Day Two: It's not me it's t'others

  SILKSTONE GOLF CLUB

SILKSTONE GOLF CLUB	https://www.silkstonegolfclub.co.uk/
Type of course		18 holes	Par 72
Course distance	White 6536 yds	Yellow 6263 yds	Red 5630 yds
Holes	3 x Par 3	11 x Par 4	4 x Par 5
Played	21/07/23
Claim to Fame:  some of the finest practice facilities in the county.

Day 2 sees everyone up for 8.30 and consuming  an all you can eat breakfast. As the Bandit and the Doc go for a minimum of four rashers per plate, others  practice portion control. The Metronome seems a little disappointed until he realises the fry up contains hash browns and once again, he is carbohydrate content. Nothing is left off the menu as the Doc fills his boot, from the soles up. The Auld Retainer jibes that his use of cutlery is like his golf swing, staged and prescribed. It would be terrible if he shanked his baked beans into his fried eggs. Observation of Kryton reveals he doesn’t get out much as he is unsure as to a) where his used tea bag goes and b) who will make his toast. The chat round the breakfast table is similar to the night before but this time in a different order.

ETD is varied as attempts to access the Open with a fire stick on the hotel tv fail and others use their mobile  phones to good effect.

Silkstone a mere 16 minutes away was established in 1893 and extensively redeveloped in 2008. According to its website, it offers an excellent championship golf course, considered a test for golfers of all abilities. Green fees are a peculiar  £37.50 weekday and £48.50 at weekends but the competition rates once again make for a very good deal.

A gladed entrance leads you through the course to the car park and with no tees nearby puts you at rest! The clubhouse is on one level, serviced by an off-centre c shaped bar and the Pro Shop resembles that of Crosland Heath.

As we check in, the seniors on duty are personable, polite, informative and happy to talk. A dream start for the Judge, as once again the colloquialisms come thick and fast. ‘Yarkshar’, ‘na then’, ‘si thi’, ‘ta ra’, ‘reyt’. Gibberish to the uneducated.

With time on our hands inspection of a few holes ensues, as does a session in the three chipboard driving pens. Not exactly what one would consider the finest of practice facilities but 30 balls for £1.50 is a steal.

The competition today is a team am am, three from four to count. Teams were as follows:

The Metronome, the Doc, the Bandit and the Auld Retainer

Me, Handy, Kryton and the Judge

I knew who my money was on and it wasn’t us!

A long walk to the first takes you well away from any car park spaces and again, the starter is amiable, chatty and polite. The Judge not wanting to pass up an opportunity, attempts to talk in that peculiar parlance but as ex secretary of the Greater West Yorkshire Union of Golf Clubs the starter was having none of it. Ecky thump.

The first four drive off well and we wait patiently for our turn.

Before we began Kryton was told to give his head a wobble and concentrate. He even left his ball retriever in the car but perhaps that was because the only water of any note, was in full view of the club and halfway house.at the par 3 9^{th ,}

We begin like the red arrows display team, the Judge right, Kryton left, me and Handy up’t middle. Kryton’s head shake did the trick as his second catches the fringe. Me and the Judge are short of the green and Handy nestles in a bunker. As I overshot the runway and then chipped back like an apprentice wood butcher, the hole held no fear for the others as they bogeyed for a cumulative 8 points,. 

From the west, one could see a dark front heading our way and sure enough driving rain arrived and quickly departed. This was the order of the day, umbrellas up, umbrellas down, rain jackets on, rain jackets off, caps on, caps off but what didn’t vary was the consistency of the three I played with. They were hot. As the game unfolded, I began to see myself more as a non-playing Ryder Cup Captain, motivator, confidante, nurse and in the case of Kryton babysitter!

On reaching the green of the relatively flat 2^nd, the Judge’s trolley had made the journey but he was nowhere to be seen. Further investigation revealed he had trotted back to the 1^st thinking he had left his wedge behind. Eventually returning empty handed he commented “I’ve either lost it, or it’s in my bag and I’m a dickhead.” Unequivocally, he is a dickhead but thankfully, said dickhead went bogey, par, par, bogey on the first four holes. He was reyt up for the fight.

The 3^rd SI 13 par 4 at 313 yards sees my boys all par for a grand 9 points and I eventually get on the card at the par 3 4^th.

The 5^th par 5, SI 15 at 425 yards, is a tight dog leg right that sees a handsome birdie from Handy but none of the hobby horse antics from the previous day. Not for this MOBster the frivolity, oh no, focus was his watch word.

The 8^th sees us grab our second 9 points of the front 9. A  par 4 SI 5 at 317 yards and I am more than happy with a par, Handy and Kryton bogey. At this point Handy thanks me for my contribution, “it’s good to have you along” he says. See I knew I wasn’t  wasted! It’s not me it’s t’others.

For the second day running we meet with our front runners. at the 9^th No scores are shared but issues regarding the halfway house were. Nobody present, bacon butties, pies and pastries were no more and the contents of the fridge had been raided. As the counter assistant returns, we partake of the scraps. Lacking in charisma somewhat his day had been rather hectic and our bonhomie didn’t add to his joie de vivre.

By this time the Doc and the Bandit had clearly burnt off their 4 rashers of bacon, 3 sausages, 2 fried eggs, 2 black pudding, mushrooms, baked beans, grilled tomatoes and 2 hash browns. By hook or by crook they had refuelled on the scran!

With time on our hands we watched as the big boys teed off from the 166 yard, par 3 9^th SI 9. The Doc heavily laden struggles to make the water and ricochets off the sapling next to the pond. The Auld Retainer fires over but right, the Metronome falls short and the Bandit unbalanced by the bottles of Doom Bar overflowing from his pockets, tickles one into the pond. A disconsolate shake of his head sees them move on. Admittedly not very far! Surely the dream team weren’t struggling.

The hole clearly wasn’t as easy as we thought. The Judge goes right into the bunker and takes an eternity to get out. An attempt to kick the ball in mid-air also fails . We’ve all been there, some more than others. Time for a Captain’s cuddle but he was, ‘right mardy atter that’. Thankfully we still pick up points as it’s a team game don’t you know.

Due to the blind nature of many of the holes the course, like Quasimodo, is very much governed by the bells, nine in total. Not only is the course hilly, but it is also undulating, well-manicured and the greens have subtle peaks and troughs that can catch out the unwary..

Having hit over the brow of the par 5 12^th SI16, the following group tee off without warning and as we go to take our second a whistling noise akin to ‘incoming’ flew over Kryton’s head, ricocheted off his bag and struck him on the leg. “Chuffin ‘eck” says the  Judge and in all his pomposity strides to the top of the hill and with a full gamut of hand signals chastises the team on the tee. Thankfully my boys weren’t phased and they all parred the hole. True troopers these guys.

On reaching the 13^th , the guilty party arrives and apologises for his misdemeanour, blaming  his skipper for not informing him it was a bell hole. This may have been acceptable, if it wasn’t for the fact that at the end of the round, we once again spoke to said culprit, who admitted he had played the course often. Not even a ball or a pint proffered in compensation to the injured party, so much for God’s country, God they’re reyt tight round ere!!

Strolling along the 14^th the sun shone, the birds sang, the bells rang and the Madri took its full toll on the innards, as it escaped on multiple occasions to mingle with the fluttering breeze.

Approaching the 15^th green the Doc passes by chanting, “easy easy”. Perhaps they weren’t having such a bad time of it after all.

We eventually finished  with  119 points; it wasn’t good enough to win but it was certainly respectable. As for the dream team they mustered a 103. Regardless of the scores it had been another fantastic day. The Judge was cocker hoop with his round, Handy had burnt up the course and Kryton had kept his head throughout. As for yours truly, it was another day of ups and downs.

On retiring to the clubhouse for some more ‘scran’ we had a well-earned pint, a hot sandwich and a bowl of the Metronome’s favourite dish. As we chilled before the long drive home, the Bandit regaled us with a merry quip surrounding Careers interviews and the pitfalls of dialect. This time, it was the funniest thing, I had heard in a long while. A great way to finish off an excellent two days.

To sum up then IT WAS REYT GRAND.

Same again next year please.