Day One: ‘It’s not me, it’s t’others’

 

After a millennium of waiting the day duly arrived when 8 intrepid explorers headed west in search of the Holy Grail. The Holy Grail being a competitive match, or two, on a new course, with a view to a win.

Having put their heads together the Judge and the Metronome came up with Crossland Heath, Huddersfield  for day one and Silkstone, Barnsley for day two.

CROSLAND HEATH GOLF CLUB

CROSLAND HEATH GOLF CLUB	https://croslandheath.co.uk/
Type of course	Heathland	18 holes	Par 71
Course distance	White 6069 yds	Yellow 5896 yds	Red 5298 yds
Holes	5 x Par 3	9 x Par 4	4 x Par 5
Played	20/07/23
Claim to Fame:  One of the highest courses in the country

 The first venue being Crosland Heath, we took part in a Seniors Open. The format was a non-qualifying Mens Betterball Stableford and the teams picked way back when were as follows:

The Metronome and Kryton

Me and the Judge

The Doc’ and the Bandit

Handy and the Beau.

The Beau however, dipped out early doors as he had once again booked a romantic holiday abroad. It wasn’t easy to find a replacement, but the Doc came good and introduced the Auld Retainer to the group. Which meant Handy got Kryton and the Metronome got the Retainer.

At an entry fee of £25 each, it makes sense to take on these non-qualifying competitions, for a normal visitor round at Crosland Heath would set you back £50 Monday to Thursday and £60 at weekends.

"The Heath" as it's known locally is allegedly a mere 10 minutes off the M62, was founded in 1914 and designed by Alister MacKenzie, he of Augusta fame. According to its website It is relatively unchanged from its original layout, the quality of the greens is renowned, as is the challenge of the finest set of par three holes on one course. Sitting on the hills above Huddersfield enjoying extensive panoramic views over the Colne Valley it is considered a flat, easy walking course. The writer had clearly never been to  Hull!

With the tee off times being early afternoon. Leisurely drives were undertaken from all points east.

Coming off the M62 you zigzag around the west side of Huddersfield through the local enclave of Paddock,  on a route that seems to take longer than the mere 10 minutes. A sharp left through the gates sees you immediately hit the course, as the driveway splits the sloping par 5, 1^st and 3^rd. One must have their wits about them here, for a good second shot on either hole could see a car being dinted.

With Handy as my wingman, a wave from the starter on the  1^st tee sees us progress safely across the causeway.

The clubhouse is nestled in between the rising 1^st and falling 18^th with the adjacent car park surrounded by high hedges. Consideration as to where you park is vital as a wayward shot could easily enter the car park causing costly damage to the many SUV’s situated there.

Sitting in the clubhouse we tuck into one of the best bacon, mushroom and tomato butties I have a had in a long time and observe Kryton and the Judge arriving in the Kryton’s Jeep. Not being the most confident of drivers his Postman Pat lookalike vehicle, enters, stops, stutters, moves gently forward, stops, stutters and eventually makes it across the path.

With pairs arriving at varying times throughout the morning, we had the opportunity to take in the 270⁰ panoramic view from the traditional but tired looking clubhouse. The artexed cream walls appear in need of a fresh lick of paint and perhaps a newly monogrammed carpet would not go amiss.

The pro shop is diminutive in size but as ever expensively stocked.

30 minutes before tee off we are suitably attired and make our way to the practice green and net. Having not for the first time adapted my swing to ensure lack of slice and recently undertaking a lesson on chipping, I thought today was going to be a good day. Once again, how wrong can one man be.

The starter was a pleasant enough chap who clearly explained the game format, the hazards and specific issues we may encounter. Frist up the Doc and with his robotic routine he was as impressive as ever, as was his partner. The second pair saw the Retainer hit one up the middle and then Kryton, resembling Brian Harman on speed, whacked one off, it sliced right and fell short of the main entrance to the course. How we sniggered. No matter the little big hitter was soon back on the fairway.

As we waited our turn, the Judge who had played Crosland many times began to engage the starter in a language alien to us all. Phrases like ‘ow do’, ‘int it’, ‘wi me mates’, ‘over yon’ and ‘tha nose’ meant nothing to us east end boys.

On the tee, the Metronome and the Judge followed without issue and then it was my go. After some excellent practice drives in the net, a solid shot took an unerring path towards the car park and easily carried the high hedge. Above my shout of fore, no one heard the sound of breaking glass, buckling metal or painful human screams, I may have been lucky, as the only thing hurt was my pride. The provisional was far better but my next shot once again disappeared below the hedge. Time to pick up and act as a guide, for everyone’s blind 3^rd. The flat surface of the green sat atop a manicured quarry with a long drop to the right, where both the Judge and the Metronome found themselves. Standing tall on the green I acted as a marker ensuring my two compatriots had the right direction to work on. Inadvertently I did ask the diminutive Judge if he could see the flag from some 30 feet below me, which on reflection was probably a stupid question.

The 2^nd at 129 yards SI 15 across the same quarry was a better result a par for the Metronome a bogey for me. The Judge once again ended up in the quarry but with a lower green he was able to see the flag unaided.

The 3^rd SI 9 par 5 at 494 yards saw some cracking drives and second shots from all concerned. Just short of the front bunker and feeling good again, I immediately duffed the chip and ended up in the sand. I was livid and just for a change lost it. No matter my partner was on song as he parred the hole with a putt that had just enough roll to take it over the lip of the hole and allow his heart to return from his mouth back to his chest. Handy did likewise with a better formed par.

A rising par 4 4^th at 355  yards SI 3 saw a rare sight indeed as the Metronome went out of bounds but his partner came to the fore with a bogey that could have easily been a birdie. The greens were tricky.

The views from atop the Heath took in the Southern Pennines and were indeed stunning. The course meandered through the Yorkshire stone quarries of the area and used the natural contours to good effect. Off fairway the rough unsurprisingly was made of gorse and fine grass but always left you with a good chance of finding your ball. Coloured marker posts assisted in the sighting of a wayward ball and are inexpensive aids that more clubs should adopt, not least of all our own. It was clear the course was well cared for and had the best wishes of its members at heart.

On reaching the 9^th Crosland Heath lives up to its name as greens and tees intersected in all directions. Thankfully well signposted and with appropriate carpeted paths the area may become congested with players and trolleys but if instructions are adhered to, no one is in fear of injury, unlike the naïve and innocent who walk the car park!

The 10^th SI 8 par 4 at 352 yards is surprisingly the only green protected by water and the only person to falter here is the Metronome. Perhaps his carbohydrate level, which ensures the normal, drive, iron, putt, putt regime, was low, A par for me and Handy and we headed to the halfway house where our colleagues were about to tee off. Varying views of the course layout were shared, enabling Kryton to label it, Criss Crossland Heath. What a wit.

The halfway house had a limited selection of repast, but a beef broth sounded very appealing. Moving on quickly without seal or cup holder, the broth delicately poised on the scorecard holder saw the wind whip up and deposit the chunky hot potage on my legs and shoes. It had the appearance of a vomit comet from teenage stag do. Not pretty but my golf towel was put to good use.

From the 13^th onward the Metronome came into his own as he finished the round, par, par, par, bogey, par, bogey but that is not the most memorable detail from this hole.

A par 5 SI 4 at 489 yards saw the Metronome and the Judge on the green in 3. The Metronome two putts, the Judge comes into his own and birdies the hole. This prompts a reaction that will stay long in my memory, he tucks the putter between his legs, smacks his own buttock and prances round the green like Princess Anne in an equestrian event. It is the funniest thing I have seen in a long time and as I just about wet myself, Handy and the Metronome have a little more decorum, raise their eyebrows to the heavens and move on to the par 3 14^th, where the Judge immediately falls off his horse.

From here on in the Judge stumbles, I splutter and Handy keeps pace with his partner. The final scores on the day are 38 for our chums and 34 for us. The Bandit and the Doc have a handsome 41, Kryton and the Retainer 37. Regardless of the scores a good day was had by all.

As we packed up close scrutiny of the car park saw a number of cars with small indentations in the side panels. A hurried exit was the order of the day and a 45 minute drive to our hotel is undertaken on the most circuitous and speed camera laden road one has ever come across. Beware the A629.

A well-earned pint and a Premier Inn Meal Deal for everyone saw the eight well satiated. The Metronome thankfully refuelled his carbohydrate battery with a starter of skin on chips followed by skin on chips and something else. Sadly, the pudding lacked a potato base, so he didn’t bother.

The rest of the evening consisted of golf chat, holiday chat, football chat, chit chat and s**t chat, interspersed with laughter and a few pints of Madri, Guinness and Tetley. All tucked up in our respective beds by 10.45, how times have changed for these bon vivants of yesteryear. In days gone by the old motto would have been, “What goes on tour, stays on tour”. Not now, we have moved on and the adage appears to be:

“Ear all, see all, say nowt; Eat all, sup all, pay nowt; And if ivver tha does owt fer nowt – Allus do it fer thissen.”