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MCirba

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A Mid-Winter Eve's Tale of Content
« on: December 23, 2015, 12:14:22 PM »
Reprinted from Edinburgh Evening Dispatch, May 1 and 2, 1891 and reprinted in Reverend John Kerr's The Golf-Book Of East Lothian.

***ADDED*** It's best to try to simply read the "Part One" monologue of the 'Oldest Inhabitant" phonetically and I think that helps a great deal in understanding the written Scottish dialect, at least most of it.    Thanks for your forbearance and I trust you'll find this an enjoyable read.   Happy Holidays!


 The Coming Of The Honourable Company Of Edinburgh Golfers To Gullane

 Part One
 ’Gude kens where Gullane’s gaun,” said the oldest inhabitant to me a few days ago, and stooping upon his staff, the venerable sage thus enlarged upon his subject.  ‘Never since I can mind, an’I’m no young noo, hae there been sic ongauns o’ ae kind and anither.  What grand biggins they’re pittin up a’ wheres – dar me, there ‘ll sune be nane o’ the auld anmes left but Darg’s Smiddy; an’ what gran’ gentry they’re gettin’ to fill the biggins i’ the simmer time.   My certy, but Gullane’s geyan croose noo-a-days – no like the time when the king took the Kirk awa’ frae’t because it was “a decayin’ toun, “ and the minister had naething to dae but blaw tobacco.  It’s nae common kine – nae sma’ talk, I can tell ye; but carriages-and-pairs fleein’ aboot wi’ bailies an’ cooncillors, lords and earls in them.  We’ll be havin’ the Queen hersel’ afore lang, an’ what for no?   Didna Her Majesty get brattocks frae the auld pond in Mark Barker’s time, an’ d’ye think she can ha’e forgetten them when ilka brattck cost her a pound a piece, as Mark as often tell’t me?   The deil’s awa’ wi’ the tailor, and ne’er a haddie nor a herrin’ ha’e we haen sin’ John Hare brak his leg at Martimas; but w’eve got a butcher o’ oor ain noon, an’ a greengrocer, an’ a “scienteefic” dressmaker, an’ we’re sune to ha’e a baker to oorself’s, an’ het baps I’ the morning’ – so w’ere rale weel aff.   There’s John the carrier, honest man – we’ll no want as lang as he’s on the road for a’ the luxuries o’ Embro’ toon; but I’ll no fori’e John for the price he chairged for coals the time o’ the strike, an’ nae wunner, for he’s got a hoose o’ his ain noo, like a castle.   And there’s the racehorses on the green again – the bonnie craturs wi’ their gimp legs dancin’ aboot; man, I like to see them an’ Gullane’s hersl’ again, as I used to mind o’t in I’Anson and Dawson’s time  “Ca’ them horses!” says auld Wully Noble; “they’re jist weedsand ne’er ane worth muntin I’ the lot o’ them.”  Wullys a bit doitit noo, but he kens a horse yet, and maybe he’s richt; but for a’ that I say they’re bonnie bits o’ craturs, an’ I like to see them caperin’ aboot.  Od, man, bu tthey’ve been awfu’ times, sin’ auld Dawvit Pringle dee’t this time twalmonth’ a douce man Dawvit, an’ kent mair aboot this kintraside than the feck o’ fowk, an’ mony a crack we had boot bygane times, but he slippit awa’ ceevily in the hinner-en’ did Dawvit, an’ it’s me they’ll be ca’in for next – it’s a guid allooance I’ve haen, four-score and’ twa, a lang lease of grace, an’ no muckle to show for’t; but it’s a mercifu’ Creator we’re I’ the hands o’, an’ that’s ae comfort.   Sic a winter as we’ve had – did ever ye see the like o’t wi’ frost and an’ rain an’ wind an’ snaw?  Nae wunner Kirsty has been sae bad wi’ the nerves, an’ wee Wully, the bit bairn, had to be ta’en to the asylum.   Sic a winter wi’ waddins an’ weans – faegs, but they’ve keepit the minister rinnin’ baith nicht an’ day marryin’ an’ bapteezin; an’ puir man, he’s failin’ like mysel’ an’ no sae gleg as he was once.  There’s a new ane come to the Free Kirk – a douce lad wi’ a daylicht face, they say, an’ nane o’ the hoolit aboot him, an’ maybe he’ll be a bit help; but I’m no sure aboot meenisters noo – theyr’e either no soond ava, or a’ soond thegither; an’ am no sae kirk-greedy as I ance was, for there’s ower mony cantrips and flummeries aboot them for me – an’ that’s true what I’m sayin’, though maybe you’re no’ my way o’ thinkin’.   The schulemistress, tae, maun hae a man like the lave, an’ sae they’ve got a new lass, an’ a well-faured ane she is, to help Maister Wulson wi’ the carritches, and look after the bairns an’ their bits o’ seams.  An’ we’ve gt a new Schule Board, or rather an auld ane, an’ sic a worry they made to get some o’ them oot that sudna be there – a’ for naething in the meaintime, but maybe the time’s comin’.
 
‘Od, man, Cor’nel, but they’re great times for Gullane.  An’ ye wad hear the German band that gied us a veesit mair than ance this winter.   I’ve nae ear for meesic mysel’, but I’m thinkin’ it wad be the Reel o’Tulloch they played sae brawly, and set the auld wifes an’ weans a’ dancin’ tthegither.   I’ve naething to spare, as ye ken, but I gied the chaps a bawbee – I coodna help it.  Sic strings o’ wild geese!   Did ever ye see the like o’ them this winter? – thousands and thousands o’ them craikin’ ower oor heids every ither nicht; but a’ the strings o’ wild gees were naething tae yon flicht o’ wild swans about Yuletide.  Eh, but the sicht was uncanny; when I saw their lang necks and their braid wings flappin’ I’ the lift, man, I railly thocht the judgment was come; ae blast o’ a trumpet, an’ I wad hae tumbled doun on the spot as deid as a mawk.  I got a gloff, I can tell ye, for there was mair on ma conscience than I was jist carin’ to answer for at the time; an’ when their tailes gaed yont the Whim, I gaed ben to Smith’s, for I was gey dwammy, and had a wee thocht o’brandy that kist cheer’t me immense, as ye micht suppose.   Ye’ve been at mony a big fecht, Cor’nel, as I’ve heard ye tell; but I’m mista’en if ye’re no vexed, like me, that sae mony folks here hae been makin’ fules o’themselvesby rinnin’ sae muckle into law.   I’m no sayin’ Smith got justice frae the Shirra, but better ha’e mendit the dog-cairt an’ said nae mair aboot it, for wasna the Laird o’Kingston’s blame, but his man Peter’s, an’ ye cann tak’ the breeks aff a Hielandman.  An’ d’ye no think it wad hae been mair wiselike o’ ane an’ a’ to have settled this drainage collyshangy ower a mutchkin or twa? But the lawyers ‘ll hae the best o’t – they like a guid-gangin’ plea; an’ the new-fangled Coonty Council maun dae something to keep themsels afore the public, an’ it’s iz that’ll ha’e the piper to pay in the end o’t.   Eh, whow! But it’s a pitifu’ sicht.  Wel dae I mind my faither telling’ me aboot the coods frae a’ pairts gaitherin’ to see the puir soger ladies shot at the Yellow Mires, when Grant’s Fencibles lay aff Jovie’s Neuk waitin’ for the French; but it’s an awfu’ douncome to see sic a lot o’ lairds, lawyers, doctors an’ common fowk a’ rinnin’ wi’ their noses, an’ sniffin’ at the end o’ a drain like a lot o’ terriers after a rat.   Sic fykin’ noo-a-days aboot drains!   I’m thinkin’ we were healthier langsyne when there was nane o’ them.   There’s nae jeuks or brattocks noo, for wi’ them an’ their drains oor bit pond’s nae mair to be seen, an’ Gullane withoot the auld pond isna the place it was in my young days, no’ within a mile o’t.   What’s a’ the fuss – but I’m wearyin’ ye, Cor’nel – what’s a’ the fuss aboot this new gowff club an’ this new links at The Howes?   They’re a gran’ set, they tell me – raill gentry the haill o’ them, an’ a spankin’ players, an’ they ca’ themsel’s The Honourable Company.  An’ what for are they honourable mair than ither gowffers, wad ye tell me?   Wh are they refleckin’ on wi’ their big title?   Dae they mean that the weavers o’ Aberlady and Dirleton, when they forgathered wi’ their clubs on Hansel Monday, as Dawvit Pringle used to tell me, werena honourable, an’ Laird Tamson wi’ thae cronies o’ his I’ the Farmers Club, or the ‘Castle’ chaps wi’ Happy Chairlie at their head – are they no as honourable as ony Embro’ gents?   But it’s an ill win’ that blaws naebody guid – auld Robbie tells me he’s getting ‘three shillin’s a day for chappin’ stanes on the new road, an’ the Laird o’ Lingo’s groom’s coft a horse an’ cairt for himsel’, an’ tey’re a’ makin’ fortins atween here an’ Rattlebags quarry, for they ken hoo to charge, an’ mony a ane’s been the better o’ the masons that’s biggin’ the new clubhouse ludgin’ wi’ them, where tere was nae simmer gentry aboot; maybe a’ wull come richt wi’ Gullane by-and-bye – Gude kens.’
 
So he spoke, and then slowly moved away, his white locks waving in the wind.   His talk did not weary me, it interested me much, and it is here set down along with what follows in the belief that there are many readers of the Dispatch, here and elsewere, not uninterested in Gullane – it’s past, it’s present, and it’s future.   Having given the best of my days to the service, in a military capacity, of my Queen and country, and seen as much of the wolrd as is good for me, or perhaps more, I have chosen this village as the quietest, peacfullest nook I could find in my native country – a spot where true rest is to be found ‘ far from the madding crowd’, and such repose of mind and body as is necessary to ‘husband out life’s taper to its close’.   I have contracted no cynical views of the world or the people that are in it, but I have done my work, and why should I be in the way?   I am, and hope to be to the last, a lover of all this is best and simplest in human nature, and a student of its various phases.   This is my second reason for settling here.   The people are neither artificial nor vicious – they are simple, natural, and true; and I like them and like to study them.   They are capable of improvement, but it might be of a kind that would develop greater faults than they have, for the sake of a higher degree of certain virtues which at present they possess in moderation, and so I am pleased with them and their ways, and ‘the oldest inhabitant’ and I are great friends; in him I have the faithful reflection of the life of the village.  He may be garrulous, but I am always interested in his remarks and he knows it.
 
My third reason for residing here is – Golf.   Without that my rest at Gullane would be burdensome; my interest in the people would become meddlesome.   Long ago, when a boy at Madras College, I learned to play, and you known one never forgets the game.  Alas!  It is now to me what Andreww Lang somewhere calls it – ‘the old man’s exercise’.  Cowper, who is a plain poet, and therefore a favorite of mine, says truly –
 
“The want of occupation is not rest;
A mind quite vacant is a mind distrest.”
 
Golf keeps the mind from being vacant; but the mind must be quite vacant for golf.   This is no paradox to anyone who knows the game.   This is why I golf, and this is why I have chosen to reside at Gullane.  I know of no better green; none more elastic in its turf; none where a better class of caddies can be had; none where such fine, quiet matches can be arranged; none with more delightful glimpses of landscape, sky, and sea.


To Be Continued…

 
« Last Edit: December 23, 2015, 04:03:05 PM by MCirba »
"Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent" - Calvin Coolidge

https://cobbscreek.org/

MCirba

  • Karma: +0/-0
Re: A Mid-Winter Eve's Tale of Content
« Reply #1 on: December 23, 2015, 02:17:14 PM »
 Part Two

To tell the truth, it is really the golfesque in Gullane that attracts me most; this aspect is over its past, present and future; the be-all and the end-all of the village is – Golf.   So when my venerable interpreter of the humanities of the place recited, in his own mixed manner, the hundred-and-one incidents of what will undoubtedly stand out as an annus mirabilis in the history of the village, it was really when he began to supposed hemight be wearying me that he began to interest me most, by his inquiries about the new links at the Howes, and the Honourable Company who were preparing them for occupation.
 
The advent of the Honourable Company has occupied my mind for many a day.  My interest in Gullane makes me feel that it is the most important event that has happened there for centuries; to East Lothian it is surely important that Edinburgh has sent eastward its premier golf club, to settle in the very centre of the many links and clubs that there abound in such profusion.  And surely we need not point out the importance of such a change for the Company itself, and for the game of golf, in the history and development of which the Honourable Company has taken a very prominent and creditable part.   My friend, ‘the oldest inhabitant’ gave me no opportunity to answer his questions, but some day when we meet I hope to set the old man’s mind at rest, to dispel all his fears, and make him die happy in the conviction that with a new links and a new company in its neighborhood, of such distinction as that yclept ‘The Honourable’, the future of Gullane is destined to be brighter than its past or present.
 
I was not the means of bringing the Honourable Company to the Howes, but I might have been.  This will ever be to me a matter of regret, for I was selfishly silent when I heard of their exploitations around Dunbar.  I knew the place for them, but never lifted a finger; for I am not like the elephant, which calls on its fellows to enjoy fresh ‘fields and pastures new’ when it discovers them.  I am like the bee which, according to Sir John Lubbock, brings no friend to share a sweet thing when it comes its way.   I heartily sympathized with the summer residenter who objected to a kirk being planted at Gullane, because it would spoil the amenity of the place.  A good, kind, pious man he; it was not that the loved the kirk less – it was that he lived the quietness of Gullane more.   But there it stands, ecce signum, the high-water mark of the wave that swept away the pristine simplicities.   Resistance is useless; the quiet places of the earth must gradually be surrendered to kirks and golf clubs; and I might as well have taken the committee of the Honourable Company to Muirfield at once, instead of sitting still, in hope that they would pass by the place which Golfina had appointed for them.   Now that the banns have been published, I make amends by congratulating the proprietor of the Archerfield estate on the wisdom of handing over that hundred-acre field, the Company on their good fortune in securing such an excellent green, and Gullane on the high honour that has befallen her in having her name linked fo ever with such a distinguished partner.  Depend upon it, I shall be at the marriage ceremony with an old slipper to give the time-honoured tangible token of good wishes for the happy pair when the event is over.
 
Bit by bit, line upon line, I have seen that beautiful and costly clubhouse which is to be the abode of the Honourable Company at Muirfield, rising from the ground.   What a view the privileged member will have when it is finished, and he sits under his own vine and fig-tree between his matches, looking out at the club window!  I know of nothing to beat it, go east or go west.   But few, if any of the members of the Company who shall hereafter gaze on that scene shall do so with the advantage I have had, in watching the house rise from its foundations, and having everything explained to me by the contractor, Mr. Lownie, and by Mr. Duff, the courteous clerk of works.  One of the greatest pleasures I have is the study of origins.  I believe it was Harriett Martineau who at eight years of age recorded in her diary the birth of a brother (James) as ‘a very interesting human event’, since she would thereby be able ‘to study the growth of a human mind’.   The advent of the Honourable Company to Gullane made me feel somewhat like that Wisdom, who could boast that he was present at the foundation of the world.   What golfer does not envy me, when I say that the origin and development of the Muirfield Golf Course are familiar to me!  I did not regard the foundation and development of the building with so much interest as the making of the green.   The remarkable turf, the capital putting-greens and teeing-grounds, the scenery, the bunkers, will all be known to generations of ‘Honourables’ yet unborn, but I – the old man military – I can go back to the beginnings and of that I am prouder than of any medal I wear.   The origin of the Honourable Company itself I have found no mortal able to declare, and their title, which was a stumbling block to the  ‘oldest inhabitant’, is hid in mystery, so far as I can see.   They must not be held responsible for the suspicion it raises (for everybody doubts the man who goes out of his way to assure his neighbours that he is honourable).  It is like the case of the servant-lass in search of a situation, who on being questioned as to the place of her nativity burst out weeping, as she replied, ‘Deed, sire, I maun tell ye the truth; I was born in Paisley, but I couldna help it’.    It is different with the Muirfield green.  I know all about it, and can tell you all about it.   My friend ‘the oldest inhabitant’ has often described the races that were held there; and I remember well that once my blood ran cold as he described how a wee laddie left his mammy, strayed on to the course, was galloped over by the racers, and then carried home for dead.   That boy became the first secretary of the Gullane Club.   Little do the members know how much they have to be thankful for.
 
But I leave behind ‘the Howes’ of racing fame.  The Howes of today and the making of the green there are what concern me.  Old Tom is a veritable makkar - his is 'the vision and the faculty divine' for making golf-greens; how I felt that as I walked beside him, he glancing 'from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven', taking in the situation at every point!  The holes were then put to shape, and soon the 'local habitation and the name' o fthe new links of the Honourable Company were flashed through all the golfing world.  Another green to bear witness to the skill of the grand old greenkeeper!  What a record he must have of the making of greens!
 
 'It has been cunningly laid oot, Cor'nel, as Maister Arthur Balfour's brither ae day said to me; ay, cunningly laid oot'  It was David Plenderleith who now addressed me.   David is the man who was left to carry out old Tom's designs and superintend the whole operation.  'A golfer and a gairdner', he described himself; and David must drag in the Chief Secretary some way, as all golfers do, before they have spoken much of the game.   I have been as Jonathan to David all the time he was at work, and being in his confidence, the making of the green is as familiar to me as I have said it is.  Under him were the twa Robbies - Ross and Brown, Fred Hamilton and Andrew Allan, a capital quartette; since December they have dumped away with their iron beaters, levelled mounds, filled up rabbit-scrapes, banked up bunkers, turfed, rolled, or swept, unceasingly; and such work has all been needed in the making of the green.   
 
I hope the possession of the Howes by the Honourable Company will prove a veritable survival of the fittest.   Certainly they have driven to the wall, and beyond it, many who hitherto kept up a struggle for existence in the Howes.   The tenant of Muirfield, decent man, was first to go.  ‘It was the best thing I had’, said he, ‘an’ I was laith to pairt wi’t’.  And he did not go without driving before him crowds of rabbits, for to that race the Howes has been a consecrated place for centuries.  ‘The last year I was tenant’, said he, ‘I killed 1400 pair of them; an’ gran’ rabbits they were – no the like o’ them in a’ Scotland’.   Since the Honourable Company took possession, the work of rabbit-catching has gone on at the rate of twenty or thirty couples a day.  Alas, poor bunny!  What a change to thee when there is no rest in the will.   Still he scuds past us and holes out in one in a way no golfer can.  ‘It’s no easy wark getting them oot, I can tell ye’, says David; and he showed me places where, after all was sealed up and turfed, bunny forced his way through.   Here and there, the earth rung hollow from beneath where all had been made secure for the putting-green, and down went boy Brotherstone’s big mare which drew the three-ton roller, ‘a fine canny auld beast that gangs quietly wi’ the shoon on’.  The whole field had now come to the rescue.


« Last Edit: December 23, 2015, 02:21:18 PM by MCirba »
"Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent" - Calvin Coolidge

https://cobbscreek.org/

MCirba

  • Karma: +0/-0
Re: A Mid-Winter Eve's Tale of Content
« Reply #2 on: December 23, 2015, 02:21:45 PM »
Part Two Continued...

 Then there were the moles, and these Archie Macnab has been hanging at large for the past few months – double-hanging, for after they are taken from the traps they are displayed in their moleskins on a stick stuck in the ground.   Archie is a man to delight the heart of James Purves.  ‘Eh, but it’s teuch wark getting’ at them, Cor’nel; they’re as cunnin’ as the devil himsel’, says he; and no doubt he is right.   ‘And why hang up whole families on poles as I see you do, Archie’?  ‘Od, man, d’ye no ken it’s a kindly custom on oor pairt to dae that, for, ye see, it keeps the rats frae eatin’ them; for the rats is awfu’ fond o’ them, and sae determined, mind ye, to get a grup o’ them, that they whiles spiel up an’ eat them aff the sticks’.   Next, therefore, in this destructive war, the rats have to be put down; and so the extermination has gone on, and so has gone on the making of the green, amid wars and rumours of wars. 
 
 What has pleased me most about Plenderleith's work has been the naturalness which has everywhere been observed, as if the maxim 'give the club its own lie,' had been a guide in the treatment of the ground   The putting-greens, which were the first part of the work, were not levelled like a billiard table; the old rig-marks are still there; and lots of ups and downs on a small will elicit scientific putting.   The teeing-grounds, again, were not made up in little sloping plateaus - they are natural, and their variety also will call forth good play.   The distances between the holes are wonderfully near those which Mr. Horace Hutchinson has laid down as suitable for a proper course; and I have been instructed very much in the game by remarking this, and the various lines chosen by old Tom as he drew out the round, for they have all a bearing on the way in which the game is expected to be played.   The nature of the turf has been greatly in favour of the work.  It is a fine 'healing' turf, several inches thick, and intertwined with licorice roots, which act like cords in keeping it together.   'Without a doot,' says Plenderleith, 'it's the finest turf that was ever seen,' and I believe he is right.   There certainly cannot be better for golf.   A few of the committee have taken interest in the proceedings, and visited the work as it went on; but by their absence some of them have shown the confidence they had in my friend David, for, as he remarked one day, 'We've been dumpin' awa here, an' no a leevin' soul near us for three weeks.’
 
 
To Be Continued...
« Last Edit: December 23, 2015, 02:41:26 PM by MCirba »
"Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent" - Calvin Coolidge

https://cobbscreek.org/

MCirba

  • Karma: +0/-0
Re: A Mid-Winter Eve's Tale of Content
« Reply #3 on: December 23, 2015, 03:25:46 PM »
 Part Three
 
Their work, so interesting to me in a hundred other ways, which I must omit speaking of, has not been without its difficulties.  They have had some fierce storms to face during the past winter, and when sand and wind go together, who can stand against them?   That fourth day of March last I shall never forget.   Instead of being driven into, the bunkers seemed to have risen up in wrath and were themselves driving into everything we saw.  With a following wind they were driving everything before them.   After a desperate struggle to find my old friends Plenderleith and his men, I came upon them at last in the old black cattle-shed in the north-east corner of the field, where they had fled for shelter, and taken their tools, wheel-barrows, etc., which might otherwise have been overblown with sand.   A fire was burning in the middle of the shed, round which they were gathered; but the smoke seemed to make it difficult to get much comfort out of the heat.   ‘We wad be nane the waur o’ a wee drap o’ the Auld Kirk here the day, Cor’nel’, said my friend David, after he had given me a salute of welcome.   I generally carry with me some of that stimulant which is said to be the best golfing-spirit, but I use it as cautiously as a doctor uses Koch’s fluid, especially when I give it to parties of whose capacities I am ignorant.   In my own case I have sufficient knowledge of myself and my constitution to deal more liberally than I can with strangers.   The poor fellows seemed none the worse for the small doses I gave them, and I soon left them to reach the village in time for my five o’clock dinner.  The storm was fiercer than ever and now the sand and wind were in my face.  I struggled on.  Now and then I turned my back, sat down, and took a little of that excellent ecclesiastical refreshment to which have referred.   Once I tilted against the windmill in the middle of the course.   More than once I came to the wall which surrounds the park, and it gave me grateful shelter; but in vain did I try to find the gate for Gullane, and my limbs were too weak for me to think of climbing over the wall.   Darkness had quite obscured every path, when at last I stumbled into the cattle-shed which I had left some hours before.   I had the fire, such as it was, all to myself, and, tired and overcome, I was glad to lie down beside it.   No sooner had I done so than the darkness disappeared, and all about lay bright, beautiful, and warm under the sunshine of a glorious day in May.   I looked, and from the tower of the club-house, now all complete, and from every pinnacle thereof, gay flags fluttered in the breeze.   The great door flew open, and forth issued Anagalla, Princess of Corcyra, inventor of the ball, with a golden key in her hand held on high, attended by her sporting virgins.   Following these in regular succession there came a multitude of all kinds and conditions down the hill, who filed past me where I lay, toward Yapin Hill and Freshwater Haven.   A motley procession it was, of kings and people, high and low, rich and poor, dead and alive – all met in honour of the opening of the new links of the Honourable Company.   A few only I could distinguish, such as Mary Queen of Scots, Earl of Bothwell, John Knox, Andrew Melville, the Duke of York and Jon Patersone (these two as they appeared when they set Scotland v. England in a foursome, and won the match); Charles I, the Duke of Montrose, and a multitude of others: one and all connected with golfing tradition.   Then came the procession proper of the Honourable Company, headed by the silver club, the gift of the Town Council of Edinburgh, and heralded by tuck of drum.  Many notable figures were in the front – Duncan Forbes of Culloden, William St. Clair of Roslin, ‘singing Jamie Balfour’, and many other heroes of old times whose names are held in ‘honourable’ remembrance.  When the figures of the first three quarters of this century had filed past I felt more at home, for most of the faces that looked toward me as they passed were of old friends.   There was Colonel Anderson of Bowerhouse – and who so well fitted as he to lead on the ‘Honourables’ towards their new Lothian Links, for who in East Lothian is more esteemed than he? – Sir Alexander Kinloch of Gilmerton, another East Lothian plaer, also very popular; ‘the magnificent Clark’ and ‘the abstruse Simpson’; Hall Blyth, with many a plan beneath his arm (what an Apollo Belvidere he will make when his statue is erected, as it ought to be, by-and-by, in the clubhouse vestibule!)  And still they come, the flower of  our golfing nobility, Laidlay, Balfour, Stuart, Muir, Chambers, Bloxsom, Tod, Stevenson, Hagart, Brown, Craig, Argyll, Robertson, and all the rest – all honourable men; and in their rear, Fitzjohn, prince of club-masters, Hutchie, Fiery, and Big Crawford, chiefs of caddies, with a hundred lesser caddie lights touching their bonnets in the Musselburgh style, and saluting with their ‘Carry for you, sir?’ as they pass.   Then came representatives of all the clubs – St. Andrews to the front; and in a conspicuous place the Carlton men, with the Dispatch Braids Trophy carried on high before them.   Then representative men from far and near filed by – the double champion Ball, the ‘sardonic Hutchinson’ – ‘chief scribe o’ gowff’, M’Pherson of Ruthven, the editor of Golf, and a thousand more whom we cannot here name; while hirpling last – I could not believe it – came my good friend ‘the oldest inhabitant’, evidently reconciled, since he had been translated from earth – for he had only recently gone – to the alliance that had now been completed between Gullane and the Honourable Company.   I had no slipper, but I could not resist taking off from my right foot my old shoe, and flinging it after the procession, in token of my delight.
 
They passed.   Night fell again.   And then the black wooden shed where I lay was illumined with a hundred fairy lights.   Around the fire was a group of five figures, discussing with evident delight the successful opening of the green.   Then, clad in white, and wearing a gutta-percha crown, tipped with golden balls, her scepter a long spoon, entered the fair Golfina, Goddess of the Royal and Ancient Game, and as she mounted a throne in the west end of the shed, the five figures bent low before her.   Saluting them all by name, she congratulated them on the great event of the day, and counseled them, with all the powers they still possessed, to inspire this and succeeding generations of ‘Honourables’ with love for the best traditions of their Company and their game.   Then, to a merry tune sung by Jamie Balfour, the other four danced round the fire hand in hand – the last Vicar of Golyn with his cutty-pipe in his teeth (for the smoking of which he is said to have been driven from his cure by King James), Duncan Forbes of Culloden, Nisbet of Dirleton, and Sir Andrew Wood of Largo (why should he have been been there I cannot tell, save for the part which Largo Bay plays in the landscape of the new Honourable Company).   Fast and furious grew their mirth and dancing, under the spell of Jamie’s inimitable music; and when this ended they, led by Golfina herself, raised such a loud cheer that I awoke, and found myself looking through the roofless shed into the grey skies of the morning. 



To Be Continued...



 
"Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent" - Calvin Coolidge

https://cobbscreek.org/

MCirba

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Re: A Mid-Winter Eve's Tale of Content
« Reply #4 on: December 23, 2015, 03:49:05 PM »
 Part Three Continued…
 
It had all been a dream.  Overpowered, I had soon fallen asleep after entering the shelter, and the events of the day, the interest I took in the golf and in the making of the green, the sight of Plenderleith and his foursome, had shaped themselves into the phantasmagoria which I have described.   It was a blast of wind and not ‘singing Jamie Balfour’ that had really brought down the house, or, at any rate, riven the roof from the sides thereof, carrying it bodily away into Elbottle Wood.   This was the noise that awoke me.   I sallied forth with only one shoe, and made my way home by the grey morning light.
 
Alas!  That 4th of March has been for me the beginning of the end.   The cold I then caught has so weakened my constitution that I see nothing for it now but to prepare for my abode in the corner of the old kirkyard at Gullane, which I have long had set aside for me near by the last resting place of my dear old friend Alexander Whytock, that most genial of souls, who did so much in his day for Gullane and for golf.   I have no regrets, except that I am only in vision to behold that opening day of the green, the watching of the making of which has been one of the delights of my life.   The ‘oldest inhabitant’ has already gone before me – peace be to his ashes.    And many members of the Honourable Company will no doubt in time be gathered there, and be welcomed as heartily as they now are to the Howes.   Life, like gowff, is a queer game, lads, and we must all hole out when the times comes; but while life lasts Floreat Gullane, Floreat Gowff, is the expiring prayer of ‘the Cor’nel’; and Floreat also the Honourable Company of Edinburgh Golfers.
 
All that’s bright must fade, and we who play,
Like those before us, soon must pass away;
Yet it requires no prophet’s skill to trace
The royal game through each succeeding race;
While on the tide of generations flows,
It still shall bloom, a never-fading rose.

 
The End
 
"Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent" - Calvin Coolidge

https://cobbscreek.org/

Bob Montle

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Re: A Mid-Winter Eve's Tale of Content
« Reply #5 on: December 23, 2015, 06:07:42 PM »
Thank you Mike, for sharing this.
And a Merry Christmas to ye.
"If you're the swearing type, golf will give you plenty to swear about.  If you're the type to get down on yourself, you'll have ample opportunities to get depressed.  If you like to stop and smell the roses, here's your chance.  Golf never judges; it just brings out who you are."

MCirba

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Re: A Mid-Winter Eve's Tale of Content
« Reply #6 on: December 23, 2015, 07:44:19 PM »
Thank you Bob!

Me bloody wee fingers are a bleedin' from all the typin' but I love sharing that mystical story.  Some accompanying images will be coming tomorrow. 

Merry Christmas to you Sir, as well!
"Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent" - Calvin Coolidge

https://cobbscreek.org/

Bill_McBride

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Re: A Mid-Winter Eve's Tale of Content
« Reply #7 on: December 23, 2015, 07:46:35 PM »
Thank you Bob!

Me bloody wee fingers are a bleedin' from all the typin' but I love sharing that mystical story.  Some accompanying images will be coming tomorrow. 

Merry Christmas to you Sir, as well!


C'mon, you know you cut and pasted that!


Merry Christmas!

MCirba

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Re: A Mid-Winter Eve's Tale of Content
« Reply #8 on: December 23, 2015, 10:25:06 PM »
Nope Bill...please excuse any tyops.   ;D
"Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent" - Calvin Coolidge

https://cobbscreek.org/

MCirba

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Re: A Mid-Winter Eve's Tale of Content
« Reply #9 on: December 24, 2015, 10:24:15 AM »
Well, I actually did "cut and paste" but only because I first typed it in Word to ensure I 1) wouldn't time out typing on GCA and 2) hoping to have more control over the format than seems possible with our new upgrade here on GCA.   

Even with that my first pass ended up with some incredibly small fonts and it took some time to get things looking decent.   
"Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent" - Calvin Coolidge

https://cobbscreek.org/

Marty Bonnar

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Re: A Mid-Winter Eve's Tale of Content
« Reply #10 on: December 24, 2015, 01:53:21 PM »
Happy to assist with any translation if required. Although even I might struggle with some of it!
F.
The White River runs dark through the heart of the Town,
Washed the people coal-black from the hole in the ground.

DMoriarty

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Re: A Mid-Winter Eve's Tale of Content
« Reply #11 on: December 25, 2015, 02:55:57 PM »
Not sure whether Mike is joking about having typed all that out, but for those interested in reading the whole book it is freely available online or for reading, download, cut and paste, etc.  This one is pretty easy to read . . .

http://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=umn.31951002363753c;view=2up;seq=14

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.
Golf history can be quite interesting if you just let your favorite legends go and allow the truth to take you where it will.
--Tom MacWood (1958-2012)

Terry Lavin

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Re: A Mid-Winter Eve's Tale of Content
« Reply #12 on: December 25, 2015, 03:27:33 PM »
Great contribution in the spirit of the season. Best wishes for peace, justice and international harmony as we move through treacherous times.
« Last Edit: December 25, 2015, 07:08:24 PM by Terry Lavin »
Nobody ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American people.  H.L. Mencken

MCirba

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Re: A Mid-Winter Eve's Tale of Content
« Reply #13 on: December 25, 2015, 03:38:12 PM »
Thanks Terry.

I'm really looking forward to Martin's liberal interpretation.  ;)
« Last Edit: December 27, 2015, 10:46:18 AM by MCirba »
"Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent" - Calvin Coolidge

https://cobbscreek.org/

Colin Macqueen

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Re: A Mid-Winter Eve's Tale of Content
« Reply #14 on: December 26, 2015, 04:34:14 PM »
[color=rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961)]Mike, an enjoyable read indeed! The slow pace at which I had to read The Oldest Inhabitant's (shades of the Oldest Member here) monologue was just the thing I needed after a frenetic Christmas Day's activity! And with Marty I am happy to attempt the odd translation but for the love of me I have no idea what a "brattock" is![/color]


Cheers Colin
"Golf, thou art a gentle sprite, I owe thee much"
The Hielander

MCirba

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Re: A Mid-Winter Eve's Tale of Content
« Reply #15 on: December 27, 2015, 10:47:11 AM »
Colin,

I believe it's a young water fowl.  Glad you enjoyed.

"Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent" - Calvin Coolidge

https://cobbscreek.org/

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