If Jones regretted it, it was because of his admiration and friendship for Tolley, and his impression of their match. This is the beginning of the article I posted at reply #29
"From the start, everyone around St. Andrews seemed to be looking forward to the possible meeting of Cyril Tolley and me on Wednesday afternoon. Cyril, too, had a narrow escape in the first round, but he managed to make it. No one had any illusions about Cyril. He had always been a fearsome competitor in this championship. He had won it for the second time the year before. He was a big, powerful player with an exquisite touch in the short game, and in my opinion the most dangerous man I could meet in an 18-hole match at St. Andrews.
Cyril and I had been very good friends for many years before that day, and we have remained fast friends ever since. I know that match still stands in his memory, as it does in mine, as an afternoon in which each of us called on every resource in an all-out effort to beat the other. I felt the same exultation and desperate urgency I should expect to feel in a battle with broadswords and cudgels. We played in literally half a gale, and in 16 holes the match was brought back on six occasions from one down to even, as we alternated in taking the lead. The play on the 17th, the famous Road Hole, is still being discussed. That it was a break for me is undeniable. Just how colossal a break it was will perhaps never be known. The facts are as follows:
The two drives, over the sheds, with the wind behind, were long, with Cyril out in front. My ball lay near the left side of the fairway, his about center. Playing the odd, my second was an iron, to the left of the Road Bunker. The ball bounded into the mass of spectators and dropped on the apron at the back of the green, a few feet off the putting surface. Tolley 's second was short, and curled off the slope at the front of the green, stopping in a position that left the bunker between his ball and the flag.
I, being away, chipped to a distance of approximately eight feet from the cup. Tolley's little pitch dropped exactly in the only possible spot, barely over the bunker, at the top of a slope running down to the hole. His ball stopped within two feet of the cup. I holed the eight-footer, and Cyril, of course, holed his for the half.
The point of controversy was (and still is): Where would my ball have finished had it not been stopped by the crowd? If the ball would have gone into the road, the stopping of it definitely saved for me the hole and the match. If the ball would have stopped either on the 18th tee or in the rough beyond, I think in all reason I could have approached as well as I did.
At least one observer thought that I had played directly into the crowd, knowing they were packed so densely that the human barricade must stop my ball. This was very definitely not the case. I should never have been so heedless of the possibility of injury to a spectator. I played only after several minutes, and after it had become apparent that the stewards could move the crowd no farther and my own attempt to wave the spectators back had had no effect.
I attempted to play a soft shot with a four-iron, designed barely to pass the bunker at the left of the green. I have a very distinct recollection that as I swung the club I was acutely aware that the ball must pass the bunker. If it did not, my situation would be hopeless. I know that I gave the shot a little extra nudge. I saw the ball land even with the bunker and take a bound forward. I know it was strong, but I don't know by how much. Yet I did see it strike a spectator and drop near the green.
Tolley , seeing my ball so well located, decided that in order to save a half he must go for the flag. It cannot be stated as a fact, but it is nevertheless my conviction that Tolley 's third shot on this hole has never been surpassed for exquisitely beautiful execution. I shall carry to my grave the impression of the lovely little stroke with which he dropped the ball so softly in exactly the right spot, so that it finished dead to the hole. It certainly put the seal of necessity on my eight-foot putt. If I had not holed it, I would not be writing this story.
I have always regretted that such a splendid, exciting match should have been decided by a stymie".............