shot is so often played and the

preference for the iron is established, not merely because it
nearly always does its work tolerably

satisfactorily, but because in the simple matter of looks

there is something

inviting about the iron. It has a fair amount of

loft, and it is deeper in the face than the cleek, and
at a casual inspection of its points it seems an
easy club to play with. On the other hand, being a little nearer
to the hole, the average player

deserts his iron for the mashie much sooner than I care
to do. Your 10-handicap

man never gives a second thought as to the tool he shall

use when he has arrived

within a hundred yards of the hole. Is he not then

approaching in deadly earnest,

and has he not grown up in golf with a definite

understanding that there is one

thing, and one only, with which to give the true artistic finish
to the play through

the green? Therefore out of his bag comes the mashie, which,
if it could speak,

would surely protest that it is a delicate club with some

fine breeding in it, and that it was never meant to do
this slogging with long swings that comes properly

in the departments of its iron friends. I seldom use

a mashie until I am within eighty yards of the hole.
Up to that point I keep my iron in action. Much
better, I

say, is a flick with the iron than a thump with the mashie.

PLATE XXXVII. FULL IRON SHOT. STANCE

PLATE XXXVII. FULL IRON SHOT. STANCE

PLATE XXXVIII. FULL IRON SHOT. TOP OF THE SWING

PLATE XXXVIII. FULL IRON SHOT. TOP OF THE SWING

PLATE XXXIX. FULL IRON SHOT. FINISH

PLATE XXXIX. FULL IRON SHOT. FINISH

PLATE XL. PLAY WITH THE IRON FOR A LOW BALL (AGAINST WIND).
STANCE

PLATE XL. PLAY WITH THE IRON FOR A LOW BALL (AGAINST WIND).

STANCE

PLATE XLI. PLAY WITH THE IRON FOR A LOW BALL (AGAINST

WIND). TOP OF THE SWING

PLATE XLI. PLAY WITH THE IRON FOR A LOW BALL (AGAINST WIND).

TOP OF THE SWING

PLATE XLII. PLAY WITH THE IRON FOR A LOW BALL (AGAINST

WIND). FINISH

PLATE XLII. PLAY WITH THE IRON FOR A LOW BALL (AGAINST

WIND). FINISH

The iron that I most commonly use is nearly two inches

shorter than my

cleek. It follows that the stance is taken slightly nearer

to the ball; but reason for

moving closer to our A line is to be found in what

I might describe as the more

upright lie of an iron as compared with a cleek. When

the lower edge of the club is laid evenly upon the level
turf, the stick will usually be found to be
a trifle more vertical than in the case of the cleek,
and therefore for the proper

preservation of the natural lie of the club the golfer

must come forward to it.

Consequently I find that when I have taken my stance

for an iron shot (Plate

XXXVII.), my right foot has come forward no less than 8½

inches from the

point at which it rested when I was taking a

tolerably full shot with the cleek.

The left foot is 3½ inches nearer. Thus the body has been
very slightly turned in

the direction of the hole, and while the feet are a trifle
closer together, the ball is

rather nearer to the right toe than it was when being

addressed by the cleek.
Those are the only features of the stance, and the only one
I really insist upon is

the nearness to the ball. The commonest defect to be found

with iron play is the

failure to address the ball and play the stroke through

with the sole of the club

laid evenly upon the ground from toe to heel. When the man
is too far from the

ball, it commonly follows that the blade of the club comes down
on to the turf

heel first. Then something that was not bargained for happens.
It may be that the

ball was taken by the centre of the iron's face,

and that the upward and

downward swings and the follow-through were all perfection, and

yet it has shot

away to one side or the other with very little flight in

it. And perhaps for a week

or two, while this is constantly happening, the man is

wondering why. When,

happily, the reason is at last made apparent, the man goes

forward to its

correction with that workmanlike thoroughness which characterises him

always

and everywhere, and lo! the erring ball still pursues a line
which does not lead to

the green. At the same time it may very likely be

noticed that the slight sense of

twisting which was experienced by the hands on the

earlier occasion is here

again. The truth is that the first fault was over-corrected, and
the toe of the club,

instead of the heel, has this time had the turf to

itself while the ball was being removed. Obviously, when
either of these faults is committed, the club head is
twisted, and nothing is more impossible than to get in a
perfect iron shot when

these things are done. I am making much ado about what may
seem after all to

be an elementary fault, but a long experience of the

wayward golfer has made it
clear to me that it is not only a common fault, which
is accountable for much defective play with the iron,
but that it is often unsuspected, and lurks

undiscovered and doing its daily damage for weeks or even

months. The sole of

the iron must pass over the turf exactly parallel with it.

There is nothing new to say about the swing of the iron. It

is the same as the

swing of the cleek. For a full iron the swing is as long

as for the full cleek, and

for the half iron it is as long as for the half cleek,

and both are made in the same

way. The arms and wrists are managed similarly, and I would
only offer the

special advice that the player should make sure that he

finishes with his hands well up, showing that the ball has been
taken easily and properly, as he may see

them in the photograph (Plate XXXIX.), which in itself tells

a very good story of comfortable and free play with the club,
which is at the same time held in full command. The
whole of the series of photographs of iron shots brings
out very

exactly the points that I desire to illustrate, and I

cannot do better than refer my

readers to them.

When it is desired to play a half iron shot that will give

a low ball for travelling against the wind, the same methods
may be pursued as when playing

the corresponding shot with the cleek.

When one comes to play with the iron, and is within, say, 130
yards of the

hole, the regulation of the precise amount of power to

be applied to the ball becomes a matter of the first
importance, and one that causes unceasing anxiety.

I feel, then, that it devolves upon me to convey a solemn

warning to all players

of moderate experience, that the distance the ball will be

despatched is governed

entirely by the extent of the backward swing of the club.

When a few extra yards
are wanted, put an additional inch or two on to the
backward swing, and so on;

but never, however you may satisfy yourself with excuses

that you are doing a

wise and proper thing, attempt to force the pace at which

the club is travelling in

the downward swing, or, on the other hand, attempt to check

it. I believe in the

club being brought down fairly quickly in the case of all

iron shots; but it should

be the natural speed that comes as the result of

the speed and length of the upward swing, and the gain
in it should be even and continuous throughout. Try,

therefore, always to swing back at the same rate, and

to come on to the ball naturally and easily afterwards. Of
course, in accordance with the simple laws of

gravity and applied force, the farther back you swing the
faster will your club be

travelling when it reaches the ball, and the harder will

be the hit. Therefore, if

the golfer will learn by experience exactly how far back he

should swing with a certain club in order to get a
certain distance, and will teach himself to swing to

just the right length and with always the same amount of
force applied, the rest is

in the hands of Nature, and can be depended upon with far

more certainty than

anything which the wayward hands and head of the golfer can
accomplish. This

is a very simple and obvious truth, but it is one

of the main principles of golf, and one that is far too often
neglected. How frequently do you see a player take a

full swing when a half shot is all that is wanted, and even
when his instinct tells

him that the half shot is the game. What happens? The
instinct assumes the

upper hand at the top of the swing, and the man with the
guilty conscience
deliberately puts a brake on to his club as it is coming
down. He knows that he

has gone too far back, and he is anxious then to reduce

the speed of the club by

unnatural means. But the principles of golf are not to be

so lightly tampered with

in this manner, and it affords the conscientious player

some secret satisfaction to

observe that very rarely indeed is anything of a

success made of shots of this sort. A duffed stroke
is the common result. In such cases the swing is of
no more

value than if it had not taken place at all.

C H A P T E R X I

APPROACHING WITH THE MASHIE

The great advantage of good approach play—A fascinating club—

Characteristics

of a good mashie—Different kinds of strokes with it—No purely

wrist shot—

Stance and grip—Position of the body—No pivoting on the

left toe—The limit

of distance—Avoid a full swing—The half iron as against the

full mashie—

The swing—How not to loft—On scooping the ball—Taking a

divot—The

running-up approach—A very valuable stroke—The club to use—A tight grip

with the right hand—Peculiarities of the swing—The calculation of

pitch and

run—The application of cut and spin—A stroke that is

sometimes necessary—

Standing for a cut—Method of swinging and hitting the ball—

The chip on to

the green—Points of the jigger.

THERE is an old saying that golf matches are won on the

putting greens, and it

has often been established that this one, like many other old sayings,
contains an

element of truth, but is not entirely to be relied

upon. In playing a hole, what is one's constant desire
 and anxiety from the tee shot to the last putt? It is
to effect,

somehow or other, that happy combination of excellent skill with

a little luck as

will result practically in the saving of a whole stroke,

which will often mean the

winning of the hole. The prospect of being able to exercise

this useful economy

is greatest when the mashie is taken in hand. The

difference between a good

drive and a poor one is not very often to be represented by

anything like half a

stroke. But the difference between a really good mashie

approach stroke and a bad one is frequently at least a
stroke, and I have known it to be more. Between

the brilliant and the average it is one full stroke. Of

course a stroke is saved and

a hole very often won when a long putt is holed, but

in cases of this kind the proportion of luck to skill
is much too great to give perfect satisfaction to the
conscientious golfer, however delightful the momentary sensation
may be. When

a man is playing his mashie well, he is leaving

himself very little to do on the putting green, so
that, if occasionally he does miss a putt, he can afford
to do so,

having constantly been getting so near to the flag that one

putt has sufficed.

When the work with the mashie is indifferent or poor,

the player is frequently left with long putts to negotiate, and
is in a fever of anxiety until the last stroke

has been made on the green. It often happens at these times

that the putting also

is poor, and when this is the case a sad mess is made

of the score. Therefore, while I say that he is a happy
and lucky man who is able constantly to save his

game on the putting greens, happier by far is he who

is not called upon to do so.

In this way the skilled golfer generally finds the

mashie the most fascinating club to play with, and there are few
pleasures in the game which can equal that

of laying the ball well up to the pin from a distance

of many yards. One expects
to get much nearer to it with this last of the irons
than with the cleek or the simple iron, and the more nearly
the flag is approached the greater the skill and

experience of the player. Here, indeed, is a field

for lifelong practice, with a telling advantage accruing from each
slight improvement in play.

First a word as to the club, for there is scarcely an

article in the golfer's kit

which presents more scope for variety of taste and

style. Drivers and brassies vary a little, cleeks and
irons differ much, but mashies are more unlike each other
than any of them. So much depends upon this part of the
game, and so much upon the preferences and peculiarities of the
player, that it is unlikely that

the first mashie in which he invests will go alone

with him through his experience as a golfer. To his
stock there will be added other mashies, and it is

probable that only after years of experiment will he come

to a final

determination as to which is the best for him to use.

In this question of the choice of mashie it is necessary
that taste and style should be allowed to have their
own way. However, to the hesitating golfer, or to him
whose mashie play so

far has been somewhat disappointing, I give with confidence the

advice to use a

mashie which is very fairly lofted and which is deep in

the blade. I can see no

use in the mashie with the narrow blade which, when (as
so often happens when

near the green) the ball is lying in grass which is not as

short as it might be, often

passes right under the ball—a loss of a stroke at the

most critical moment, which

is the most exasperating thing I know. Again, for

a last hint I suggest that he should see that his shaft
is both stiff and strong. This instrument being used
generally for lighter work than the other iron clubs, and
the delicacy and

exactness of it being, as a rule, the chief

considerations, there is a natural tendency on the part of
the golfer sometimes to favour a thinner stick than
usual.

But it should be borne in mind that there should

be no trace of "give" in the shaft, for such would be
all against the accuracy that is wanted, and a man
when

he is playing the short approach shot wants to feel that he

has a club in his hand

that can be relied upon in its every fibre. Moreover,

gentle as is much of its work, even the mashie at times
has some very rough jobs to accomplish. So let

the stick be fairly stiff.

Of mashie shots there is an infinite variety. In this stroke

not only are the lie

of the ball and the distance it has to be sent controlling

factors in the way it has

to be played, but now the nature and qualities of the

green which is being

approached constitute another, and one which occasions more

thought and

anxiety than any. Generally all mashie shots may be separated

into three groups.

There is what we may call the ordinary mashie shot to begin

with—meaning

thereby a simple lofted stroke,—there is the running-up

mashie shot, and there is

the special stroke which applies extra spin and cut

to the ball. There are very pronounced differences
between these strokes and the ways of playing them.

One is often told that "all mashies should be played

with the wrist." I beg to differ. As I have said before,
I contend that there is no such thing as a
purely wrist shot in golf—except on the putting green.
If anybody really made up his

mind to play his mashie with his wrist and his wrist
alone, he would find the blade of his club in
uncomfortable proximity to his face at the finish of the
stroke, and I should not like to hazard a guess as
to where the ball might be. The

fact of the matter is, that those who so often say that the
mashie must be played

with the wrist never attempt to play it in this way themselves.

They are merely

misled by the fact that for the majority of mashie

strokes a shorter swing and less
freedom of the arms are desirable than when other iron clubs
are being

employed. An attempt has been made to play a pure wrist shot

in the "How not

to do it" photograph, No. XLVIII. , and I am sure nobody

ever made a success of a stroke like that.

The stance for the mashie differs from that taken when an
iron shot is being

played, in that the feet are placed nearer to each other

and nearer to the ball.

Comparison between the photographs and diagrams will make the

extent of

these differences and the peculiarities of the stance for

the mashie quite clear.

The right toe is advanced until it is within 11

inches of the A line, the ball is opposite the left
heel, the left foot is turned slightly more outwardly than
usual.

As for the grip, the only observation that it is necessary to

make is, that if a very

short shot is being played it is sometimes best to grasp the

club low down at the

bottom of the handle, but in no circumstances do I

approve of the hands leaving

the leather and getting on to the wood as players

sometimes permit them to do.

When the player is so desperately anxious to get so

near to the blade with his hands, he should use a
shorter club. It should also be noticed that the body
is more relaxed than formerly, that there is more bend at the
elbows, that the arms

are not so stiff, and that there is the least suspicion,

moreover, of slackness at the

knees. The whole attitude is arranged for ease,

delicacy of touch, and extreme accuracy, whereas formerly
simple straightness and power were the governing

considerations. To the eye of the uninitiated, many of these

photographs may

seem very much alike; but a little attentive study of

those showing the stances for the iron and mashie will make
the essential differences very apparent. In the

address the right knee is perceptibly bent, and all

the weight of the body is thrown on to it. In the
backward swing the right knee stiffens and the left bends

in, the left foot leaning slightly over to facilitate its doing
so. There is a great tendency on the part of
inexperienced or uncertain players to pivot on the left
toe

in the most exaggerated manner even when playing a very short

mashie stroke.

Unless a full shot is being taken, there should not only

be no pivoting with the mashie, but the left heel,
throughout the stroke, should be kept either touching the
ground or raised only the least distance above it. In
the backward swing the

right knee is stiffened and the left knee bends in towards the
ball, simply in order

to let the club go back properly, which it could

hardly do if the original pose were retained. It is
particularly requisite that, though there is so much
ease elsewhere, the club in the case of these mashie shots should
be held quite tightly.

They are not played with the wrists alone, but with the
wrists and the forearms,

and a firm grip is an essential to success.

PLATE XLIII. MASHIE APPROACH (PITCH AND RUN). STANCE

PLATE XLIII. MASHIE APPROACH (PITCH AND RUN). STANCE

( Distance 70 to 80 yards from the hole. )

PLATE XLIV. MASHIE APPROACH (PITCH AND RUN). TOP OF THE

SWING

PLATE XLIV. MASHIE APPROACH (PITCH AND RUN). TOP OF THE

SWING

( Distance 70 to 80 yards from the hole. )

PLATE XLV. MASHIE APPROACH (PITCH AND RUN). FINISH

PLATE XLV. MASHIE APPROACH (PITCH AND RUN). FINISH

( Distance 70 to 80 yards from hole. )

PLATE XLVI. MISTAKES WITH THE MASHIE

PLATE XLVI. MISTAKES WITH THE MASHIE

The hands are too far apart. Whatever method of grip is

favoured at least the right thumb should be down the shaft
 to guide it in the case of this delicate shot. The face
of the club is turned in slightly from the toe, and
the face also is too straight up and is not allowed
its natural angle. The toe of the club is likely
to come on to the ball first, and that will cause
a pull. In any case the club cannot be guided
properly, and there can be no accuracy.

PLATE XLVII. MISTAKES WITH THE MASHIE

PLATE XLVII. MISTAKES WITH THE MASHIE

Here in this upward swing the body is being held too stiffly.
It is not pivoting from the waist as it ought to do.
Besides the hands being too far apart, the left one is
spoiling everything. It is out of control and is trying
to get above the shaft, instead of being underneath it
at this stage. The result will either be a foozle
or a pulled ball. The face of the mashie will not be
straight at the moment of impact.

PLATE XLVIII. MISTAKES WITH THE MASHIE

PLATE XLVIII. MISTAKES WITH THE MASHIE

This is merely a "wrist shot," such as is often

recommended, and which I say cannot possibly give a good
result. There is no mere wrist shot. The result of an
attempt of this kind is always very doubtful. In any
case, even when the ball is fairly hit, there can be no length
from the stroke.

PLATE XLIX. RUNNING UP APPROACH WITH MASHIE OR IRON.

FINISH, WITH STANCE ALSO INDICATED

PLATE XLIX. RUNNING UP APPROACH WITH MASHIE OR IRON.

FINISH, WITH STANCE ALSO INDICATED

PLATE L. A CUT APPROACH WITH THE MASHIE. STANCE

PLATE L. A CUT APPROACH WITH THE MASHIE. STANCE

PLATE LI. A CUT APPROACH WITH THE MASHIE. TOP OF THE SWING

PLATE LI. A CUT APPROACH WITH THE MASHIE. TOP OF THE SWING

PLATE LII. A CUT APPROACH WITH THE MASHIE. FINISH

PLATE LII. A CUT APPROACH WITH THE MASHIE. FINISH

When considering the nature of the backward swing, the

question arises as to

how far it should be prolonged, and I have already

declared myself against

making long shots with the mashie. It is my strong

conviction that a man is

playing the best and safest golf when he attempts nothing

beyond eighty yards with his mashie, using an iron or a
cleek for anything longer. It is very seldom

that I play my mashie at a distance of over eighty

yards, and the limit of the swing that I ever give to
it is a three-quarter, which is what I call an
ordinary mashie stroke, and should be sufficient to do
anything ever to be attempted with

this club. But some golfers like taking the fullest

mashie stroke that they can, and, when hesitating between the
use of an iron or the lofting club, they usually

decide in favour of the latter. "I think I can

reach it with my mashie," they always say, and so they whirl
away and commit the most frightful abuse on a splendid
club, which was never intended to have its capabilities
strained in order

to reach anything. Instead of saying that "they think they can

reach it with their

mashie," these golfers should try to decide that "a half

iron will not carry them too far." It is easier and safer.
Whenever a ball has a distance to go, I believe
in keeping it fairly low down, as low as the hazards
will permit, believing that in

this way by constant practice it is possible to ensure

much greater accuracy than

in any other way. No golfer has much control over a ball

that is sent up towards

the sky. The mashie is meant to loft, and it is

practically impossible to play a long shot with it without
lofting the ball very much and exposing it to all the wind
that there is about. As very little driving power
has been imparted to the ball, what wind there may be has
considerably more effect upon it than upon the

flight of other balls played with other iron clubs.

The line of the backward swing should be much the same as

that for the half

shot with the cleek, but the body should be held a little
more rigidly, and not be

allowed to pivot quite so much from the waist as when playing

with any of the

other clubs which have been described. The downward swing

is the same as

before, and in the case of the ordinary stroke which we

 are speaking of, the turf

should be hit immediately behind the ball. As soon

as the impact has been

effected, the body should be allowed to go forward with

the club, care being taken that it does not start too soon
and is in front.

The great anxiety of the immature player when making this

stroke is to get

the ball properly lofted, and in some obstinate cases it

seems to take several seasons of experience to convince him
completely that the club has been

specially made for the purpose, and, if fairly used, is

quite adequate. This man

cannot get rid of the idea that the player lofts the ball,
or at least gives material assistance to the club in doing
it. What happens? Observe this gentleman when

he and his ball are on the wrong side of a hazard

which is guarding the green, and notice the very deliberate way
in which he goes about doing the one thing

that he has been told hundreds of times by the most experienced

players can only

be attended by the most disastrous and costly failure. He

has made up his mind

that he will scoop the ball over the bunker. He will not trust
to his club to do this

important piece of business. So down goes the right shoulder and

into the bunker

goes the ball, and one more good hole has been lost. He
doesn't know how it happened; he thinks the mashie must
be the most difficult club in the world to play with,
and he complains of his terrible luck; but by the time
the approach shot to the next hole comes to be played
he is at it again. There is nobody so persistent
as the scooper, and the failure that attends his
efforts is a fair revenge

by the club for the slight that is cast upon its

capabilities, for the chances are that

if the stroke had been played in just the ordinary

manner without any thought whatever of the bunker, and if
the ground had been hit just a trifle behind the ball,
the latter would have been dropped easily and comfortably
upon the green.

Some golfers also seem to imagine that they have done all that
they could
reasonably be expected to do when they have taken a divot,
and even if the shot

has proved a failure they derive some comfort from the

divot they have taken, the said divot usually being a huge
slab of turf, the removal of which makes a gaping
wound in the links. But there is nothing to be proud
of in this

achievement, for it does not by any means imply that

the stroke has been

properly made. To hit the ball correctly when making an

approach with the

mashie, it is necessary to take a little—just a very little

—turf. This is so, because

the ball will not fly and rise properly as the club desires
to make it do, unless it is

taken in the exact middle of the club, which has

a deeper face than others. I mean middle, not only as
regards the distance from heel to toe, but between the

top edge of the blade and the sole. A moment's consideration

will make it clear

that if the stroke were to be made quite cleanly, that is

to say, if the club merely

grazed the ground without going into it, the ball would
inevitably be taken by the

lower part of the blade near to the sole and much below
the centre where the impact ought to be. Therefore it
is apparent that, in order to take it from the centre,
the blade must be forced underneath, and if the
swing is made in the

manner directed and the turf is taken just the least

distance behind the ball—

which, of course, means keeping the eye just so much

more to the right than usual—all that is necessary will be
easily accomplished. Apart from the loft, I think a
little more accuracy is ensured by the removal of
that inch or two of turf.

Now there is that most valuable stroke, the running-up approach,

to consider.

When skilfully performed, it is often most wonderfully and

delightfully

effective. It is used chiefly for short approaches when the

ground outside the putting green is fairly good and there
is either no hazard at all to be surmounted,
or one that is so very low or sunken as not to cause
any serious inconvenience.

When the running-up shot is played in these circumstances

by the man who

knows how to play it, he can generally depend on getting

much nearer to the hole than if he were obliged to play
with a pitch alone. It is properly classified as

a mashie shot, but there are golfers who do it with an

iron. Others like a straight-

faced mashie for the purpose; and a third section have

a preference for the

ordinary mashie, and play for a pitch and run. These

are details of fancy in which I cannot properly
interfere. The stance for the stroke differs from that
for

an ordinary mashie shot in that the feet and body are

further in front, the right toe, for instance, being fully
six inches nearer to the B line (see Plate
XLIX.).

The club may be gripped lower down the handle. Moreover,

it should be held

forward, slightly in front of the head. The swing

back should be very straight, and should not be carried
nearly so far as in playing an ordinary mashie
stroke,

for in this case the ball requires very little propulsion.

This is one of the few shots in golf in which the right hand
is called upon to do most of the work, and

that it may be encouraged to do so the hold with the left

hand should be slightly

relaxed. With the right hand then fastening tightly to the

handle, it comes about

that the toe of the club at the time of the impact is

slightly in front of the heel,

and this combination of causes tends to give the necessary run

to the ball when it

takes the ground. The work of the right hand in the case of
this stroke is delicate

and exact, and it must be very carefully timed, for if

it is done too suddenly or

too soon the result is likely to be a foundered ball.

The club having been taken so
straight out in the backward swing, the natural tendency
will be to draw it very

slightly across the ball when contact is made, and the

blade, then progressing towards the left foot, should to
finish be taken a few inches further round

towards the back than in the case of an ordinary mashie

shot. One cannot very

well compare the two in words, however, for the finishes

are altogether different, as an examination of the
illustration of the finish of the running-up stroke will
show. In this case the swing stops when the shaft of the club is
pointing a little to

the left of the direction of the ball that is speeding

onwards, the blade being on a

level with the hands. It will be observed that at the finish

the right hand is well

over on the handle. This is the kind of stroke that the

practised and skilful golfer

loves most, for few others afford him such a test of

calculation and judgment. It

will not do to make the stroke haphazard. Before the blade

of the club is moved

for the upward swing, a very clear understanding should

have been formed as to

the amount of pitch that is to be given to the ball and

the amount of run. They

must be in exactly the proper proportion to suit the

circumstances, which will vary almost every time the
stroke is made. Nearly everything depends on the

state of the land that is to be traversed. The fact of the

matter is, that this shot is

really a combination of lofting and putting with many more

uncertain quantities

to be dealt with than when one is really putting on

the green. When one has decided where the pitch must be, the
utmost pains should be taken to pitch there

exactly, which, as the distance will usually be trifling,

ought not to be a difficult

matter. An error of even a foot in a shot of this

kind is sometimes a serious matter. When properly done it is
an exceedingly pretty shot, and one which
brings great peace to the soul of the man who has done it.

And now we come to that exquisite stroke, the approach, to

which much cut

and spin have been applied for a specific purpose. It is

a shot which should only

be played when circumstances render it absolutely necessary.

There are times

when it is the only one which will afford the golfer

a good chance of coming well through a trying
ordeal. When we play it we want the ball to stop dead almost
as soon as it reaches the turf at the end of the
pitch. If there is a tolerably

high bunker guarding the green, and the flag is most

awkwardly situated just at

the other side, it is the only shot that can be played. A

stroke that would loft the

ball over the bunker in the ordinary manner would carry it

far beyond the hole—

too far to make the subsequent putting anything but a most

difficult matter. Or,

on the other hand, leaving out of the question the hole which
is hiding just on the

other side of the hazard protecting the green, it often

happens in the summer-time, when greens are hard and fiery,
that it is absolutely impossible to make a

ball which has been pitched on to them in the ordinary manner

stay there. Away

it goes bouncing far off on to the other side, and another

approach shot has to be played, often by reason of
a hazard having been found, more difficult than the first.
If there must be a pitch, then the thing to do is
to try to apply a brake to the

ball when it comes down, and we can only do this by cutting

it. There are greens

which at most seasons of the year demand that the ball

reaching them shall be cut for a dead drop, such as the
green laid at a steep angle when the golfer has to

approach it from the elevated side. A little cut is a

comparatively easy thing to

accomplish, but when the brake is really wanted it is

usually a most pronounced

cut, that will bring the ball up dead or nearly so, that is
 called for, and this is a

most difficult stroke. I regard the ordinary mashie as

the best club with which to

make it, but there are some good golfers who like the niblick
for this task, and it

is undoubtedly productive of good results. However, I will

suppose that it is to

be attempted with the mashie.

The stance is quite different from that which was adopted when
the running-

up shot was being played. Now the man comes more

behind the ball, and the

right foot goes forward until the toe is within 8

inches of the A line, while the instep of the left
foot is right across B. The feet also are rather closer
together.

An examination of Plate L. will give an exact idea

of the peculiarities of the stance for this stroke. Grip the
club very low down on the handle, but see that the

right hand does not get off the leather. This time, in the
upward swing let the blade of the mashie go well
outside the natural line for an ordinary swing, that
is

to say, as far away from the body in the direction of the

A line as is felt to be comfortable and convenient. While this
is being done, the left elbow should be

held more stiffly and kept more severely under control than the
right. At the top

of the swing—which, as will be seen from the picture of

it (Plate LI.), is only a short half swing, and
considerably shorter than that for an ordinary mashie
shot

—neither arm is at full length, the right being well

bent and the left slightly.

When this upward swing has been made correctly, the blade
of the mashie

naturally comes across the ball at the time of impact,

and in this way a certain amount of cut is applied. But
this is not the limit of the possibilities of cutting,
as

many golfers seem to imagine, nor is it sufficient to meet

some of the extreme
cases which occasionally present themselves. To do our utmost
in this direction

we must decide that extremely little turf must be taken,

for it is obvious that unless the bare blade gets to work
on the ball it cannot do all that it is capable
of

doing. The metal must go right underneath the ball,

just skimming the grass in the process, and scarcely
removing any of the turf. It is also most important that

at the instant when ball and club come into contact the blade
should be drawn quickly towards the left foot. To
do this properly requires not only much

dexterity but most accurate timing, and first attempts are

likely to be very

clumsy and disappointing. But many of the difficulties will

disappear with

practice, and when at last some kind of proficiency has been

obtained, it will be

found that the ball answers in the most obedient manner to

the call that is made

upon it. It will come down so dead upon the green that it may
be pitched up into

the air until it is almost directly over the spot at which

it is desired to place it. In

playing this stroke a great deal depends on the mastery

which the golfer obtains

over his forearms and wrists. At the moment of impact

the arms should be nearly

full length and stiff, and the wrists as stiff as it

is possible to make them. I said

that the drawing of the blade towards the left foot would
have to be done

quickly, because obviously there is very little time to

lose; but it must be done smoothly and evenly, without a
jerk, which would upset the whole swing, and if

it is begun the smallest fraction of a second too soon

the ball will be taken by the

toe of the club, and the consequences will not be

satisfactory. I have returned to

make this the last word about the cut because it is the
essence of the stroke, and
it calls for what a young player may well regard as an
almost hopeless nicety of

perfection.

There is another little approach shot which is usually called

the chip on to the

green, but which is really nothing but the pitch and run
on a very small scale. It

is used when the ball has only just failed to reach the green,
or has gone beyond

it, and is lying in the rougher grass only a very few yards
from the edge of it. It

often happens in cases of this sort that the putter may

be ventured upon, but when that is too risky a little
pitch is given to the ball and it is allowed to run
the

last three or four yards to the hole. An ordinary iron will often
be found the most

useful club for the purpose.

Latterly a new kind of club has become fashionable in

some quarters for

approaching. They call it the jigger, and, having a longer

blade than the ordinary

mashie, its users argue that it is easier to play with. That

may be true to a certain

extent when the ball is lying nicely, but we are not

always favoured with this

good fortune, and I have no hesitation in saying that for

inferior or cuppy lies the jigger is a very ineffectual
instrument. The long head cannot get into the cups, and the
accuracy that is always called for in approaching is
made impossible. If a

jigger must be carried in the bag, it should be

merely as an auxiliary to the ordinary mashie.

Such are the shots with the mashie, and glad is the man who
has mastered all

of them, for he is then a golfer of great pretensions,

who is to be feared by any

opponent at any time or place.

C H A P T E R X I I

ON BEING BUNKERED

The philosopher in a bunker—On making certain of

getting out—The folly of

trying for length—When to play back—The qualities of the

niblick—Stance

and swing—How much sand to take—The time to press—No follow-

through

in a bunker—Desperate cases—The brassy in a bunker—

Difficulties through

prohibited grounding—Play straight when length is imperative—Cutting

with

the niblick.

THIS is a hateful subject, but one which demands the

most careful and

unprejudiced consideration, for are not even the best of us

bunkered almost

daily? There is nothing like the bunkers on a golf

links for separating the

philosophic from the unphilosophic among a golfing crowd,

and when a

representative of each section is in a bunker at the

same time it is heavy odds on

the philosopher winning the hole. There are two

respects in which he differs

from his opponent at this crisis in his golfing affairs.

He does not become

flurried, excited, and despondent, and give the hole up for lost
with a feeling of

disgust that he had committed the most unpardonable sin. He

remembers that

there are still various strokes to be played before the

hole is reached, and that it

is quite possible that in the meantime his friend may

somewhere lose one and enable him to get on level terms
again. When two players with plus handicaps are engaged in
a match, a bunkered ball will generally mean a lost hole,
but

others who have not climbed to this pinnacle of excellence

are far too pessimistic if they assume that this rule operates
in their case also. The second

matter in which the philosophic golfer rises superior to his

less favoured brother

when there is a bunker stroke to be played, is

that he fully realises that the bunker was placed there for
the particular purpose of catching certain defective

shots, and that the definite idea of its constructors was

that the man who played

such a shot should lose a stroke as penalty for doing

so—every time. It is

legitimate for us occasionally to put it to ourselves that

those constructors did not know the long limits of our
resource nor the craftiness we are able to display

when in a very tight corner, and that therefore, if we

find a favourable

opportunity, we may cheat the bunker out of the stroke

that it threatens to take

from us. But this does not happen often. When the golfer
has brought himself to

realise that, having played into a bunker, he has lost

a stroke or the best part of

one, and accepts the position without any further ado, he

has gone a long way in

the cultivation of the most desirable properties of mind and

temperament with

which any player of the game can be endowed. This man,

recognising that his

stroke is lost, when he goes up to his ball and studies

the many difficulties of its

situation, plays for the mere purpose of getting out again,

and probably putting

himself on the other side in that one stroke which was lost.
It does not matter to

him if he only gets two yards beyond the bunker—just far enough
to enable him

to take his stance and swing properly for the next shot.
Distance is positively no

object whatever, and in this way he insures himself

against further loss, and goes
the right way to make up for his misfortune.

Now, what does the other man do in like circumstances? Unreasonably

and

foolishly he refuses to accept the inevitable, and declines

to give up the idea of

getting to a point a hundred yards or more in front with

his next shot, which he

would have reached if he had not been in the bunker. He

seems to think that the

men who made the bunkers did not know their business. Having
been bunkered,

he says to himself that it is his duty to himself and

to the game to make up for

the stroke which was lost by supremely brilliant recovery

under the most

disheartening circumstances. He insists that the recovery must

be made here in

the bunker, and thereafter he will progress as usual. It

never occurs to him that it

would be wiser and safer to content himself with just getting

out the hazard, and

then, playing under comparatively easy and comfortable conditions, to

make his

grand attempt at recovering the lost stroke. He would be

much more likely to succeed. A stroke lost or gained
is of equal value at any point on the route from

the tee to the hole, and it is a simple fact,

too often never realised, that a long putt makes up for
a short drive, and a mashie shot laid dead for a
previous stroke

from which the ball was trapped in the bunker. But the
unphilosophic gentleman,

who is ignorant of, or tries to resist, these truths, feels

that his bunkered stroke

must be compensated for by the next one or never. What

is the result?

Recklessly, unscientifically, even ludicrously, he fires away

at the ball in the bunker with a cleek or an iron or
a mashie, striving his utmost to get length, when, with
the frowning cliff of the bunker high in front of
him and possibly even overhanging him, no length is possible.
At the first attempt he fails to get
out. His second stroke in the hazard shares the same
fate. With a third or a fourth

his ball by some extraordinary and lucky chance may just creep
over the top of

the ridge. How it came to do so when played in this

manner nobody knows. The

fact can only be explained by the argument that if you keep

on doing the same

thing something is sure to happen in the end, and it is

a sufficient warning to these bunkered golfers that the gods
of golf have so large a sense of justice and

of right and wrong that by this time the hole has for
a certainty been lost. The slashing player who wants
to drive his long ball out of the bunker very rarely
indeed gets even this little creep over the crest until he has
played two or three

more, and is in a desperate state of lost temper. An

alternative result to his efforts

comes about when he has played these three or four

more, and his ball is, if anything, more hopelessly bunkered than
ever. All sense of what is due to the game and to his
own dignity is thensuddenly lost, and a strange sight
is often seen. Five, six, and seven more follow
in quick succession, the man's arms

working like the piston of a locomotive, and his eyes

by this time being quite blinded to the ball, the sand, the
bunker, and everything else. As an interesting

feature of what we might call golfing physiology, I seriously

suggest that players

of these habits and temperament, when they begin to work like

a steam-engine in

the bunker, do not see the ball at all for the last few
strokes. The next time they

indulge in their peculiar performance, let them ask

themselves immediately

afterwards whether they did see it or not, and in the

majority of cases they will

have to answer in the negative. When it is over, a few

impious words are uttered,

the ball is picked up, and there is a slow and gloomy

march to the next tee, from

which it is unlikely that a good drive will be made. The

 nervous system of the misguided golfer has been so
completely upset by the recent occurrences, that he

may not recover his equanimity until several more strokes have
been played, or

perhaps until the round is over and the distressing incidents have
at last passed

from his mind.

This has been a long story about a thing that

happens on most links every

day, but the moral of it could hardly have been

emphasised properly or

adequately if it had been told in fewer words, or if

the naked truth had been wrapped up in any more
agreeable terms. The moral obviously is, that the golfer

on being bunkered must concentrate his whole mind,

capabilities, and energies

on getting out in one stroke, and must resolutely refrain

from attempting length

at the same time, for, in nine cases out of ten,

length is impossible. There are indeed occasions when so
light a sentence has been passed by the bunker on
the

erring ball that a long shot is practicable, but they are

very rare, and come in an

entirely different category from the average bunkered ball, and

we will consider

them in due course. On the other hand, there are

times when it is manifestly impossible even to get to the other
side of the bunker in a single stroke, as when

the ball is tucked up at the foot of a steep and

perhaps overhanging cliff. Still the

man must keep before himself the fact that his main object
is to get out in the fewest strokes possible, and in a
case of this sort he may be wise to play back,

particularly if it is a medal round that he is engaged

upon. If he plays back he is

still in the running for his prize if his golf has been
satisfactory up to this point,

for an addition of two strokes to his score through

such an accident, though a serious handicap, is seldom a
hopeless one. If he does not play back his chance
of victory may disappear entirely at this bunker. His
instinct tells him that it probably will do so. Which then
is the wiser and better course to take?

Now, then, let us consider the ways and means of getting out
of bunkers, and

take in our hands the most unpopular club that our bags contain.
We never look

upon the niblick with any of that lingering affection which

is constantly

bestowed on all the other instruments that we possess,

as we reflect upon the splendid deeds that they have performed
for us on many memorable occasions.

The niblick revives only unpleasant memories, but less than

justice is done to this unfortunate club, for, given fair treatment,
it will accomplish most excellent

and remunerative work in rescuing its owner from the predicaments

in which his carelessness or bad luck in handling the
others has placed him. There is little variety in
niblicks, and therefore no necessity to discourse upon their
points, for

no professional is ever likely to stock a niblick

for sale that is unequal to the performance of its peculiar
duties. It has rougher and heavier work to do than any
other club, and more brute force is requisitioned in employing
it than at any

other time. Therefore the shaft should be as strong as it

is possible for it to be,

and it should be so stiff that it will not bend under the

most severe pressure. The

head should be rather small and round, with plenty

of loft upon it, and very heavy. A light niblick is
useless.

PLATE LIII. THE NIBLICK IN A BUNKER. TOP OF AN ORDINARY

STROKE WHEN IT IS INTENDED TO TAKE MUCH SAND

PLATE LIII. THE NIBLICK IN A BUNKER. TOP OF AN

ORDINARY

STROKE WHEN IT IS INTENDED TO TAKE MUCH SAND

PLATE LIV. "WELL OUT!" FINISH OF AN ORDINARY STROKE IN A

BUNKER WHEN MUCH SAND IS TAKEN. THE BALL MAY BE SEEN

RISING ABOVE THE BUNKER

PLATE LIV. "WELL OUT!" FINISH OF AN ORDINARY STROKE IN A

BUNKER WHEN MUCH SAND IS TAKEN. THE BALL MAY BE SEEN

RISING ABOVE THE BUNKER

PLATE LV. ANOTHER BUNKER STROKE. TOP OF THE SWING WHEN

INTENDING TO TAKE THE BALL CLEANLY AND WITH A LITTLE CUT

PLATE LV. ANOTHER BUNKER STROKE. TOP OF THE SWING WHEN

INTENDING TO TAKE THE BALL CLEANLY AND WITH A LITTLE CUT

PLATE LVI. FINISH AFTER TAKING THE BALL CLEANLY FROM A

BUNKER

PLATE LVI. FINISH AFTER TAKING THE BALL CLEANLY FROM A

BUNKER

It is difficult to advise as to the stance that should

be taken for a niblick shot

in a bunker, inasmuch as it so frequently happens that

this is governed by

circumstances which are quite beyond the golfer's

control. He must learn to

adapt himself in the best possible manner to the conditions

in which he finds himself, and it will often happen that
he is cramped for space, he may be unable

to get a proper or comfortable place for one or

both of his feet, or he may be obliged to stand with one
foot—generally the left one—considerably above the

other. But when there are none of these difficulties besetting

him, it may be said

that generally the stance most suited to a stroke with

the niblick is similar to that

which would be taken for a long shot with an iron, except

perhaps that the player

should stand a little nearer to the ball, so

that he may be well over it while making his swing. The
most important respect in which the swing differs from

that of the iron is that the club is brought up much

straighter. By this I mean that the head of the club
should not be allowed to come round quite so much,
but throughout its course should be kept as nearly
as possible overhanging what we

have been calling the A line. The swing, indeed, is much

more of what I call an
upright character than that of any other stroke in the game,
and at the top of it,

the blade having passed over the right shoulder and

the golfer's head, the shaft should be nearly horizontal
and right over the back of the head, an example of

which may be seen in Plate LIII., where I have a fairly

good lie, but am rather badly bunkered for all that, being
only a couple of feet from the base of a high

and tolerably steep bank.

If there is such a thing as an average bunker shot, this

is the one, and I am

now describing the method of dealing with cases of this

and similar character.

There must be no thought of hitting the ball cleanly with

the club in a case of this kind, or in any other
than the most exceptional situations or emergencies when bunkered.
The club must hit the sand, and the sand must move the ball,
but

the iron blade of the niblick must hardly ever come into
contact with the ball. To

prevent its doing so, and to ensure the blade

getting underneath sufficiently to lift the ball up at the
very sharp angle that is necessary if it is to
surmount the obstruction in front of it, the sand should
be struck at a point fully two inches behind the
ball. If the sand is exceedingly light and dry, so that
it offers very little resistance to the passage of the
club, this distance may be slightly

increased, or it may be diminished if the lie in the

bunker is very heavy,

consisting of gravel or clay. It is on this point, so

far behind the ball, that the eye

must, of course, be sternly and rigidly fixed, and it

is a duty which the beginner

frequently finds most difficult to fulfil. In the downward swing

the club should

be brought on to the spot indicated with all the speed

and force of which the golfer is capable. At other times
he may have had a yearning to press, which he

has with difficulty stifled. He may make up for all these

ungratified desires by pressing now with all the strength in
his body, and the harder the better so long

as he keeps his eye steadily fixed on that point behind the

 ball and is sure that his

muscular efforts will not interfere with his accuracy. After all,
the latter need not

be quite so fine in this case as in the many others that

we have already discussed,

for an eighth of an inch one way or the other does not

much matter in the case of

a niblick shot where there are two inches of sand

to plough through. Swing

harder than ever on to the sand, with the knowledge that

the swing will end there, for a follow-through is not
desired and would in many cases be

impossible. When the heavy blade goes crash into the sand and blows it,
and the

ball with it, up into the air as if the electric touch had
been given to an explosive

mine, the club has finished its work, and when the golfer is
at rest again and is

surveying the results of his labours—with his eyes, let

us hope, directed to the further side of the hazard—the
blade will still remain in the cavity that it has made
in the floor of the bunker. If any attempt were made
to follow through, it is

highly probable that sufficient sand would not be taken to make

the ball rise up

soon enough.

However, the more one reflects upon bunkers and niblicks, the
more does

one feel that the circumstances must govern the method of

playing each of these

strokes, and there is no finer field for the

display of the golfer's judgment and resource than this. The
next best accomplishment to the negative one of avoiding

bunkers is that of getting out again with the least waste of

strokes and distance;

and, indeed, I should say that the man who is somewhat

addicted to being

bunkered but invariably makes a good recovery, is at least

on level terms with another who is in trouble
not quite so frequently but who suffers terribly when

he is. The golden rule—I say it once again—is to make

 certain of getting out; but

now that I have sufficiently emphasised this point, I am

ready to consider those

few occasions when it appears a little weak and

unsatisfactory. Certainly there are times, as we all know, when
the enemy, having had matters his own way at a

hole, it will not be of the slightest use merely to

scramble out of a bunker in one

stroke. The case is so desperate that a stroke that will

carry the ball for perhaps

100 or 120 yards is called for. Such a necessity does

not affect my rule as to making certain of getting out,
for in practical golf one cannot take any serious account of
emergencies of this kind. But there are times when every player
must

either attempt the shot that most frequently baffles his

superiors, or forthwith give up the hole, and it is not in
human nature to cave in while the faintest spark

of hope remains. In thus attempting the impossible, or the only

dimly possible,

we are sometimes led even to take the brassy in a

bunker. In a case of this sort,

of course, everything depends on the lie of the ball and

its distance from the face

of the bunker. When it is a shallow pot bunker, the

shot is often practicable, and

sometimes when one is bunkered on a seaside course the

hazard is so wide that

there is time for the ball to rise sufficiently to clear

the obstruction. But the average bunker on an inland
course, say four feet high with only six feet of sand

before it, presents few such loopholes for escape. The

difficulty of playing a shot

from a bunker when any club other than the niblick, such as
the brassy, is chosen

with the object of obtaining length by hitting the ball

clean, is obviously

increased by the rule which prohibits the grounding of the club

in addressing. To

be on the safe side, the sole of the club is often

kept fully an inch and a half above the sand when the
address is being made, and this inch and a half has to
 be

corrected down to an eighth in the forward swing, for

of all shots that must be

taken accurately this one so full of difficulty must be. In making

his correction

the man is very likely to overdo it and strike the

sand before the ball, causing a

sclaff, or, on the other hand, not to correct

sufficiently when the only possible result would be a topped
ball and probably a hopeless position in the hazard.
It is

indeed a rashly speculative shot, and one of the

most difficult imaginable. It comes off sometimes, but it is
a pure matter of chance when it does, and the lucky
player is hardly entitled to that award of merit
which he may fancy he deserves.

When the situation of the bunkered ball is unusually hopeful,

and there does

really seem to be a very fair prospect of making a

good long shot, I think it generally pays best to play
straight at the hazard, putting just a little cut
on the

ball to help it to rise, and employing any club that suggests

itself for the purpose.

I think, in such circumstances, that it pays best to go

straight for the hazard, because, if length is urgently
demanded, what is the use of playing at an angle?

Again, though there is undoubtedly an advantage

gained by taking a bunker

crossways, and thus giving the ball more time to rise, the
advantage is often greatly exaggerated in the golfer's mind.
When a ball is bunkered right on the edge of the
green, it is sometimes best to try to pick it up not
quite but almost cleanly with the niblick or mashie, in the
hope that one more stroke afterwards

will be sufficient either to win or halve the hole, whereas

an ordinary shot with

the niblick would not be likely to succeed so well. If,

after due contemplation of

all the heavy risks, it is decided to make such an

attempt, the stroke should be played very much after the
fashion of the mashie approach with cut. I need

hardly say that such a shot is one of the most difficult

the golfer will ever have
occasion to attempt. The ordinary cut mashie stroke is
hard to accomplish, but

the cut niblick is harder still. I have already given

directions for the playing of such shots, and the rest
must be left to the golfer's daring and his judgment.

C H A P T E R X I I I

SIMPLE PUTTING

A game within another game—Putting is not to be

taught—The advantage of

experience—Vexation of missing short putts—Some anecdotes—Individuality

in putting—The golfer's natural system—How to find it—And

when found

make a note of it—The quality of instinct—All sorts of

putters—How I once

putted for a Championship—The part that the right hand plays—The

manner

of hitting the ball—On always being up and "giving

the hole a chance"—

Easier to putt back after overrunning than when short—The

trouble of Tom

Morris.

PUTTING in golf is a game within another game. While I

am not prepared to

endorse the opinion that is commonly expressed, that a

golfer is born and not made, I am convinced that no
amount of teaching will make a golfer hole out long putts
with any frequency, nor will it even make him at all
certain of getting

the short ones down. But it will certainly put him in the right
way of hitting the

ball, which after all will be a considerable gain.

Experience counts for very much, and it will convert a man
who was originally a bad putter into one who will generally
hold his own on the greens, or even be superior to
the majority of

his fellows. Even experience, however, counts for less in

putting than in any other department of the game, and there
are many days in every player's life when he realises
 only too sadly that it seems to count for nothing at all.
Do we

not from time to time see beginners who have been on the links
but a single month, or even less than that, laying their
long putts as dead as anybody could

wish almost every time, and getting an amazing percentage of

them into the tin

itself? Often enough they seem to do these things simply

because, as we should

say, they know nothing at all about putting, which is

perhaps another way of saying that their minds are never embarrassed
by an oppressive knowledge of all

the difficulties which the ball will meet with in its passage
from the club to the

hole, and of the necessity of taking steps to counteract

them all. They are not

afraid of the hole. The fact is that putting is to a

far greater extent than most of us suspect purely a
matter of confidence. When a man feels that he can putt
he

putts, and when he has a doubt about it he almost

invariably makes a poor show

upon the greens. Do I not know to my cost what it is

to feel that I cannot putt,

and on those occasions to miss the most absurdly little ones

that ever wait to be

popped into the hole without a moment's thought or

hesitation? It is surely the strangest of the many strange
things in golf, that the old player, hero of many senior
medal days, victor in matches over a hundred
links, will at times, when the fortunes of an important
game depend upon his action, miss a little putt that

his ten-year-old daughter would get down nine times out of ten.
She, dear little

thing, does not yet know the terrors of the short putt.
Sometimes it is the most

nerve-breaking thing to be found on the hundred acres

of a golf course. The

heart that does not quail when a yawning bunker lies far ahead
of the tee just at

the distance of a good drive, beats in trouble when there

are but thirty inches of
smooth even turf to be run over before the play of the
hole is ended. I am reminded of a story of Andrew
Kirkaldy, who in his young days once carried for

a young student of divinity who was most painfully

nervous on the putting

greens, and repeatedly lost holes in consequence. When Andrew

could stand this

reckless waste of opportunities no longer, he exclaimed to

his employer, "Man,

this is awfu' wark. Ye're dreivin' like a roarin' lion and

puttin' like a puir kittlin'."

But the men whose occupations are of the philosophical

and peaceful kind are

not the only ones who may be fairly likened to Andrew's

"puir kittlin'" when there are short putts to be holed. Is there
not the famous case of the Anglo-Indian

sportsman, one of the mightiest of hunters, who feared

nothing like the hole

when it lay so near to him that his tears of agony might almost
have fallen into

it? It was this man who declared, "I have encountered all the
manifold perils of

the jungle, I have tracked the huge elephant to his

destruction, and I have stood

eye to eye with the man-eating tiger. And never once have
I trembled until I came to a short putt." Yet
with such facts as these before us, some people still
wonder wherein lies the fascination of golf. How often
does it happen that an inch on the putting green is
worth more than a hundred yards in the drive, and

that the best of players are confounded by this circumstance?

It is very nearly true, as Willie Park has so often
said, that the man who can putt need fear nobody. Certainly a
player can never be really great until he is
nearly always

certain to hole out in two putts on the green, and to

get down a few in one. The approach stroke has been
well played when the ball comes to rest within four or

five feet of the pin, but what is the use of that unless
the ball is to be putted out

more often than not in one more stroke?

For the proper playing of the other strokes in golf, I

have told my readers to
the best of my ability how they should stand and where
they should put their feet. But except for the
playing of particular strokes, which come within the
category of those called "fancy," I have no similar
instruction to offer in the matter of putting. There is no
rule, and there is no best way. Sometimes you see a

player bend down and hold the putter right out in front of
him with both wrists

behind the shaft. This is an eccentricity, but if the

player in question believes that

he can putt better in this way than in any other, he

is quite justified in adopting it,

and I would be the last to tell him that he is wrong.

The fact is that there is more

individuality in putting than in any other department of golf,

and it is absolutely

imperative that this individuality should be allowed to have

its way. I believe seriously that every man has had a
particular kind of putting method awarded to

him by Nature, and when he putts exactly in this way he

will do well, and when

he departs from his natural system he will miss the long

ones and the short ones

too. First of all, he has to find out this particular

method which Nature has assigned for his use. There ought
not to be much difficulty about this, for it will

come unconsciously to his aid when he is not thinking of

anybody's advice or of

anything that he has ever read in any book on golf. That day
the hole will seem

as big as the mouth of a coal mine, and putting

the easiest thing in the world.

When he stands to his ball and makes his little

swing, he feels as easy and comfortable and confident as
any man can ever do. Yet it is probable that, so far

as he knows, he is not doing anything special. It may

happen that the very next

day, when he thinks he is standing and holding his club

and hitting the ball in exactly the same way, he nevertheless
feels distinctly uncomfortable and full of

nervous hesitation as he makes his stroke, and then the long

putts are all either
too short, or too long, or wide, and the little ones are
missed.

I don't think that the liver or a passing variation in

temperament is altogether

the cause of this. I believe it is because the

man has departed even by a trifle from his own natural
stance. A change of the position of the feet by even
a

couple of inches one way or the other may alter the stance
altogether, and knock the player clean off his putting.
In this new position he will wriggle about and feel
uncomfortable. Everything is wrong. His coat is in the way,
his pockets

seem too full of old balls, the feel of his stockings on

his legs irritates him, and

he is conscious that there is a nail coming up on the

inside of the sole of his boot.

It is all because he is just that inch or two removed

from the stance which Nature

allotted to him for putting purposes, but he does not know

that, and consequently

everything in the world except the true cause is

blamed for the extraordinary things he does. A fair
sample of many others was the clergyman who, having

missed a short putt when playing in a match over a

Glasgow links, espied in the

distance on an eminence fully a quarter of a mile

away from the green, an

innocent tourist, who was apparently doing nothing more injurious

to golf than

serenely admiring the view. But the clerical golfer, being a

man of quick temper,

poured forth a torrent of abuse, exclaiming, "How could I

hole the ball with that

blockhead over there working his umbrella as if it were

the pendulum of an

eight-day clock!" When this is the kind of thing that is

happening, I advise the

golfer to try variations in his stance for putting,

effecting the least possible amount of change at a time.
There is a chance that at last he will drop into his
natural stance, or something very near it, and even if he
does not there is some

likelihood that he will gain a trifle in confidence by the

change, and that will count for much. And anyhow there
is ample justification for any amount of

manœuvring of the body and the feet when one is off one's
putting, for at the best, to make use of something like an
Irishism, the state of things is then hopelessly bad, and
every future tendency must be in the way of improvement.

There is one other suggestion to make to those golfers

who believe what I say about the natural stance, and by
this time it will have become more or less obvious to them.
It is that when they are fairly on their putting,
and are

apparently doing all that Nature intended them to do, and are
feeling contented

in body and mind accordingly, they should take a sly but

very careful look at their feet and body and everything else just
after they have made a successful long putt, having felt
certain all the time that they would make it. This

examination ought not to be premeditated, because that would

probably spoil the

whole thing; and it usually happens that when one of these

long ones has been

successfully negotiated, the golfer is too much carried away

by his emotions of

delight to bring himself immediately to a sober and acute

analysis of how it was done. But sometime he may
remember to look into the matter, and then he

should note the position of everything down to the smallest

detail and the

fraction of an inch, and make a most careful note of them

for future reference. It

will be invaluable. So, as I hold that putting is a matter

of Nature and instinct, I

make an exception this time to my rule in the matter of

illustrations, and offer to

my readers no diagram with stance measurements. From the

two photographs of

myself putting in what I had every reason to

believe at the time was my own perfectly natural stance,
they may take any hints that they may discover.

PLATE LVII. PUTTING

PLATE LVII. PUTTING

PLATE LVIII. PUTTING

PLATE LVIII. PUTTING

In the matter of putters, of which there is an infinite

variety and a new one

invented almost every month, I believe in a man

playing with just that kind that

he has most confidence in and which he fancies suits him best.

Whether it is a

plain gun-metal instrument, a crooked-necked affair, a putting

cleek, an ordinary

aluminium, a wooden putter, or the latest American

invention, it is all the same;

and if it suits the man who uses it, then it is the best
putter in the world for him,

and the one with which he will hole out most frequently.
In no other sense is there such a thing as a best
putter. The only semblance of a suggestion that I will

presume to offer in this connection is, that for very long putts
there is something

to be said in favour of the wooden and aluminium

putters, which seem to require

less exertion than others, and to enable the player to

regulate the strength of the

stroke more exactly. For the shorter ones, I like the

putting cleek best. But even

these are matters of fancy, and what a great deal even

the vaguest, most

unreasoning belief in a putter has to do with the

success with which it is

manipulated I have as good a reason as anyone to

understand, since I owe my first Championship largely to
the help of a putter which I had never used before,

and which was really not a putter at all, but, as

I have explained elsewhere, simply a little cleek which
I picked up accidentally in a professional's shop
on the eve of the struggle, and in which I had a new
shaft fixed to my own liking.

On that occasion I putted with this instrument as the winner

of a championship ought to putt, but I have never
 been able to do any good with it since, and in these
days it is resting idly in my shop, useless but quite
unpurchasable for any

money. I do believe that it is a good thing to be

the possessor of two putters, with

both of which you have at one time or another done well, and
in which you have

unlimited confidence. Don't carry them both in the bag

at the same time, but keep one safe in the locker, and
when the day comes, as it surely will, when you

are off your putting, take it out on to the links for the
next round and see what

you can do with it. Your weakness on the green may no more
have been the fault

of the other putter than the tourist was the cause

of the clergyman missing the little one at Glasgow, but very
much will be gained if you can persuade yourself

that it was.

It is to a certain extent possible to be definite

in remarking upon the grip.

Some good golfers clasp their putters tightly with both

hands; others keep the left hand loose and the right hand firm;
and a third selection do the reverse, each

method being justified on its day. But in this part of the

game it is quite clear that

the right hand has more work to do than the left. It is the
right hand that makes

the stroke, and therefore I consider that it should be

allowed plenty of play, and

that the left wrist should be held more loosely than the right.
For my part I use

the same overlapping grip in putting as in all the other

strokes, making just this

one small variation, that instead of allowing the right

thumb to fall over the shaft, as when driving or playing
through the green, I place it on the top of the

shaft and pointing down it. This seems to me to make for

accuracy.

In playing what we may call an ordinary putt, that is to

say, one presenting

no difficulties in the way of stymies, slopes of the

green, or anything of that kind, I think it pays best in
the long run to make a point of always hitting the
ball

with the middle of the face of the club, although, I

believe, Willie Park, one of

the greatest of putters, always hits the ball off the toe
of the club and comes in to

the hole from the right-hand side of it. Other players consistently
and by design

half top the ball when they are putting. There should be no
sharp hit and no jerk

in the swing, which should have the even gentle

motion of a pendulum. In the backward swing, the length
of which, as in all other strokes in golf, is
regulated

by the distance it is desired to make the ball travel,

the head of the putter should

be kept exactly in the line of the putt. Accuracy will

be impossible if it is brought round at all. There
should be a short follow-through after impact,

varying, of course, according to the length of the putt.

In the case of a long one,

the club will go through much further, and then the arms would
naturally be

more extended. In the follow-through the putter should be

kept well down, the bottom edge scraping the top of the grass
for some inches. It is easy to

understand how much more this course of procedure will tend

towards the

accuracy and delicacy of the stroke than the reverse

method, in which the blade

of the putter would be cocked up as soon as the ball

had left it.

Before I close my remarks on the simple putt, I feel

that it is a duty to repeat

once more those wise maxims relating to putting that have

been uttered some

tens of thousands of times already. "Never up, never

in." There is nothing so true, and the number of
matches and medals that have been lost through the

reckless and foolish disregard of this rule must be enormous.

The hole will never
come to you; therefore make up your mind that you will always
go to the hole,

and let it be an invariable practice to play for the back

of the tin so that you will

always have just a little in hand. The most deadly

accuracy and the nicest

calculations are all wasted if the ball is just half a

turn short of the opening, and

there is nothing in the whole of the play between one

tee and the next more exasperating than the long putt which
hesitates and stops on the very lip of the

hole. There is another very good reason for always playing

very well up to the

hole, which may not have occurred to all golfers who read these
lines. Suppose

that in the exercise of this rule about always being up at

any cost, too much has

been put into the ball, and, refusing to die when it ought to
do, it skips over the

hole and comes to a standstill several inches beyond.

"That's the result of being

up!" exclaims the irritated golfer. But he feels at any rate

that he has given the

hole the chance for which it asked, and has a far

greater sense of satisfaction and

of duty done than if the ball had stopped a foot or more

short of the place that

was made for it. This may be the reason why an eighteen-
inch or two-feet putt

back to the hole from the far side always seems easier
and is less frequently missed than a putt of the same
distance from the original side, which is merely

making up for the shortage in the first putt.

Whether that is the reason or not, there is the fact, and
though they may not have considered the matter hitherto,
I

feel confident that on reflection, or when they take note of

future experiences,
most of my readers will admit that this is so. It is a
final argument for playing to the back of the hole and
never being short. One of the greatest worries of the
glorious life of old Tom Morris was that for a long time
when in the middle of

his career he was nearly always short with his long

putts, and his son, young Tom, used wickedly to say that his
father would be a great putter if the hole were

always a yard nearer. Tom, I believe, was always

conscious of his failing, and made the most strenuous efforts
to correct it, and this only shows what a terrible

and incurable habit this one of being short can become, and what
necessity there

is for the golfer to exercise his strength of mind to

get rid of it in his early days,

and establish the practice of being up every time. Often enough

he will run over,

but sometimes the kind hole will gobble the ball, and on the
average he will gain

substantially over the nervous, hesitating player who is always

short.

C H A P T E R X I V

COMPLICATED PUTTS

Problems on undulating greens—The value of practice—Difficulties

of

calculation—The cut stroke with the putter—How to make it—When

it is

useful—Putting against a sideways slope—A straighter line for

the hole—

Putting down a hill—Applying drag to the ball—The use of

the mashie on the

putting green—Stymies—When they are negotiable and when not—The

wisdom of playing for a half—Lofting over the stymie—

Running through the

stymie—How to play the stroke, and its advantages—Fast greens

for fancy

strokes—On gauging the speed of a green.

NOW we will consider those putts in which it is not all plain

sailing from the
place where the ball lies to the hole. The line of the putt may
be uphill or it may

be downhill, or the green may slope all the way from

one side to the other, or first from one and then the other.
There is no end to the tricks and difficulties of

a good sporting green, and the more of them the merrier.

The golfer's powers of

calculation are now in great demand.

Take, to begin with, one of the most difficult of all putts—that

in which there

is a more or less pronounced slope from one side or the other,

or a mixture of the

two. In this case it would obviously be fatal to putt

straight at the hole.

Allowances must be made on one side or the other, and

sometimes they are very

great allowances too. I have found that most beginners err in

being afraid of allowing sufficiently for the slope. They
may convince themselves that in order

to get near the hole their ball should be a yard or so

off the straight line when it

is half-way along its course, and yet, at the last

instant, when they make the stroke their nerve and resolution seem to
fail them, and they point the ball but a

few inches up the slope, with the result that before

it reaches the hole it goes running away on the other
side and comes to a standstill anything but dead.

Putting practice on undulating greens is very valuable, not

so much because it teaches the golfer exactly what allowance
he should make in various cases, but

because it helps by experience to give him the courage of

his convictions. It is

impossible to give any directions as to the precise allowance

that should be

made, for the simple reason that this varies in every case.
The length of the putt,

the degree of slope, and the speed of the green,

are all controlling factors. The amount of borrow, as we
term it, that must be taken from the side of any

particular slope is entirely a matter of mathematical

calculation, and the problem
will be solved to satisfaction most frequently by the man
who trains himself to

make an accurate and speedy analysis of the controlling

factors in the limited amount of time available for the
purpose. The putt is difficult enough when there

is a pronounced slope all the way from one particular side,

but the question is much more puzzling when it is first
one and then the other and then perhaps a repetition
of one or both. To begin with, there may be a slope of
fifteen degrees

from the right, so the ball must go away to the right.

But a couple of yards further on this slope may be
transformed into one of thirty degrees the other way,

and after a short piece of level running the

original slope, but now at twenty degrees, is reverted to.
What in the name of golf is the line that must be taken
in

a tantalising case of this kind? It is plain that the second

slope if it lasts as long

as the first one more than neutralises it, being

steeper, so that instead of borrowing from the first one we
must start running down it in order to tackle the

second one in good time. But the third slope again, to some
extent, though not

entirely, neutralises the second, and this entirely upsets

the calculation which only included the first two. It is
evident that the first and third hold the advantage

between them, and that in such a case as this we

should send the ball on its

journey with a slight borrow from the first incline with

which it had to contend.

As I have just said, in these complicated cases it is a

question of reckoning pure

and simple, and then putting the ball in a straightforward

manner along the line

which you have decided is the correct one.

But there are times when a little artifice may be

resorted to, particularly in the matter of applying a
little cut to the ball. There is a good deal of
billiards in

putting, and the cut stroke on the green is essentially

one which the billiard player will delight to practise.
But I warn all those who are not already expert at
cutting with the putter, to make themselves masters of the
stroke in private

practice before they attempt it in a match, because

it is by no means easy to acquire. The chief difficulty
that the golf student will encounter in attempting it

will be to put the cut on as he desires, and at the

same time to play the ball with

the proper strength and keep on the proper line. It is

easy enough to cut the ball,

but it is most difficult, at first at all events, to

cut it and putt it properly at the same time. For the
application of cut, turn the toe of the putter slightly
outwards

and away from the hole, and see that the face of the club is
kept to this angle all

the way through the stroke. Swing just a trifle away

from the straight line

outwards, and the moment you come back on to the ball draw
the club sharply

across it. It is evident that this movement, when properly

executed, will give to

the ball a rotary motion, which on a perfectly level green

would tend to make it

run slightly off to the right of the straight line along which
it was aimed. Here,

then, the golfer may arm himself with an accomplishment which

may frequently

prove of valuable service. He may dodge a stymie or

circumvent an inconvenient

piece of the green over which, without the cut, the ball would
have to travel. But

most frequently will the accomplished putter find the cut of

use to him when there is a pronounced slope of the green from
the right-hand side of the line of

the putt. In applying cut to the ball in a case of this

kind, we are complicating the

problem by the introduction of a fourth factor to

the other three I have named, but at the same time we
are diminishing the weight of these others, since
we shall enable ourselves to putt more directly at the hole.
Suppose it is a steep but

even slope all the way from the ball to the hole. Now, if we
 are going to putt this

ball in the ordinary manner without any spin on it, we

must borrow a lot from the hill, and, as we shall
at once convince ourselves, the ball must be at its highest
point when it is just half-way to the hole. But we may
borrow from the

slope in another way than by running straight up it and

straight down again. If we put cut on the ball, it will
of itself be fighting against the hill the whole way,

and though if the angle is at all pronounced it may not

be able to contend against

it without any extra borrow, much less will be required

than in the case of the simple putt up the hill and down again.
Now it must be borne in mind that it is a

purely artificial force, as it were, that keeps the

ball from running down the slope, and as soon as the run on
the ball is being exhausted and the spin at the

same time, the tendency will be not for the ball to run
gradually down the slope

—as it did in the case of the simple putt without cut—

but to surrender to it completely and run almost straight
down. Our plan of campaign is now

indicated. Instead of going a long way up the hill out

of our straight line, and having but a very vague idea
of what is going to be the end of it all, we will
neutralise the effect of the slope as far as possible by
using the cut and aim to a

point much lower down the hill—how much lower can only be determined
with

knowledge of the particular circumstances, and after the

golfer has thoroughly

practised the stroke and knows what he can do with it.

And instead of settling upon a point half-way along the line
of the putt as the highest that the ball shall

reach, this summit of the ascent will now be very much

nearer to the hole, quite

close to it in fact. We putt up to this point with all the

spin we can get on the ball,

and when it reaches it the forward motion and the

rotation die away at the same

time, and the ball drops away down the hill, and, as we hope, into
the hole that is

waiting for it close by. Now, after all this explanation, it

 may really seem that by

using the cut in a case of this kind we are going about

the job in the most difficult manner, but when once the
golfer has made himself master of this cut stroke, and
has practised this manner of attacking slopes, he will
speedily

convince himself that it is the easier and more reliable

method—certainly more

reliable. It seems to be a great advantage to be able to

keep closer to the straight

line, and the strength can be more accurately gauged. The

diagram which I have

drawn on this page shows relatively the courses taken by balls played
in the two

different styles, and will help to explain my meaning. The

slope is supposed to

be coming from the top of the page, as it were, and the

plain curved line is the

course taken by the ball which has had no cut given

to it, while that which is dotted is the line of
the cut ball. I am giving them both credit for
having been played with the utmost precision, so that they
would find their way to the tin. I

submit all these remarks as an idea, to be

followed up and elaborated in much practice, rather than as
a definite piece of instruction, for the variety of

circumstances is so bewildering that a fixed rule is impossible.

PUTTING WITH CUT ON A SLOPING GREEN. PUTTING WITH CUT

ON A SLOPING GREEN.

One of the putting problems which strike most fear into

the heart of the

golfer is when his line from the ball to the hole runs
straight down a steep slope,

and there is some considerable distance for the ball to travel

along a fast green.

The difficulty in such a case is to preserve any control

over the ball after it has

left the club, and to make it stop anywhere near the hole if
the green is really so

fast and steep as almost to impart motion of itself.

In a case of this sort I think it
generally pays best to hit the ball very nearly upon the toe
of the putter, at the same time making a short quick
twitch or draw of the club across the ball

towards the feet. Little forward motion will be imparted

in this manner, but there

will be a tendency to half lift the ball from the green

at the beginning of its journey, and it will continue its
way to the hole with a lot of drag upon it. It is

obvious that this stroke, to be played properly, will need

much practice in the first place and judgment afterwards,
and I can do little more than state the principle upon
which it should be made. But oftentimes, when the slope
of the green is really considerable, and one experiences
a sense of great risk and danger

in using the putter at all, I strongly advise the use

of the iron or mashie; indeed, I

think most golfers chain themselves down too much to the idea
that the putter, being the proper thing to putt with, no other
club should be used on the green.

There is no law to enforce the use of the putter, but

even when the idea

sometimes occurs to a player that it would be best to

use his mashie on the green

in particular circumstances, he usually rejects it as

improper. On a steep incline it

pays very well to use a mashie, for length in these

circumstances can often be judged very accurately, and, the
ball having been given its little pitch to begin with,
does not then begin to roll along nearly so quickly as
if the putter had been

acting upon it. There are times, even when the hole is only
a yard away, when it

might pay best to ask for the mashie instead of the

instrument which the caddie

will offer.

Upon the very difficult and annoying question of stymies there

are few hints that I can offer which will not
suggest themselves to the player of a very little
experience. The fact which must be driven home is that some
stymies are

negotiable and others are not—not by any player or by

any method. When the

ball that stymies you dead is lying on the lip of the hole
 and half covering it, and

your own is some distance away, the case is, to all

intents and purposes,

hopeless, but if you have only got this one stroke left for
the half, you feel that

an effort of some kind must be made, however hopeless

it may be. The one

chance—and even that is not always given—is to pass the other

ball so very

closely that yours will touch the rim of the hole and
then, perhaps, if it is travelling slowly enough, be
influenced sufficiently to tumble in. Luck must

necessarily have a lot to do with the success of a stroke

of this kind, and the one

consolation is that, if it fails, or if you knock

the other ball in—which is quite likely—things will be no
worse than they appeared before you took the stroke.

If, in the case of a dead and hopeless stymie of this

kind, you had two strokes for

the half and one for the hole, I should strongly advise
you to give up all thoughts

of holing out, and make quite certain of being dead the first
time and getting the

half. Many golfers are so carried away by their desire to

snatch the hole from a

desperate position of this sort, that they throw all prudence to

the winds, attempt

the impossible, and probably lose the hole at the finish

instead of halving it.

They may leave themselves another stymie, they may knock the other
ball in, or

they may be anything but dead after their first

stroke,—indeed, it is when

defying their fate in this manner that everything is likely

to happen for the worst.

The common method of playing a stymie is by

pitching your ball over that of

your opponent, but this is not always possible. All depends

on how near the

other ball is to the hole, and how far the balls are apart.
 If the ball that stymies

you is on the lip and your own is three yards away, it is

obvious that you cannot

pitch over it. From such a distance your own ball could not be
made to clear the

other one and drop again in time to fall into the tin. But, when
an examination of

the situation makes it clear that there is really space enough

to pitch over and get

into the hole, take the most lofted club in your bag—either
a highly lofted

mashie or even a niblick—and when making the little

pitch shot that is

demanded, apply cut to the ball in the way I have

already directed, and aim to the left-hand side of the tin.
The stroke should be very short and quick, the blade

of the club not passing through a space of more than nine

inches or a foot. The cut will make the ball lift
quickly, and, with the spin upon it, it is evident that
the

left-hand side of the hole is the proper one to play to.

Everything depends upon

the measurements of the situation as to whether you ought

to pitch right into the

hole or to pitch short and run in, but in any case you should
pitch close up, and

in a general way four or five inches would be a

fair distance to ask the ball to run. When your own ball is
many yards away from the hole, and the one that makes the
stymie is also far from it as well as far from yours,
a pitch shot seems

very often to be either inadequate or impossible. Usually it

will be better to aim

at going very near to the stymie with the object of

getting up dead, making quite

certain at the same time that you do not bungle the whole
thing by hitting the other ball, or else to play to
the left with much cut, so that with a little luck you

may circle into the hole. Evidently the latter would

be a somewhat hazardous

stroke to make.
There is one other way of attacking a stymie, and that is
by the application of

the run-through method, when the ball in front of you is on

the edge of the hole

and your own is very close to it—only just outside the

six inches limit that makes the stymie. If the balls
are much more than a foot apart, the "follow-through method"
of playing stymies is almost certain to fail. This
system is nothing more than the follow-through shot at billiards,
and the principles upon which the strokes in the two games are
made are much the same. Hit your own

ball very high up,—that is to say, put all the top and run
on it that you can, and

strike the other ball fairly in the centre and fairly

hard. The object is to knock the

stymie right away over the hole, and to follow through with
your own and drop

in. If you don't hit hard enough you will only succeed in
holing your opponent's

ball and earning his sarcastic thanks. And if you don't

get top enough on your own ball you will not follow
through, however hard you bang up against the

other. This is a very useful stroke to practise, for

the particular kind of stymie to

which it applies occurs very frequently, and is one of

the most exasperating of all.

Most of these fancy putting strokes stand a very poor chance

of success on a

very slow green. Cut and top and all these other niceties will
not work on a dull

one. It is the sharp, fiery green that comes to the rescue

of the resourceful golfer

in circumstances such as we have been discussing. It seems to

me that golfers in considering their putts very often
take too little pains to come to an accurate
determination of the speed of the greens. There are
a score of changing

circumstances which affect that speed, but it frequently

happens that only a

casual glance is given to the state of the turf, and the

 rest of the time is spent in

considering the distance and the inclines that have to be

contended against. The

golfer should accustom himself to making a minute

survey of the condition of

things. Thus, to how many players does it occur that the

direction in which the

mowing machine has been passed over it makes an

enormous difference to the

speed of the particular piece of the green that has to

be putted over? All the blades of grass are bent down
in the direction that the machine has taken, and their
points all face that way. Therefore the ball that is being
putted in the opposite direction encounters all the resistance
of these points, and in the

aggregate this resistance is very considerable. On the other

hand, the ball that has to be putted in the same direction
that the machine went has an unusually smooth and slippery
surface to glide over. It is very easy to see which way
the

machine has gone. On a newly-cut green there are stripes of

different shades of

green. The points of the grass give the deeper

tints, and therefore the machine has been coming towards
you on the dark stripes, and along them you must putt

harder than on the others.

The variety of the circumstances to be taken into

consideration render

putting on undulating greens very attractive to the man who

makes a proper and

careful study of this part of the game, as every player ought

to do.

C H A P T E R X V

SOME GENERAL HINTS

Too much golf—Analysis of good strokes—One's attitude towards

one's opponent—Inaccurate counting of strokes—Tactics in match
play—Slow

couples on the course—Asking for halves—On not holing out

when the half is

given—Golfing attire—Braces better than belts—Shoes better

than boots—
How the soles should be nailed—On counting your strokes—Insisting
on the

rules—Play in frosty weather—Chalked faces for wet days—Against

gloves—

Concerning clubs—When confidence in a club is lost—Make up your

mind

about your shot—The golfer's lunch—Keeping the eye on the ball—

The life of

a rubber-core—A clean ball—The caddie's advice—Forebodings

of failure—

Experiments at the wrong time—One kind of golf at a time—

Bogey beaten,

but how?—Tips for tee shots—As to pressing—The short

approach and the

wayward eye—Swinging too much—For those with defective sight

—Your

opponent's caddie—Making holes in the bunkers—The golfer's

first duty—

Swinging on the putting greens—Practise difficult shots and not

easy ones, etc.

THE following are detached suggestions, each of which, I

think, is of value and

importance. In most cases they are such as I have not had

an opportunity of making in any other chapter; but in
a few others they are repetitions of former injunctions,
for the sake of further emphasis:—

Don't play too much golf if you want to get on in the game.
Three rounds a

day are too much for any man, and if he makes a

practice of playing them

whenever he has the opportunity, his game is sure to

suffer. He often says that his third round is the best of
the day. But what about the first next morning? Two

rounds a day are enough, and these two rounds on three

days of the week are as

much golf as is good for any player who does not want to
become careless and

stale.

Remember that the player who first settles down to the

serious business of a
hard match has the advantage. In a majority of cases concentrated
purpose is the

secret of victory.

You must be thoughtful if you want to get on in golf. Most

players when they make an exceptionally good stroke gaze
delightedly at the result, and then begin

to talk about it to their opponent and the caddie. They rarely

give a thought as to

exactly how they did it, though it must be obvious that

for that good result to have been obtained the stroke must
have been played in a particularly correct and able
manner. Unless by pure accident, no good ever comes of
a bad stroke.

When you have made a really wonderfully good shot—for you—bring

yourself

up sharply to find out exactly how you did it. Notice

your stance, your grip, and

try to remember the exact character of the swing that

you made and precisely how you followed through. Then you will
be able to do the same thing next time

with great confidence. Usually when a player makes a really

bad stroke you see

him trying the swing over again—without the ball—wondering

what went

wrong. It would pay him much better to do the good

strokes over again in the same way every time he makes them,
so as to impress the method of execution

firmly upon his mind.

Don't praise your own good shots. Leave that function to your
partner, who,

if a good sort, will not be slow in performing it. His

praise will be more discriminating and worth more than
yours. And don't say spiteful and unkind

things about his good shots, or be continually talking about

his luck. If you do he

will hate you before the game is over.

When a hole is being keenly contested, and you look as

though you are

having the worst of it, try not to appear pleased

when your opponent makes a bad stroke or gets into
serious trouble, however relieved or even delighted you may
feel. It is human nature to feel the better for your
 opponent's mistake in a

crisis of this kind, but it is not good manners to

show that you feel it. And, however well you may know your
friend, it is not half so funny as you think it is

to laugh at such a time or shout out that you rejoice. It

is simply bad taste, for

your opponent at that time is suffering from a sense of keen

disappointment, and

is temporarily quite unable to appreciate jokes of

this kind. He is inclined to think he has been mistaken
in you all along, and that you are much less of a gentleman
and a sportsman than he had imagined.

If he is playing several more in a vain endeavour to

extricate himself from a

bunker, do not stand near him and audibly count his

strokes. It would be

justifiable homicide if he wound up his pitiable exhibition

by applying his

niblick to your head. It is better to pretend that

you do not notice these things.

On the other hand, do not go out of your way to

say that you are sorry when these misfortunes happen. Such
expressions imply a kind of patronage for which

your opponent will not thank you, and he knows all the
time that you do not really mean it, and therefore infers that
you are a hypocrite. The best golf is that

which is played in comparative silence.

At the beginning of a match do not worry yourself

with the idea that the

result is likely to be against you. By reflecting thus

upon the possibilities of defeat one often becomes too anxious
and loses one's freedom of style.

Take more risks when you are down to your opponent than when you
are up

on him. If you play a difficult shot successfully, the

circumstance will probably

have some effect upon the other man.

It is a mistake continually to exercise extreme caution.

One's play is severely

cramped by an excess of care.

Try, whenever possible, to make matches with opponents who are
at least as good, if not better than yourself. This will
do your game more good than playing

with an inferior player against whom you will always be

liable to play in a careless manner.

Always make an effort to improve your game, and do

not content yourself

with the idea that you go out on the links for the
exercise only. It is no more difficult or less pleasant
trying to play better than it is to go on
continually in the

same old way.

When making a match, do not try to get a greater

allowance of strokes than

that to which you are entitled on your handicap, alleging to

your opponent that

the said handicap is an unfair one. Your opponent may think

you are a little too

"keen"; and if he grants your improper request, and you

should then win the match, he may think some other things
besides.

Remember that more matches are lost through carelessness at

the beginning

than through any other cause. Always make a point

of trying to play the first hole as well as you have ever
played a hole in your life. The favourite saying of

some players, "I never try to win the first hole,"

is the most foolish thing ever said in connection with the
game of golf. Win as many holes as you can in the

early part of the game. They may be useful for you to fall
back upon later on.

Try to avoid an unnecessary expenditure of nerve

force by treating your

adversary—with all due respect to him—as a nonentity.

Whatever brilliant achievements he may accomplish, go on quietly
playing your own game. There

is always the probability that sooner or later he

will make enough mistakes to bring him back to you. It is
the steadier player who plays his own game from the

first tee to the last green, and who never allows himself
to be upset by anything

that happens, who wins the match.

Never hurry when playing a match or a medal round, or indeed
any kind of

golf. Haste will affect your nerves and spoil your play. The record
for playing a

round in the shortest possible space of time is not worth the

holding. Take time

enough, but don't be unnecessarily slow.

If from any cause whatever you are playing a very slow game,
don't miss an

opportunity of inviting the couple behind you to pass.

It will please them, and will be far more comfortable for
you. But if your match is behind a slow one, do

not be offensive in pressing upon the match in front by making

rude remarks and

occasionally playing when they are within range. You do

not know what troubles

they are enduring. Remember the story of the old player,

who, on a ball being driven past him by the couple
behind, sent his caddie with his card to the

offender, and with it the message, "Mr. Blank presents his

compliments, and begs to say that though he may be
playing slowly he can play a devil of a lot more
slowly if he likes!"

Be careful that you always stand on the proper side

of the tee when your

opponent is preparing to drive. At this most anxious moment

for your friend do

not be practising your own swing or move about or talk. You would
be intensely

annoyed with him if he did these things when you were

driving. If he lost the

match through a foozled drive, he would be justified in

saying that you did not play the game.

In playing through the green, avoid as far as

possible getting in your

opponent's line of sight when he is making his stroke. Also

do not stand so near

to him that he can see you through the corner of his

eye when he is taking his swing.

Do not get into the habit of asking for a half on

the putting green when in your own opinion you are lying
dead and have one stroke left for the half. You

may not be as dead as you think, and your opponent may

not consider you are

dead at all. He naturally wonders why you ask for the half
when it would be so

easy to putt the ball. It would be excusable if he

were to offer to make you a present of the ball you have
on the match. These propositions about the giving of

halves should invariably come from the other side.

Besides, when you have

asked for a half and your opponent says "No; putt it out,"
you not only look foolish, but you are so irritated that you
may very likely miss the putt. Then you

will look more foolish than ever, and the next thing you will lose
is the match.

But when your opponent of his own free will says, "I will
give you that,"

meaning the little putt for the half, show your appreciation
of his confidence in

your putting by picking up the ball and saying no more

about it. Don't insist on

putting the ball into the hole either with one hand or in
any other way. You are

sure to be playing carelessly; and suppose you fail to hole?

Your opponent said

he gave you the half, and yet you failed afterwards to get
it when you insisted on

playing. Of course you have a right to the half that

he gave you, but you will have an uneasy conscience, and
your friend will be sorry that he was so

generous. Also, when you have carelessly missed a six inch putt
for the half, do not remark to your opponent, as some
players do, "Of course, if you insist upon

it, I will give you the hole." It is no question of

insistence; it is the rule of the game. I say, stick to the
rules of the game.

Never use long headed clubs. The shorter headed clubs

are easier to play

with and are more accurate.

Do not wear too tightly fitting clothes. Particularly be

careful to see that

there is plenty of spare cloth under the arms. Tightness here, where
there should

be the utmost freedom, means the wholesale ruination of what

would otherwise

have been good strokes.

Always use braces in preference to a belt round the waist.

I never play with a

belt. Braces seem to hold the shoulders together just as they

ought to be. When a

man plays in a belt he has an unaccustomed sense

of looseness, and his

shoulders are too much beyond control. It is a mistake

to imagine you can swing

better with a belt than with braces. For the same reason
I do not advise a golfer

to play without his coat, even on the warmest day, if

he wants to play his best game.

Whenever possible, use shoes for golfing instead of boots.

They allow more

freedom to the ankles, and make it much easier to pivot

on the toes. Keep the leather of your boots and
shoes soft and pliable. Apply dubbin to them in the winter.

Take care that there are plenty of nails on the soles of your
boots and shoes, and that they are in good condition and the
heads not worn away. Nails in this state are almost
useless, and create a great tendency towards slipping.

Aluminium nails, though very light, wear away too quickly,

and have a tendency

to drop out. I do not like big nails of any description,

nor do I favour small ones

arranged in clusters. Those that I prefer have round

heads about the size of a small pea, and are fluted down
the sides. I have the soles and heels of my boots

freely studded with these, and always according to the

same system. There are twenty-five nails on the sole of each
boot and fourteen on each heel, and they are

arranged as in the accompanying diagram. It will be

observed that there are

plenty of nails in the fore part of the sole on which

the pivoting is done, and where there is the greatest
 tendency to slip.

NAILS IN GOLFING BOOTS AND SHOES.

NAILS IN GOLFING BOOTS AND SHOES.

Do not get into the habit of counting your strokes from the
beginning of the

round in every match that you play, in the hope that each time you
may be able

to beat your own record for the course. If you do so,

and play one or two bad holes to begin with, you will suffer
from a sense of disappointment which may

have a bad effect upon your play for the remainder of the
game.

Obtain a thorough knowledge of the rules of the game,

always play strictly

according to them, and adhere rigidly to the etiquette

of golf. When you insist upon the rules being applied to
yourself, even to your own disadvantage, you are

in a stronger position for demanding that your opponent shall

also have the same

respect for them. When play is always according to the

rules, with no favour shown on either side, the players
know exactly where they are. When the rules

are occasionally overthrown, difficulties and dissatisfaction

constantly ensue.

When playing in frosty weather, do not take it for

granted that because the greens are hard they are also fast.
Unless the greens were exceedingly smooth when the frost
began, they will be covered with an abundance of
little frozen knobs and pimples which greatly retard the
progress of the ball.

In wet weather it is a good thing to carry a piece of

chalk in your pocket, and

to rub the face of the driver and brassy with it each

time before making a stroke.

It prevents the ball from skidding.

Unless you have a very good and special reason for doing
so, do not play in

gloves. The grip is seldom so secure and exact as

when it is effected with the bare hands.

Always use the club that takes the least out of you. Play with
an iron instead
of forcing your shot with a mashie. Never say, "Oh, I
think I can reach it with such and such a club." There
ought never to be any question of your reaching it,

so use the next more powerful club in order that you will have
a little in hand. It

will be easier, and the result will be much better, or

at least it ought to be.

Never use thick handle grips. They place weight at

the wrong end of the

club. I like the thinnest I can get. I do not advise

playing with rubber grips if they can be avoided. On
a wet day they might be the cause of a lost match.

Always use spliced in preference to socketed clubs. They

are better in every way.

Do not be tempted to invest in a sample of each

new golfing invention as

soon as it makes its appearance. If you do you will

only complicate and spoil your game and encumber your locker with
much useless rubbish. Of course

some new inventions are good, but it is usually best to wait

a little while to see

whether any considerable section of the golfing public

approves of them before

rushing to a shop to order one.

If you have completely lost confidence for the time being in

any particular

club, even though it may be one with which you have

performed brilliantly in days gone by, leave it out of
your bag altogether for a short season and try to forget
all about it. The day will come before very long when you
will feel that it

is once more the very club you are wanting to make your game
perfect, and you

will rejoice to renew its acquaintance when you take it

out of your locker. We can see too much of even our best
friends.

Always make up your mind definitely and finally before

taking up your

stance what club you are going to use and exactly the kind
of shot that you want

to play with it. When you have taken up your position but still
 ponder in a state

of uncertainty, it is very probable that your mind will be

affected by your

hesitation, and then your swing and the result thereof will be
bad.

There are fewer certainties in golf than in any other game, and dogged
pluck

is rarely so well rewarded as on the links.

If you are playing golf in the afternoon, do not lunch any

more heavily that

you feel to be necessary. A heavy lunch tends to

take the keenness out of a golfer, and at the same time it
has—what very few people suspect—a very

serious effect upon the eye and its capacity for work. The
golfer's eyes often give

way to the strain that is put upon them long before his
limbs.

When we talk about keeping the eye on the ball, we do not

mean the top of

the ball. Your object is not to hit the top of the ball
with the bottom of your club.

For an ordinary stroke keep your attention fixed on the grass

immediately behind

the ball. This should result in the sole of your club

sweeping evenly along the turf and taking the ball just
as it ought to be taken. But there are special
occasions, as when a low shot against the wind is wanted
(fully explained in previous chapters), when it is desirable
to hit the ball rather higher up. The eye

should then be fixed on the edge of the ball just half-way

up from the bottom to

the top. The accompanying diagram shows exactly the

points to be looked at

when playing the different strokes. You may get in good

strokes when looking at

the top of the ball, but it is only because you have

accustomed yourself by long

experience to make a small allowance for so doing. The

practice is theoretically

bad, and it is mainly the reason why beginners top their

balls so frequently. Of
course when you look down the side of it in the manner
indicated, you have the

ball always in view.

POINTS TO LOOK AT WHEN ADDRESSING THE BALL—(I.) FOR AN

ORDINARY STROKE; (II.) FOR A PUSH SHOT.

POINTS TO LOOK AT WHEN ADDRESSING THE BALL—(I.) FOR AN

ORDINARY STROKE; (II.) FOR A PUSH SHOT.

The life of a rubber-cored ball does not always last as

long as its shell, and its best driving capacity has
often disappeared when there is scarcely a scratch upon

it. Therefore, if you are playing in an important match

with a ball that has already been used at a large number
of holes, it may be advisable to put down a

new one when long work with the driver and brassy is a
vital necessity. A close

watch for loss of shape should also be kept on these

rubber-cored balls. They vary very much in this respect, and
not only is it impossible to putt well with a

ball that is not perfectly round, but it never flies

so well as one which is quite true.

Always use a clean ball, and carry a sponge to keep it

clean with. It detracts

from the pleasure of a game more than you may imagine if

your ball is always

dirty and cannot be seen from a distance. Besides, the eye

is less strained when a

clean white ball is played with, and there is less

likelihood of foozled strokes.

Moreover, your dirty ball is a constant irritation to your

opponent.

Don't act upon the advice of your caddie when you are
convinced in your

own mind that he is wrong. If you do so, you will very

likely play the stroke hesitatingly and without confidence,
and the result in these circumstances is

seldom satisfactory. It is not impossible that the caddie

knows less about the game than yourself, and, on the other hand,
his views as to the best thing to do in

a particular situation are often regulated by what he has seen

 the scratch men do

at such times. You may not be a scratch man.

When playing in a foursome, never forget that you have a

partner. If you are

the inferior player, make a rule, when in any doubt, of

asking him what he would

prefer you to do.

When you are addressing the ball, and a conviction forces

itself on your mind just before making the stroke that
your stance or something else is

radically wrong, do not be persuaded that it is best to

get the stroke done with notwithstanding. In such circumstances
it is almost certain to be a failure, and you will
wish then that you had taken a fresh stance, as you knew
you ought to

have done, and made a proper job of it, even at the risk
of annoying your partner

by fiddling about on the tee.

At a crisis in a match, some golfers, fighting

desperately for victory or a half,

give themselves up when on the tee to hideous thoughts of

all the worst ways in

which they have ever made that particular drive and of the terrible
consequences

that ensued. This is fatal. A golfer must never be

morbid. If he cannot school himself to think that he is
going to make the best drive of his life, just when it is

most wanted, he should try not to think of anything at

all.

Don't try experimental shots on a new system when your

opponent is dormy.

It may be quite true that those you make on the old system
are very bad, but you

had better stick to them until the end of this match at any
rate.

Do not attempt to play two kinds of golf at the same time;

that is to say, if

you are playing for a medal, do not keep up a hole-

to-hole match with your

partner. You will become confused, with no clear idea of what

 you are trying to

do, and you will probably win neither the medal nor the match.
If you feel that

you must match yourself in some manner with the man who is
going round with

you, back your net return against his.

Because you do a hole in bogey, or even sometimes in

one stroke less, do not always take it for granted that
you have therefore played perfect golf. Some

bogeys are very easy, and some shots are very fluky. A man
may miss his drive,

run a bunker, and hole out with his mashie, beating bogey
by a stroke. But he would be well advised not to
say anything about it afterwards, lest he should be

asked for details. Not the smallest credit attaches to him

for this remarkable performance.

Always play from a low tee, except when the wind is behind
you.

See that your head remains rigid, from the moment when you
have finally

taken up your position and are ready for your swing, until
you have struck the ball.

In addressing, always oppose to the ball that part of the

face of the club with

which you want to hit it.

Go slowly back, but be quick on the ball. But do not swing

back too slowly

or you will lose control over your club. Gain speed gradually.

At the finish of the swing for a full shot, the right heel
should be well up and

the toe pointed downwards. The chest should then be facing

the hole. But these and all similar movements should be
quite natural. If they are forced they are useless and
dangerous, and only indicate that your methods and your swing
are

altogether wrong. In such a dilemma study the photographs

in this volume,

particularly those that show you how you ought not to do the
various strokes. If

these do not provide you with a cure, consult the professional

 at your club.

Don't press, but note the definition of pressing in Chapter

VI. You can hit hard without pressing, which really means
jumping at the ball. When your swing

is working to perfection and you are full of confidence, you

may let yourself go

as much as you please. It is not true, as some golfers

say, that a gently hit ball

will travel as far as one which has been hit with much more
force, but otherwise

in precisely the same manner.

You must be particularly on your guard against pressing—

real pressing—

when you are two or three holes down, and are

becoming anxious about the

match. Perfect confidence and a calm mind are necessary for

the success of

every stroke.

Keep your eye on the side of the ball, particularly when you
are near the hole

and perhaps playing a little chip shot on to the green.

There is a tendency at such

a time, so great is the anxiety of the golfer to know

whether he is laying himself

dead or not, to take the eye from the ball and direct its
attention to the pin before

the downward swing is complete and the stroke has been

made. But I do not

approve of keeping the eye fixed upon the place where the ball
lay, so that the

grass is seen after the ball has departed. Keep your eye on the
ball until you have

hit it, but no longer. You cannot follow through

properly with a long shot if your

eye remains fastened on the ground. Hit the ball, and then
let your eye pick it up in its flight as quickly as
possible. Of course this needs skilful timing and
management, but precision will soon become habitual.

When you hit the small of your back with the head of your
club in the
upward swing, it is not so much a sign that you are
swinging too far back as that

your wrists are enjoying too much play, that you are not
holding your club with

sufficient firmness, and that your arms are thrown too much
upwards. Try a

tighter grip. Remember that the grip with both hands should be
firm. That with

the right hand should not be slack, as one is so often

told.

If your eyesight is not good and you are obliged to

resort to artificial aids when playing the game, wear
spectacles rather than eye-glasses, and specially

made sporting spectacles in preference to any others. It is

of the utmost

importance that the glasses should not only be perfectly steady

at all times, but

that the rims should not be so near to the centre of

vision as to interfere with it

under any circumstances. The sporting spectacles which I

recommend are

similar to those used for billiards and shooting. The rims

and the glasses are circular and not oval in shape, and
they are unusually large—about 1½ inches in

diameter. By the use of them the player is afforded a

field of vision as wide as

with the naked eye, so that practically he is not

conscious that he is wearing glasses at all. The eye is a
factor of such immense importance in the proper playing of
golf, that this is a matter to be strongly insisted upon.
My own eyesight is perfect, and I have never had
occasion to resort to artificial assistance

of it, but I adopt these suggestions from players

of experience who have worn these glasses and upon whose judgment
I can rely.

If you have no caddie, do not order your opponent's

caddie about as if you were paying for his services.
Any assistance that he may give you is an act of courtesy
extended to you by your opponent.

Always fill in afterwards every hole that you make in a

bunker. If all players

do that, both you and the others will benefit constantly.

Make a point of seeing that your caddie always
replaces your divots, or

replace them yourself if you have no caddie. This, as we

all know, is a golfer's

first duty. If your ball at any time came to rest in a hole

where a divot had not

been replaced, you would be extremely annoyed, would say

hard things about

the other players on the links, and would declare that the
course was badly kept.

Never practise swinging on the putting green. It is not

good for the green,

and the greenkeeper who takes a pride in the results of his

work is not usually in

the best of tempers when he sees you at this little game.

When carrying your own clubs, do not throw the bag down on
the greens. If

you do so the toes of the iron clubs are certain to

make marks, which neither improve the greens nor the game
of the players who follow you.

Never try your shots over again when there are other players behind
you. It

makes your partner uncomfortable, and he feels that he ought

to apologise on

your behalf to those who are kept waiting.

When practising, use the club that gives you the most
trouble, and do not

waste your time in knocking a ball about with the tool that gives
you the most

satisfaction and with which you rarely make a bad stroke.

C H A P T E R X V I

COMPETITION PLAY

Its difficulties—Nerves are fatal—The philosophic spirit—Experience

and

steadiness—The torn card—Too much hurry to give up—A story and a

 moral

—Indifference to your opponent's brilliance—Never slacken when up—

The

best test of golf—If golf were always easy—Cautious play in

medal rounds—

Risks to be taken—The bold game in match play—Studying the

course—

Risks that are foolishly taken—New clubs in competitions—On giving

them a

trial—No training necessary—As to the pipe and glass—How to

be at one's

best and keenest—On playing in the morning—In case of a late

draw—Watch

your opponents.

IT is the same game whether it is match or medal play, and

the same whether

you are merely engaged in friendly rivalry with an old

friend, with half a crown

or nothing at all but the good game itself at stake,

or testing your skill and giving

rein to your ambition in a club or open tournament with gold

medals and much

distinction for the final victors. But, same game as it is, how
convinced have we

all been at times that it is a very hard thing to

play it always in the same way.

How regularly does an evil fate seem to pursue us on those

days when we are most desirous of doing ourselves full
justice. Five times in a week will a golfer

go round the course and beat bogey, reckoning after

each performance that he

has only to repeat it on Saturday to win the prize which

he covets, with several

strokes to spare. Then Saturday comes, and a sad

falling off is there. By the time

the sixth or seventh hole is reached, the all-important card

has perhaps been torn

up into little pieces and flung contemptuously into a

convenient ditch.
Of course much of this sort of thing is due to
nervousness, and there is no game in which full
control of the nerves and extreme coolness are more

necessary than in golf. Let the player be as keen as

he likes—the keener the better—but if he is apt to become
too anxious at the critical stage of a round or

match, he is not the man who will ever win prizes in

great competitions. He who

is the most composed when in difficulties and when the game

is going against him, and who treats each fresh trouble
as it comes along as a part of the ordinary

day's work to be surmounted in the best manner possible, is

the player who will

most frequently come out the conqueror. In many cases the tendency
to fall into

a highly nervous state at the smallest provocation

will disappear with time and lengthening experience. Each year of
golf should bring increasing steadiness,

and the steadier a golfer becomes the more frequently will

he do his best scores

when they are most wanted. And so I must leave it to time

and practice and the

proper cultivation of the best methods to bring the ambitious

beginner along into

the front rank of his contemporaries. But still there are some useful
hints which I

may offer him and which may facilitate his progress towards the
acquisition of

medals and cups.

To begin with, there is a little sermon to be preached

on that torn card. "Nil

desperandum" should always be the motto of the competition

player, and it is a

motto that will probably pay better in golf than in any other
game. I think it is

very likely that some scores of monthly medals have been

lost through a too

precipitate destruction of the scoring card when everything seemed

to be going

the wrong way. Every player should remember that it

is indeed a perfect card that is without a blemish,
 and that on the other hand there are few rounds played

by a man who knows anything about the game that are bad all
through. But some

men, because they have the misfortune to be debited with a

couple of 8's in the

first four or five holes, forthwith give up the ghost and rend
their cards into small

pieces with many and varied expressions of disgust.

Thereafter they play well, and at the conclusion of the match are
inclined to think that they were rather in

too much of a hurry to be out of the competition in its

early stages. If they had

made a fine card for fourteen or fifteen holes from the

beginning, they might have taken two 8's towards the end much
less seriously to heart. They would

have said to themselves that at all events there were many very
fine holes, and

the misfortunes which came later were not sufficient to

spoil their chances of

success. Well, then, when these annoyances happen near the beginning,
why not take a philosophical view of them and say that
as they had to come it was best

that they should come quickly and be done with, and then
go on playing hole after hole coolly and properly until
at the end it is found that the early

misfortunes have been amply retrieved? I am aware that this

is very simple

advice, and that it appears like a string of platitudes,

but it is extremely sound and yet it is ignored on
every medal day. Never, never tear up your card, for golf

is indeed a funny game, and no man knows what is going to

happen when it is

being played. There are numberless historic instances to support

this counsel, but

I will quote only one which came under my personal

observation recently, and

which to my mind is one of the most remarkable of all. It

occurred at a London

club. Six players were left in the final round for a

cup competition, and the conditions of playing in this final
were that a medal round should be played on
two different Saturdays. On the first Saturday three of
the players tore up their cards, and so only three remained
to fight out the issue on the second Saturday.

On this occasion one of the remaining three tore up his card

very early, and soon

afterwards a second did so, each being unaware of the

other's action, the third player being likewise ignorant of
the fact that his rivals had disappeared from the

contest, and that now, being the only man left in, he could
make any return he liked and become the possessor of
the cup. Presently he also fell into grievous difficulties, and was
on the point of tearing up his card like the others,
when the

player who was marking for him stayed his hand. He had
some idea of what had

happened, and, bad score as his man's was, he insisted

on its being completed, with the result of course that
he was hailed as the winner of the tournament. He

at all events would for the rest of his golfing days

respect the moral which I have

here endeavoured to convey; and what must have been the

reflections of the

other competitors who threw up the sponge, when they

discovered afterwards

that if they had kept plodding along they would still

have had an excellent

chance!

Similarly in match-play competitions, do not get into the way

of thinking

that your chance is hopeless just because your opponent

becomes two or three up

on you, or even more than that, early in the game;

and, above all, do not alter your style of play in consequence.
Nothing pays like your own best and steadiest

game and a stolid indifference to all the brilliant

things that your opponent is

doing. It is unlikely that he will keep on doing them all

through the game, and when the reaction comes you will
speedily make up the leeway. There are many

ups and downs in a game of golf; and when the

players are at all evenly

matched, and neither has lost his head, early differences have a
 way of regulating

themselves before the game is very far advanced. No doubt it

is disconcerting to

be three down after only three have been played; but are there not
fifteen still to

come? But it often appears that an even greater danger awaits

the inexperienced

golfer than that of funk when things are going against

him, in that he is too frequently apt to become careless
when he has obtained a trifling advantage.

Never slacken your efforts when you are two or three holes up,
but continue to

play with all your might and with an extreme of cautiousness

until at last you are

one more up than there are holes still to play, for not until then
are you sure of

victory. When a man has once held a good lead, but by

playing carelessly has allowed his opponent to get on level
terms with him again, the moral effect upon

him is usually extremely bad. When this has happened he is

inclined to regard himself not as still on equal terms
with his opponent, but as having suffered a great loss
and being in grave danger of defeat. And this feeling
is the prelude to

actual defeat and the bitter self-accusations that must

inevitably follow. I may have seemed to labour these simple
points, but every old golfer will bear me out

in saying that a proper regard for the essence of

this advice is the first necessity

for the man who covets honours in the golfing world.

I say that all golf is the same, and no matter

whether it is match or medal play, the simple object
is to hole out each time in the fewest number of
strokes;

but the fact that a single bad hole counts far more
heavily against you in a medal

round, where all the strokes are added together at the

finish, than in match play,

where the bad hole is simply one of eighteen, and in which

there is only one man

to be beaten, of whose performances you are a spectator,

instead of an invisible
field—this difference generally calls for a change in
tactics, particularly on the

part of the player who knows to a nicety his own

capabilities and limitations.

Score play is not, of course, so generally interesting as match

play, and for this

reason will never be so popular; but from my point of view

it is the best golf and

the best test of golf; indeed, in these respects I

think there is really no comparison between the two
systems. Score play tests the qualities of both the golfer
and the sportsman. If he makes a bad hole and drops
two or three to

bogey, he must not lose his temper, which proceeding is both

useless and fatal, but must screw up his determination,
and realise that if he can snatch a stroke from bogey
at the next two or three holes, all will be just
as well as ever. He must always be hopeful. If we
never made a bad hole, were never set any

difficult task, always did just what we tried to do—well, what

then would be the

use of playing golf? We should very soon ask ourselves

this question, and as there would be no satisfactory
answer to it, we should cease to play. The

difficulties and the annoyances of golf are after all the things
that make the game

so attractive and render it so subtly fascinating.

But all the same, when you are playing a medal round in a
competition, give

due consideration beforehand to this overwhelming fact, that

bad holes do tell more heavily against you than in match
play, and that when they are made they

are not over and done with, but are on permanent record as
faults to be atoned

for before the round is completed. When the score

player sends his ball into a bunker, takes two to escape,
and holes out in eight strokes instead of in five, his

punishment is not completed at this stage, as in match play.

The case is held over

in view of what his future conduct may be. He is, in

fact, ordered to come up for

judgment if called upon. Now, to avoid the pain and anxiety

 of all this, I suggest

to the player who takes out a card in a score competition,

that he should make up

his mind at the beginning of the round that from the first
hole to the finish he will be more than usually
cautious. By this I do not mean to say that he should

always play the strict safety game, for the man who
invariably plays for safety

and nothing else will soon find his card running up very high.
Certain risks must

be taken; but do not accept the very doubtful risks.

In match play, I say always

play the bold game. Go for everything that you can. If there
is a bunker

somewhere about the limit of your best possible carry,

go for it. If you have a long putt for the hole, give the
hole a chance, and either be in or beyond. But
I

do not suggest that these things should also be done in

score-play competitions.

If the hole is guarded by a bunker, and you have reason

to fear that you cannot

carry that bunker, it is in these circumstances a

thousand times better to play short than to take the risk
of putting your ball into it and making a serious
blot

upon your card. Similarly, when on the putting green, and there
is a long distance

between your ball and the hole, bring your mind to realise that
it is really of less

importance that you should hole out in one stroke than that
you should do so in

not more than two, and therefore concentrate your whole

energies on placing yourself dead for the second putt.
Therefore I say, accept a risk now and then when there is
a fairly good prospect of success, and when the reward
for it will

be commensurate with the danger that was incurred.

The last-named is an important clause. The course should

be studied hole by

hole for medal play, and the competitor should come to an exact
understanding
with himself as to the things that must be done and what
things need not be done. Thus it frequently happens that a
player, seeing a bunker some distance in

front of him but yet not quite out of his range, goes for
it as a matter of course.

Obviously he must incur a certain amount of risk, and it

may happen that even if

he carries it in safety he may not be better off

at all than if he were ten or fifteen

yards on the playing side. In either case it may be an

easy shot to the green, and

it may even happen that of the two the longer one would
be the easier for this particular golfer. But it is
quite likely that he never took any account of that when
taking the risk of the bunker. Now this man is to
be remonstrated with, for,

with the best intentions, he has displayed not courage but folly.
He must realise

that all bunkers are not of necessity to be carried with

long shots. If all golfers

played the same game, and always their best game, and, moreover,
if all bunkers

were placed in the proper places for bunkers, then it

would be their duty to go for them every time. But either
through the very good or the very bad shots that

have gone before, we find that these carries vary very much,
and, besides, the bunkers on all courses are certainly
not placed exactly where they ought to be,

and so for reckoning up the proper mode of play in order

that the hole may be

captured in the fewest possible number of strokes, they

can sometimes for all practical purposes be disregarded.

A golfer is often in an anxious state of mind when the

day of a competition in

which he wishes to do well arrives, and he is painfully

conscious that he is completely off his play with one or other
of his clubs, and has an abiding fear that it will
bring him to grief. When he feels like this about the
club, it will probably do so. Now the question is, whether
at this crisis he shall take out a new one with which
he is entirely unfamiliar and trust to luck with it, or
put his

faith once more in the instrument which of late has repeatedly spoilt
 his game.

He is usually advised that in such circumstances he

should not indulge in any

risky experiments, and that it is madness to take a new

and untried club out with him when it is more or less
imperative that he should play one of his best rounds.

But I am not by any means sure that this advice is well

founded. No golfer plays

well with a club in which he has completely lost confidence. It

may not be the

fault of the club at all; but there is the fact. On

the other hand, the player is always possessed of a
certain amount of hope when he takes a new implement
in

his hands. He has convinced himself beforehand, or at least

ought to have done,

that its points are just what he most admires, and that he
is likely to do well with

it. And so he probably will, even if it is only for

a round or two. It is the confidence trick again.
What I suggest, therefore, is that when this grave

uncertainty exists about the kind of performance that will probably

be made with

one of the articles in the bag, and there is a new

and good substitute ready at hand, the latter should not
be disregarded because of a kind of instinct that in
a

big fight it is best to stick to the old weapons. Take the

new one out with you,

but do not call it into service for the first hole or

two. During this preliminary stage give the old but
disappointing favourite another chance to show that it
will

not desert you in the hour of need; but if it fails to

rise to the occasion and you

blunder with it during the play at the first and second

holes, pass sentence upon

it forthwith and relegate it finally to your bag. Then at

the third hole let the new

one have its trial. Over and over again have I found
this method succeed most wonderfully, and I am a
particular believer in it in connection with putters. A golfer
may have been putting badly for a long time, but directly
 he takes a new

putter in his hand he feels that a great change

for the better has been effected, and forthwith he begins
to astonish himself by holing out from almost
anywhere,

or at least always getting his ball dead the first time. There
is no accounting for

these things. They seem very absurd. But there they are, and no
doubt it will be

agreed that a medal or a cup is worth a new putter

any time.

I do not believe in any sort of training for important

golf matches. It is not

necessary, and it generally upsets the man and throws him

off his game. If he is a

smoker let him smoke all the time, and if he likes an

occasional glass of wine let

him take it as usual. A sudden stoppage of these

luxuries causes a feeling of irritation, and that is not
good for golf. The game does not seem the same to you

as it was before. For my part I am neither a non-

smoker nor an abstainer, and I

never feel so much at ease on the links and so fully capable

of doing justice to

myself as when smoking. But at the same time I believe

in the most complete moderation. Only by the constant exercise
of such moderation can that sureness

of hand and eye be guaranteed which are absolutely necessary to

the playing of

good golf. On one occasion when I had a championship

in view I stopped the

tobacco for a short period beforehand, and I am bound to

confess that the results

seemed excellent, and perhaps some day I may repeat the

experiment. But there

was nothing sudden about the abstinence in this case,

and by the time the big days came round I had become
thoroughly accustomed to the new order of

things, and the irritation had passed away. However, these

are matters which

every man may be left to decide for himself according to

 his own good common

sense, and the only object I had in introducing them

was to counsel the

avoidance of sudden whims and freaks, which are never good for
golf.

Another question is how much or how little golf should

be played

beforehand when a man desires to give himself the best

chance of playing his best game on a certain specified
day. That depends largely upon how much golf

he is in the habit of playing in the ordinary

course. If he is a man who plays regularly, almost every
day when it is fine, I think he will generally do far
better

for himself by abstaining altogether for a day or two

before the competition.

Then, when he goes out to play in it, he will experience a

zest and keenness which will be very much in his favour. There
is no danger that in this brief period of rest he
will have forgotten anything that he knew before, but, on the
other hand, he will have a greatly improved capacity for taking
pains, and every

stroke will be easy to him. His confidence will be refreshed.

If he continues to

play his round or two rounds every day right up to the date
of the competition,

he will undoubtedly be "over-golfed," will have a great

tendency to fall into errors, and will be generally careless.
But if the would-be prize-winner is a man

who has usually to content himself with week-end golf,

it would be all in his favour if he could put in
a day or two of practice before taking part in the
big event. There will be no possibility of his becoming stale by
so doing.

When a competitor has the choice of playing his round either

in the morning

or the afternoon, I strongly advise him to select the

former and get the thing over

as soon as possible. I am positive that his chances of

success are usually greater

when he does so, especially if, in case of his electing to

play in the afternoon, he
has nothing particularly to occupy his mind and attention
in the interval except his prospects in the forthcoming
contest. Golfers are freshest and keenest in the

morning, their bodies and limbs are most vigorous and anxious
for work, and—a

very important consideration—their eyes are most to be depended

upon. And it

is not an unimportant consideration that there is no indigestible

lunch to interfere

with the perfect ease of mind and body which are necessary to
the making of a

good card.

But often, particularly in the case of important open

competitions, the times

of starting are decided by lot, and the competitor, on

arriving at the course, finds

that he has to accept the disadvantages of a late draw,

and must endure a period

of waiting for his turn to tee up. It is best to

dispose of these wearisome periods

not in hanging about the tee or in the vicinity of the

club-house, but by going out

with one of the early couples, watching their methods,

and making note of the exact manner in which their best holes
are played. If the course is a strange one,

the information which the watcher thus derives will be invaluable

to him when

he comes to play his own round, for he will now be

possessed of the most

excellent hints as to difficulties which demand

special efforts to avoid, and of particular strokes which
it is in the highest degree necessary to play well.
Not until he has watched the play of others in this
manner will the enormous

significance of the position of a particular bunker be

made clear to him; he will

discover the great danger of being short with certain strokes,

and of overrunning

the green at various holes. By thus watching other

competitors' play he will

probably learn more about the nature and peculiarities of the

course and the way

it is playing on this particular occasion, than if he were

doing a round with his

own clubs. Therefore, if there is time to be killed, this

is most decidedly the way

in which to kill it, and I may add that it is the method

which I myself adopt on

every possible occasion. I know that in championships and

tournaments I have

reaped great advantage in watching closely the play of

my fellow-competitors,

their triumphs and their failures, while waiting for my own turn
to begin.

C H A P T E R X V I I

ON FOURSOMES

The four-ball foursome—Its inferiority to the old-fashioned game—

The case of the long-handicap man—Confusion on the greens—The
man who drives last

—The old-fashioned two-ball foursome—Against too many foursomes—

Partners and each other—Fitting in their different games—The man

to oblige

—The policy of the long-handicap partner—How he drove and missed

in the

good old days—On laying your partner a stymie—A preliminary

consideration

of the round—Handicapping in foursomes—A too delicate

reckoning of

strokes given and received—A good foursome and the excitement

thereof—A

caddie killed and a hole lost—A compliment to a

golfer.

ITHINK it is to be regretted that the old-fashioned

foursome, in which the

respective partners play together with the same ball, has so

completely lost

favour of late, and that it has been superseded to a large

extent by the four-ball
foursome. To my mind the old foursome provided a much more
interesting and

enjoyable game than its successor, and tended much more to the
cultivation of good qualities in a golfer. It seems to me
that this new four-ball game is a kind of

mongrel mixture. It is played, I presume, because men

feel that they would like

to have a game of partners and yet are unwilling to

sacrifice half the strokes of a

round, as they do in the old game, and also because the

man who is on his game

desires all his power and brilliancy to count, and that they
may not be interfered

with by the possibly erratic procedure of his partner. But

this is a selfish spirit,

and quite opposed to that which should properly

animate the men who play in

combination. When a golfer is thus anxious for the

display of his skill, surely an

ordinary single-ball match is the proper thing for him. The four-
ball foursome, I

admit, has much to recommend it when the partners are

equally matched, when

both are really good players—more likely to do a hole

in bogey than not—and

when the course is clear and there is no prospect

of their protracted game

interfering with other players who may be coming up

behind. When a short-

handicap man is mated with a long one, the place of the latter
in a foursome of

the new kind is to my thinking not worth having. Is it

calculated to improve his

golf, or to afford him satisfaction of any kind whatever,

if he plays his ball round

in what is for him very good form, and yet only contributes
the halving of a single hole as his share of the
victory of the combination? Very likely after such

a game he will feel that he must fall back once more on that
old excuse of the golfer for a disappointing day, that
 at all events he has had the fresh air and the

exercise. The tasting of the pure atmosphere and the working

of limb and muscle

are splendid things, enough to justify any day and any

game, but no golfer is heard to put them in the forefront
of the advantages he has derived from his day's

participation in the game unless the golf he has played

has been miserably

disappointing. This new foursome is also a selfish game,

because it is generally

played with too little regard for the convenience and

feelings of other golfers on

the links. It is very slow, and couples coming up

behind, who do not always care

to ask to be allowed to go through, are often

irritated beyond measure as they wait while four balls
are played through the green in front of them,
and eight putts are taken on the putting green. The
constant waiting puts them off their game and spoils their day.

Another objection that I urge against this kind of game is,

that even when

there is nobody pressing behind and there is no particular

reason for hurry, there

is a natural tendency on the part of each player to

make haste so that he shall not

delay the other three. This is the case all the way
through the green, and

particularly when the hole is reached and the putters are

taken out. Then

everybody's ball seems to be in the way of the others,

there is continual lifting and replacing, more hurrying, and then,
to make matters worse, there is a doubt

as to what a man should do in order to help his side—

whether he should hole out

in one or two, or whether there is any use in holing

out at all. Consequently his

mind is in a confused state of reckoning and doubt when he

makes his putt, and

poor putt it is likely to be in such circumstances.

Frequently, when a blind hole is

being played, it needs a few minutes' close examination to decide

 which ball is

which after the drive, unless each has been carefully

marked to distinguish it from the others. As a final
indictment against this species of golf, I would
say that even when the partners are equally matched and both
good players, there is

still a tendency for their individual play to be spoiled,

inasmuch as there is the

feeling constantly present in the mind of each, that even if

he does happen to do

a bad hole it will not matter very much after all, as the
other man is sure to come

to the rescue. When it happens that just the same thought

enters the brain of that

other man, a lost hole is likely to be the result.

Decidedly this is not the sort of

game to improve the golfer's play.

The four-ball foursome is so very like two single matches

that there is little

special advice to offer concerning the playing of it. One

of the few special points

to be observed by the player who is taking part in

such a match is that, without being unduly selfish and
grasping, he should as frequently as possible avoid

being the last man of the four to make his drive from the
tee. The man who drives last is at a very obvious
disadvantage. In the first place, if he has seen the

other three make really good drives, he is too much tempted

to try to beat them

all, and the usual result of such temptation is a bad

stroke. On the other hand, if

he has seen two or three foozles, it is quite possible that

he will follow the bad

example that has been set him. Thus, whatever has happened
before, the last man

has no real encouragement offered to him. In addition to

these objections, when

three men have driven from the tee they are somewhat impatient
to be moving

on and playing their second shots, and in this mood they

have little care for what
happens to the last drive. They have already had quite
enough of driving. The fourth man is quite conscious of
this impatience on their part, even though it may not
be openly expressed by the smallest sign. So he is
in a hurry to oblige,

and his effort is then disappointing. I seldom hit my

best ball when I am driving

fourth in a four-ball foursome. Of course somebody must

drive last, but not

necessarily the same man every time. All that I wish to suggest
is, that a player

should not be too self-sacrificing, and should not, with too

much modesty about

his own prowess on the tee, always volunteer to drive after

his partner.

The old-fashioned or two-ball foursome makes a really

fine and enjoyable

game. It brings golfers together on even more intimate and

friendly relations

than usual. Partners in a foursome see very deep down into

the human nature of

each other. They are overwhelmingly conscious of each other's

faults and

weaknesses. They are enormously dependent upon each other. At the

same time I

do not think that even this kind of foursome is the best thing
in the world for the

improvement of a man's game, and I advise the young

player to resist the

temptation to take part in too many foursomes, to the neglect

of ordinary match

play in singles. For one thing, the partners, of course,

only get half as much golf

as they would if they were playing a round in a

single match, and for another, they are too constantly
anxious to play their best game. The sense of

responsibility is frequently a little too much for their

nerves, and you often see a

man, a most dogged and persistent player in an ordinary

match, who is a
consistent failure in foursomes, and who in this style of game
ought to be rated

at six strokes higher handicap than his allowance for

ordinary purposes. One

feels in a foursome that one must be so very careful, and

take so much extra pains, and when that feeling is uppermost
in the mind while the stroke is being

made, the result is often disastrous.

It is unwise to interfere unduly with a partner's system

of play while a match

is in progress. He may be missing his drive because

his stance is wrong or his swing is faulty, but the
state of affairs would probably be worse than ever if an

attempt were made to put him right while the game is going on.
The hint will be

more useful when the match is over. And if he has a

particular fancy for playing

his brassy, when experience tells you that an iron club should
be taken, it will not

generally pay to make the suggestion at the time. The man

naturally takes the club with which he has most confidence and
with which he believes he can make

the shot that is wanted. It is fatal to interfere with

confidence of this kind, and to

substitute for it the hesitation and doubt which inevitably take

possession of the

man when he takes in his hands a weapon with which he rarely

does well, and

which, whatever you may tell him, he is convinced is

utterly inadequate for the

purposes of the situation. Let each man play the various

strokes that have to be

made in a foursome in his own way without interference,

for nothing but chaos

and a lost match can follow upon the enforcement upon each other
of individual

ideas and methods.

This, of course, is not saying that each man should not

play his game so that

it may fit as well as possible into that of his partner.

 He may play with the club

he particularly fancies, and play it in his own way, but

there should be some sort

of a general understanding about what he is going

to do and the exact effect which his performance is
likely to have upon the way the hole is played if

everything happens according to programme. This makes it very

desirable that

the partners in a foursome match to which any

importance is attached, should

have more than a passing knowledge of each other's play,

and of individual

weaknesses and excellences. One partner may be particularly

good at making a

fairly full iron shot, but shaky indeed when it comes

to a little pitch with the mashie over the bunker
that guards the green. It is clear, on reflection,
that the chief part in this playing up to each other's game
should be taken by the man who has the longer
handicap, and is therefore the weaker all-round player.
The

scratch man, being a wise and experienced golfer, will

naturally place his

nervous 18-handicap friend in as few difficulties as he

can, and will constantly exert himself to leave him a
comparatively simple shot which he may be

depended upon with some certainty to accomplish in a workmanlike

fashion. But

the junior player must remember that it behoves him to

be the most careful and

considerate in matters of this kind, for in an emergency it

is generally the senior

who must be depended upon to win the hole or pull the match
out of the fire. Let

him, therefore, impose upon himself a considerable measure

of self-sacrifice,

playing up to his partner for all he is worth,

contented in the knowledge that he

is doing the proper thing, and that, though he

is sinking his own individuality and doing much of what
can only be described as donkey work, he is being

considerably honoured by being invited to play in such

superior company. It is not always the place of the junior
partner to take risks; that is the prerogative of

the senior. There may be a particular carry on the course

which the young player

is always doubtful about, but which when playing alone he

constantly makes an

attempt to accomplish, and very properly so. But if his effort

is as often as not a

failure—with the result that he is badly bunkered and the

hole is lost—it would

be madness for him to attempt the carry when he is

playing in a foursome with a

far better man than himself as his partner. He must depart

from his usual custom,

and play short for safety. It will be a great relief to

his partner. Not lately, but in

the early years of my experience, I have seen this principle

carried to a curious

excess. When there was a difficult carry from the tee, and an
inferior player and

short driver had the turn to make the stroke, I have seen
his partner instruct him

to miss the ball altogether—not tap it off the tee, but miss
it. Thus the other man,

presumably a good driver, had the ball left teed for him. These
men reckoned between them that on an average it would
prove of more advantage to be well over the far hazard in
two strokes, than to take the risk of being short with the
tee

shot and possibly not getting over with the second or even
the third. However, there is no doubt that performances of
this kind were a violation of the spirit of

golf. It is the game to hit the ball, and it is

unsportsmanlike to try to miss it.

Nowadays the golfing world quite realises that this is the case.

In the same way, in playing through the green and in

putting, it must be the

constant object of the junior to play the safety game

and to feed his skilful partner with as many as possible of
those strokes at which he is best. Do not let

him try for a desperately long second, emulating the example

 which his partner

set him on the tee, in the hope that he may land the ball
on the green. He is not expected to do anything
of the kind. If he should happen to be successful,
his partner would know that it was not his usual custom,
that he had played beyond

himself, and that therefore there was something of the fluke

in the stroke after all. He would be much more likely
to fail and foozle, and then what a miserable

golfer would he be! His obvious duty is to play a

simple, easy stroke which will

be practically certain of placing the ball in such a

position that his partner will have no difficulty in getting
on the green with his third. And on the putting green,
when anything over ten feet distance intervenes between the
ball and the

hole, while always giving the latter a chance, he should

remember that his first

duty is to lay the ball dead. If he holes out, well and good,
but his partner insists

first of all that the ball should be laid dead. At this

crisis, also, he should be particularly careful that he
never commits the unpardonable sin of laying

himself, or rather his partner, a stymie. Of all the

stymies in the world, that which has been laid you by your
own partner in a foursome is the most

exasperating.

Of course, for the proper blending of each partner's game

with that of the

other, it is advisable, or rather necessary, that before

the first stroke in the match

is taken there should be some kind of general understanding

about the policy that

is to be pursued. First consideration is given to the turn

in which the tee shots are

to be taken, and the drives are so arranged that the

better player takes them at a

majority of the tees where good drives are most wanted. But
it seems to me that

very often an arrangement of this sort is arrived at

without sufficient

consideration. For example, it frequently happens that a long-

handicap man is a

very good driver indeed, better in fact than the man who
is his partner and has a

handicap of many strokes less. And in the same way it

commonly occurs that a

short-handicap man may be decidedly weak with his short

approaches. On the

average of the play from the tee to the hole the senior
player may be fully so much better than the other as
the difference in their handicaps suggests, but it by

no means follows that in particular features of the game

there is the same

difference. Therefore the wise partners will adapt themselves to

each other, so that they will get all the good out of
themselves and leave untouched that which

is bad. And when this compact is completed and honourably

adhered to, there

are at hand the makings of a victory.

When four players have decided among themselves to play a

foursome, and

there are wide differences in their respective handicaps, there

is often

considerable difficulty in arranging the best partnerships. It

is good to be guided

by mutual preferences, for preference means confidence, and that

is everything

in foursome play. But at the same time it is always

advisable to sort out the players in such a manner that
there is as little as possible of giving and
receiving

strokes. For example, where there is a scratch man, two 9's

(or a 6 and a 10), and

an 18, the best and most enjoyable match is always

likely to result from a

combination of the scratch man with the 18 against the two

players of medium

handicaps, although the scratch man, if a selfish player,

may not be disposed to

saddle himself with the unreliable person at the other

end of the scale. It is a point to be borne in mind
that the 18 man, if, despite his handicap, he is a
 real

and conscientious golfer, is more likely to play above

his handicap than the

scratch man. It is much easier for an 18-handicap

player to perform like a 12

than it is for a scratch man to play like a plus 3.

In my opinion the arranging of

strokes to be given and received in foursome play is

far too delicate and

complicated. In ordinary single-match play handicapping does

not always work

out very well, and it is often made to look foolish in a

foursome. Far better is it

than adding up and dividing by clumsy fractions, and then

finding that one party

gets five strokes or eight, that the players should take

a broad view of their respective merits, and then decide
that they will either play on level terms or that

a third or a half shall be given and received.

The best foursome of all is one played on level terms,
and an effort should always be made, and even a
point strained here and there, to effect such partnerships
as will make this arrangement

feasible.

A really good foursome, when the partners play harmoniously

and the holes

are well fought out, is a splendid diversion from the

ordinary game of golf. The

interest and excitement of each member of the party often

seems to affect the others, and to lead up to
an intense mutual keenness which is often superior even

to that experienced in single play. There is a

wholesome satisfaction in the

community of interests. The winning of a hole is coveted

as it was never coveted

before. Have you heard what should be a classical story about

the foursome? The

match was all square on the sixteenth green, and one

excited Scot stood by while

his partner made a drive upon which the fortunes of a hard-

fought game might
rest. The caddies had been sent forward. The tee shot was
pulled, and the ball went twisting round in the direction of
the driver's boy. It struck him and he fell

flat upon the ground. The driving partner dropped his club,
and, with his face turned pale, muttered hoarsely to
his friend, "Tonalt, I've kilt the caddie!" But Donald's mind
was fixed upon other matters than the mere question of life
and

death, and with many excited gestures and a shriek of

despair he exclaimed,

"Then, tamn it all, we've lost the hole," as under Rule 25

they had.

At the end of this chapter I will make the simple

remark, that you can pay a

golfer no higher compliment than to say that he is a

good foursome player, for

such a one must not only be a good golfer and a

steady one, but a man of the serenest and even most
delightful temperament. You must always feel that you

could not play in the company of such a man too often,

either with him or

against him.

C H A P T E R X V I I I

GOLF FOR LADIES

As to its being a ladies' game—A sport of freedom—The lady

on the links—The

American lady golfer—English ladies are improving—Where they fail,

and

why—Good pupils—The same game as the man's—No short swings for

ladies

—Clubs of too light weight—Their disadvantages—A common fault

with the

sex—Bad backward swings—The lady who will find out for herself—

Foundations of a bad style—The way to success.

SOME people say that golf is not a ladies' game, and from
time to time one
hears of something in the nature of dissensions within
the family circle when there are wives and sisters
anxious to take up the sport which palpably affords
their male relatives one of the greatest enjoyments of life,
and when there are husbands and brothers who, it is said,
advance arguments which for number and

ingenuity would do credit to a King's Counsel,

designed to show the absurdity and the futility of the desire
expressed. It is a question upon which it would be

out of place for me here to take any side, though

it seems to me that there is

something to be said for the complete separation of the men's

golf from the ladies' golf, particularly in the case of
large clubs and crowded courses. Golf is

essentially a sport of freedom. Restraint of even the most

trivial and

conventional character in regard to manners and customs

is irksome when there

are holes to be played and tight matches to be pulled

out of the fire. I like to see

a lady go out on the golf links in whatever costume she

thinks fit to wear for her

own comfort and good play, and generally to do as she

likes, as if there were nothing but Nature and a
little white ball and the hole with the flag in it in
all the

world. I have a great admiration for the American lady

golfer, whom I have

several times had the opportunity of studying on her

native tees, and the other day I read the perfectly true
story of an American clergyman making a scathing

attack from the pulpit one Sunday upon lady golfers, of

whom he numbered

many in his congregation. The reverend gentleman exclaimed that

some of the

lady members of his congregation attended divine service

in the customary

manner on the Sabbath, and then "swore like troopers" on

the golf links on the

Monday. The conduct of these ladies was no doubt exaggerated;

but it appears as

if it may have been reprehensible. However, it shows the

keenness and the
enthusiasm of the American lady golfer; and I am not at
all sure that the answer

of the English lady player, when she was asked if those

bad words were ever uttered in this country, that the
Englishwoman made fewer bad shots and had no

occasion for an extended vocabulary, was entirely convincing. One

hears that the

ladies have coined new words for the expression of their

disgust at the results of

their strokes, and, on the other hand, that the limits

of expletive which they permit themselves when bunkered
consist of the chiding utterance, "Oh, you naughty, naughty
little ball!" However this may be, I know not, and
I would only

remark, without presumption, to the ladies, as I have

done in another place to their husbands and brothers, that
golf is a game for thought and silence.

Now, I am glad to see so many ladies taking up the

game year by year, and

thus giving the best possible answer to the question

whether it is a real ladies'

game or not. And furthermore, I am pleased to bear

witness that the standard of

ladies' golf in this country is improving every season, so

that now it needs a fine

man golfer to give a third to the best of the gentler

sex. These good lady players,

or some of them, are attiring themselves in these days as I

like to see lady golfers

attired, that is to say, there is evidence that they think a

trifle less of fashion and

dainty appearance than they do of security, comfort, and

freedom of limb and muscle. But the majority of lady
players do not attach the proper amount of

importance to these considerations, and that is why one is

sometimes a little doubtful as to the prospects of ladies'
golf generally in this country in

comparison with those of American ladies' golf. The American girls

are adopting

the game more whole-heartedly and thoroughly than their English

sisters, and
their devotion to it will tell. The lady of the States
who is a golfer dresses for golf and for golf only. Very
seldom do you see in America a lady golfer
wearing

a hat, or head covering of any description. When she has

one, it is almost

invariably a light tam o'shanter, or something very small and soft,

which clings

closely to the hair and does not get in the way of the
swing of the club. She tucks

up her sleeves like a man, and in the soles of her shoes

she has plenty of goodly

sized nails. And she does not look a tittle the worse
for any of these things; indeed, the picture of the
determined, strenuous, and yet charming lady golfer was one of the
most attractive that I saw when in America. The average
English

girl does not appear willing to make so many sacrifices for

golf as the American.

She seems too often to say to herself that it is

only a little game after all, and there is an end of
it; and yet she is always desirous of getting on
and reducing

her handicap. I need hardly say that this is not the

proper spirit in which to achieve success at golf. We
see too many ladies on our links with big hats and no

nails in their shoes. I have no faith whatever in

their future as golfers. It is impossible to play good golf
if one is not fitted out properly for the game, whether
the player be lady or man. Few players of our sex
would dream of going

on to the links in a tightly fitting coat and smooth-soled

shoes. But the ladies are

more venturesome.

After this brief lecture on attire, let me at once

declare that there are many points about our English
lady golfer that I greatly admire. It has been my

privilege to teach the first principles of the game to

many of them, and I am bound to say that for the most
part I have found them excellent pupils—better generally than
the men learners. They seem to take closer and deeper
notice of

the hints you give them, and to retain the points

of the lesson longer in their memories. They are
painstaking; and if she begins to play early enough
in her life, adopts sensible methods, and is possessed of
an average amount of

athleticism, I can see no reason why any lady should

not become a very fair

golfer. Many somewhat spoil their prospects by concluding too

hastily that they must play an altogether different game from
that of their men friends, that they

must have special clubs, special methods, and so forth.

This is not the case. No

doubt it is well for ladies to admit at once that they

cannot drive as far as the men. But otherwise the man's
game and the lady's game are the same in principle

and in practice. As for the manner in which to play, I

have not a single special

piece of instruction to offer, and can only refer the lady

neophyte to the previous

pages, in which I have set forth as well as I am able

the precise method in which

each of the many strokes in golf should be played. I

have merely to insist that they shall not deviate from these
methods in one or two special matters in which

they are advised or inclined to do.

Ladies are frequently advised that they ought never to take a

full swing. Of

course in the foregoing pages I have frequently insisted

that a golfer should avoid the absolutely full swing with all
iron clubs, believing that he gets for the

most part at least as good results with a good three-

quarter swing. But those people who warn the ladies
against the full swing, not only with their irons but

with their wooden clubs also, advise the half swing because they
say it is better

for them for physical reasons, and that their results will be
practically as good as

if they had taken the three-quarter or the full. Now

I am convinced that this is altogether wrong, and, without
encouraging any of my lady readers to the

development of a big swing and a slashing style, I do

say that they will do well

for themselves and for their golf if they will train themselves to
the making of at
least a full three-quarter. I believe that the half swing
entails a severer strain upon the body when made under these
circumstances than the full three-quarter,

and that the body does altogether more work than is good for it,
while the

delusion is entertained by those who recommend the short

swing that the

opposite is the case. In this half swing the body seems to get
too much in front of

the club and to labour heavily, while in the three-quarter

the arms do most of the

work, as they ought to do, and the body comes in at

the proper time for the remainder. Though in previous
chapters I have strongly advised golfers to play a

half shot with one club in preference to a full shot with one
more powerful, I only do so obviously when the distance is
fixed and the half shot will reach it. In

playing from the tee it is an altogether different matter.

In this case the distance

is not fixed. The object is usually to drive as far

as possible, so no half shots are

wanted here.

As a general rule, ladies make use of clubs that

are far too light for them.

Frequently they do so by advice, and then their own

instinct suggests to them that they should employ weapons
less weighty than those of their male relations.

This would be very sensible and proper if the clubs which men
make use of were

the heaviest that they could swing with effect. But a man only
uses a club of a

certain weight, because experience has proved that it is

the best and most

effectual for its purpose, and usually he has a very great

reserve of strength which could be employed with heavier
clubs if necessary. There is no reason at

all why ladies should not employ clubs of good

average weight instead of

featherweights. By so doing they would spare themselves

a great amount of

exertion, and they would certainly get better results, for it

 is always much more

difficult to get good results with a light club than with

one of medium weight.

With the featherweight the swing is very liable to get out

of gear. It is cut short,

and is apt to wander out of its proper direction. There

is, in fact, no such control

over the club as there is when one can feel the weight of
the head at the end of

the shaft. A lady may require clubs a trifle shorter

in the shaft, but this is the only

difference which need exist, and it is not of itself

sufficient to make any

perceptible difference in the weight.

So far as I have discovered, ladies have no special

faults or weaknesses of

their own, as distinct from other players, but I have found

them more than

usually addicted to inaccuracy in the backward swing,

causing the toe of the club

to be pointing upwards instead of downwards at the

turning-point. This is the result of wrong action and loss
of control over the wrists, and a study of my remarks
on driving, where this matter is specially dealt with, should
do much to

obviate it. It is possible, however, that the lady's

inferior strength of wrist, as compared with a man's,
may have much to do with the fault, but even in that case
it only needs caution and care to bring about a cure. I
should say that fully

three ladies out of every five whose play I have watched make
this mistake, and

it is a fault which has very serious consequences. I should

advise all of them to

make a periodical examination of the position of the club head

at the top of the

swing, as I indicated when discussing the drive, and if

they find the toe is upwards they must make up their minds to get
rid of this bad habit at any cost. If
it has already become a part of the player's system,
it will not be abolished without considerable difficulty.
To begin with, she would try swinging back

more slowly, as a too rapid backward swing has often much to

do with it.

Finally, I would suggest that any lady who aspires to be

a really good golfer

should take numerous lessons from those players superior

to herself who are

qualified to give them. I have already said that I have found

ladies exceedingly

good pupils, and when they set about learning the game in
the right way, they often make really astonishing progress.
But it must be confessed that in too

many cases they do not treat the difficulties of the

game with sufficient

seriousness, and are inclined to think that they can get on

best in their own way

and by the adoption of their own methods. When once a lady

has been given a

couple of lessons in the swing for the drive, she often

insists on finding out the

rest for herself, and then a bad result is inevitable. All

the practice and patience

in the world will not make a good lady golfer if she does
not learn the game in

the right way. The simple fact is that, when a man sets about
the game he admits

its difficulties from the beginning, and goes about surmounting them
in the right

manner if he is really ambitious and covetous of a

short handicap. But it often seems that ladies will not admit
these difficulties, and persist in their attempt to

make golfers of themselves unaided. Perhaps that is one

reason why ladies do

not always continue with the game with that increasing eagerness
and

enthusiasm which is an almost invariable characteristic of the

man golfer. Learn

properly, and practise much; and—well, yes, do the rest like a

 man, and not as if

there were a special woman's way. That is the essence of

my counsel to the lady

aspirant on the links.

C H A P T E R X I X

THE CONSTRUCTION OF COURSES

Necessity for thought and ingenuity—The long-handicap man's

course—The

scratch player's—How good courses are made—The necessary land—

A long

nine-hole course better than a short eighteen—The

preliminary survey—A

patient study of possibilities—Stakes at the holes—Removal

of natural

disadvantages—"Penny wise and pound foolish"—The selection of

teeing grounds—A few trial drives—The arrangement of long and short holes—
The

best two-shot and three-shot holes—Bunkers and where to place

them—The

class of player to cater for—The shots to be

punished—Bunkers down the

sides—The best putting greens—Two tees to each hole—Seaside

courses.

MANY as are the golf courses with which the coast, the
country, and the

suburbs of the towns and cities of Great Britain are

studded, they will no doubt

be still more numerous as time goes on, and it is earnestly

to be desired that in

the laying out of links in the future, more thought

and ingenuity may be

exercised than has been the case in far too many instances
during the past few years, when clubs have been formed and
links have been made in a hurry.

Certainly some are excellent, and I cast not the least

disparagement upon them. I

enjoy them. Frequently the hand of the master architect of golf

is visible where

one observes how shrewdly and exactly the hazards have been
placed, and the

peculiarities of the conformation of the country turned

to the utmost account

when useful, or cunningly dodged when it has been considered

that they could

be no good to the golfer. Without a doubt, generally

speaking, those courses are

the best which have been designed by good players, because

none know better

than they what makes the best golf. A man whose

handicap is some distance

removed from scratch, but who has played golf for many years,
and thinks with

good reason that he knows a fine course when he sees one,

would nevertheless,

in designing a new one, be led unconsciously to make holes

which would be

more or less suited to his own style of play. He might,

indeed, in a most heroic

spirit, place a bunker at a point which he

knew would be more than usually

dangerous for him, and he would feel a better and a braver

man for this act; but a

hundred of its kind would not prevent the course from

being the ideal of the long-handicap man and not the ideal
of the fine player. If plans were prepared for a
new links over a particular piece of territory by a 12-
handicap man and a

scratch player, it is highly probable that in the most

material matters they would

differ greatly, and it is fairly certain that a

committee of the oldest and most experienced golfers would
unanimously pick out the scratch player's plans from

all the others as being the best and soundest, and that
without knowing who had

prepared them. Time and the aggregate of pleasure given to

golfers of all degrees

would justify the selection.

Therefore, when a new club is established and a new course

is to be laid out, I suggest that it is the wiser
and the better plan to take time over it and to secure
the best advice. A good links is not made in a day
or a week. Perhaps the cleverest and most ingenious
constructor could not in a whole year make one

which was in all respects the best that the land could give.
Almost every time that the course was played over
during the first hundred rounds, a new thought

for its improvement in some small detail would

occur. The moving of a tee

twenty yards to the right, the addition of a couple

of yards to the end of one of

the bunkers, the placing of a shallow pot bunker some

eight or ten yards across

at some particular point—all these and many other matters of equal

significance

will constantly suggest themselves. My experience tells me that the

perfection of

a good course is slowly attained. Like wine, it takes time

for the richness of its

qualities to mature. Therefore, when the committee of a new

club in the country

sits in conference with a plan of its newly-acquired land laid

on the table, and decides unanimously that a tee shall
be placed at a point marked A, a bunker
along the line B, another bunker at C, and the hole at
D, and so forth, I protest

that they are doing poor justice either to themselves or to

the game. But on many

links made during the past few years—made in a hurry—the

results of such

mechanical methods are only too apparent. I hope that the few
hints that I offer

in this chapter may be of service to old clubs with

improvable courses and new

ones with none as yet, and to those fortunate individuals who

contemplate laying

out a course in their private grounds for the use of

themselves and their friends.

Private courses are increasing in number; and for my part,

though I must

obviously be guilty of prejudice, I can conceive of no

more enjoyable acquisition
to a country house than a nine-hole course, and assuredly
the possessor of it will

be envied and his invitations to week-ends much coveted.

The question of the amount of land that shall be

called into service for the fulfilment of a scheme for
a new links is one that is usually outside the
control of

those who project it. They have to cut according to their cloth.
I need only say

here, therefore, that in a general way some thirty or forty

acres of land are necessary to make such a nine-hole
course as shall possess a satisfactory amount

of variety, and not less than seventy acres for a full-sized

eighteen-hole course,

this as a matter of fact being the acreage of the

South Herts Club's course at Totteridge, with which I
am at present associated. By great economy of space

and the exercise of unlimited ingenuity, courses might be made

from a trifle less land, but they are better when they
are made from more. Two or three hundred

acres are sometimes utilised for a good links. Where land

is very scarce, and there is no possibility of obtaining more
of it, I earnestly advise private owners

and committees to content themselves with a nine-hole course

which will have

plenty of length and good sporting quality about it, rather

than sacrifice the good

golf that is thus within their reach in a desire

to possess a regulation eighteen-hole links that could only give
complete satisfaction to ladies and children. Too

many courses, with scarcely a brassy shot upon them, have been
ruined by this

greed for holes.

When the land has been allotted to the purpose, a very

thorough and careful

survey should be made of all its features. This is not

to be done in one morning.

The land, no doubt, is very rough, and at the first glance

it looks ill-adapted to

the golfer's purpose. Many times I have had the task of

making a course from materials which at first seemed so
 unpromising as to be hopeless. There should

be no hurry at this time. Let those who are designing the links
walk slowly and

meditatively over nearly every square yard of the land at

least two or three times

before coming to any final decision as to where to place

a single tee, bunker, or

hole. An open mind is the best to begin with. After

one or two of these

preliminary surveys, some general idea of the possible formation

of the links

will begin to shape itself in the mind, and this

having been done, it will be practically impossible for an
intelligent person to make additional journeys over

the land without being struck with an idea for a great

improvement at one or other of the holes which he has
fashioned in his mind. If it is possible, take two

or three weeks over this slow process of creation of

the links. They may be altered afterwards to some extent, but
for good or ill their main features will probably remain
as at the beginning, and may endure for centuries. Having

secured to the mind this general and somewhat vague idea

of the plan of the links, it is a good thing to plant a
stake at each spot where it is proposed to make

a hole; and when the land is all staked out in this

manner, there is, as it were, a

solid foundation upon which to build up the links. The location

of the stakes can

be inspected from a distance and from different points of

view, and it will

constantly happen on these occasions that for the improvement of

one or other of

the holes its removal to a different place will be suggested.

Continue your walks,

examining the stakes from north, south, east, and west,

and moving them here and there until you begin to feel a
trifle weary of the business, and confident that

you have planned the best possible holes out of the country
that you have to deal

with. Then you may proceed with perhaps the more interesting but
certainly the
harder part of your task.

It is useless to think about fashioning the links from the plan

which will now

have been formed, until those natural disadvantages of the land,

which cannot be

allowed to remain, have been removed. Gorse and rocks may have
to be cleared,

and it is essential that at this stage an effort should

be made to rid the course of

rabbits and other undesirable vermin if any should infest

it. Rabbits help to keep

the grass nice and short; but they make too many holes in the
course, and there is

no alternative but to regard them as the enemies of

golf, and to make out the death warrants of them all
accordingly. The quickest and surest way of getting rid
of them is to search for every hole, apply the
ferrets, stop up the holes afterwards, and to keep a watch
for any that return. If only one or two are left here
and there, they will play much havoc with the course in
the future. From this point the way in which the work is
proceeded with will naturally depend to a

large extent on the length of the schemers' purse, and

on their optimism or

otherwise as to their future prospects; but I am sure that

it is best to employ as

many men as can be afforded at the outset, and so

grapple with the execution of

the plans in a thorough and determined manner. In the making

of a golf course it

is very easy to be "penny wise and pound foolish."

The situation of the greens having been decided upon, the

question as to the

length of the holes, as to which some general impression

will already have been

formed, comes up for decision. A proposed teeing ground

should be selected for

each hole, the lengths of the holes then examined and

compared, and the tees moved nearer or further back as seems
desirable for the improvement of

individual holes or the increase of variety. If at this stage

there is any chance of
finding a ball afterwards, it is a good thing to drive a
few from each tee and play

them with the brassy, cleek, irons, or mashie up to

the green. If you drive half a

dozen from each tee and play them through the green to the
place where the

holes will be, there will surely be one or two that have turned
out excellently if

you are a player of any skill whatever, and a study

of the strokes which have

been applied to these one or two, the point of

pitching, and the final lie, will reveal the entire
character of the hole you are making, and tell you
plainly how it

must be bunkered. In a nine-hole course I think there should

be seven medium or

long holes, and two short ones to break the monotony

and test the golfer at all points. The situation of these
short holes in the round will naturally be decided to

a large extent by the land and other circumstances,

but when the power of

selection is left to the designer, I incline to the belief

that Nos. 3 and 7 are the

best for these dainties. I like a short hole to come early in

the round, as at No. 3,

because then a golfer who has made a bad start is given

a chance of recovering

before he is hopelessly out of the hunt. He has a better

prospect of making such a

recovery (or thinks he has, which is much the same thing)

at a short hole than at

a long one, and, being put in a good temper again, he

will very likely go on very

well for the next two or three, when he will be favoured

with another short one.

The plight of the player who has discovered at the

beginning of a medal round

that he is off his drive and brassy, and that six or seven
holes have to be played

before a little one is reached, is certainly not

pleasant. I call a good short hole one that can be
reached by good play at any time with an iron club,
because it

fails to be a short hole when it is necessary to take wood

upon the tee in order to

get to the green. In an eighteen-hole course you might

have three or four short

holes—I think three are sufficient—and it would be well to vary

their length so

as to test the capacity of the golfer with different clubs,

and to bring out all his

qualities of resource. For a fourth hole on the short

side plenty of sporting chance would constantly be afforded by
one of 200 yards length. This could not

be called a short hole, because under ordinary circumstances

and on most days it

would be too far for even a good driver to reach from the
tee, but he would often

be tempted to nerve himself to a superior effort, and

an occasional strain of this

kind is advantageous in the long run. Besides, when the wind

was at his back he

would frequently be successful, and on such occasions he would

experience

more pleasure and satisfaction from this particular tee shot than
from any other

of the whole round.

The remainder of the course should be made up of a

variety of two-shot and

three-shot holes. The lengths should be varied as much

as possible, and with

limits of 370 yards, and, say, 530 to work between, it

should surely not be so difficult as it appears to
have been in so many cases of inland links to get

fourteen or fifteen quite different holes. Those of

from 230 to 330 yards, with which so many courses abound,
are not good holes in my opinion, because they

give an almost equal chance to the man who has driven

well and the man who

has driven badly. Take a common sort of hole, 280

yards in length. A player misses his drive, and his ball
 travels only for, say, 100 or 120 yards. He may still

reach the green with his brassy, and should be able to do

so. Now the man who

drove well at this hole would need to make a second stroke

with an iron club to

reach the green, and would thus gain nothing from his better
play. This is unfair,

and what is unfair is bad. The good two-shot hole is one

of the nicest and best

holes on a course when it is really good. Its

length is about 370 to 380 yards.

Thus it will be perceived that a first-class drive from the tee

must be followed up

by a fine second, as straight as it is long, if the

green is to be reached. The good

player who has done all that he ought is thus rewarded

by the clear gain of a stroke and the capture of a
hole in 4, whilst the man who is a trifle weak with
either his drive or his second, or has faltered to
the slightest extent at either stroke, has for a certainty
to use his mashie before he can call for the putter.

When a two-shot hole is to be adjusted to this nicety

of perfection, there is plainly not much margin for the
variation of its length; but it is not necessary, nor is
it even desirable, to demand continually such unerring skill
from the

golfer. My idea of a good three-shot hole is one that

stretches for 500 to 530

yards, three fine shots being wanted. For holes of much greater
length than this I

have no fancy. Perhaps no serious objection can be laid

against an occasional hole of 550 yards length, but what
is really gained by such long journeys?

Certainly the true skill of the golfer is not being more

severely tested. When we

come to such monstrosities as holes of 600 yards in length,

it is time to call out

"Enough!" for by this time we have descended to slogging pure

and simple, and

the hard field work at which an agricultural labourer

would have the right to grumble. So I repeat that the
best hole for golfing is that good two-shotter which
takes the ball from the tee to the green in two well-played
strokes without any actual pressing. As for total length,
it should be borne in mind that a links over

6000 yards long is considered a long one, and that there

are championship

greens, Prestwick and Muirfield, which are (or were until quite
recently; there is

a tendency to stretch everywhere since the rubber-cored

ball became

predominant) shorter than 6000 yards.

In making the plan of the course, a point of interest

and importance to decide upon is the direction in which the
holes shall be played. Some golfers prefer that

the first and succeeding holes shall lie to the right

of the starting-point, while others like best to go out
on the left-hand side, that is, to play round the course
in

the same direction as that pursued by the hands of a clock.

It is largely a matter

of fancy, but personally my choice is for going out to

the left because I think in

this case the holes are generally more difficult, and the boundary
usually being

near to the left, constant precautions must be taken

against pulling. Another

matter particularly to be remembered is that the first tee

and the last green should

be close together, and neither of them more distant from the

club-house than is

necessary. A wide separation of these points always seems to

be contrary to the

proper order of things.

And now we come to the perplexing problem of bunkers and

where to place

them, and in this connection I would remark that it would be

well not to regard

the lengths of the holes, as so far arranged, as final

and irrevocable, and not to

establish permanent teeing grounds accordingly, for it must

necessarily happen,
as the bunkers come to be formed on the course, and
more trial rounds are

played, that one's ideas will undergo considerable

change, and it is easier to lengthen a hole at this
stage of the proceedings, by simply placing the tee
further

back, than it will be afterwards.

It has been a great question with some committees of

newly-established

clubs or of older ones in search of new courses, as to

whether, in laying out their

greens and settling upon the location of all their nice new
bunkers, they should

keep more particularly in mind the excellences of the scratch

player or the trials

and troubles of the 12 to 18 handicap men. On the one

hand, the scratch player is

the experienced golfer, the man who plays the true game as it
should be played,

and who finds no real enjoyment in so-called golf wherein

he is never called upon to do more than tap the ball
over an obstacle ninety or a hundred yards in

front. Such links never put up a fight against

him, and he finishes his listless round with something as near
to the sense of weariness as it is possible for the

golfer ever to experience. But these scratch players,

in common with the men

with all handicaps up to 5 or 6, are in a very heavy

and hopeless minority in most clubs to-day. The bulk of
the membership is made up of players of from 6

to 24, with a concentration of forces between 12 and

18. These men say, or at all events think, that as they
run the club they have a right to be considered, and in

their hearts the committee believe that they are justified. These
men with long handicaps—some of whom have not even a
desire to reduce them to any

considerable extent, deriving the utmost pleasure in

playing the game in their own way—can find no fun in being
always and inevitably in the same bunkers,

and regard driving from a tee, when they are either

obliged to play short

deliberately with an iron or be bunkered for a certainty

 with their driver, as the

most dismal occupation with which a Saturday or Sunday

sportsman could ever

be afflicted. Therefore they cry loudly for shorter carries.

They say the others are

not fair, and from their particular point of view the remark is
possibly justified.

Even the young golfer who is determined to be a scratch

man some day, though

he is eighteen strokes from that pinnacle of excellence as

yet, becomes rather tired in the long run of finding
constant punishment waiting upon his valiant attempts to drive his
longest ball, and thinks the committee should be
reminded

that there are others in the world besides the

immediately coming champions.

Amidst these conflicting desires, committees and course

designers appear

frequently to have attempted a compromise with no particular

satisfaction to

anybody. It is impossible to lay out a course to suit

all the different players in a

club, and my own most decided opinion is that the bunkers

and other hazards

should always be placed to test the game of the

scratch player, and not that of the

handicap man. A course that is laid out for the latter

very often inflicts severe punishment on the scratch
player, and it is surely hard that the man who has spent
many years in the most patient and painstaking practice
should be

deliberately treated in this manner when the comparative novice

is allowed to go

scot free. Moreover, when a bunker is so placed that a

long carry is needed from

the tee, the handicap man will find his game much improved by
playing on the

course. At first he finds he cannot carry the hazard, and

for a little while contents

himself with playing short. But he soon tires of this

timidity, takes more pains with his strokes, braces himself
up to bigger efforts, and at last the day comes when his
ball goes sailing over the obstruction. Afterwards the performance
is repeated quite easily, and the views of one
man as to the unfairness of that particular carry have undergone
a radical change. It is better for the beginner
that

he should have a hard course to play over than an easy

one, and, much as he may

grumble at the beginning, he will in the end be thankful

to those who imposed a severe experience upon him in his
early days as a golfer.

Therefore, if it is decided that there must be a

bunker in the centre of the course in the line of the
drive, I suggest that it should be placed at
a distance of

about 130 to 145 yards from the tee. The second bunker, if
there is to be another

stretching across the course with a view to imposing

difficulties on second shots

or guarding the green, should be rather less than this

distance from the first, so

that the man who has topped his drive and is short of the
first hazard should still

have a chance of clearing the next one with his second

shot. Recovery ought

never to be impossible. But really I am no believer

at all in bunkers placed across the course. Certainly let
there be one in front of the tee to catch the bad

drive, and another to guard the green; but, generally

speaking, the merely short

ball carries its own punishment with it in the distance that

has been lost and has

to be made good again. The straight driver is not the

man to be punished. It is the

player who slices and pulls and has obviously little

command over his club and

the ball, and who has taken no pains to master

the intricate technique of the drive, for whose careless shots traps
should be laid. As often as not the bunker in

the centre of the course lets off the ball with a bad
slice or pull on it. So I say that

bunkers should be placed down both sides of the

course, and they may be as
numerous and as difficult as the controlling authority likes
to make them. But hazards of any description should
be amongst the last features to be added to a

newly-made golf links. Not until the course has been

played over many times

under different conditions, and particularly in different

winds, can anyone

properly determine which is the true place for a

hazard to be made. At the

beginning it may have been placed elsewhere in a hurry,

and it may have seemed

on a few trials to answer its purpose admirably, but

another day under different

conditions it may be made clear that it is in the very place

where it will catch a

thoroughly good shot and allow only a bad one to escape.

I would not have

insisted so much on this need for deliberation and patience,

if it did not so often

happen that as the result of placing the hazards on

a new course in too much haste, they are found afterwards
to be altogether wrong and have to be moved,

with the waste of much time and money.

There is little to the point that I can say about

the making of the putting

greens, as so much depends upon the natural conditions and

opportunities.

Sometimes there is nothing to do but to cut the grass

short and pass the roller over it a few times
and the green is made, and a first-class green
too. At other times there is need for much digging, and the
turf with which the carpet is to be

relaid may have to be carried to the spot from a

considerable distance.

Particularly when so much trouble is being taken over the laying

of the greens,

do I beg the makers of courses to see that they are

not made dead level and as

much like a billiard table as possible, which often seems to be

the chief desire.

To say that a putting green is like a billiard table is

 one of the worst compliments

that you can pay to it. By all means let it be true

in the sense of being smooth and even, and presenting no
lumps or inequalities of surface that are not plainly

visible to the eye, and the effect of which cannot

be accurately gauged by the golfer who has taught himself
how to make allowances. But on far too many

greens the man with the putter has nothing to do but

gauge the strength of his stroke and aim dead straight at the
hole. He derives infinitely less satisfaction from getting down
a fifteen-yards putt of this sort than does the man who has
holed out at ten feet, and has estimated the rise and fall and
the sideway slope of

an intervening hillock to begin with and a winding valley

to follow, his ball first

of all running far away to the right, then trickling across

to the left, and finally

wheeling round again and rolling into the tin. Only when
there is so much

calculation to be done and it is so precisely accomplished

does the golfer

practise the real art of putting, and taste the delights of

this delicate part of the

game. The other is dull and insipid in comparison. There is the

less excuse for

making the flat and level greens, inasmuch as even the

beginners can appreciate

the sporting quality of the others and enjoy practice upon

them from the first day

of their play. Let there be plenty of

undulations, and then with the changing positions of the hole
a player can practically never come to any particular green

upon which he may have putted hundreds of times without having

a problem set

him entirely different from any that he has had to work out
before. Greens, of course, are of all sizes, from fifteen
to fifty yards square, and I beg leave to remark
that large size is a fault in them, inasmuch as the bigger
they are the less

is the skill required in the approach shot.

It is perhaps unnecessary for me to point out as a final

word, that when tees
have to be specially prepared and turfed, it is a
decided improvement to a course

to have two at different points for each hole, one

nearer and more to one side than the other. Not only do
these alternative tees enable each of them to be given

a periodical rest for recovery from wear and tear, but they afford
an interesting

variation of the play, make it possible to impose a

more severe test than usual upon the players when it is felt
desirable to do so, as on competition days, and

also in some measure to counteract the effects of winds.

Of course when tees have not to be specially made there is
endless variety open.

It is obvious that the greater part of the foregoing

remarks applies chiefly to

the construction of inland courses. Seaside links laid over

the dunes are made by

Nature herself, and generally as regards their chief features

they must be taken or

left as the golfer decides. A new hazard may be

thrown up here and there, but usually the part of the
constructor of a seaside course is to make proper
use of

those that are there ready made for him, and which are frequently better
than any

that could be designed by man.

C H A P T E R X X

LINKS I HAVE PLAYED ON

Many first-class links—The best of all—Sandwich—Merits of the

Royal St.

George's course—Punishments for faults and rewards for skill

—Not a short

course—The best hole—The Maiden—Other good holes—Prestwick an

excellent course—The third and the ninth holes—The finest hole

anywhere—

Hoylake—Two or three tame holes—A means of improvement—Good

hazards and a premium on straight play—St. Andrews—Badly-

placed bunkers

—A good second hole—The finest one-shot hole to be found

anywhere—An

unfair hole—The best holes at Muirfield—Troon—North Berwick—

Cruden

Bay—Dornoch—Machrihanish—A splendid course at Islay—The most

difficult hole I know—Gullane—Kilspindie—Luffness—Links in Ireland—

Portrush—Portmarnock—Dollymount—Lahinch—Newcastle—Welsh courses

—Ashburnham—Harlech—On the south and south-west coasts—The rushes

at Westward Ho!—Newquay—Good holes at Deal—Littlestone—Rye—The

advantage of Cromer—Brancaster—Hunstanton—Sheringham—Redcar—

Seaton

Carew—St.

Anne's—Formby—Wallasey—Inland

courses—

Sunningdale—A splendid course—Another at Walton Heath—Huntercombe—

London

links—Courses

in

the

country—Sheffield—Manchester—

Huddersfield—"Inland" courses at the seaside—A warning.

OF all the golf courses that have any pretensions to being

considered first

class, or even good second class, I can call to mind

very few over which I have

not played a round, and at a time when the reputations

of so many of them are

being severely overhauled, and their merits and demerits

criticised, some

expression of my own opinions may prove interesting alike

to the golfers who

know them well and to others who are looking forward with
eagerness to the
enjoyment of games upon them at future holiday times.
Recent championships

and big matches have resulted in such wonderful scores, that

some golfers are inclined to ask despairingly whether we
have any really first-class course at all;

and links which in the past have been considered perfect

are spoken of

contemptuously as fit only for handicap men who want their golf
made easy. If

they attach any importance to my opinion, then let them be

assured that we still

have many links which come near to being perfect, and that,
notwithstanding the

advent of the rubber-cored ball, there is no

reason to complain about them or agitate for great alterations.
We have them in England, Scotland, and Ireland—

perhaps more in Scotland than elsewhere, but that is chiefly

due to accidental circumstances.

I am constantly asked, when the discussions to which

I have referred are

taking place, which in my opinion is the best

course in the world. Many

considerations enter into such a reckoning; but, after

making it carefully, and with full knowledge of the fact that
my answer is at variance with many of the

best authorities on the game, I say Sandwich. Then let

me tell you why I

consider the links of the Royal St. George's Club to

be the best that are to be found anywhere. There is, in
the first place, not a single tee shot in the round
where good play must not be shown by the golfer if he wants
to achieve success.

There is scarcely a hole at which a player who only half

hits his ball from the tee

does not find himself in grave difficulties, demanding an

unusually brilliant

recovery and sterling play until he has holed out, if he is

to have any chance of

getting on level terms with his opponent again, assuming that

the latter is playing

the proper game. The bunkers are so placed that a

good shot has to be made every time to carry them. On the other
hand, you are always satisfied that virtue

is properly rewarded at Sandwich, and that if your tee shot

is hit truly and well

you are certain to be nicely situated for your second.

Elementary considerations

as these may appear to be, there are many courses having

the reputation of being

first-class where this reward is not always so sure as

it is at Sandwich. The greens on that course are in all
cases well protected, and they abound in

character and variety. Some critics say that the carries over
the first bunkers from

the tees are too long; but I do not agree with them. Without
being a particularly

long driver, anybody who hits his ball truly can carry
any bunker at Sandwich that ought to be carried from
the tee. Then at the Championships in 1904

everybody was declaring, with much knowledge that had come after
the event,

that the course was on the short side, as was

proved, they said, by the

phenomenal scores that were made in the Open competition. I

do not agree. The

scores made by two or three players were certainly low,

but that was because they played exceptional golf. If I admit
that the course is the merest trifle on the

short side in going out, I hasten to add that a man must

be playing perfect golf to

get to the turn with a low score, while, unless his

play does come within these

narrow limits of perfection, he may find, grand player though

he be, that he may

easily run up a total for his nine holes that would look
foolishly large. Coming

in, there is certainly no shortness about the holes, and there

is plenty of scope for

the man who wants to open out his shoulders with his
driver and his brassy, while there are hazards everywhere for
the punishment of the balls that are not

kept in the fairway. These are the chief considerations which lead
 me to give an

emphatic vote in favour of Sandwich when I am asked which

is the best course

—that is to say, the best test of golf—that is to be found

in the British Isles, or

elsewhere so far as I know, and I ask to be given no

more favourable opportunity

of studying a golfer's points, than to see him play a

round or two over the St.

George's links.

I should say that the third hole at Sandwich, although

a short one, is in

golfing quality one of the best of the eighteen, because

it is so splendidly protected with bunkers and rushes
everywhere, so that the player who would get

on to the green from the tee does indeed need to be bold,

and as accurate as he is

bold. No faintness of heart, no doubtful stroke, will ever

in the result be flattered

by this third hole. The sixth or Maiden, famous everywhere, is

very fine indeed,

though it is not nearly so difficult as it used to

be. The eighth is another beauty,

well guarded by bunkers; a trifle on the short side if

the wind is following, but a

terror in length if the breeze is coming from the

green. The ninth is good. The tenth calls for a
perfect drive straight down the middle of the course,
in default

of which the second shot will abound with difficulty; and at

the fifteenth another

very straight tee shot is wanted. If there is a breath

of wind to help the ball from

the tee, a plucky player may then come to the conclusion

that he has a chance of

reaching the green with his second, and a fine shot will
take him over the

treacherous little bunker that guards it, giving him a

4 of which he may be proud

in the best of company. These are the gems of Sandwich.

Next to this course, I think that Prestwick with its Himalayas
and its Alps is

the finest that we have. It is an excellent test to apply

to a would-be champion,

although there have been complaints that this course also is short.
Yet it is longer

than it used to be, and it is merely the rubber-filled

ball that makes it seem short.

The third hole at Prestwick is one that stirs the soul of the
dare-devil golfer, for,

after he has despatched the ball safely and well from the tee,
he finds a big, gaping bunker, the famous "Cardinal,"
ahead of him for his second—an ugly brute that gives
a sickening feeling to the man who is off his game.
Defy this bunker, be on the green with your brassy, put
a 4 on your card, and you have done something which should
make you happy for the morning. The ninth again

is an excellent hole at which the straight driver is

rewarded all the way, and, if he

does his duty, is given a 5. I have no hesitation in giving

my judgment that the

seventeenth is the finest hole to be found on any links.

I say so because it is the best specimen of a
really perfect two-shot hole. If there is the
slightest flaw in either the drive or the second stroke,
all prospect of reaching the green in two vanishes into
thin air. Mr. Laidlay once lost a match and an amateur

championship because his second shot here was not quite good
enough. A good

tee shot well into the middle of the course, a second

that is as clean as a shot can

be and as straight as a bullet from a gun, with the

gods of golf smiling approval

all the way and particularly when your second is nearing

the green—with all

these you may ask for your putter for the third stroke.
But there is a bunker before the green, a bunker
just beyond the green, and rushes to the right and
left,

so that the second shot has indeed to be a beauty

for its maker to be wholly satisfied. This is the sort
of hole that all good golfers best like to play, because

they know that the good shots are certain of their reward, and
 that not merely the

bad shots but the indifferent ones are met with just penalties every
time. It is said

that no two golf strokes are ever alike, but there is just
enough similarity about

them to prevent individual strokes from living very long in

history except in a few striking cases. Perhaps the
most memorable shot ever played in golf was that

made at this hole by the late Mr. Fred Tait when he was
engaging with Mr. John

Ball, jun., in the final tie of the Amateur

Championship in 1899. The Scottish favourite was in the
bunker guarding the green with his second, and it so

happened that the bunker on this occasion was filled with

rain water, in which the ball was floating. Mr. Tait chipped
the ball out beautifully on to the green, and saved a hole
which seemed a certain loss. It is hard to find many
holes that

are worthy of being put in the same class as this. Man cannot
make such holes.

They are there when he seeks out the land for the first time with
his golf clubs.

Hoylake is a good course. There are one or two holes

on it that must be

admitted to be very tame. If the land in the middle

of the course which is at present out of bounds were
taken in and made playable, these holes could be

much improved. The hazards are good and plentiful, and a

satisfactory premium

is put upon straight play. The ninth is a nice hole, a really

good drive helping the

player considerably. The eleventh is another pretty one,

neither long nor short, but just that length which a fine
shot from the tee will reach, and accuracy is demanded by
the rushes which seem all over the course as you stand
to drive.

I call St. Andrews a good course generally; but its

bunkers are badly placed.

They punish the man who is driving well more than the man
who is driving

badly, for they are generally the length of a good long

drive. If this defect could
be remedied, and if there were a few more bunkers at
the sides to catch the pulled and sliced balls, then
St. Andrews would be a fine links indeed. As it is,

there are some excellent holes. The second is beautiful—

beautiful if the flag is

put in the centre of the green—because then a good second

shot is rewarded as it

ought to be. But it generally happens when big matches are

being played there

that the hole is placed in a corner, which frequently spoils

the prospects of these

good second shots. The seventh is good, calling for a

most accurate second, and

the eleventh is the finest one-shot hole to be found

anywhere. The green is on a

plateau with bunkers all about it, and if you overpitch it

your ball will be in the

rushes beyond. Many golfers swear by the seventeenth;

but I am not one of

them. I declare that it is a very unfair hole, and there

is no encouragement here to

be plucky. The player must be pawky all the way, for

it is fully two to one against there being
anything but punishment as the result of bold tactics. The
man who tries to place his long shot on the green may try again
and again, and

he will be convinced that it is next to impossible to stop

there when he reaches it.

For some reasons I like Muirfield; but it does not enjoy so

many advantages

as the other championship courses. There are not so many

sandhills. It is on the

flat side, and at the first glance you might take it to be

an inland course; but after

a single round you are greatly impressed by the good golf

that is to be obtained

upon it. The turf is capital, some of the hazards are very
fine, and on the whole I

think it may fairly be regarded as a very good

championship test of golf. The fourth, twelfth, and
eighteenth holes all call for first-class seconds if the greens
are to be reached.

There are so many other good links in the north that

a further selection

becomes increasingly difficult. Troon, abounding in sandhills,

is very fine, and the player needs to be very skilful
to get round it in a low score. North Berwick

is also good, and it is surprising to see how well the

links are preserved

considering the enormous amount of play to which they are

subjected. There are

many good holes at popular Carnoustie, with a fine

length about them which

calls for good brassy play, and which is calculated to

bring out all the good

points that a golfer has in him. Cruden Bay and

Dornoch are enjoyable; but those who want to get the best
golf in Scotland need not always go to those places
that

revel in reputation and where an inconvenient crowd may

at most times be

depended upon. Some of the gems of North Britain are

hidden away in

inaccessible corners, and the golfers who would reach them must
make tedious

journeys by land and sea. But he who is worthy of the

game is in my opinion amply rewarded for these travelling
labours, by the quality of the golf that is vouchsafed to
him at his journey's end, and he is spared the
annoyance of being

obliged to book his starting time overnight and of having

a couple of hours to wait upon the tee if he is
a minute late in the morning. I believe that

Machrihanish is one of these very fine but out-of-the-way

courses, but it happens

to be one over which I have not hitherto played. I can

tell of another where the

most glorious golf is to be obtained, and which I can

strongly recommend to

those on the lookout for a place at which to spend a

golfing holiday. It is at Islay.

There the air is grand, there is excellent accommodation

to be obtained at the combined hotel and club-house,
and as for the quality of the golf I do not

hesitate to say that the course is in every respect fit

for the championships to be

decided upon it. There is one hole here, the third,

which is the most difficult anyone can imagine. If I were asked
to select one from all the thousands of holes

that I have played in my time, I should pick this one

out for difficulty. They call

it Mount Zion, and I think it is a good name

for it. You must make three very good shots to reach the green,
and in the matter of accuracy the third needs to be

a gem if any satisfaction whatever is to be got out

of the whole business. The green is on a plateau, and
it is protected by every contrivance that ingenious Nature
has vouchsafed to the makers of courses. If you are short
you are in a running stream; if you pull you go out
of bounds; and if your ball trickles over

the green, away it goes into the sea—tortures the most

terrible for the erring ball.

Yes, decidedly I think this is the hardest hole I have ever

seen. The first time I

played it I took 10 to hole out, and yet won it from

a very fine professional player who is an ex-champion! I
have never done a hole better in my life than when I
once halved this with Taylor in 4 in the course
of a match which Taylor

won at the twenty-fourth hole. The seventh is also a very

fine hole with a bunker

in front of the tee, which is very similar to the

Maiden at Sandwich. An old golfer who lives there told
me he can remember the time when it was a rabbit

scrape. Like all golfers who know them, I sing the

praises of Gullane, Kilspindie, and Luffness.

There is a variety of good golf to be obtained in

Ireland also. Portrush,

Portmarnock, Dollymount, Lahinch, and Newcastle (co. Down)—all

these are

fine links. For a place to visit for an enjoyable golfing

holiday, when health is a

governing consideration also, I should select Portrush

as one of the very best, while golfers who wish to play
at Portmarnock and elect to put up in a Dublin

hotel have an experience of pleasant variety which I at

all events have found very agreeable, for you have first the train,
then the car, and last of all the boat to

take in order to reach the course, and not an inch of the

journey is wearisome. Of

course this proceeding cannot be recommended to those

golfers who prefer to

sleep in close proximity to the first tee, regardless of all other

pleasures that are

to be obtained without any sacrifice of the game. The course

I like best in Wales

is that at Ashburnham, over which the Welsh Championship was last

played for.

It is one of those excellent natural links which require very

little attention. The

Royal St. David's course at Harlech is also very good.

Coming back to England again, I agree with all others

that splendid golf is to

be obtained at Westward Ho! although there is one quite

unique feature of this course of which some
golfers, myself among the number, do not bear the

pleasantest recollections. I refer, of course, to the

rushes of a peculiar growth which are to be found
there in such abundance. I can conceive no nightmare

more horrible to a player than one in which during his

hours of troubled sleep he

is in imagination vainly trying to rescue his

unhappy ball from the clutches of these famous rushes. They
stand full five feet high, strong and stiff like stout
twigs, and they have sharp and dangerous points which seem as
if they might be

made of tempered steel. A kind of blossom appears on

them in the season as if to

disguise their evil features. Any player who is unlucky

enough to put his ball into them (and there are one or two
holes at which even a good shot may find its

way there) must always encounter a considerable risk of

breaking his club in the

endeavour to play out again. I believe that attempts have

been made to grow

these rushes elsewhere, but the seeds that have been carried
away from their
native Westward Ho! have never prospered. Perhaps some
golfers may reflect

that this is just as well, though with all their faults and
dangers I certainly do not

condemn them as a hazard. They are a novelty, and all

things that come from Nature must be admitted without
question into the game of golf. On the south coast there
are several fine links. Newquay is excellent for a
holiday, and the course of the Cinque Ports Club at Deal,
now that it is eighteen holes, is very fine. I have
not enjoyed recent acquaintance with it, but the short
fourth hole which they call the Sandy Parlour struck me when
I was last down there as being

a very sporting little piece of golf. Both Littlestone and Rye

are admirable, and I

have pleasant memories of the latter, particularly in

connection with a match I once played there with Mr. Fred
Tait.

Again, on the east coast of England there are courses in

number which afford

the best opportunities for enjoyable and skilful golf.

Cromer is a mixture of inland and seaside. It is one
of those seaside courses which don't look what they

are, but some parts of it are good, especially those

which lie through the sand dunes. The lower part is tame.
However, the air is beautiful, and the golfer who

makes his headquarters at this place enjoys the material

advantage of having

three or four other first-class links within easy

reach. For example, there is Brancaster, which, though
a long distance from any railway station, is worth any

amount of trouble that may be expended on the journey.

The turf is excellent, the

hazards well placed, and the golfer who does not keep
straight is penalised as he

ought to be. It is a fine course. Then there is

Hunstanton, which is also very good, and Sheringham too. Higher
up there is golf at Redcar and Seaton Carew

which none need despise. On the north-west coast there is more golf
to be had

that is well worthy of the name. St. Anne's and Formby

are both capital, and fine

golf is necessary to get round these courses at all

well. Wallasey is highly satisfactory. Both my space and my
memory are unequal to giving a complete

list of all the seaside courses that should be commended,

and the absence of any

particular one from my little list does not imply that I rank
it as inferior, although

I have tried to mention all those that I consider the very

best.

So far I have said nothing about inland links, because

the golfer who is going

away from his own for a brief period for pleasure and
improvement usually

elects to play at the seaside, and wisely so, for, apart

from the superior hygienic

properties of atmosphere, there is no getting rid of

the fact, however much we may be attached to some
inland courses, that seaside golf, when it is the real

thing, is entirely different from any other. It is better

in every respect; in fact it is usually ideal. It gives
more benefit to the mind and body of the overworked

player, it pulls out his game and makes a golfer of him

as nothing else can ever

do, and it affords such variety of a true sporting

character as nothing but Nature

can provide. But in thus extolling the seaside game, I do

not wish for a moment

to be considered as disparaging the golf that is to be

had almost everywhere throughout the country in these days. Inland
golf is a necessity to all except the

leisured people who have no occupation which chains them to

cities and towns,

and there is now so much of it that it has taken a

dominant place in the golfing

world. And if the inland turf does not possess those

glorious qualities that

distinguish the seaside article, and if the bunkers constantly

bear evidence of having been carted to the place where
they are situated, and if, moreover, the evenness of many green
fields becomes somewhat monotonous, nevertheless the

golf which is to be obtained at many of these places is

thoroughly enjoyable, and

at the same time as severe a test of skill as the most

 conceited player could ever

wish for. Take Sunningdale, for instance. This course, in my

opinion, is the best

of all the inland links with which I am familiar,

and it requires the very finest golf to get round it in
anything like a decent score. Unless the golfer
plays with

his head as well as with his club, he will find himself in

difficulties all the way.

Walton Heath is another good example. Here also a capital

player must be on the

top of his game to get round in anything like bogey. Those

who made this course

have mastered the undesirable eccentricities of the rubber-

cored ball as few

others have done. This ball is too apt to despise the

average inland bunker, particularly in the summer-time, and
goes skipping over it as if there were no obstruction in
sight. But it does not do that at Walton Heath, where
they have made the bunkers so deep that the ball inevitably
stops in, and there is nothing

for it but to ask the caddie for the niblick and resign
yourself to losing a stroke. I

should like to see the managers of other courses take

a leaf out of the Walton Heath book. Bunkers that were once
quite deep in the old days of the gutty are in

too many cases shallow and useless under the new conditions. I
do think that the

splendid state of the Walton Heath links is marvellous considering

the short time

that has elapsed since the club was formed. I have never played
at Huntercombe,

over which my old friend and opponent, Willie Park, has spent
so much care and

time and money, but I believe that it is similarly good,

and I have heard golfers,

for whose opinion I have the highest respect, declare

enthusiastically that it is one of the best inland courses
to be found anywhere, while the high hill air is
splendid.

Considering the many disadvantages under which they labour, particularly

in
the matter of soil, which is mostly of the clay
variety, the links round about London may be considered
good, and though the metropolitan golfer may not

always appreciate the fact, during one period of the

year he scores over all others. This is in the summer-time,
when the hot sun has at last dried and burnt

up the grass on many seaside links and made them slippery and
difficult even to

walk upon. At such time the grass on the London links is still
usually quite fresh

and green, and not until some weeks later does it yield to the
scorching rays. For

the most part, too, the London links are exceedingly

well kept. Lees, the

greenkeeper at the Mid-Surrey course at Richmond, is the best

man for that duty

that I know.

I cannot attempt to give any adequate information about

the hundreds of

links that are now dotted about all over the shires. It
must suffice to say, in confining myself to large
centres, that I have pleasant memories of good golf that I
have had on the fine course at Lindrick in the Sheffield
district, and at Trafford Park near Manchester. This is
indeed a very nice inland course, with gravelly soil and
a capacity for keeping dry during the winter. At
Timperley

there is another good links. The Huddersfield course is

a splendid one to play upon, and very tricky too. Its merits
are indicated by the quality of golfers that it

breeds. It has made several men who have won the Yorkshire
championships,

and in club matches the Huddersfield team is a very hard

one to beat.

There is one class of course of which I have not yet made

any mention, and

which I do not think it is necessary to do more than refer

to. It is that mongrel

kind which is both seaside and inland, but which is

in the full sense neither, situated, that is, at a
seaside resort, and may be in the very closest
proximity to

the sea, but with none of the properties of the real seaside
course—no seaside turf, no sand dunes, no wild natural golf.
These courses are usually elevated on

cliffs. In many cases the golf that is to be obtained upon

them is excellent, and I

only wish to point out to unpractised golfers who are about to

start for a holiday

and have taken no advice, that if they are making for a

seaside place and want that kind of golf which they have
heard is to be had at Deal, Sandwich, Rye, Westward Ho!
Littlestone, St. Andrews, North Berwick, and scores of
other

places, they should make quite certain that they are taking
their railway tickets in

the proper direction. Otherwise, when they arrive upon the links
that they have

chosen, they may fail to discover any difference between the

course visited and

that on which they are in the habit of playing when at home.

I only mention the

matter because I have known so many cases of

severe disappointment arise

through mistakes of this kind.

C H A P T E R X X I

GOLF IN AMERICA

Good golf in the United States—My tour through the country—Mr.

Travis's

victory in our Amateur Championship—Not a surprise—The man

who played

the best golf—British amateurs must wake up—Other good Americans

will

come—Our casual methods of learning golf—The American

system—My

matches in the States—A good average—Driving well—Some substantial

victories—Some difficult matches—Course records—Enthusiasm of the

American crowds—The golf fever—The king of baseball takes to

golf—The
American Open Championship—A hard fight with J.H. Taylor—A
welcome

win—Curious experiences in Florida—Greens without grass—The

plague of

locusts—Some injury to my game—"Mr. Jones"—Fooling the

caddies—

Camping out on the links—Golf reporting in America—Ingenious and

good—

Mistakes made by non-golfing writers—Lipping the hole for a

hundred

dollars.

IHAVE a higher opinion of both the present and the future

of golf in America

than that which seems to be entertained by a large number of

eminent players in

this country. I think that American golf is very good at the

present time—much

better than it is given credit for being—and I am

convinced that it will be still better in the future. I
made a long golfing tour through the United States
in 1900,

when Englishmen for the most part regarded the game in that
country with as

much seriousness as they would have bestowed upon golf in Timbuctoo

if they

had heard that it was being played there. At that

time it seemed to be taking a

firm grip of our cousins, and I saw enough to convince

me that America was coming on quickly, and that before long
the old country would have reason to fear her. Everything
that has happened since then has strengthened my belief,

and the eyes of the British were at last fairly opened

when the Championship was played for at Sandwich in June of
last year, when, to the chagrin of our own

leading amateurs, an American, in the person of Mr. Walter

J. Travis, became the

victor, and took back with him across the Atlantic the
Amateur Championship

Cup. So far from surprising me, that event was exactly what I
expected. When I

was in America I played against Mr. Travis once or

twice, and though he was then in the improving stage and
evidently not at the top of his career, I felt that

he was a man who might very likely do great things in

the future. Afterwards I

followed his play with some curiosity and interest. I saw that
in course of time

he beat many good men whose form I understood precisely. I knew

that he was

one of the steadiest golfers I had ever seen—a man of

fine judgment and

marvellous exactness, who always played with his head, and

was constantly

giving the closest possible study to the game. I felt that

when he came to play for

our Championship he would make a very bold bid for it. When
I heard that he

was going to Sandwich last year, I made him my "tip" for

premier honours, and

before the first round was played I said to many

friends, "Mark my words; if Travis gets anything like a
fairly easy draw to start with he will go right through."
And so he did. I saw him play on this memorable
occasion, which will

never be forgotten as long as any of the events of

golfing history are

remembered, and, in opposition to the opinions of other British

critics expressed

in many columns of print during the weeks following, it was

and is my absolute

conviction that his was the best golf played in that tournament,
and that he thoroughly deserved to win. He played with
his head the whole way through,

and his golf was really excellent. It was only natural that
our people should be

very downhearted when they saw what had happened, for it seemed
nothing else

than a great disaster. I do not think that in the long run

it will prove to have been

so, for the inevitable effect of it was to wake up our

British golf, which stood sadly in need of arousing.
I think that amateur golf in this country has been
steadily depreciating for some time, and at the present
moment I think that the standard of merit of our best
players is lower than in the days when Mr. Harold

Hilton, Mr. John Ball, jun., and the late Mr. Freddy Tait were
at their best. And

despite the American shock, I cannot profess that the

outlook at the present moment is particularly encouraging.
There are other good golfers in the States besides Mr.
Travis, and, frankly, I think that unless we wake up
in this country

the Cup will go there again. For the moment our

numerical strength in the

Championship tournament is in our favour. When there are

only half a dozen

Americans entered out of a total number of over a

hundred, the odds are

evidently against them, but an "American invasion" is

threatened, and then we shall see what we shall see.

The chief reason why it is difficult to feel optimistic about

the prospects of

amateur golf in this country is because the rising

generation, upon whom we

must depend for our future champions, do not take sufficient

pains to make

themselves masters of the game. They are too haphazard in

learning it. The

beginners on our side are too apt to say to themselves,

"I will go and teach myself to hit a ball first, and
then I will take a lesson," which is, of course, entirely
wrong. Then one of their friends tells them to do a
certain stroke in one

way, and another tells them the opposite, and thus at the end
of six months they

have got into such a thoroughly bad style that it is the most
difficult task in the

world for a professional to set them right. Those who have

the future of British

golf at heart cannot afford to disregard or wink at these

vagaries on the part of

beginners, on whom we depend to constitute the national

system in coming

years. Now the national system of America is altogether

different. They are not
haphazard there. They seem to take a deeper interest in
the game and its science,

and they never think of trying to learn it by

the chance methods which are so much in favour with
us. They take the game with the utmost seriousness from

the very beginning, and obtain the very best advice that they
can. The

professionals never have a minute to spare, and their

engagement-books are

constantly filled up for three weeks in advance, so

that without that length of notice nobody stands a chance
of getting a lesson for love or money. That is
the

way in which the people of America are learning to play

golf, and it is the proper

way. It is slow but it is very sure; and unless I am

very much mistaken, there will

in the future be other players coming across the

Atlantic to take part in our championships who will be as
great as Travis if not greater, and if we on our
part

do not forthwith begin to take our golf more seriously it may

be a sad day for us

when they do come.

As I have said, American golf was only just budding when I

made my tour

through the country in 1900; but nevertheless I found

that tour extremely

interesting and enjoyable, and everywhere I was given the

heartiest and most

enthusiastic reception. Nobody even begrudged me the American

Championship

which I brought back with me, and nobody made any unkind
criticisms of my

play, or suggested that I did not in any way deserve the

victory. My tour began in

March and did not finish until the end of the year, but was
interrupted for a short

period at the beginning of the summer, when I made a

flying trip home in order
to take part in our own Open Championship. As it happened,
the best that I could

do was to finish second to Taylor, but I may add

that this result was better than I

expected, considering the sudden change of golf and climate

that I experienced. I

had to cover several thousands of miles in order to play the

matches in which I

took part in America. Of these matches I only lost two

when playing against a single opponent, and each time it was
Bernard Nicholls who beat me, first at Ormonde and then at
Brae Burn. There was not a blade of grass on the course
on

which Nicholls won his first match from me, and I leave my
readers to imagine

what playing on a links consisting of nothing but loose sand

was like. Altogether

I suffered only thirteen defeats, but in eleven of them

I was playing the best ball

of two or more opponents, which was the task that was generally
set me. I won

over fifty matches and halved two. Some of my victories

were somewhat

substantial. At Point Comfort I beat Willie Dunn by

sixteen up and fifteen to play, and at Scarsdale I got
the better of the same opponent to the extent of fifteen
and fourteen. Such wide margins naturally suggest opponents
of inferior

ability; but if I may modestly say so, I do not think

that was wholly the case. I

consider that at that time I was playing better golf than

I had ever played before

or have done since. As was the custom there, I used

to go out on the links in the

very thinnest and airiest costume. In Florida it was too

warm to play with either

coat or vest, so both were discarded and shirt sleeves rolled

up. Generally, like

my opponents, I wore no jacket, but a neat waistcoat with

sleeves which helped

to keep the arms together. In such attire one was afforded

a delightful sense of
ease and freedom which considerably helped one's golf. Then again,
whether it

was due to the fine dry atmosphere—as I think it was—or

not, the ball certainly

seemed to fly through the air with less resistance offered

to it than I had ever experienced before. Never have I
driven so well as I did with the old gutty in

America in that year. Many of the professionals whom I met

were men who were taught their golf in this country, and were
players who would usually hold their

own in the best of professional company. The American

papers gave very

lengthy reports of all the matches in which I took

part, the headlines and what followed them being frequently very
flattering. There was "The Golf King," and

many such as that, in type nearly an inch deep. Perhaps I

may, without offence,

be permitted to quote from the account given in a leading

daily newspaper of the

second match in which I defeated Willie Dunn—at Scarsdale—

which I only do

for the purpose of showing that the conditions of play were

sometimes really

trying, and not at all conducive to big victories or

record breaking. This paper said: "If it were necessary to
dwell upon the extraordinary consistency of the champion's game,
one has only to refer to his card for the four rounds
(it was a

nine-hole course) in yesterday's match, as his worst nine holes

totalled forty-one

and his best thirty-seven. If the turf could only unearth a

thoroughbred as reliable

as Vardon, poolrooms in Greater New York would be past

history in very short

order. Vardon's skill probably never underwent a

severer test than in the match yesterday. Everything was against
his exhibiting anything approaching

championship form. He had not only to contend against

a biting north-west

wind, which temporarily got mixed up with a flurry

of snow, but the course
itself, from the character of the land, is about as difficult
to score over as any in

the country. The ground is one succession of 'kopjes,' while

seven of the nine holes are 'on the collar' all the
time, and at an angle of from twenty to thirty degrees.
The course is only 2677 yards in playing distance. On
paper this gives

the impression of being nothing out of the ordinary, but

confronted with it in actuality, it is about as hard a
proposition as any victim of the golf habit could

tackle. The only course one can compare with it here is

Oakland, and the latter is

a billiard table by the side of it. At the finish of

the thirty-six holes Vardon said,

'I never felt so fagged out in my life. In fact I could

play seventy-two holes on

the other side every day for a week and not have been fatigued
half so much.'" I

do not remember that I ever committed myself to such an

extravagant statement

as this, but the course was certainly a very trying

one that day. Yet on that occasion I lowered the eighteen
holes record for the course. Altogether I beat most of the
records of the courses during my tour. The first time
I ever took my

clubs out on American soil, on the course of the

Lawrence Harbour Country

Club, I reduced the record for the nine holes (held by Willie
Dunn) from forty-one to forty. Yet the weather was so
bad just then, and the clay greens were in

such a state of puddle, that temporary greens had to

be made on the fairway. I won my first match by nine up
with eight to play. On one or two occasions I was

obliged to beat the record in order to win my game. Thus,

when playing on the

Wheaton links at Chicago, Will Smith was three up

on me at one time, but by beating the links record I
won at the finish by two up with one to play. This
was

one of the very toughest struggles I had over there.

There was no mistaking the enthusiasm of the American spectators.

They

came to the matches in great crowds—always a large proportion

 of ladies—and

they seemed bent on learning all that they could from the
play. Everybody

seemed to be trying to practise my grip. All kinds of

theories were invented to

account for the manner in which my shots came off. On one

occasion, after I had

got in a good one with a cleek, an excited spectator

jumped the ropes, ran up to a

friend of mine and screamed, "Say, which arm did he do that

with?" I looked to

see if all my arms and legs were intact, or if there

was anything that appeared unusual about them. I discovered
afterwards that by "arm" he meant "club."

Many places of business were closed for the afternoon when

I was playing in

certain districts, and on one occasion the Stock Exchange did

so. A letter to one

of the papers, concerning the extraordinary manner in which

America was taking

the golf fever, contained these sentences:—"I went into a

leading business house

to-day and found the three partners of the firm in

a violent discussion. As I thought they were talking
business I concluded that my presence was

unnecessary, and started to edge away. Suddenly I noticed

the head of the firm

rush into his office and rush out again with a cane. As the
words were heated I

was just about to interfere when I saw a weapon

appear on the scene, but the head partner wasn't
looking for blood. Instead of hitting anyone he
swiped the cane along the ground, and then I heard the words
—'This is how Vardon holds

it.' I wanted to make an appointment with one of the

partners, but he told me that

he wouldn't be in. However, I guess I'll meet him, because

I'm going out to Dixie

myself." The professionals and the golf shops suddenly began to

do an enormous

trade in sticks, and Bernard Nicholls, the only man who

defeated me single-

handed, preferred not to play me again for a long time. He

said his victory had

done an enormous amount of good to his business, and he

did not want to spoil

it. From numerous quarters I received all kinds of offers

to "star" in one way or another, some very big fees being
suggested. Would I become a store manager at

a huge salary? Would I make an exhibition for so many

hours daily of driving golf balls in a padded room in
the city? And so on. I actually did accept an offer

one day to do exhibition swings in a room in a Boston

store. I was to start at 9.30

and continue until 5 each day, doing tee and other

shots into a net for half an hour at a time, and then
resting for an hour before taking the next turn. There
was a fresh "house" of about two hundred people every time,
and it was part of

the bargain that my manager should stand by and explain

everything. But he had

had enough of it after one or two turns. Then I

found it became terribly

monotonous, and to interest myself I kept trying to hit

a particular spot on the wall near the ceiling, until the
stores manager came forward in a state of great
excitement, declaring that only six inches from that spot was the
tap of a patent

fire extinguishing arrangement, and that if I hit it the

room would be flooded by

a series of waterspouts in less time than I could

imagine! By four o'clock my hands were blistered badly, and
at that stage I had had enough and went out. In

the meantime I was the constant recipient of numerous

presents of all kinds, and

the invitations that I received to dinners were far too many

for any professional

golfer to accept. I do not mention these things

with any desire for self-

glorification. They are ancient history now, and nobody cares

about them. But

they serve to show the whole-hearted manner in which America

was going in for
golf, and the tremendous hold that it took on the people. We
talk on this side of

the "golfing fever" and of people "going mad" about the

game. Believe me, the Britisher is a mere dallier in
comparison with his American golfing cousin.

An interesting incident happened when the American

Championship was

played for on the Wheaton course, when, as I was

informed, the game of golf achieved the most notable victory
that it had ever achieved in the United States.

This was the complete surrender to it of the veteran

champion and overlord of baseball, the American national game.
How that came about I will leave one of

the Chicago newspapers to relate:—"Cap. Anson surrendered to golf

yesterday.

The capitulation of the veteran of America's national game

took place on the

links at Wheaton during the race between Harry Vardon

and J.H. Taylor. 'Cap.'

says the game of golf is a go. He has stood out

against it and ridiculed it ever since it began to get the
people. Anson knows Charles S. Cox, Vardon's manager,

and accepted an invitation yesterday morning to look in on

the game. On the links he balked at the proposition
of walking four miles in one trip around the course,
but he lined up with the crowd to see Vardon drive
off. The ball went higher than any fly 'Pop' ever saw in
his life. It sailed 220 yards. Anson was first

to start the applause with a 'Good boy. She's a homer.' Then

he led the gallery to

the first green. He was puffing when he pulled up at

the eighteenth hole, but he

felt better than if he had stolen second base. 'I'd like

to take a crack at that golf

ball,' he said. 'You can put me down for a trial

the first chance I get. Wouldn't mind togging up in
kilts just to give the Prince of Wales a run for his
money.'"

For the sake of giving prominence to it, this paragraph was

put in a fancy border

and let into the middle of the sheet of newspaper, so

the Chicago people

evidently attached some importance to the capitulation of the

worthy captain,

and I hope that by this time he has had many thousands of

cracks at the golf ball

and that his handicap is low.

I was intent on making a bold bid for this American

Open Championship.

Victory in it seemed to be the one thing essential

to make my trip the greatest possible success. My friend
Taylor, who had just beaten me for the Open

Championship at St. Andrews, had himself come over to the

States, and was also

a candidate for the premier honours of American golf. As

it turned out, we had

practically the whole contest at Wheaton to ourselves, and

a rare good duel it was, at the end of which I was at
the top of the list, but only two strokes in front

of my English opponent, while he was eight in front of the

next man. The system

of deciding the championship was the same as on this side,

that is to say, four medal rounds were played, two on
one day and two on the next. At the end of

the first day's play I was just one stroke better than
Taylor, my score for the two

rounds bring 157 to his 158, and on the second day I

did 156 to his 157, so that

on the whole event I was 313 to his 315. Taylor waited

on the edge of the green

while I holed out my last putt, and was the first

to grasp my hand in sincere congratulation. Beautiful
weather, the biggest golfing crowd ever seen in

America up to that time, and a good links, made the

tournament a great success.

The partner who went round with me during this championship

competition was

Will Smith, the holder, who finished fifth.

I had some curious experiences in the course of my

journeyings about the

country, and I am not sure that they were all good for my
game. During the early months I was down in Florida
away from the cold and the snow. I met some
good golfers there. It was necessary to play an entirely
different game from that

to which we are accustomed in this country. There was no grass

on the putting

"greens." They were simply made of loose sand, sprinkled on the

baked ground

and watered and rolled. When there was a shortage of water

and there was wind

about, the fine part of the sand was blown away, and the
surface of the "greens"

then consisted of nothing but little pebbles. It was not

easy to putt over this kind

of thing, but I must not convey the impression that these

sand "greens" were wholly bad. When properly attended to
they are really nice to putt upon after you

have become accustomed to them. It was impossible to pitch on

to them, and one

had to cultivate the habit of running up from a very long

distance. Thus I got into

the way of playing a kind of stab shot. The tees consisted

not of grass but of hard

soil, and one had to tee up much higher than usual in order
to avoid damaging

the sole of the driver. This provoked the habit of

cocking the ball up, and as a corrective all the teeing
grounds in Florida sloped upwards in front. Locusts

were responsible for eating all the grass away from some
courses, and I had a unique experience when I played
Findlay at Portland. When we were on the

putting greens, men had constantly to be beating sticks

to keep the locusts off the

lines of our putts. If it struck a locust the ball

would come to a sudden stop.

Acres and acres of land about there were without a

single blade of grass. The locusts had eaten it
all away. After we left Florida we reached some good

courses, and resumed the old kind of play. It has often

been suggested that the peculiar conditions of play in
America, to which I was subjected for a long

period, resulted in a permanent injury to my game as

played at home, and in the
light of reflection and experience I am persuaded to think that
this is so. I have

played well since then, have felt equal to doing anything that I
ever did before,

and have indeed won the Championship, but I think I left

a very small fraction of

my game in the United States.

In the way of other novel experiences I might mention that on

one occasion I

played as "Mr. Jones." I wanted a quiet day, and

did not wish a too attentive public to know where I was.
Three friends joined me in a foursome, but when we went
into the club-house after our game, another anxious golfer
went up to

my partner when I was standing by, and inquired of him

whether he had heard

that Vardon was playing on the links. My friend

declared that he knew nothing of such a rumour, and I
could hardly refrain from laughter as the anxious one went
to pursue his inquiries in other quarters. Another time
two other

professionals and myself visited a course where we were

unknown, and, hiding

our identity, pretended that we were novices at the game,

and begged of our

caddies to advise us as to the best manner of

playing each shot, which they did

accordingly. We deliberately duffed most of our strokes

at several holes, but this

course of procedure tired us immensely, and so at last

we abandoned it and

began to play our natural game. Imagine the consternation and

the indignation of

those caddies! Each one of them threw down his bag of clubs,
and, declining to

carry them for another hole, walked sulkily off the course.
On one occasion we

camped out for the night on the links on which

we were playing, and a very pleasant variation from the
ordinary routine we found it.

The American newspapers, to which I have frequently referred, do

their golf
reporting very well. Their journalism may be "sensational" or
whatever you like to call it, but the golfing section
of it was usually interesting, ingenious, and very

intelligent and reliable. On the occasion of one match in which

I played, a paper

gave up nearly the whole of one of its pages to

a large panoramic view of the links. The flight of my
ball and that of my opponent, and the places where they

stopped after every stroke, from the first to the

last, were accurately marked.

Thus the whole game was illustrated in a single

picture in a very effective

manner. As was inevitable, I was sometimes victimised by

interviewers who

wrote "interviews" with me which I had never accorded,

containing most amazing particulars about my methods and
habits. Occasionally a reporter was

turned on to describe a game when he knew nothing about

golf, and then the

results were sometimes amusing. One of these writers had it

that I "carried away

the green with my drive." Another said I "dropped dead

at the hole." When playing at Washington against two
opponents, I happened to beat bogey at the

first hole. One of the reporters was told of this

achievement, but did not quite understand it. Going to the next
hole, we were walking through a bunker when

he came up to me and politely inquired if that—the

bunker—was the kind of

bogey that I had beaten. I was told a very good story of

American golf reporting.

A match was arranged between two well-known amateurs, one

of whom

happened to be a very rich banker. One reporter, who

admitted that he "knew

nothing about the darned game," arrived rather late on

the course, and borrowed the "copy" of an experienced
golfing journalist for information of what had already
happened. When this "copy" was duly returned with thanks, the
late-comer remarked to his obliging friend, "Say, you made
a bad mistake in one part." "What was it?" the other asked.
"Waal, you say that So-and-so 'lipped the hole for a
half.'" "Yes, that is right." "Oh, go away; you don't mean
to tell me that a rich man like that would be
playing for a paltry fifty cents. I've altered it
to

'lipped the hole for a hundred dollars.'" And I remember

that once when I was playing the best ball of two amateurs,
one of the reporters had been instructed by

his chief to keep the best ball score. I happened to

lose the match on the last green, but on looking
through the paper the next morning I was surprised to
see

it stated that I was beaten by not one but many holes,

making this defeat in fact

the biggest inflicted on me during my tour. The paper said

that it was. I could not

make anything out of it for some time, until at last I

discovered that the reporter

had reckoned my score also in the best ball figures! Obviously

I could not beat

myself. The best I could do was to get a half,

and that was how it came about that I never won a
single hole in the "Harry Vardon v. Harry Vardon
and two others" match.

C H A P T E R X X I I

CONCERNING CADDIES

Varieties of caddies—Advice to a left-handed player—Cock-shots

at Ganton—

Unearned increments—An offer to carry for the fun of the thing—

The caddie

who knows too much—My ideal caddie—His points—The girl

caddie—A

splendid type—Caddies' caustic humour—Some specimens of it—

Mr.

Balfour's taste in caddies—When the caddie is too

anxious—Good human

kindness—"Big Crawford"—"Lookin' aifter Maister Balfour"—An

ingenious claim—A salute for the Chief Secretary—A story of a
distressed clergyman—

Sandy Smith—The clothes he wore—An excess of zeal—The

caddies'
common-sense—When his lot is not a happy one.

THE caddie is an indispensable adjunct to the game of

golf, and for the most

part he fulfils his functions very capably; but there are

caddies of every

imaginable variety, and their vagaries are such as to cause

wonderment on the part of their employers sometimes,
amusement at others, and not infrequently

exasperation. Some of them know too much about the game, and others
far too

little, and I hardly know which of these classes is in

the long run the worse for

the golfers who engage them to carry their clubs.

An incident of which I heard that happened to a

well-known player on the

North Berwick links, must have been very trying to him. On

a busy day all the

regular caddies had been engaged, and the fishermen were

drafted into the club-

carrying service. The player, having asked one of these

fishermen if he knew

anything about the game, and having been informed that

he had only a little

knowledge of it, resigned himself calmly to the inevitable,

and told the man

complacently that he would do. This player happened to be

left-handed, and took

up his stance on the first tee accordingly, whereupon the

son of the sea at once

adopted the part of tutor, and with some warmth and show
of contempt

exclaimed loudly, "I dinna ken much aboot the game, but ye dinna
ken a wee bit.

Mon, ye're standing on the wrong side of the baw! Awa'

to the other side!"

Golfers at the beginning of a round are proverbially

susceptible to small

influences, and when a player is accustomed to lean somewhat

upon his caddie,
as even some of the best occasionally do, I can well
imagine that such a trivial

matter as this is enough to mar a tee shot.

There were some strange specimens of the caddie species at

Ganton when I

was there. "Make a tee, boy," said a golfer to

one of them, evidently a novice, one day. The player
had been waiting about for something under a minute, while

his servant showed no sign of making the usual preparations

for the tee shot. The boy did not seem to understand.
"Make a tee, boy," exclaimed the player a second time
sharply, but still there was no response, and then the man
called for

some sand, bent down and made the tee himself. At this the
boy attributed the failure of his understanding to the
player's limited powers of expression, and somewhat
scornfully exclaimed, "Why, if you had told me it was a
cock-shot that was wanted, I should have known what you
meant!" On competition days at

Ganton we had often to secure a number of lads who

had never seen the game

played before, and very interesting specimens of the youth

of Yorkshire they

often were. One day, I remember, a competitor pulled his ball

very badly, and his

caddie, who had gone on a little way in front,

received it hard on a very tender

part of his head. He was not seriously hurt, but much

pained, and forthwith, excusably perhaps, he gave way to tears.
To soothe him his employer presented

him with half a sovereign. The tears suddenly ceased, the boy's
face broke into a

happy smile, and a moment later, when the two were

trudging away towards the

hole, the youngster ingenuously inquired, "Will you be

coming out again this week, sir?"

There is a kinship between this story and that of the caddie

at North Berwick,

son of the greenkeeper there, some years ago, when first he began
to carry clubs.

He was a very precocious little fellow, and the player

for whom he had been engaged to carry for the day was a
 well-known golfer from the south. When the

day's play was far advanced, and the time of reckoning was
drawing nigh, the boy seized an opportunity of sidling
close up to his patron and asking him, "D'ye

ken Bob S——?" the said Bob being one of the

notabilities of the links. The player answered that he had
not the pleasure of Mr. Robert's acquaintance so far,

and inquired of the boy why he asked such a question.

"Weel," was the answer,

"it's a peety ye dinna ken Bob S——. He's a rale fine gentleman,
for he aye gies

twa shillin' a roond for carryin' till'm; no like some that

ca' themsels gentlemen,

an' only gie a shillin'."

But lest it should be imagined from the recital of these

incidents that the

caddie is invariably over-greedy, and that he has no soul

for anything but the pecuniary reward of his service, let
there by way of contrast be told the story of

the boy who was willing to carry clubs for nothing—the one
solitary instance of

such a disposition to self-sacrifice that there is on

record. This time the golfer was not a great one. He had
his faults, and they were numerous, and for their conquest and
suppression he came to the conclusion that it would be better
if he

went out alone over the links and wrestled with them
determinedly. A caddie

watched him going out thus solitary, and felt sorry, so

he said to him, "I will carry your clubs for a shilling, sir."
But the golfer replied, "No, my boy, not to-day,
thanks; I will carry them myself." The golfer missed
his drive, foozled his

second, put his third into a bunker, and endured other

agonies. The caddie had been following at a respectful
distance, and when the ball had been duly picked

up out of the bunker, he made a further appeal. "I

will carry for ninepence, sir."

"No, I do not want a caddie," was the answer again.

"I will carry for sixpence, then." "No, go away." On the
next tee the player, overcome by conflicting emotions, missed
the ball altogether two or three times, and then was the

caddie's opportunity, which he seized without hesitation. "I

 will carry for the fun

of the thing, sir!"

This is a digression, but I fear that digressions are inevitable

when one enters

upon the subject of caddies, and is persuaded to dip into

one's recollection of caddie stories. The ignorant caddie is
trying, but not less is the one who knows

too much about the game, or thinks he does, and

insists upon inflicting his

superior knowledge upon you during the whole course of the

round. Once when

I was playing for the Championship, my clubs were

carried by a caddie who

swore horribly at me all the time, notwithstanding that from the

beginning I was

going strongly for the first place. That boy got on my

nerves. I was approaching

well, but my putting was certainly not so sure and confident

as it might have been. "What the—— is the good of shooting
at the flag if you can't putt worth a

d——!" he exclaimed in great disgust on one occasion when

I had the

misfortune to miss holing out a somewhat short putt.

He has begged to be

allowed to carry for me many times since then, but I have

steadfastly refused his

offer, for I would not be handicapped with him upon

any consideration. The

caddie I like best of all, and he who I am convinced

is the best servant for the average golfer, is he who
thoroughly understands the game, has a deep

knowledge of the course that is being played over,

knows exactly what club to give you upon any and every
occasion, and limits his functions to giving you that club
without being asked for it. This caddie is a
silent caddie, who knows

that words of his are out of place, and that they would
only tend to upset his master's game. It will generally
be found that he, above all others, is the one who

takes a deep and sympathetic interest in that game. He

never upon any
consideration gives advice without being asked for
it. On the other hand, he

takes care that no act or omission of his shall ever cause

his man the most momentary irritation, for he has
sufficient knowledge of the golfer's

temperament to know that these trifles are a constant source

of bad holes. When

the player is preparing for his shot, and his eye is

wandering anxiously between

the ball and the hole, he puts out his hand whilst still
continuing his survey of the

ground, and as he puts it out he feels it grasp the handle

of the exact club that is

wanted. There is little need to look at it. The caddie

knew and acted. The stance

is taken while the player is still in his thoughtful mood, the

shot is made while

his mind is still concentrated to the utmost extent

on the difficult task in hand, and then, after a happy
result, the player and this faithful, truly sympathetic
caddie go quietly on their way. When you are on the green
he never needs to be

told to go to the pin. He is always there, standing

at the hole as soon as the time

has come to putt; and while, if the putt is a poor thing,

he has nothing to say (for

silence is more than ever welcome at such a time of sorrow

and disappointment),

he permits himself a few courteous words of congratulation

if a great success has

been achieved at the last stroke at the hole, and the crown
been placed upon an

effort that has been truly praiseworthy throughout. This is my

ideal caddie, and I

am prepared to make some concessions to have him always at

my side during the

most trying rounds that I have to play. If he

always performs the duties I have named, promptly and
quietly, I do not care whether he really knows much
about

the game or not. If a caddie does the round of a

course often enough in the company of good golfers,
he knows the club to use for every particular stroke,
even though he may have no practical knowledge of the game,
and I ask nothing

more of him than that he should always hand that club to

me without keeping me

waiting for a single moment. These caddies are a rarer

species than the others.

I am no advocate of female labour, but I have

often, after an experience of the girl caddie, been
tempted to wish that there were more of them in the land,

for they are uncommonly good. The little girl of humble

lot seems, nine times out of ten, to possess all those
qualities which go to the making of a good caddie

—according to my standard of a good caddie—in a remarkable

degree. Unlike

some of her elder sisters, she never talks; but she always
watches the game very closely and takes a deep
interest in it. She is most anxious—if anything too anxious—to
do her service properly and well, and to the most
complete

satisfaction of the gentleman who will reward her for it

at the finish. She never

keeps you waiting for your bag. The clubs are always there at
your hand. If it is

obvious to this little girl's simple intelligence that

you want your brassy, she has

it ready for you. If there is a doubt about the club, she does
not make the mistake

of offering you one on chance, as it were. She is too

timid for that. She holds the

bag before you and lets you choose yourself and carry
all the responsibility on your own shoulders. The good boy
caddie, whom I have referred to as my ideal,

does that also. I said he was always waiting with the

club ready, but if it is evident to him, as to the
player, that it is a difficult question of judgment
as to

which particular club should be taken in somewhat puzzling

circumstances, he

allows the golfer to make his choice from the whole

collection in the bag,

making no suggestion of his own either by word or

movement, unless invited to
do so. Cannot every golfer recall numberless instances
of bad shots and holes lost because in one of these
moments of doubt, when his own inclination was

leaning to the employment of one particular club, his

caddie thrust another

before him? Feeling that there must be something good in

the caddie's

recommendation, he has been tempted in spite of himself

to use it. How

frequently are the consequences disastrous in such circumstances

as these, and

how unenviable are the golfer's after reflections upon his

own weakness! Yes,

decidedly the girl caddie excels. I have seen her on many

links up and down the

country, and she is always good. In one of my last

matches last season—at Luton

—I had one to carry for me, and she was as good as any.
Perhaps it may be urged

by some players that it is not a good thing for girls to

do this work. About that I

have nothing to say. I only know that they do their duty well.

A peculiarly caustic but half-unconscious humour is the

characteristic of

caddies everywhere, but particularly in the north, and while

golfers continue to

lack absolute perfection, and their ministering attendants to expect

it from them

every time, it will probably remain a characteristic. A

fair specimen was the remark of his caddie to a player
whose handicap was several strokes removed

from scratch, and who, having become badly bunkered on

one occasion, tried

nearly every iron club in his bag in a vain endeavour

to get out. The case was

heartbreaking, and he turned despairingly to his caddie

with the question, "What on earth shall I take now?" There was
little encouragement in the answer, "Take the 4.5
train." There is a good story also of a certain
Welshman of title who became enthusiastic over the game, though
he did not excel at it. He conceived
that it would be a good thing to make a tour of the famous
Scottish courses with

the object of improving his play, and in due season he

arrived at a certain famous

green, where he employed as his caddie an individual

who had a considerable

reputation for blunt candour. The turf suffered severely every

time this player made use of his irons, and the caddie
shook his head gloomily and sadly as he

witnessed the destructive work that went on daily. At last there

came a day when

he could stand it no longer, and when the Welshman had taken

a mighty swipe at

the ball with a heavy iron and made a deep excavation for
several inches behind

it, the club carrier moaned painfully, "O lord, man, hae
mercy on puir auld Scotland!" It is said that the golfer played
no more on those links. It was on this

same course that two players went out one morning to play,
and found a friend

waiting alone on the first tee, who said that he had

fixed up a match with a certain Captain Blank, who would
be coming along presently. The possibility of

a foursome was considered, and a question was asked as to

what kind of a player

the Captain was, his partner replying, "Oh, he is excellent.

He drives a good ball,

plays his irons well, and is exceedingly useful at the short game;
in fact, he is a

first-rate all-round man." Expecting confirmation of this eulogium,

he turned to

his caddie and said, "You know the Captain's play well enough.
Now, what sort

of a player would you say he is?" The caddie replied

scornfully, "Captain Blank!

He canna play a shot worth a d——. He's nae better than

yoursel'!"

The fact is that no player is great in the eyes of

his caddie, for on one occasion when two gentlemen who were
very fair hands at the game were doing
a round and being closely pressed by a couple behind,
who seemed to be driving

inordinately long balls, one of them observed that perhaps

they had better let them go through as they seemed to
be playing both well and quickly. "Na, na, naething o' the
kind," interposed one of the caddies. "They're just twa
duffers like yersels!" And great eminence in other
fields counts for nothing with the caddie if his man
cannot golf in good style. There is the story told
by Mr.

Balfour of the distinguished general, hero of many battles,

who, having duly

found his way into his twentieth bunker, was startled by a

cry of irritation from

his caddie, "Come, come, old gentleman, this will never

do!" This great statesman-golfer relates another anecdote showing
that caddies are much the

same the whole world over. An English golfer was

playing at Pau and had a

French caddie attending upon him. He made one particularly

fine approach shot,

and, as golfers will at such times, he turned round

to the boy with excusable vanity for applause. But the boy's
English vocabulary so far comprised only two

words which he had heard uttered on several occasions, but the

sense of which

he did not understand. Feeling sure, however, that they

must be appropriate to this occasion, and desiring to be
appreciative, he smiled pleasantly into the

golfer's face and murmured, "Beastly fluke!" Mr. Balfour, by

the way, has a particular and decided taste in caddies,
for he has written that he can gladly endure severe or
even contemptuous criticism from them; can bear to have it

pointed out to him that all his misfortunes are the direct
and inevitable result of

his own folly; can listen with equanimity when failure is

prophesied of some

stroke he is attempting, and can note unmoved the self-

satisfied smile with

which the fulfilment of the prophecy is accentuated; but

ignorant and stupid

indifference is intolerable to him. The caddie, in the

statesman's opinion, is not,
and ought not, to be regarded as a machine for
carrying clubs at a shilling a round, but rather
occupies, or ought to occupy, the position of competent
adviser

or interested spectator. The caddie ought to be as anxious

for the success of his

side as if he were one of the players, and should watch

each move in the game

with benevolent if critical interest, being always ready with the

appropriate club,

and, if need be, with the appropriate comment.

But I don't like to see this anxiety for the success of

one's fortunes upon the

links carried to excess. It is then a disturbing factor,

and its humorous aspect does not always appeal to one
as it should. Some golfers might be flattered when

they come to know that their caddies have backed them to the
extent of half the

remuneration they will receive for carrying the clubs for

the round. It is a touching expression of the caddie's belief
in them. But after all this kind of thing

does not help to make a good caddie. Apart from other

considerations, it does not make the boy carry any the better
because he is over-anxious about the result

of the match, and, though some golfers might be

inclined to ridicule the

suggestion, it nevertheless is a disturbing element in one's

game if one knows that even the caddie will be very deeply
concerned if every stroke does not come

off just as well as it ought to do. The caddie is not

above letting you know of his wager; sometimes he will even
tell you of it. Two golfers of some Highland

celebrity were playing a match one day at Luffness, and after

a hard round they

came to the eighteenth tee all square and but this one hole
to play. At this critical

stage of the game the caddie of one of them approached his

master and

nervously whispered to him, "Please, sir, wad ye do your very

best here, for there's money on this match." And the golfer
did try to do his very best indeed,

but he pressed and he foozled, and he lost the hole and

the match.

Sympathetically he turned to his caddie to ask him what

was the amount of the

lost wager that he might pay it for him and soften his
disappointment. "It was a

penny, sir," said the boy.

But despite his constant sarcasm and his utter inability

to tolerate anything

except the very best in golf, there is after all much good human
kindness in your

caddie if he is worthy of the name. "Big Crawford" will

always be remembered

as a fine specimen. On the day when Mr. A.J. Balfour

played himself into the captaincy of the Royal and Ancient
club, a gentleman who was looking on, and

who was well acquainted with the fact that when Mr. Balfour was
in Ireland as

Chief Secretary he never played a round of any of the Irish

links without having

plain-clothes detectives walking fore and aft, inquired very

audibly, "Is there no

one looking after Mr. Balfour now?" "Big Crawford" was carrying
for him that day, and he heard the question. He turned
with a look of severe pride towards the

quarter whence it came, and answered it as loudly, "Aw'm

lookin' aifter Maister

Balfour." There was nothing more to be said. The chief of the

Conservatives has

certainly an enormous popularity with the caddies. He so

evidently loves his golf

so much, and he has great sympathy with them. He

bears amiably with their

weaknesses. He was one day playing a match with Tom Dunn,

who was his

tutor, at North Berwick, and by a mixture of skill and

luck was enabled to hole

out at "Pointgarry out" in two. It happened that he received

a stroke from Dunn at this hole, and the caddie
ingeniously pointed out to him that he was thus entitled to
consider that he had done the hole in one. "How excellent!"
he said.
But in the same breath the caddie begged leave to
remind him that it was

customary for all good golfers to celebrate the performance of

this particular feat

by the bestowal of some special token upon their

caddies. Mr. Balfour was

amused. He tantalised the boy by observing that rather than

that he should have

to pay anyone for watching him do these great things, he

surely ought to receive remuneration from all spectators for
doing them. The boy felt that there was

truth in this new view of things, and a sad look was

stealing over his face, when

the right honourable gentleman handed over to him the customary

fee. Another

time on the links, two officers, a Colonel and a Major,

were playing in front of

Mr. Balfour and his partner, when the latter were courteously
invited to go

through so that their enjoyment of the round would not be

interfered with by any

waiting. At the moment when Mr. Balfour was passing the

others, he was

surprised to hear a word of command called out by the

Colonel's caddie, who

happened to be a Lucknow veteran. "Attention! Eyes

front! Shoulder arms!

Present arms!" And thereupon each of the caddies took from

his bag a driver and

with it presented arms in proper soldierly style, Mr.

Balfour, who was Chief

Secretary at the time, smiling with pleasure at the

interesting compliment and acknowledging the salute. He has a
remarkable memory for the caddies who

have served him, and once, when on the tee, just about to engage
in a foursome,

he recognised one of his opponents' caddies as a boy who

on a former occasion

had carried his own clubs, and he nodded to him

kindly. Naturally the caddie was immensely pleased, and turning
to one of his colleagues he remarked, "Ye see hoo we
Conservatives ken ane anither!"

Another instance of the deep humanity of "Big Crawford," whom

I have just

mentioned, occurred on one occasion when he was carrying for

an Edinburgh

clergyman, who, in going for the Redan, had the misfortune

to be badly

bunkered, his ball, in addition to the other difficulties of

the situation, lying in a

deep heel mark. He was palpably in great agony of mind, all the
greater in that

he never uttered a word. Crawford crept quietly to his side

and whispered gently,

"What a peety! What a peety! But gin an aith wad

relieve ye, sir, dinna mind me,

dinna mind me!" and thereupon he discreetly retired for some

little distance.

Sandy Smith, another famous caddie, was one day carrying

for a player who had

the good fortune to be no fewer than six holes up on his

opponent by the time the

eighth hole was reached. At this green, something having

gone wrong with the

reckoning of the strokes, there was a mild dispute as

to whether the hole had been won by Sandy's man or
whether it had been halved. Eventually it was

agreed that it was halved, but as the players moved away

to the next tee, he who

was six down being out of earshot in front, his

opponent remarked to Sandy,

"You know, Sandy, I still think I won that hole after all." Sandy
seemed shocked at such a cold-blooded greed for
holes, and reprovingly, very seriously, and

sharply said to his employer, "Haud yer tongue, sir; haud

yer tongue. Wad ye break the man's heart?" Sandy used
to remark that "the finest gowffer on the green was
Maister Edward Blyth," and it was not until he had
expressed this opinion with an almost wearying frequency that
his hearers suspected that there

was some connection between his choice and the fact, which
he admitted one
day, that "his auld claes fits me best." Apparently he had
the measure of every player on the course. "I'm wantin'
a word wi' ye, Mr. Blyth," he said to his favourite one
day. "What is it, Sandy?" "It's no' muckle, sir; it's jist
this, ye ken.

I'm wantin' an auld suit o' claes frae ye; ye're the only man
hereaboot that'll fit

me." But apparently there were others, for one day when a player
for whom he

was carrying asked him if he knew the Lord Justice-Clerk,

who happened just

then to be passing in a foursome, Sandy replied,

"That's Lord Kingsbury, ye mean. O ay, he's a great freen'
o' mine. Naebody kens his lordship better nor me.

Thae's his breeks I've on."

Golfers should, I think, sometimes be on their guard lest

a too kind-hearted

caddie, in an excess of zeal for his employer, should

be tempted to transgress the

laws of the game, or depart from strict truthfulness in

his behalf. Sometimes it is

done with a wonderful air of innocence and simplicity.

Caddies have been

known, when their employers have been in doubt as to exactly

how many strokes

they have played at certain holes, to give an emphatic,

but none the less

untruthful declaration, on the side of fewness. They mean well,

but mistakenly,

and it is better for everybody concerned, but particularly

for the caddies, that they should be severely reprimanded
when there is reason to doubt their good

faith.

And who shall say that another, and for our purposes the final
characteristic

of the average caddie of experience, is not a wonderful

amount of solid worldly

common-sense of a variety specially adapted to golf?

And what golfer is there who has not at one time or
another had the advantage of it? But he may at the
time have been unconscious of the assistance. There is
the historic case of the caddie on the Scottish links who
warned a beginner, dallying too much on the tee, that he
"maunna address the ba' sae muckle." Forthwith the southern
tyro,

greatly exasperated at his own failures, burst out, "So far as

I know I haven't said a word to the infernal thing,
but the irritation of this beastly game is enough, and

if I have any more of your confounded tongue you may

repent it!" Then the caddie murmured to himself, "I dinna
like 'is look. I'll better get 'm roond as pleesant
as possible." Could any advice have been more delicately worded
than

that of the caddie to the stout clergyman who with all his
strength made a most

mighty swing at his ball on the tee with the usual result—a
foozle? "It'll nae do,

sir; ye ken ye canna drive as far as that." "Wha—

wha—what do you mean by such a remark? As far as what?"
gasped the reverend but irate gentleman. "I jist mean, sir,
that ye canna drive as far as ye wad like."

Perhaps we shall never hear the best caddie stories, for is

it not likely that a

great abundance of them are made and told in the sheds after
the day's play is over, and when the golfer's tools
are being wiped and cleaned, and his irons burnished to
a beautiful brightness? It is then that the caddie is
in his happiest vein, his tongue and disposition
untrammelled by the presence of the club

members. "What're ye doin' cleanin' them clubs so grand?" asked

one caddie of

another, who was evidently bestowing unusual pains on the

polishing of the set

that were in his keeping. The caddie was in a thoughtful

mood. He was the

regular attendant of an old golfer who had had a most

disastrous day. "I'm to clean 'em better than ever," he
answered. "And when I've cleaned 'em I've got to break 'em
across my knee. And then I've got to chuck 'em in the
bloomin' river."

Sometimes, we see, if he is a simple-hearted, faithful

caddie, his lot is not a happy one.
C H A P T E R X X I I I

REFLECTIONS AND RECOLLECTIONS

Good golf to come—Giants of the past—The amateurs of to-day—The

greatness

of "Freddy" Tait—Modern professionals—Good sportsmen and good

friends

—A misconception—The constant strain—How we always play our

best—

Difficult tasks—No "close season" in golf—Spectators at big

matches—

Certain anecdotes—Putting for applause—Shovelling from a

bunker—The

greatest match I have ever played in—A curious incident—A record

in halves

—A coincidence—The exasperation of Andrew—The coming of spring

—The

joyful golfer.

ITHINK that every good golfer of experience reflects upon his

past history with

mingled pleasure and sorrow—pleasure when he calls to mind

all the many

glorious matches in which he has taken part, and sorrow when

the thought arises

that all that golf has been played and done with, and can never
be played again.

But we have all this abiding consolation, that even if we

cannot retain our very

best form to the end of our days, we can hope still

to play a good game to the finish, and there is the heroic
example of rare old Tom Morris to stimulate us in

this hope. Much is given to golfers,—perhaps more than to

the participators in any other sport,—but they are rarely
satisfied. The wonderful fascination of golf

is indicated in this eternal longing for more. Sometimes when

I glance over the

records of the history of the game, I feel a

twinge of regret that it was not possible for me to
play with, or even to see, such giants of the past as
Allan Robertson, David Strath, the Dunns, Willie Campbell, Willie
Park, senior, or the
famous young Tom Morris. Golf is great to-day, but it must
have been great in

those days also, even if there was less of it than there is now.

But I have had the good fortune to play with all the well-
known amateurs

and professionals of my own time, and it is pleasant to

think that they are nearly

all still alive, and that therefore I may sometime or

another play with them again.

There is one great exception—Mr. Fred Tait, who was killed in

South Africa. I

don't think anyone could ever have the smallest doubt

about the reason for his enormous popularity. I had the
delight of playing against him two or three times,

and I thought that he was not only a very fine golfer

indeed, but one of the very

finest gentlemen that I could imagine. It is something for

me to remember that I

played in the last important match in which he figured before

he went out to the

war—an international foursome, England v. Scotland, that was

played at Ganton,

Willie Park and Mr. Tait representing Scotland, while Mr. John
Ball, junior, and I

were for England. From all the amateurs with whom I have ever
come in contact

I have always received the very greatest kindness and

encouragement, and I do

not know a single one with whom I would not like to

play again some day or other. It has always seemed to
me that there is something about golf that makes a

man a good fellow whether he is amateur or

professional.

I wish to speak in the same way about my

professional brothers as I have

done about the amateurs. I have always found them all

first-class sportsmen in the strictest and best sense of the word,
and some of the best friends I have in the

world are among them. There are some very fine players
among the
professionals of to-day. I have often watched and
greatly admired the splendid skill of such friends and
constant opponents as J.H. Taylor, James Braid,

Alexander Herd, Jack White, and many others whose names

would fill a page,

not forgetting my own brother Tom. I have from time to time

been indebted to

many of them for various acts of kindness. There is a fine

spirit of freemasonry

amongst us professionals. Whenever we play against each other

each of us does

his level best to win, and gives no quarter with a

single stroke, but it has been my invariable experience that
when the match is over the loser is always the first

to congratulate the winner, and to do it not as a

mere matter of form but with the

very utmost sincerity.

And here I should like to say a few words with the

object of removing a

misconception which still seems to linger in the minds of

followers of the game.

"Dear me, Vardon, what a grand time you fellows have,

travelling all over the country in this manner, and doing
nothing but playing golf on the very best

courses," is the kind of remark that often greets me

when I have just returned from playing in one match or
tournament, and am due to start for another in a day
or two. But I am not sure that we have such a grand
time as those who say

these things seem to think. We enjoy it just because

we enjoy everything

connected with golf, and particularly the playing of it;

but playing these

exhibition matches is not quite the same thing as going away for
the week-end

and having a quiet round or two with a friend, however

hard you may try to beat

him. Some people entertain a fancy that we do not need to

strain ourselves to the

utmost in these engagements, and that therefore we take

things easily. I can
answer for myself, and I am sure for all my brother
professionals, that we never

take things easily, that we always play the very best golf
of which we are

capable, and that if a championship rested on each match

we could not play any

better. It must be remembered that when we are invited by

any club to play an

exhibition match, that club expects to see some golf, and thus
it happens that the

fear of a great responsibility is always overhanging us. We

dare not play tricks with such reputations as we may have
had the good fortune to obtain. We are always well aware
that there are very good golfers in the crowd, who are

watching and criticising every stroke that we make. Therefore we

keep ourselves

in the very best of condition, and do our utmost always

to play our best. How difficult is our task when sometimes
we are not feeling as well as we might wish

—as must occasionally happen—I will leave the charitable

reader to imagine.

Has he ever felt like playing his best game when a little
below par in either mind

or body? This is where the really hard work of the

professional's life comes in.

There is no "close season" in golf, as in cricket,

football, and other sports. When a cricketer plays
indifferently, after two months of the game, his admirers
cry out

that he is stale and needs a rest. But there

are eleven players on each side in a cricket match, and
constant rests for all of them, so that to my mind their
work is

very light in comparison with that of the golfer, who enjoys

no "close season,"

and has all the work of each match on his own shoulders.
Surely he also must become stale, but such a state on
his part is not tolerated. Again, one often hears

that a certain match between professional players has

been halved purposely—

that is to say, that it was an arranged thing from start to

finish. Such things may
have happened in other sports, but take it from me that it
never, never happens in

golf. One man never plays down to another, whatever disparity there
may be in

their respective degrees of skill. It does not matter how

many holes one is up on

one's opponent; there is never any slackening until the

game has been won. It makes no difference if the man you are
playing against is your very best friend

or your brother, and one has sometimes to pass through the

trying ordeal of

straining his every nerve to win a match when in

his heart of hearts, for some particular reason, he would
like the other man to win. I intrude these affairs of

our own in these concluding reflections only for the purpose of

indicating that,

though we love our game and always enjoy it, professional

golf is not quite the

same thing as that played by amateurs, and must not be

judged from the same standpoint. I think it is because of
this continual sense of a great responsibility,

and the custom and necessity of always—absolutely always—trying

to play our

very best game, that the leading professionals are constantly

a stroke or two better than the most skilful amateurs, even
though the latter practise the game quite as much, and have
apparently just as much opportunity, or even more, of

making themselves perfect.

I have mentioned the spectators. I have generally found

the crowds who

follow a big professional match round the links

both highly intelligent and

exceedingly considerate. But sometimes we overhear some strange

things said.

Taylor and I were once fulfilling an important engagement

together, and when

my opponent had a particularly difficult shot to play,

two ladies came up quite close to him and persisted in
talking in a loud tone of voice. Taylor waited
for a

little while in the hope that their chatter would cease, but
it did not. Then, in a
feeling of desperation, he attempted to address his ball;
but the task was

hopeless. The conversation went on more loudly than ever, and

he was doomed

to certain failure if he attempted his stroke in these

circumstances. So he stood

up again, and looked round in the direction whence the

voices came. "Oh," said

one of the ladies then, "you can go on now. We've quite

finished." We must be

thankful for small mercies. James Braid and I were

once playing down at

Beckenham. At one of the putting greens we were both a

long way from the

hole. My ball was a trifle the more distant of the two,

and so I played the odd,

and managed to get down a wonderfully fine putt. Then

Braid played the like

and holed out also. These were two rather creditable

achievements with our

putters. When his ball had trickled safely into the hole, and
the spectators were

moving towards the next tee, Braid and I were amused, but
not flattered, by the

words of a man who was speaking to a friend in such

a loud voice that we could

all hear. "Oh," he exclaimed deprecatingly, "those

fellows only do that sort of thing for the sake of the
applause!" How happy we should be if we could always

make certain of those long putts without any applause at all!

It was with Braid

also that I was playing in a match at Luton towards the

close of last year, when I

overheard a singular remark. I happened to be bunkered

at the fourteenth, and took my niblick to get out, but
lost the hole. We walked on together to the next

tee, and Braid was taking his stance when we heard

two gentlemen eagerly

discussing and explaining the recent bunker incident. Evidently

one of them was
supposed to know something of golf and the other nothing at
all. "You see," said the former to his friend, "there
is really no rule in the matter at all. Vardon
or any other player could have used a shovel in that
bunker and have simply shovelled

the ball over on to the other side." I was surprised that

Braid got his next tee shot in so well as he did. And
how very often have I heard the question asked in the

crowd, "Why do those fellows chalk the faces of

their clubs?" and how invariably has the answer been, "So that
they can see afterwards where they hit

the ball!" When I write my recollection of these

things, I do not wish it to be imagined that I am
making any sort of accusation against golf crowds
generally.

They are excellent from all points of view; but it must

inevitably happen that there are some people among them who know
little of the game, and others who

do not appreciate what a trying ordeal a hard-fought match

usually is.

Such questions are often put to me as, "Vardon, what was the
greatest match

in which you ever played?" or, "What was the most

extraordinary occurrence you have ever seen on the links?" and
so forth. They are questions which it is difficult to
answer, for is not nearly every match that we play
brimful of incident

and interest, and at the time do we not regard many of

the incidents as most extraordinary? It would, then, be
too serious a task to attempt a selection from such a
huge mass. But, looking back over the last few years, it
seems that my

£100 match with Willie Park is that which remains uppermost in

my mind, and

the one that I am least likely to forget. There was more

talking and writing about

it than about any other match in which I have played. The

"gallery" that followed this match was the greatest I have
ever seen or heard of. And as I am questioned

also about the curious and the singular in golf, I

may say that there was a coincidence in this game that struck
me at the time as being quite unusual. In a

closely-fought match it is often interesting to

notice how nearly each player's ball often follows the other.
Frequently they are side by side within one or two
clubs' length after the drives from the tee. But in
the first stage of this match against Park, after he had
driven a long ball from the tee at the eleventh hole,
I

drove and my ball pitched exactly on the top of his! The

Messrs. Hunter were kindly serving in the capacity of
forecaddies, and they were both positive upon

this incident. My ball after striking his rebounded slightly, and

then stopped dead

about two feet behind. Its position rather affected my

follow-through, so that I duffed my stroke and lost the hole.
This record—if it was a record—was also the

means of eclipsing what I believe was another record in

first-class golf. The first

ten holes in this match were halved, and it was the incident
of which I have just

been speaking and the duffed stroke that followed it that

led to the breaking of

the sequence.

"Now, Vardon, how often have you holed out in one?"

they ask me also, regardless of the fact that this event demands
not only a perfect shot but a perfect

fluke, and that the professional player is no more

likely to accomplish it than anyone else. Well, I
have only been guilty of this fluke on one occasion—and that
was not so very long ago—and when it happened it was
at a hole a little over two hundred yards in
length. On one occasion, also, I have enjoyed the

coincidence of holing out with my mashie approach at the

same hole twice in

one day. That was in the course of a tournament at Elie,

in which I had the good

fortune to finish first. As it happened, Andrew

Kirkaldy, who hoped to end high

up in the list, was my partner for the first round, and

it came about also that he

was watching me play when the holing-out process was

accomplished for the

second time. Then he lifted up his hands in horror and

 delivered himself of his

famous remark, "Ye're enough to break the heart of an

iron ox!" During the last round of this same tournament
Andrew, who was playing some holes behind me,

and was then himself in the running for the first place,
was kept posted up by a

friend as to my score for each hole. He did not

seem to derive much

encouragement from the reports, for when the last one was
carried to him he

asked the friend who brought it if he thought that there

was nobody who could

play golf besides Vardon, and intimated at the same time that
if anyone else brought him any more of those tales
he would strike him with his niblick! Of course we all
know what a really fine fellow is Andrew Kirkaldy,
and how much

poorer the golf world would be without his presence and his
constant humour.

And now I think I have holed out on the last green

and this long match is finished. After all it is
better to play golf than to write or read about it.
What anticipation is more gloriously joyful than that of the man
who handles his driver

on the first tee on a bright morning of the spring-time!

He has all the round, and

all the day, and all the spring and summer and autumn
before him. And at this

moment another spring is breaking brightly, and the golf

that is before each of us

promises to be as momentous and soul-satisfying as any that

has gone before.

A P P E N D I X

THE RULES OF GOLF

Authorised by the Royal and Ancient Golf Club of St.

Andrews, revised by the Club to September 27, 1904, and
in force at the date of publication of this work.

1. DEFINITIONS.—( a) The Game of Golf is played by two sides,

each playing

its own ball. A side consists either of one or of two

players. If one player play
against another the match is called a "single." If two
play against two, it is called a "foursome." One player
may play against two playing one ball between them,

when the match is called a "threesome." Matches constituted

as above shall have precedence of and be entitled to pass
any other kind of match.

( b) The game consists in each side playing a ball from a

teeing-ground into a

hole by successive strokes, and the hole is won by the side

which holes its ball in

fewer strokes than the opposite side, except as otherwise

provided for in the Rules. If the sides hole out in the same
number of strokes, the hole is halved.

( c) The "teeing-ground" is the starting-point for a hole, and

shall be indicated by two marks placed in a line as
nearly as possible at right angles to the course.

The hole shall be 4¼ inches in diameter, and at least 4

inches deep.

( d) The "putting-green" is all ground within 20 yards

of the hole, except hazards.

( e) A "hazard" is any bunker, water (except casual

water), sand, path, road, railway, whin, bush, rushes, rabbit
scrape, fence, or ditch. Sand blown on to the

grass, or sprinkled on the course for its preservation,

bare patches, sheep tracks,

snow, and ice are not hazards. Permanent grass within a hazard
is not part of the

hazard.

( f) "Through the green" is any part of the course

except hazards and the putting-green which is being played
to.

( g) "Out of bounds" is any place outside the defined

or recognised boundaries of the course.

( h) "Casual water" is any temporary accumulation of water

(whether caused

by rainfall or otherwise) which is not one of the ordinary

and recognised hazards of the course.

( i) A ball is "in play" as soon as the player has made

a stroke at the teeing-ground in each hole, and
remains in play until holed out, except when lifted in

accordance with the Rules.

( j) A ball has "moved" only if it leave its original
position in the least degree, and stop in another; but if
it merely oscillate, without finally leaving its
original

position, it has not "moved."

( k) A ball is "lost" if it be not found within five

minutes after the search for it is begun.

( l) A "match" consists of one round of the links,

unless it be otherwise agreed.

A match is won by the side which is leading by

a number of holes greater

than the number of holes remaining to be played. If

each side win the same

number of holes, the match is halved.

( m) A "stroke" is any movement of the ball caused by

the player, except as provided for in Rule 3, or any
downward movement of the club made with the

intention of striking the ball.

( n) A "penalty stroke" is a stroke added to the score

of a side under certain rules, and does not affect the
rotation of play.

( o) The "honour" is the privilege of playing first from a

teeing-ground.

( p) A player has "addressed the ball" when he has taken up

his position and grounded his club, or if in a
hazard, when he has taken up his position

preparatory to striking the ball.

( q) The reckoning of strokes is kept by the terms—"the odd,"

"two more,"

"three more," etc., and "one off three," "one off two," "the
like." The reckoning of holes is kept by the terms—so
many "holes up," or "all even," and so many

"to play."

2. A match begins by each side playing a ball from the

first teeing-ground.

The player who shall play first on each side shall be named by
his own side.

The option of taking the honour at the first teeing-

ground shall be decided, if

necessary, by lot.
A ball played from in front of, or outside of, or more
than two club lengths

behind the marks indicating the teeing-ground, or played

by a player when his opponent should have had the
honour, may be at once recalled by the opposite side, and
may be re-teed without penalty.

The side which wins a hole shall have the honour at the next
teeing-ground.

If a hole has been halved, the side which had the honour
at the previous teeing-

ground shall retain the honour.

On beginning a new match, the winner of the long match

in the previous

round shall have the honour, or if the previous match was halved
the side which

last won a hole shall have the honour.

3. If the ball fall or be knocked off the tee in

addressing it, no penalty shall

be incurred, and it may be replaced, and if struck when

moving no penalty shall

be incurred.

4. In a threesome or foursome the partners shall

strike off alternately from

the teeing-grounds, and shall strike alternately during the play

of the hole.

If a player play when his partner should have done so,

his side shall lose the

hole.

5. When the balls are in play, the ball further from the hole
which the players

are approaching shall be played first, except as

otherwise provided for in the Rules. If a player play when
his opponent should have done so, the opponent

may at once recall the stroke. A ball so recalled shall

be dropped, in the manner

prescribed in Rule 15, as near as possible to the place

where it lay, without penalty.

6. The ball must be fairly struck at, not pushed,

scraped, nor spooned, under
penalty of the loss of the hole.

7. A ball must be played wherever it lies or the hole

be given up, except as

otherwise provided for in the Rules.

8. Unless with the opponent's consent, a ball in play shall

not be moved nor

touched before the hole is played out, under penalty

of one stroke, except as otherwise provided for in the
Rules. But the player may touch his ball with his

club in the act of addressing it, provided he does not move

it, without penalty.

If the player's ball move the opponent's ball through the green,
the opponent,

if he choose, may drop a ball (without penalty) as near

as possible to the place

where it lay, but this must be done before another stroke

is played.

9. In playing through the green, any loose impediment

(not being in or

touching a hazard) which is within a club length of

the ball may be removed. If

the player's ball move after any such loose impediment has been
touched by the

player, his partner, or either of their caddies, the

penalty shall be one stroke. If

any loose impediment (not being on the putting-green) which is more

than a club

length from the ball be removed, the penalty shall be the

loss of the hole.

10. Any vessel, wheel-barrow, tool, roller, grass

cutter, box or similar

obstruction may be removed. If a ball be moved in so doing,

it may be replaced

without penalty. A ball lying on or touching such obstruction,

or on clothes, nets,

or ground under repair or covered up or opened for

the purpose of the upkeep of

the links, may be lifted and dropped without penalty

as near as possible to the place where it lay, but not nearer
 the hole. A ball lifted in a hazard, under such

circumstances, shall be dropped in the hazard.

A ball lying in a golf hole or flag hole, or in a hole

made by the greenkeeper,

may be lifted and dropped without penalty as near as

possible to the place where

it lay, but not nearer the hole.

11. Before striking at a ball in play, the player

shall not move, bend, nor break anything fixed or
growing near the ball, except in the act of placing
his feet on the ground for the purpose of addressing the
ball, in soling his club to address the ball, and in his upward
or downward swing, under penalty of the loss

of the hole, except as otherwise provided for in the Rules.

12. When a ball lies in or touches a hazard, nothing

shall be done to improve

its lie; the club shall not touch the ground, nor shall
anything be touched or moved before the player
strikes at the ball, subject to the following exceptions:

—(1) The player may place his feet firmly on the

ground for the purpose of

addressing the ball; (2) in addressing the ball, or in

the upward or downward swing, any grass, bent, whin, or other
growing substance, or the side of a bunker,

wall, paling, or other immovable obstacle, may be touched;

(3) steps or planks placed in a hazard by the Green
Committee for access to or egress from such hazard
may be removed, and if a ball be moved in so doing,
it may be replaced

without penalty; (4) any loose impediments may be

removed from the putting-

green; (5) the player shall be entitled to find his ball

as provided for by Rule 31.

The penalty for a breach of this Rule shall be the loss

of the hole.

13. A player or caddie shall not press down nor remove

any irregularities of

surface near a ball in play. Dung, worm-casts, or mole-hills may

be removed (but

not pressed down) without penalty. The penalty for a breach

of this Rule shall be
the loss of the hole.

14. (1) If a ball lie or be lost in water or in casual

water in a hazard, a ball

may be dropped in or as far behind the hazard as

the player may please, under

penalty of one stroke; but if it be impossible from want

of space in which to play,

or from any other cause, to drop the ball behind the

hazard, the player may drop

a ball at the side of the hazard as near as possible

to where the ball lay, but not

nearer to the hole, under penalty of one stroke. (2) If

a ball lie or be lost in casual

water through the green, or if casual water through the

green interferes with the

player's stance, the player may drop a ball, without

penalty, within two club lengths from the margin directly
behind the place where the ball lay, or from the

margin nearest to the place where the ball lay, but not nearer
to the hole. If the

ball when dropped roll into the water, or rest so that the
water interferes with the

player's stance, it may be re-dropped, without penalty,

as near to the margin as the nature of the ground
permits, but not nearer to the hole. (3) In dropping
a ball

behind the spot from which the ball was lifted, the player
shall keep that spot, or,

in the case of water, the spot at which the ball entered,

in a line between himself

and the hole. Wherever it is impossible to drop a ball

as prescribed in sections (1) and (2), it shall be dropped
as near as possible to the place where it lay, but

not nearer to the hole. (4) If a ball lie in casual

water on a putting-green, a ball

may be placed by hand behind the water without

penalty. The penalty for a

breach of this Rule shall be the loss of the hole.

15. A ball shall be dropped in the following manner:—The

player himself
shall drop it. He shall face the hole, stand erect
and drop the ball behind him from his head. If the ball
when dropped touch the player he shall incur no

penalty, and if it roll into a hazard it may be re-

dropped without penalty. The penalty for a breach of
this Rule shall be the loss of the hole.

16. When the balls lie within six inches of each other on
the putting-green, or

within a club length of each other through the green or

in a hazard (the distance

to be measured from their nearest points), the ball

nearer the hole may, at the option of either the player
or the opponent, be lifted until the other is played,
and

shall then be replaced as near as possible to the place

where it lay. If the ball further from the hole be moved in
so doing, or in measuring the distance, it shall

be replaced without penalty. If the lie of the lifted

ball be altered by the player in

playing, the ball may be placed in a lie as nearly

as possible similar to that from

which it was lifted, but not nearer the hole.

17. Any loose impediments may be removed from the

putting-green,

irrespective of the position of the player's ball. The

opponent's ball may not be

moved except as provided for by the immediately preceding Rule.

If the player's

ball move after any loose impediment lying within six

inches of it has been

touched by the player, his partner, or either of their

caddies, the penalty shall be

one stroke.

18. When the ball is on the putting-green, the player or

his caddie may

remove (but not press down) sand, earth, dung, worm-casts, mole-hills,
snow, or

ice lying around the hole or in the line of his putt. This
shall be done by brushing

lightly with the hand only across the putt and not along it.
Dung may be removed
by a club, but the club must not be laid with more than its
own weight upon the

ground. The line of the putt must not be touched, except

with the club

immediately in front of the ball, in the act of

addressing it, or as above

authorised. The penalty for a breach of this Rule is the

loss of the hole.

19. When the ball is on the putting-green, no mark shall be

placed, nor line

drawn as a guide. The line of the putt may be pointed

out by the player's caddie,

his partner, or his partner's caddie, but the person doing

so must not touch the ground.

The player's caddie, his partner, or his partner's caddie,

may stand at the hole,

but no player nor caddie shall endeavour, by moving or

otherwise, to influence

the action of the wind upon the ball.

The penalty for a breach of this Rule is the loss of

the hole.

20. When on the putting-green, a player shall not play

until his opponent's

ball is at rest, under penalty of one stroke.

21. Either side is entitled to have the flag-stick removed

when approaching

the hole, but if a player's ball strike the flag-stick which

has been so removed by

himself, or his partner, or either of their caddies, his

side shall lose the hole. If

the ball rest against the flag-stick when in the hole, the player
shall be entitled to

remove the stick, and if the ball fall in, it shall be

deemed as having been holed

out at the last stroke. If the player's ball knock in the

opponent's ball, the latter

shall be deemed as having been holed out at the last

stroke. If the player's ball
move the opponent's ball, the opponent, if he choose, may
replace it, but this must be done before another stroke
is played. If the player's ball stop on the spot

formerly occupied by the opponent's ball, and the opponent

declare his intention

to replace, the player shall first play another

stroke, after which the opponent shall replace and play
his ball. If the opponent's ball lie on the edge of the
hole,

the player, after holing out, may knock it away, claiming the
hole if holing at the

like, and the half if holing at the odd, provided that the
player's ball does not strike the opponent's ball and set it in
motion. If after the player's ball is in the

hole, the player neglect to knock away the opponent's ball, and
it fall in also, the

opponent shall be deemed to have holed out at his last

stroke.

22. If a ball in motion be stopped or deflected by

any agency outside the match, or by the forecaddie, the ball
must be played from where it lies, and the

occurrence submitted to as a "rub of the green." If a

ball lodge in anything

moving, a ball shall be dropped as near as possible to

the place where the object was when the ball lodged in it,
without penalty. If a ball at rest be displaced by any
agency outside the match, excepting wind, the
player shall drop a ball as near as possible to the
place where it lay, without penalty. On the putting-green

the ball shall be replaced by hand, without penalty.

23. If the player's ball strike, or be moved by an

opponent or an opponent's

caddie or clubs, the opponent shall lose the hole.

24. When a player has holed out and his opponent has been
left with a putt

for the half, nothing that the player can do shall deprive
him of the half which he

has already gained.

25. If a player's ball strike, or be stopped by

himself or his partner, or either

of their caddies or clubs, his side shall lose the hole.

26. If the player, when not intending to make a stroke,
or his partner, or

either of their caddies, move his or their ball, or by

touching anything cause it to

move when it is in play, the penalty shall be one stroke.

If a ball in play move,

after the player has grounded his club in the act of

addressing it, or, when in a

hazard, if he has taken up his stand to play it, he shall

be deemed to have caused

it to move, and the movement shall be counted as his

stroke.

27. Except from the tee a player shall not play while
his ball is moving,

under penalty of the loss of the hole. If the ball only

begin to move while the player is making his upward or
downward swing, he shall incur no penalty for playing
while it is moving, but is not exempted from the
penalty stroke which he

may have incurred under Rules 9, 17, or 26, and in

a foursome a stroke lost under Rule 26 shall not, in these
circumstances, be counted as the stroke of the

player so as to render him liable for having played

when his partner should have

done so.

28. If the player when making a stroke strike the

ball twice, the penalty shall

be one stroke, and he shall incur no further

penalty by reason of his having played while his ball was
moving.

29. If a player play the opponent's ball, his side shall lose
the hole, unless (1)

the opponent then play the player's ball, whereby the

penalty is cancelled, and the hole must be played out with
the balls thus exchanged, or (2) the mistake occur through
wrong information given by the opponent or his caddie, in
which

case there shall be no penalty, but the mistake, if discovered

before the opponent

has played, must be rectified by placing a ball as near

as possible to the place where the opponent's ball lay.

If a player play a stroke with the ball of a party

 not engaged in the match, and the mistake be discovered
and intimated to his opponent before his opponent

has played his next stroke, there shall be no

penalty; but if the mistake be not discovered and so
intimated until after the opponent has played his next
stroke,

the player's side shall lose the hole.

30. If a ball be lost, except as otherwise provided

for in the Rules, the

player's side shall lose the hole; but if both balls

be lost, the hole shall be considered halved.

31. If a ball lie in fog, bent, whins, long grass,

or the like, only so much thereof shall be touched as
will enable the player to find his ball; but if a
ball lie

in sand, the sand shall not be touched. The penalty for a

breach of this Rule shall

be the loss of the hole.

32. If a ball be played out of bounds, a ball shall

be dropped at the spot from

which the stroke was played, under penalty of loss of the

distance. A ball played

out of bounds need not be found.

If it be doubtful whether a ball has been played out

of bounds, another may

be dropped and played; but if it be discovered that the

first ball is not out of bounds, it shall continue in play
without penalty.

A player may stand out of bounds to play a ball lying

within bounds.

33. A player shall not ask for advice from anyone except
his own caddie, his

partner, or his partner's caddie, nor shall he willingly be

otherwise advised in any

way whatever, under penalty of the loss of the hole.

34. If a ball split into separate pieces, another ball may

be put down where

the largest portion lies; or if two pieces are apparently

of equal size it may be put

where either piece lies, at the option of the player. If

 a ball crack or become unfit for play, the player may
change it on intimating to his opponent his intention
to

do so. Mud adhering to a ball shall not be considered as

making it unfit for play.

35. When no penalty for the breach of a rule is

stated, the penalty shall be the

loss of the hole.

36. If a dispute arise on any point, the players have

the right of determining

the party or parties to whom it shall be referred, but should

they not agree, either

side may refer it to the Rules of Golf Committee, whose decision

shall be final.

If the point in dispute be not covered by the Rules

of Golf, the arbiters must decide it by equity.

37. An umpire or referee, when appointed, shall take

cognisance of any

breach of rule that he may observe, whether he be

appealed to on the point or not.

SPECIAL RULES FOR STROKE COMPETITIONS.

1. In Stroke Competitions, the competitor who holes the

stipulated course in

fewest strokes shall be the winner.

2. If the lowest scores be made by two or more

competitors, the tie or ties shall be decided by another
round to be played on the same day. But if the Green

Committee determine that to be inexpedient or impossible,

they shall then

appoint the following or some subsequent day whereon the tie

or ties shall be decided.

3. New holes shall be made for Stroke Competitions,

and thereafter before

starting no competitor shall play on any of the putting-

greens, nor shall he

intentionally play at any of the holes nor on to any of

the putting-greens, under

penalty of disqualification.

4. The scores for each hole shall be kept by a

special marker, or by the

competitors noting each other's scores. The scores marked

ought to be called out

after each hole, and on completion of the round the cards shall be
signed by the

marker, under penalty of disqualification, and handed

in. Competitors must

satisfy themselves before the cards are handed in that their

scores for each hole are correctly marked, as no
alteration can be made on any card after it has been

returned. If it be found that a score returned is

below that actually played, the competitor shall be
disqualified. For the addition of the scores marked the

Secretary or his deputy shall be responsible.

5. If a competitor play from outside the limits of the

teeing-ground, the

penalty shall be disqualification.

6. If a ball be lost (except as otherwise provided for

in the Rules of Golf), the

competitor shall return as near as possible to the spot

from which the lost ball was struck, tee a ball, and
lose a penalty stroke. The lost ball shall continue in
play, if it be found before the player has struck
another ball. The penalty for a breach of this Rule shall
be disqualification.

7. If a competitor's ball strike himself, his clubs or

caddie, the penalty shall

be one stroke.

8. If a competitor's ball strike another competitor, or

his clubs or caddie, it is

a "rub of the green," and the ball shall be played

from where it lies. If a competitor's ball which is at
rest be moved by another competitor or his caddie,

or his club or his ball, or by any outside agency

excepting wind, it shall be replaced as near as
possible to the place, where it lay without penalty.

9. A competitor shall hole out with his own ball at every hole,
under penalty

of disqualification. But if it be discovered, before he has

struck off from the next

teeing-ground, or if the mistake occur at the last hole,

 before he has handed in his card, that he has
not holed out with his own ball, he shall be at
liberty to return and hole out with his own ball, without
penalty.

10. A ball may be lifted from any place under penalty of

two strokes. A ball

so lifted shall be teed if possible behind the place where

it lay. If it be impossible

to tee the ball behind the place where it lay, it shall be

teed as near as possible

thereto, but not nearer the hole. The penalty for a

breach of this Rule shall be disqualification.

11. All balls shall be holed out under penalty

of disqualification. When a

competitor's ball is within 20 yards of the hole,

the competitor shall not play until the flag has been removed,
under penalty of one stroke. When both balls are on the
putting-green, if the player's ball strike the opponent's
ball the player

shall lose a stroke. The ball nearer the hole shall, on

request of the player, be either lifted or holed out
at the option of the owner, under penalty of his
disqualification. Through the green a competitor may have any
other

competitor's ball lifted, if he find that it interferes with

his stroke.

12. A competitor, unless specially authorised by the Green

Committee, shall

not play with a professional, and he may not willingly

receive advice from any

one but his caddie, in any way whatever, under penalty of

disqualification.

A forecaddie may be employed.

13. Competitors shall not discontinue play or delay to start on

account of bad

weather, nor for any other reason whatever, except such as

is satisfactory to the

Committee of the Club in charge of the competition. The

penalty for a breach of

this Rule is disqualification.

14. Where in the Rules of Golf the penalty for the breach
of any Rule is the
loss of the hole, in Stroke Competitions the penalty
shall be the loss of two strokes, except where otherwise
provided for in these Special Rules.

15. Any dispute regarding the play shall be determined by the

Rules of Golf

Committee.

16. The Rules of Golf, so far as they are not at variance

with these Special

Rules, shall apply to Stroke Competitions.

RULES FOR THREE-BALL MATCHES.

In matches in which three players play against each

other, each playing his

own ball (hereinafter referred to as "a three-ball match"),

or in which one player plays his own ball against the
best ball of two players (hereinafter referred to as

"a best ball match"), the Rules of Golf shall apply,

subject to the following modifications:—

1. Where, in a three-ball match, at any teeing-ground

no player is entitled to

claim the honour from both opponents, the same order of

striking shall be followed as at the previous teeing-
ground.

2. Except as hereinafter provided, the side whose ball

is furthest from the

hole shall play first, but a ball lying nearer the hole and
belonging to one of that

side may, at their option, be played before the ball lying

furthest from the hole. If

a player play when his opponent should have done so he

shall incur no penalty.

3. If a player consider that an opponent's ball on the

putting-green might

interfere with his stroke, he may require the opponent either

to lift or to hole out

his ball at the opponent's discretion.

4. If an opponent consider that the ball of another

opponent might be of

assistance to the player, he may require that it be either

lifted or holed out at the
other opponent's discretion.

5. If an opponent consider that his own ball might be

of assistance to the

player, he is entitled to lift it or hole out at his

discretion.

6. If an opponent consider that the player's partner's ball

might be of

assistance to the player, he may require that it be either

lifted or holed out at the

player's partner's discretion.

7. In a three-ball match, a ball on the putting-green,

which is moved by

another ball, must be replaced as nearly as possible where

it lay.

8. In a best ball match, if a player's ball move his

partner's ball or an

opponent's ball, the opponent shall in either case decide

whether the moved ball

shall be replaced or not.

9. If in a three-ball match a player's ball strike or

be moved by an opponent

or an opponent's caddie or clubs, that opponent shall lose

the hole to the player.

As regards the other opponent, the occurrence is "a rub of

the green."

10. In a best ball match, if a player's ball strike

or be moved by an opponent

or an opponent's caddie or clubs, the opponent's side shall

lose the hole.

11. In a best ball match, if a player's ball (the

player being one of a side)

strike or be stopped by himself or his partner or

either of their caddies or clubs, that player only shall
be disqualified for that hole.

12. In all other cases where a player would

by the Rules of Golf incur the loss of the hole,
he shall be disqualified for that hole, but the
disqualification shall not apply to his partner.

ETIQUETTE OF GOLF.
1. A single player has no standing, and must always
give way to a properly

constituted match.

2. No player, caddie, or onlooker should move or talk

during a stroke.

3. No player should play from the tee until the party

in front have played

their second strokes and are out of range, nor play up

to the putting-green till the

party in front have holed out and moved away.

4. The player who has the honour from the tee should
be allowed to play

before his opponent tees his ball.

5. Players who have holed out should not try their

putts over again when

other players are following them.

6. Players looking for a lost ball must allow other matches

coming up to pass

them.

7. On request being made, a three-ball match must allow a

single, threesome,

or foursome to pass. Any match playing a whole

round may claim the right to pass a match playing a
shorter round.

8. If a match fail to keep its place on the

green, and lose in distance more than one clear hole on those
in front, it may be passed, on request being made.

9. Turf cut or displaced by a stroke should be at

once replaced.

10. A player should carefully fill up all holes made by

himself in a bunker.

11. It is the duty of an umpire or referee to take

cognisance of any breach of rule that he may observe,
whether he be appealed to on this point or not.

I N D E X
Addressing the ball, 62, 81, 171, 173.

Alps at Prestwick, 222.

Amateur Championship. See Championship.

Amateur golf in Great Britain, 233, 234.

America, golf in, 232, 234;

tour in, 235;

spectators in, 238;

novel experiences in, 242, 243, 244.

American Championship, 23, 235, 241.

Anson, American baseball player, and golf, 240.

Approach play. See Mashie, play with the.

Arms, action of the, in driving, 67, 69, 72.

Ashburnham links, 227.

Auchterlonie, Willie, 13, 15.

Backward swing in the drive, 65, 68, 173, 174.

Baffy, possibilities of play with, 83;

stance for, 83.

Balfour, Mr. A.J., how he learned golf, 30;

anecdotes by, 252;

preference in caddies, 253;

and "Big Crawford," 254;

interesting compliment, 255.

Ball, clean, 170;

rubber-cored. See Rubber-cored balls.

Ball, Mr. John, jun., 223, 234, 260.

Beckenham, incident at, 263.

Beginners, advice to, 25.

Beginning, Vardon's, at golf, 2, 4;

first clubs, 5;

first matches, 6;
how he learned, 8.

Berwick, North, 17, 21, 225, 245, 247, 254.

"Big Crawford," 254.

Birth, Vardon's, 2.

Blyth, Mr. Edward, 256.

Body action in following through, 71.

Boomer, Mr. (Schoolmaster), 3.

Boots and shoes, 167.

Braces and belts, 166.

Brae Burn, match at, 235.

Braid, James, 96, 260, 263, 264.

Brancaster links, 228.

Brassy, play with in Championship, 23.

—— the, points of, 44, 49, 79.

—— play with the, first attempts, 32;

occasion for, 78;

stance for, 79, 80;

from good lie, 80;

from cuppy lie, 80, 81.

Brewster, Mr., at Jersey, 4.

Broadwood, Mr. C.C., 21.

Brown, D., 14.

Bunkers and bunker play, 131;

mistakes in regard to, 133;

swing with niblick in, 136;

long balls from, 138;

filling holes in, 175.

Bury Golf Club, professional to, 12.

Butcher, Mr. S.F. (Bury), 12.

Caddie, advice of, 171;

opponent's, 175;

anecdotes of, 245 et seq. ;

the ideal, 248;

girls as, 249;

caustic humour of, 250;

human kindness of, 254;

excess of zeal of, 257;

sorrows of, 258.

Campbell, Willie, 259.

Care of clubs, 50.

Carnoustie, merits of course, 225.

Championship, the Amateur, 233, 234.

—— the American, 23.

—— the Open, 3, 13, 14, 15, 16, 18, 20, 23, 248.

Cleek, the, varieties of and characteristics, 46, 49, 99.

—— play with the, first attempts, 33;

versatility of, 99;

stance, 103;

swing, 104;

push shot with, 105;

shot for low ball against wind, 108;

comparison of different shots, 108.

Clothes for golf, 166.

Clubs, golf (implements), 37;

first purchases, 38;

limitations, 40;

care of, 50;

for different strokes, 168;

experiments in competitions, 184.

Competition play, disappointments in, 177;

steadiness in, 178;

continuing with card, 179;

tactics in, 181;

caution in medal play, 182;

new clubs, 184;

time of play, 186;

watching opponents, 187.

Counting strokes, 167.

Course, studying in competition play, 183;

construction of. See Links.

Cox, Mr. Charles S., 240.

Cricket, 3.

Cromer links, 228.

Crowds, great golfing, 21.

Cruden Bay links, 225.

Cupped lies, play from, 81.

Cut stroke, the, with the mashie, 127.

Deal, tournament at, 15;

merits of links at, 228.

"Debauchery of long driving," 52.

Despair, golfer's, 26.

Diagrams, explanation of, 57.

Divots, replacing, 175.

Dogwood heads, 42.

Dollymount links, 226.

Dornoch links, 225.

Driver, the, points of, 40;

scared and socketed clubs, 41;

heads of, 42;

length and weight, 49, 53;

loft on face of, 54.

—— play with, first attempts, 32;

long balls with, 35, 36, 52, 75;

pleasure of, 53;

stance, 55, 56, 57;

the grip, 58;

the address, 62;

backward swing, 64;

follow-through, 71;

faulty driving, 72;

summary of advice, 77;

intentional pulling and slicing with, 85.

Dunn, Tom, 22, 30, 254, 259.

Dunn, Willie, 236, 237.

Dwelling at the tarn, 68.

Etiquette of golf, 161, 164, 165, 175, 277.

Excuses, golfer's, 26.

Experiments in golf, 172.

Eye on the ball, how and where to keep, 63, 65, 169.

Eyesight, defective, 174.

Faces, artificial, to wooden clubs, 42.

Findlay, American golfer, 242.

Finish of swing, 72, 173.

Florida, golf in, 236, 241.

Follow-through, the, in the drive, 71.

Football at Ganton, 3.

Formby links, 228.

Foursomes, partners in, 171;

old style, 188;

four-ball, 189;

tactics in, 190;

sociability of, 191;

mutual understanding in, 192;

junior partner in, 193;

handicapping in, 195;

classical story of, 196.

Freaks of style, 62.

Frosty weather, play in, 167.

Ganton, professional at, 15;

match with Willie Park at, 22;

caddies at, 246;

international foursome at, 260.

Gloves, 168.

Greens, putting, gauging strength of, 158;

etiquette and policy on, 165;

damaging, 175.

Grips, Vardon's overlapping, 59;

the two-V, 59;

tightness of, 60;

thickness of handle, 168.

Grouville, 2;

golf introduced to, 3.

Gullane links, 226.

Hands, right and left, grip with, 59, 60, 61;

variations of tightness, 61.

Harlech, links at, 227.

Head still, keeping the, 65, 172.

Herd, Alexander, 12, 14, 15, 260.

Hilton, Mr. Harold, 234.

Himalayas at Prestwick, 222.

Hints, general, 160.

Hoods for golf-bags, 50.

Hoylake, merits of course, 223;

best holes at, 224.

Huddersfield links, 231.

Hunstanton links, 228.

Hunter, the brothers, 21, 265.

Huntercombe links, merits of, 230.

Ilkley, 14.

Impact, moment of, 69, 70.

Improving one's game, 163.

Inland golf, 229.

Ireland, links in, 226 et seq.

Iron, the, points of, 47, 49, 113.

—— play with the, first attempts, 33;

time for, 113;

stance for, 114;

swing, 115;

relation of swing to distance, 116.

Islay, splendid links at, 225;

most difficult hole, 226.

Jersey, golf at, 2, 4.

Jersey Golf Club, Royal, 4.

Jigger, the, use of, 130.

Kay, James, 17.

Kilmalcolm, tournament at, 13.

Kilspindie links, 226.

Kingsbury, Lord, 257.

Kirkaldy, Andrew, 13, 14, 19, 142, 266.

Kirkaldy, Hugh, 13, 14.

Ladies, faults of, 71;

freedom on links, 198;

improvement of ladies' play, 199;

keenness of American, 200;

good pupils, 201;

same game as men's, 201;

swing for, 201;

clubs for, 202;

bad upward swings, 203;

need for tuition, 204.

Lahinch links, 226.

Laidlay, Mr. J.E., 223.

Lawrence Harbour (U.S.), match at, 237.

Leach, Henry, vi.

Learn golf, how to, 25.

Leather faces, 42.

Length of clubs, 48, 49.

Lie of clubs, 45.

Lindrick links, 231.

Links, on construction of, 205;

made in a hurry, 205;

long handicap men's links, 206;

time and study needed, 206;

maturing of, 206;

land required for, 207;

preliminary survey of, 208;

clearing of land, 209;

"penny wise and pound foolish," 209;

experimental drives, 210;

short holes, 210;

varieties of holes, 211;

too lengthy, 212;

direction of course, 213;

position of bunkers, 213;

class of player to suit, 213;

bunkers at the side, 215;

undulating greens, 216;

double tees, 217;

the best links, 219 et seq. ;

superiority of Sandwich, 220.

Littlestone links, 228.

Lloyd, Joseph, 15.

London links, 230.

Long heads, 43.

Lowe, George (St. Anne's-on-Sea), 9, 10.

Luffness links, 226, 254.

Lunch, golfer's, 169.

Luton, incident at, 264.

Machrihanish links, 225.

Maiden at Sandwich, 222.

Manchester links, 231.

Mashie, the, points of, 47, 49, 119.

—— play with the, first attempts, 33,

value of good, 119;

varieties of, 120;

stance for ordinary shot, 121;

the swing, 122;

danger of scooping, 124;

taking a divot, 124;

the running-up shot, 125;

the cut stroke, 127;

stance for, 128;

points of, 129;

chip on the green, 129;

the jigger, 130;

mashie on the putting green, 155.

Mashie, the driving, 49, 100.

—— —— play with, 100;

difficulties of, 101.

Master stroke in golf, 85.

Match play, 171, 172, 180.

Medal play, 178, 181, 182, 183; rules, 274.

Middle-aged golfers, 29.

Mid-Surrey links, 230.

Molesworth, Mr., at Jersey, 7.

Money matches, 22.

Morris, Old Tom, 22, 23, 149.

Morris, Young Tom, 23, 259.

Mount Zion at Islay, 226.

Muirfield, first Championship at, 16, 19;

merits of course and best holes, 224.

Nails in boots and shoes, 166.

Nervousness, 9, 12.

Newcastle (co. Down) links, 226.

Newquay links, 228.

Niblick, the, points of, 47, 49, 135;

swing with, in bunker, 136.

Nicholls, Bernard, matches with, 235, 239.

North Berwick. See Berwick, North.

Novelties, avoidance of, 168.

Oakland (U.S.), 237.

Oiling clubs, 50.

One-armed golfer, 27.

Open Championship. See Championship.

Opponent, one's attitude towards, 161.

Ormonde, match at, 235.

Over-golfed, 186.

Overlapping grip, 59.

Park, Willie, senior, 259.

Park, Willie, junior, 20, 21, 148, 230, 260, 264.

Pau, visit to, 15.

Persimmon heads, 42.

Photographs, vi.

Pivoting of the body, on the waist, 67.

—— on the toes, 68.

Pleasures of golf, 1, 29, 32, 53, 266.

Point Comfort, match at, 236.

Pointgarry out, Mr. Balfour at, 255.

Portland (U.S.), novel experience at, 242.

Portmarnock, merits of links, 226.

Portrush, tournament at, 13;

merits of links, 226.

Practice, early system of, 32;

amount of, 35.

Pressing, 75, 173.

Prestwick, 13, 20, 23;

best holes at, 222.

Professional golfers, money matters, 22;

difficulties of, 261.

Professional tuition, 30.

Pulling, causes of, 67, 71, 73, and Plates X. and XI.;

method of intentional, 91;

in a cross wind, 92.

Purves, Dr., at Jersey, 7.

Push shot, the, 105;

advantage of, 106.

Putter, the, points of, 47, 49, 146.

Putting, a curious experience, 18;

first attempts, 33;

confidence in, 142;

no rule for, 143;

the natural stance, 144;

the grip, 147;

hitting the ball, 148;

the swing, 148;

on being up, 148;

on undulating greens, 150;

borrowing from slopes, 151;

the cut stroke, 152;

down steep inclines, 154;

use of mashie, 155;

playing stymies, 156;

running through, 157;

gauging strength of greens, 158;

etiquette and policy, 165.

Redan, the, 256.

Redcar links, 228.

Regrets, golfer's, 28.

Reserve clubs, 45.

Ribbed faces to iron clubs, advantages of, 102.

Ripon, golf at, 10.

Risks, on taking, 162.

Robertson, Allan, 22, 259.

Rubber-cored balls, life of, 170.

Rules of golf, 167, 267.

Running-up approaches, 125.

Rye links, 228.

St. Andrews, 15;

merits of course and best holes, 224.

—— style of play, 64.

St. Anne's links, 228.

St. David's, Royal, links, 227.

St. George's Golf Club, Royal, Sandwich, 3.

Sandwich, 3, 14, 23;

the best course, 220;

reasons for selection, 221;

best holes at, 221, 222.

Sandy Parlour at Deal, 228.

Sayers, Ben, 18, 19.

Scared clubs, advantage of, over socketed, 41.

Scarsdale (U.S.), match at, 236.

Scotland, links in, 222 et seq.

Seaside courses, advantages of, 229.

Seaton Carew links, 228.

Shafts of clubs, 43.

Sheffield links, 231.

Sheringham links, 228.

Shoes, golfing, 166.

Shoulder, right, movement of, 66;

dropping, 74.

Simpson, Archie, 15.

Skidding with iron clubs, 102;

with driver, 168.

Slicing, cause of, 67, 69, 72;

how to find, 73, Plate XII. ;

method of intentional, 87;

distant slice, 88;

short slice, 89.

"Slow back," 64.

Smith, Will, American champion, 238, 241.

Smoking, on, 185.

Spectators at golf matches, 263.

Speed of the club, 69.

Spofforth, Major (Jersey), 9.

Spoon. See Baffy.

Strath, David, 259.

Stroke competitions, rules for, 274.

Studley Royal Golf Club, Ripon, professional to, 11.

Stymies, playing, 156;

running through, 157.

Successes in competitions, 9.

Sunningdale links, merits of, 229.

Swaying during stroke, 67.

Swinging, first attempts at, 31.

Tait, Lieut. Fred, 21, 223, 234, 260.

Taylor, J.H., 15, 16, 240, 241, 260, 263.

Tee, the, for the ball, 54;

disadvantage of high tee, 55;

low tee with wind, 172.

Teeing grounds, 217.

Three-ball matches, 276.

Tightness of grip, 61.

Tobacco and golf, 185.

Trafford Park links, 231.

Training, on, 185.

Travis, Mr. Walter J., 233.

Troon, merits of course, 225.

Turf, replacing, 175.

Two-V grip, 59, 62.

Upward swing. See Backward swing

V, two-, grip, 59, 62.

Vardon family, the, 2.

Vardon, Fred, 3.

Vardon, Tom, 3, 4, 9, 10, 15, 17, 23, 260.

Waggling the club, 63.

Wales, links in, 227.

Wallasey links, 228.

Walton Heath links, merits of, 229.

Washington (U.S.), match at, 244.

Weather, wet, care of clubs in, 50, 168.

Weight of body, how balanced, 67, 70.

Weight of club, 44, 49.

Westward Ho! merits of links, 227.

Wheaton links at Chicago, 238, 241.

Whip of shafts, 43, 44.

White, Jack, 260.

Wind, play in a, 92;

pulling in a cross, 94;

driving against, 95;

driving with, 96;

low tee with, 172.

Wrists, action of the, 66, 70.

—— mistaken notions concerning, 70.

Yorkshire championships, 231.

Printed by

MORRISON & GIBB LIMITED

Edinburgh.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Complete Golfer [1905], by

Harry Vardon

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Document Outline

THE COMPLETE GOLFER

THE COMPLETE GOLFER HARRY VARDON

PREFACE

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

THE COMPLETE GOLFER CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII

CHAPTER XXIII

APPENDIX

INDEX