Move over the Ryder Cup, the July Club has arrived!

Ross, McKenna, Stewart, Madill on the 1st tee at Portstewart.

The July Club holds an annual international competition to showcase its unremarkable skills and questionable physical fitness and comprises four members.  Allow me to introduce them:  Mary McKenna MBE, winner of eight Irish Championship titles along with a British title and nine Curtis Cup appearances (all of them in the last century);  Gillian Stewart, triple Scottish titleholder and winner of multiple professional tournaments (probably also all dating from the 20th century); Drive Up Drive Off Sandra Ross, inspiration of the inaugural warm-up tip on this blog, chief of all Open Championship scoring information for the media for 34 years and winner of the Hawco  mixed foursomes at Nairn in September 2016 (with Rob Smith, a plus 1 handicap, playing at the top of his game); and me, with all of 36 holes under my belt in 2016 and awaiting various surgeries ranging from teeth to shoulder.  What a motley crew!

Our digs for the week were a glorious house in Castlerock, owned by friends.  Nestled on the banks of the River Bann and looking over the estuary across the sand dunes to Portstewart, it is a little piece of heaven.

View from our idyllic abode

This was my chance to take my three pals round my home patch of golf courses on the north coast of Ireland.  Mac, of course, has played most places in Ireland many times but Gillian and Sandra, the two Scotties, were entering unchartered waters.

First up on our list was Portstewart, my childhood home and place where I first hit a ball.  The best view from any first tee in the world, it fills your soul with joy just to be there.  A rousing welcome from Michael Moss, secretary manager of some renown, and his sidekick, my cousin, John Breadon, meant we were itching to get out on the course.  Our advancing and current stages of decrepitude mean we are now accompanied by a buggy and two electric trolleys.  The weather was perfect and the match was tight, with Ross securing the win for our partnership on the 17th over Stewart and McKenna.

Gill on the 12th at Portstewart

Portstewart is hosting the Dubai Duty Free Irish Open next July and a little tweaking is taking place on the course.  Head greenkeeper Bernard Findlay and his crew are working hard on improving this piece of golfing paradise.

New work at the back of the 13th green

Portstewart bunkers already proving a challenge for some!

It’s now Tuesday, so it must be Portrush, home of The Open Championship in 2019.  Patricia and I last visited here in May and spent a very enjoyable day in the company of Martin Ebert, the celebrated architect in charge of the new holes and improvements for the Open.  Although not yet in play the two new holes look as if they’ve always been there and the entire membership can’t wait to play them, though that probably won’t happen till next spring.  Having been a member since the age of nine, I saw familiar faces round every corner but nonetheless, it would be hard to find a more welcoming club anywhere in the world.  Wilma Erskine, the woman behind everything good that happens at Royal Portrush Golf Club, rules with a light but no-nonsense touch.

The glorious Dunluce links

The last time Mac and I played this course in each other’s company was in the 1982 final of the Irish Women’s Championship.  She finished eagle, birdie to beat me on the 17th and had one of her hordes of young cousins kick my ball off the 16th green.  It’s not that I’m bitter or anything.  Oh, yes, Stewart and Madill beat Ross and McKenna with my personal highlight a birdie 2 (just as in May) at Calamity.

Our next links challenge was the delicious little gem that is Castlerock golf course, rather less well-known than its two bigger, noisier neighbours but not to be missed on any golfing visit to this part of Ireland.

The breathtaking 17th at Castlerock

Secretary-manager Bert McKay had decided he was safer on holiday in Portugal but we were warmly welcomed by Shona in the office, Chris in in the pro’s shop and afterwards, John, Edel and an assortment of members in the bar.  Castlerock’s only fault is it is really far too welcoming to visitors – the Scots beat the Irish on the last!

We intend to round out the golf with a return visit to Portrush, this time to the Valley course, which at our stage and age should do us very nicely, thank you.

Busy as we were on the course, we found time to be equally busy off it.  There are simply some things you must find time to do when in Norn Iron:  go birdwatching on the Bann estuary, take in the majesty of the Titanic exhibition, visit the Mussenden temple and, of course, eat the best ice cream in the world at Morelli’s in Portstewart.

Those eejits think I don’t know they’re there

The closest we got to birdies!

The iconic Mussenden Temple

A Titanic week in more ways than one

To hell with the diet!

So, the fifth meeting of the July Club draws to a close.  But, why, I hear you ask, is this august body that meets in October named the July Club?  Well, that’s a story for another day but if you are impatient for the answer, just drop in to The European Club, ask for Gerry Ruddy and tell him we sent you.

Photo accreditation:  Mary McKenna, MBE

Woburn.

To women professional golfers of a certain era that single word has the power instantly to transport us back to our touring days.  We seemed almost to live at Woburn.  More than a decade of the wonderful season-opener, the Ford Classic, and umpty-ump Weetabix Women’s British Opens, spearheaded by the hugely supportive Sir Richard George, who died in March, far too young, made us all feel as if Woburn were our second home.  And our second family included Alex Hay, the first professional to become a general manager of a golf facility and his lovely wife Ann.  They not only knew every single player in the field, they also knew their friends and family supporters as well.

A young Alex with a young Annika

The one and only Alex Hay

Eddie Bullock, the professional, was the go-to man for everything and Glenna Bonallack, in the clubhouse, knew everything that everyone else didn’t. Her family golfing pedigree didn’t hurt either.

Glenna still in charge!

Sometimes the Ford Classic was played on the Duke’s course, sometimes the Duchess, which requires a fair degree of accuracy, being rather narrow.   The year we celebrated 25 years of Ford sponsorship in golf we were due to tackle the intricacies of the Duchess course, which opened with a par 5, followed by a really testing short hole. That year I was off on the Thursday morning at 9.20 with Laura Davies and Dennise Hutton, a close friend and colleague from Australia.  The three of us birdied the first and when I popped a five iron into the hole at the 2nd, Laura turned to me and said, “Well, I think we can safely assume you’re leading the tournament, Mo!”

As we walked towards the green and took in the proliferation of banners she turned to me for a second time and said, “There’s a car on offer for a hole-in-one – do you know which hole it is?”  Rather unusually, none of us did.  I can only put that down to it being the first tournament of the season and a relatively early first day start.  By the time we got to the 8th hole the photographers were out in full force.  It was from the snappers that we learned I had, indeed, won a car.

My only prize-winning hole-in-one.

This seemed to me to be heaven sent.  I was starting the season carelessly carless and hadn’t got the funds to buy myself one.  I had been relying on a good cheque from this very tournament.  I played the rest of the round in a bit of a happy daze.  As I sailed up the 18th I looked across to the 1st, which ran parallel, and saw wild, happy waving from my close pal Gillian Stewart.  I knew word had spread and she’d be thrilled for me…….but, oh no, wait a minute!

For the first time it crossed my mind that in previous seasons we’d always agreed to be on a share of hole-in-one prizes, a fairly common occurrence amongst players.  We hadn’t actually had the conversation for the new season but I knew that was simply because this was the first tournament of the year.  We would definitely have agreed to carry on with the arrangement.  Gill’s wild happy waving was because it was OUR car!

The outcome was more than happy, however, because later that week I signed a deal for a sponsored car and Gill and I split the proceeds of the hole-in-one prize.  What a start to the season!

The tournaments at Woburn always attracted high class fields and huge crowds.  On one occasion the colourful American player Muffin Spencer Devlin was one of the main draws. Always popular with the fans Muffin provided one of my favourite memories from my time on tour.  We had all played in the pro-am and were at a sumptuous dinner in the Long Room in Woburn Abbey.  At almost six feet tall Muffin was resplendent in a white tuxedo and, anxious to meet with the Marquis and Marchioness of Tavistock she took herself off to the top table a couple of times to engage them in chat.  When this looked like happening yet again, David Parkin, the tournament director, was dispatched to our table to speak to Muffin.

He was on a hiding to nothing.  Our whole table fell silent as we heard David tell Muffin she wasn’t to go to the top table again. We could see Muffin taking huge exception to being told what to do.  In a voice that was steadily rising she demanded,

“What is it you want me to do?”

“Stay here and look after your pro-am team,” David said.  By this stage the raised voices had silenced the diners and Muffin’s unforgettable response echoed through the Long Room.

“I’ve spent five f…ing hours with them on the golf course and that’s enough for anyone!”

And with that she marched the length of the room and left a stunned audience in her wake. We all naturally turned to see how the abused pro-am team were going to react to this.  One of their number, Tim Glover of The Independent, just shook his head and said, “Well, it’s hard to argue with that.”

Muffin, who suffered from manic depression (bipolar disorder) and had not been taking her medication, didn’t play in the tournament that week but valiantly returned the following year to apologise and make amends.

Ah, Woburn – it’s SO good to be back!