Some good news arrives on Wednesday, rattling the device that lives in my pocket. The wait is over, we can relax a little. Our son will be able to attend the same school as his sister in September; a confirmation that is not only convenient, but that will give him an excellent platform for the years ahead. On Saturday we will celebrate by enrolling him in the golf academy, and I quietly hope that golf will be something that helps this eleven year old find inspiration and friendship, as it has done for me.
But first there is Friday, and with the morning school run ticked off, I beat a familiar path to the pine forest, and swing left through some large gates and into The Berkshire. A precious friend has joined there, and we swap out the hiking boots in which we sometimes walk for soft spikes, and winter gloves.
A couple of others kindly join us, and as we stand perplexed in front of the handicap table, trying to fathom what sort of arrangement might work for this friendliest of games, common sense breaks through as the sun pierces the grey clouds above us, and we settle on a Sunningdale format - forget the shots, until one pair gets two ahead. Every time I walk away from a course rating chart, I feel the same palpable sense of relief, a reliable softening of the breath. We are free to enjoy ourselves now.
So off we go and as I get to know the charming opposition, some common threads appear. Our conversation, whose rhythm fades in on tee boxes and out on these treacherous greens, is varied, but with one of our four a school owner and principal, and one a gifted teacher and tutor, my thoughts drift back to this notion of education again and again. For theirs is a different type of schooling to my own, back in the state schools of 80’s Cardiff, but there is so much to learn as we pick over various strands.
The Red pulls us through the ever-changing gears of its own design, each hole a fresh challenge, and as we go I think of how these gentle, natural landscapes somehow open us up to speak freely, and to listen - really listen. We talk of Forest School, and of biophilia, the science that explains what we’ve always somehow known, that a connection with the land and nature is fundamental to our happiness; hard-wired into our circuit boards. And I think of all the places I’ve been, all the moments I’ve had on a golf course, and this understanding seems the most important thing I’ve ever learned but now it’s my turn - this for the half - and as my ball spins off the low side of the cup, I’m once again lost in the game and the secret is carried off on the cold north-west breeze…
Before we climb back towards that warm brick refuge at the top of the hill, we’ve covered some interesting topics between us; gone off-curriculum. Families and friendships, tennis and bees. Marriages and magistrates, sheep farms and watersheds. And in between, like the glue that holds us together, this friendly little match rumbles on and we trade holes and shots and scores, and marvel at the odd ball that soars.
And it comes down to the last putt, on the last green, and it is stalked as if the claret jug itself rests upon the outcome, but golf has the last laugh, as it always does. Somehow it stays out when it ought to have gone in, but in the four broad smiles that walk off this divine stretch of heathland golf, it is clear that there are no real losers here. It might have gone in on another day, but in the grand scheme of things, the kindness and warmth that we’ve shared this morning are a thousand times more important than any of the strokes we’ve played. Golf just happens to be today’s classroom, and a magnificent one at that.
So we take in refreshments, and eventually go our separate ways, and in that calm state that always seems to manifest on golfing days, I continue to dwell on this theme of education. Of how I never made the most of my own opportunities in that realm, or of how my parents perhaps viewed my lack of commitment. But then I remember how glad my father was that they’d tried me on golf, a game he’d never played. For the teacher they chose was so much more than a golf coach to me, and days when I don’t think of him, and miss his calm, caring presence, are rare even now, thirty years later.
And then it dawns on me that the game itself has been my education, in a way. Not some rigid curriculum squeezed into a few years of schooling or further study; golf’s is a different, self-led framework. Delivered over decades, drip by drip. All the usual stuff that golf is said to help with applies here - developing patience, humility. To play the ball as it lies, and watch for pride before the next, inevitable, ridiculous fall. The simple truth of Henry Ford’s great line - “whether you think you can, or you think you can't – you're right” - played out on a grand scale, shot after shot.
And the more I think about golf, and all the people it has brought me into contact with, the more grateful I feel for all its varied lessons and seminars. The value of the great outdoors - biophilia again, my word of the day - and that good things often lie beyond fear. Golf has taught me when to quit, and when to go on. That the teacher will emerge when the student is ready. That we should pay attention to gut feeling, and ignore it at our peril. And that happiness lies in caring for other people, and in simple, selfless acts of kindness.
We must find the time to play as once we did as children, for in that space lies freedom, and creativity, and self-expression. Somewhere on the front nine - maybe the fifth - my putt won the hole but my partner putted anyway, and the ball toppled in on its last legs, as if it couldn’t be bothered to fight gravity any longer. And we laughed, and she claimed that “it’s easy when it doesn’t matter”, and on we go.
But in that fragment is another valuable lesson. For magic does happen when we stop trying quite so hard, stop thinking too much about it all. We’ve all known that state of flow, but perhaps golf can help us locate it, remember it. Perhaps instead of a make and model, our golf balls should have this sort of wisdom printed on them, for we forget the key tenets of this education too swiftly. Until the next time.
So there we are. Golf is no longer, in my mind, some dirty secret. Something to be vaguely embarrassed about, as I recall being as a teenager; my Pringle sweaters no match for the ripped denim uniform of the rest of the class. Golf is instead my real education, a very private education - with no certificates and very rarely a scorecard - but with every important lesson I’ve ever learned absorbed like no other. And, as I write this, and think about another fine day on another great golf course, I realise for the hundredth time that this life is really all about the people with whom we share it, and so my final lesson for this particular morning, is to thank my playing partners.
Someone said. The great thing about matchplay is”Every shot pleases someone “
Have you come across the R and A etiquette where no shots are taken on the last if the match is still to be decided. Another great concept like the Sunningdale rules, and the gentleman’s half agreed when both balls are on the eighteenth green in level.
Lovely piece once again
The Berkshire is an atmospheric place