Mr. Punch's Golf Stories by J. A. Hammerton (best books to read txt) 📖
- Author: J. A. Hammerton
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"Dear Auntie," said Amanda, in her sweetest voice, "you had much better take it out."
[Pg 162]
"Is that allowed?" inquired our relative suspiciously.
"Oh, you may always do that and lose a stroke!" I assured her eagerly.
"I shan't dream of losing a stroke!" said Aunt Susannah, with decision. "I'll get it out of this ditch by fair means, if I have to spend all day over it!"
"Then do you mind waiting one moment?" I said, with the calmness of despair. "There is a player behind us——"
"Let him stay behind us! I was here first," said Aunt Susannah; and she returned to her bunker.
The Links rose up in a hillock immediately behind us, so that our successor could not see us until he had reached the first hole. I stood with my eye glued to the spot where he might be expected to appear. I saw, as in a nightmare, the scathing remarks that would find their way into the Suggestion Book. I longed for a sudden and easy death.
At the moment when Colonel Bartlemy's rubicund face appeared over the horizon, Aunt Susannah, flushed but unconquered, drew herself up for a moment's rest from toil. He had seen her. Amanda shut her eyes. For myself, I would have run away shamelessly, if there had been any place to run to. The Colonel and Aunt [Pg 164] Susannah looked hard at each other. Then he began to hurry down the slope, while she started briskly up it.
"Miss Cadwalader!" said the Colonel.
"Colonel Bartlemy!" cried Aunt Susannah; and they met with effusion.
I saw Amanda's eyes open, and grow round with amazed interest. I knew perfectly well that she had scented a bygone love affair, and was already planning the most suitable wedding-garb for Aunt Susannah. A frantic hope came to me that in that case the Colonel's affection might prove stronger than his zeal for golf. They were strolling down to us in a leisurely manner, and the subject of their conversation broke upon my astonished ears.
"I'm afraid you don't think much of these Links, after yours," Colonel Bartlemy was saying anxiously. "They are rather new——"
[Pg 166]
"Oh, I've played on many worse," said Aunt Susannah, looking round her with a critical eye. "Let me see—I haven't seen you since your victory at Craigmory. Congratulations!"
"Approbation from Sir Hubert Stanley!" purred the Colonel, evidently much gratified. "You will be here for the twenty-seventh, I hope?"
"Exactly what I came for," said Aunt Susannah calmly.
"Though I don't know what our ladies will say to playing against the Cranford Champion!" chuckled the Colonel; and then they condescended to become aware of our existence. We had never known before how exceedingly small it is possible to feel.
"Aunt Susannah, what am I to say? What fools you must think us!" I murmured miserably to her, when the Colonel was out of earshot looking for his ball. "We are such raw players ourselves—and of course we never dreamt——"
Aunt Susannah twinkled at me in a friendly manner. "There's an ancient proverb about eggs and grandmothers," she remarked cheerfully.
[Pg 168]
"There should be a modern form for golf-balls and aunts—hey, Laurence?"
Amanda did not win the prize brooch; but Aunt Susannah did, in spite of an overwhelming handicap, and gave it to her. She does not often wear it—possibly because rubies are not becoming to her: possibly because its associations are too painful.
[The sharp decline of ping-pong, whose attractions at its zenith seduced many golfers from the nobler sport, has left a marked void in the breasts of these renegades. Some of them from a natural sense of shame hesitate to return to their first love. The conclusion of the following lines should be an encouragement to this class of prodigal.]
Just for a celluloid pillule he left us,
Just for an imbecile batlet and ball,
These were the toys by which Fortune bereft us
Of Jennings, our captain, the pride of us all.
Shopmen with clubs to sell handed him rackets,
Rackets of sand-paper, rubber and felt,
Said to secure an unplayable service,
Pestilent screws and the death-dealing welt.
[Pg 172]Oft had we played with him, partnered him, sworn by him,
Copied his pitches in height and in cut,
Hung on his words as he delved in a bunker,
Made him our pattern to drive and to putt.
Benedick's with us, the major is of us,
Swiper the county bat's still going strong;
He alone broke from the links and the clubhouse,
He alone sank in the slough of ping-pong.
We have "come on"—but not his the example;
Sloe-gin has quickened us—not his the cash;
Holes done in 6 where a 4 would be ample
Vexed him not, busy perfecting a smash.
Rased was his name as a decadent angel,
One more mind unhinged by a piffulent game,
One more parlour-hero, the worshipped of school-girls
Who once had a princely "plus 5" to his name.
Jennings is gone; yet perhaps he'll come back to us,
Healed of his hideous lesion of brain,
Back to the links in the daytime; at twilight
Back to his cosy club corner again.
Back for the medal day, back for our foursomes,
Back from the tables' diminishing throng,
Back from the infantile, ceaseless half-volley,
Back from the lunatic lure of ping-pong.
[Pg 147]
The Retort Courteous.—(The Major-General waiting to drive, to girl carrying baby, who blocks the way). "Now then, hurry on please with that baby."
Girl. "Garn! Baby yerself, playing at ball there in your knickerbockers an' all!"
[Pg 149]
A GOLF TOURNAMENT IN YE TIME OF YE ROMANS
From a rare old frieze (not) in ye British Museum.
[Pg 151]
"Anyway, it's better to break one's——clubs than to lose one's —— —— temper!!"
[Pg 153]
A Place for Everything.—Obstructive Lady (in reply to the golfer's warning call). "The whole world wasn't made for golf, sir."
Youngster. "No; but the links wis. 'Fore!"
[Pg 155]
Unenviable position of Mr. Pottles, whose record drive has just landed fairly in the ribs of irascible old Colonel Curry, out for his constitutional canter.
[Pg 157]
Aunt Jabisca (pointing to earnest golfer endeavouring to play out of quarry). "Dear me, Maud, what a respectably dressed man that is breaking stones!"
[Pg 159]
Suggestion for a rainy day. Spillikins on a grand scale.
[Pg 161]
GOLF � LA WATTEAU—AND OTHERWISE
[Pg 163]
Major Brummel (comparing the length of his and his opponent's "drives"). "I think I'm shorter than Mr. Simkins?"
Small Caddie (a new hand, greatly flattered at being asked, as he thinks, to judge of their personal appearance). "Yes, sir, and fatterer too, sir!"
[Delight of the gallant Major.]
[Pg 165]
ARRY AT GOLF.
[Pg 167]
Miss Dora (to Major Putter, who is playing an important match, and has just lost his ball). "Oh, Major, do come and take your horrid ball away from my little dog. He won't let me touch it, and I know he must be ruining his teeth!"
[Pg 169]
Tennis Player (from London). "Don't see the fun o' this game—knockin' a ball into a bush, and then 'untin' about for it!"
[Pg 170]
THE AMERICAN HUSBAND.
[Pg 171]
THE ENGLISH WIFE.
[Pg 173]
A TOO-FEEBLE EXPLETIVE
MacSymon. "I saw you were carrying for the professor yesterday, Sandy. How does he play?"
Sandy. "Eh, yon man'll never be a gowffer. Div ye ken what he says when he foozles a ba'?"
MacSymon. "No. What does he say?"
Sandy. "'Tut-tut!'"
[Pg 174]
THE LINKS'Tis a brilliant autumn day,
And the breeze has blown away
All the clouds that lowered gray;
So methinks,
As I've half an hour to spare,
I will go and take the air,
While the weather still is fair,
On the Links.
I admire the splendid view,
The delicious azure hue
Of the ocean and—when, whew!
With a crack,
Lo! there drops a little ball
Which elects to break its fall
By alighting on the small
Of my back.
In the distance someone cries
Some remark about my eyes,
None too pleasant, I surmise,
From the tone;
So away my steps I turn
Till a figure I discern,
Who is mouching by the burn
All alone.
[Pg 176]
He has lost a new "Eclipse,"
And a little word that slips
From his sulky-looking lips
Tells me true
That, besides the missing ball,
Which is gone beyond recall,
He has lost—what's worst of all—
Temper, too.
I conclude it will be best
If I leave him unaddressed,
Such a melancholy quest
To pursue;
And I pass to where I spy
Clouds of sand uprising high
Till they all but hide the sky
From the view.
They proceed, I understand,
From a bunker full of sand,
Where a golfer, club in hand,
Freely swears
As he hacks with all his might,
Till his countenance is quite
As vermilion as the bright
Coat he wears.
I observe him for a while
With a highly-tickled smile,
For it is the queerest style
Ever seen:
[Pg 178]
He is very short and stout,
And he knocks the ball about,
But he never gets it out
On the green.
Still I watch him chop and hack,
Till I hear a sudden crack,
And the club-head makes a track
In the light—
There's a startled cry of "FORE!"
As it flies, and all is o'er!—
I remember nothing more
Till to-night,
When I find myself in bed
With a lump upon my head
Like a penny loaf of bread;
And methinks,
For the future I'll take care
When I want a little air,
That I won't go anywhere
Near the Links.
[Pg 175]
THE MISERIES OF A VERY AMATEUR GOLFER
He is very shy, and unfortunately has to drive off in front of the lady champion and a large gallery. He makes a tremendous effort. The ball travels at least five yards!
[Pg 177]
Golfer. "And what's your name?"
Caddie. "They ca' me 'breeks, but ma maiden name is Christy."
[Pg 179]
"Mummy, what's that man for?"
[Pg 180]
Distinction without Difference.—Sensitive Golfer (who has foozled). "Did you laugh at me, boy?"
Caddie. "No, sir; I wis laughin' at anither man."
Sensitive Golfer. "And what's funny about him?"
Caddie. "He plays gowf awfu' like you, sir!"
[Pg 181]
Jones cannot see his ball anywhere, although he is positive it fell about there somewhere.
[Pg 182]
NEVER HAVE A CADDIE WITH A SQUINT!
They told me he was skilful, and assiduous, and true,
They told me he had "carried" for the bravest and the best.
His hair was soldier-scarlet, and his eyes were saucer blue,
And one seemed looking eastward, whilst the
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