A few months ago we were delighted to report within the pages of this humble blog that a dear friend of ours, Pam Valentine, had become a member of the R&A. It was a just reward for a golf-filled life that ranged from playing top-flight International amateur golf to serving on pretty much every available committee from club level to the dizzy heights of the Championship Committee of the R&A itself. So much time and resource given to the game she loves – and, as she would attest, so much fun, joy, friendships and laughter in return. As I said, just rewards. Welsh golfing royalty. Not that we’d ever tell her, of course.
The Madill sisters flanking, from left to right, Gill Stewart, Sandra Ross and our host Pam Valentine, aka the Pamster.
Well, the sister and I were thrilled to be included – along with Nairn’s finest, Sandra Ross, and my old tour pal, Gill Stewart – in an invitation to lunch in the R&A clubhouse with this most recent of members. You can imagine how long it took to co-ordinate all the diaries but we managed it and all gathered in the old grey toon for the event. It didn’t disappoint and reminded me that this is still a great game with wonderful folk in it. (For those of you who didn’t read it, I had a bit of a rant last week against the professional game and the entitlement and greed therein, mostly on the men’s side. So, I needed a wee reminder that the game is still the one I fell in love with – and I got that nudge last weekend.)
It was a fun-filled few days and, apart from the lunch, the highlight of the trip for us all was a first hole-in-one for Ben, Pam’s younger son. He’s barely played the game for a year and is already half way to Jack Nicklaus’s tally – must be in the genes!
Ben had already checked over the back of the green! Playing partner Lesley Brown was on hand to attest and take the photographic evidence.
Patricia always says that if you lived in St Andrews there’d never be any need to go anywhere – eventually the whole world seems to make its way to the home of golf. It’s astonishing how this little Fife town is suddenly on the way to just about anywhere – a number of folk we met were en route to Portrush for next week’s Open, for example. Come to think of it, you could pretty much say that about ourselves.
On Sunday morning I absented myself from the group to meet up with Kathy Christie, a great pal from university days in St Andrews. It was tonic for the soul and readied me for the rigours of the afternoon. Gill and I decided we needed to walk off all the delicious food and drink we had been subjected to and so out came the Nordic walking poles and we set off to have a look at the Old Course. There’s no play on a Sunday – unless it’s the final round of a very important championship – and it’s a time when all and sundry can stroll over the famous links. It’s really quite extraordinary. Here we have arguably the most famous golfing real estate on the planet and you have folk out pushing prams, training and walking their dogs, playing football and frisbee. Heavens, there were even Nordic walkers out!
Different sorts of sticks for Gill and me on this occasion.
The most gratifying thing was how respectfully the course was treated. There was no digging in the bunkers, no liberties taken and non-golfing locals and townsfolk seemed as proud of the place and as invested in it as the golfers.
It’s a special enough place to have those most precious of pictures taken.
Meanwhile, although there was no Sunday play on the Old, all the other courses were open for business and booming in the breezy sunshine. Gill’s and my tramp had taken us past the Eden clubhouse and as we navigated the drive down to the car park we came across a rather intriguing sight.
Now, we are both accustomed to seeing some poor so-and-so who has been beaten into submission by the game – and that is what I, for one, thought we were witnessing. This guy had obviously just finished playing and he’d carefully removed all his clubs from the bag, which he was holding above his head and shaking furiously while walking to and fro. I have to confess my reaction was to avert my eyes from this eejit and scuttle past, leaving him to his misery.
Gill, however, is cut from a kinder cloth and paused, asking, “Have you got a problem?”
“Look, look!” was the command as he continued to march back and forward with the entire golf bag held aloft. It was at this point that we realised his wing mirrors were seemingly following his progress and the penny dropped. The car keys! They had to be somewhere nearby because the wing mirrors were responding but he’d been unable to locate them. He had rung his unsympathetic wife who had crisply informed him she couldn’t come to help him, because, er, well, HE had the car!
He turned the bag over to Gill who started another search while I took off the head covers in case they had slipped in there. No sign. I looked under the car – no sign. At this point Gill said they must be in one of his own pockets but before she could offer to frisk him I located them in an inner, secret hideaway in the centre of the bag. Mystery solved.
Success – the keys have been located and no body frisking necessary.
At this juncture we all decided we’d better introduce ourselves and lo and behold, our deranged golfer turned out to be none other than Mark Ferguson, father of DP World Tour member and multiple title holder, Ewen, who, that very day was celebrating his 29th birthday. I had commentated on Ewen when he was a member of the 2015 Walker Cup team at Lytham and have followed his career ever since.
The three of us then had a lovely chat putting the golfing world to rights, as you do, before parting and going our separate ways.
Mark, sportingly, agreed to allow me to mention him in this blog but he has failed to send me the promised picture he took of the three of us! He did say it was well Ewen wasn’t there – it would have been yet another instance of a parent embarrassing his offspring, he thought.
So, I’ll finish with a picture for Mark – below is how I ensure I don’t lose my car keys. It’s a little reminiscent of a kiddy having their gloves on a string through the arms of their coat – but it works!
I’m sure Ewen could get you a suitable lanyard, Mark.
PS great 68 yesterday Ewen. Keep it up.
