18 March, 2015

Charming Town

Tuesday 17 March, St. Patrick’s Day, I took a bus through the mists of County Fife to the coastal village of St. Andrews. This legendary Scottish town is home to the oldest university in the English speaking world, it is the spiritual home of the Church of Scotland, and of course, here are found the links of the Old Course of St. Andrews and the home of the game of Golf.

From the bus station I walked down Market Street in the heart of the town to find the Visit Scotland Information Center. I picked up several leaflets on the history of the town that I have not yet looked at and likely will not before I return to the US. Nothing like learning the history of a place a couple weeks after visiting. Ah well, such is the life. I have a strong feeling that I will return to St. Andrews one day. I purchased lunch stuffs from Gregg’s (a takeaway shop with no real equivalent in the states), and carried on eastward through the town to the cathedral ruins.

Stunning cathedral ruins.

St. Andrews Cathedral was the largest building in Scotland when it was built, and remains the largest church constructed in the nation. Built between 1158 and 1318, it was abandoned by 1561 after the Scottish Reformation banned the practice of Catholic mass. By the end of the 16^th century, the crossing tower and north wall had collapsed and the ruins began to be mined to re-purpose the stones for buildings in the town. In the mid 19^th century efforts began to preserve the remaining ruins that still stand today. The bones of this once glorious cathedral stand watch over hundreds of graves on the cathedral grounds.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St_Andrews_Cathedral

 

 

The Morris Grave

On the south wall of the grounds, one monument stands pristine and white against the rest of the stone. I suspect it has been recently refreshed in anticipation of the 144^th Open Championship this coming July. I don’t want to use my space here to try and give a biographical account, but if you know the game, you should know the name. There is a name shared by two men that is nearly synonymous with the Old Course – Tom Morris. Old Tom had a bigger hand than perhaps anyone in early course design and greens keeping. Between them Old and Young Tom won four of the first eight Opens, and Young Tom still stands as the youngest ever winner at 17 years old, and the only man to win four consecutive Championships. It was moving for me, immersed as I have been in the game since childhood, to stand at the grave of these men. I am not the only one. For many golfers this is but one of many stops on the pilgrims trail of St Andrews and the Old Course.

For more of the history of these men, see the Wikipedia:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_Tom_Morris

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Young_Tom_Morris

Castle Ruins

The Bishops of St Andrews had a Castle on the coast just north of the cathedral. There were many notable events in the history of Christianity and the Church of Scotland that happened here. The ruins are gorgeous and very well preserved.  The castle is the site of one of the only siege mines that has survived to present day.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St_Andrews_Castle

the Scores; the University of St. Andrews.

Leaving the castle, and heading north west on the the street called the Scores, I set out for the golfing grounds. Leaving the University area, I came into a car park atop a hill. Ahead of me stood the obelisk of the Martyrs Monument (to protestants killed in the Scottish Reformation). Beyond, the Royal and Ancient Golf Clubhouse and in the mist the 18^th fairway and the Swilcan Bridge.

The Tom Morris Golf Shop is the oldest in the world and overlooks the 18^th green on Link Lane. It is still in the family and open today, though they no longer make and repair woods, mashies, and niblicks. Today it looks to be a high end clothing shop. Just inside the window, Tom’s workbench still stands, and in a glass case, his clubs and locker from the Royal and Ancient Clubhouse are preserved. I purchased a book about Old Tom himself.

I set out onto the course, at first down the perimeter path to stay out of the way of the remaining foursomes coming home at the end of the day. I hoped to make it clear to the shore, but only got as far as the fifth green and fourteenth tee before turning back in order to get home before dark. Once I passed the last of the groups playing, I made my way out onto the links proper. I found myself happy to be alone as I walked, because I was laughing like a madman in disbelief that I was actually there. Beyond the walk, I intended to bring home a unique souvenir for myself and a few friends who can appreciate it. The plan, successfully carried out, was to nick a wee bit of sand from some of the bunkers. In the end I brought sand from Admiral’s bunker on (3) Cartgate Out, the Hell bunker on (14) Long, and the legendary Road Hole Bunker on (17) Road. I photographed tee markers, the landscape, took the obligatory selfie at the Swilcan Bridge (Ground Under Repair for the upcoming Open), and let the minions out to experience it for themselves.

I stood on the tee at (18) Tom Morris as the daylight faded, looking at one of the most famous views in the game and thought about the history these links have known. For 600 years the game has evolved here to what it is today. It is not a place of immaculate beauty. It is a simple landscape, natural and not heavily manipulated by the hand of man. These links, while in themselves challenging present an amazing potential for testing your character and mettle. A well placed ball might produce a rewarding round, but this course looks very demanding and unforgiving. Bunkers are not the small and pristine beaches I grew up with, rather they are terrifying holes that appear suddenly in the landscape ready to swallow your ball and ambitions, perhaps forever. I am not much of a golfer, but having grown up on a golf course and surrounded by the game, it was something of a pilgrimage for me to visit St. Andrews. I don’t know if I will ever return to play the links, but just to have walked ten of the eighteen holes moved me beyond words. I have had many frustrating days with the game, but I do not believe I have ever been moved to tears just standing on, and walking about, a golf course. But then, this is not any course. This is The Old Course, a place of history and legend. As I walked home up the wide shared fairway of 18/1, a hole named Tom Morris, I strode in the footsteps of the giants of the game. Old and Young Tom Morris, Bobby Jones, Arnold Palmer. The Golden Bear, The Shark, and Tiger.

This summer the Open Championship returns to the links of the Old Course, and on a rare Sunday afternoon that play is allowed one man will make this walk up 18 and into the pages of the game’s history. He will stand atop the steps, beneath the clock and frieze of Old Tom Morris on the Royal and Ancient Clubhouse and hoist the Claret Jug. I will never know that feeling, maybe one day I will be serious enough to return and play the course, but after my visit, this place is become very real for me. I have stood atop those steps and looked out across the dunes into the mist and wondered if I have what it takes. What would this greatest course in golf reveal within me?

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