BONJOUR

 

BLUEGREEN  ARTIGUELOVE GOLF CLUB		https://bluegreen.fr/pau/
Type of course	Parkland		18 holes	Par 69
Course distance	White 5713m		Yellow 5421m	Red 4582m
Holes	5 x Par 3		9 x Par 4	4 x Par 5
Played	27/09/25		Rating 69.4	Slope 117
Claim to Fame: Nothing in particular

 

The holiday adventure this year found me at the base of the Pyrenees, in the city of Pau. Not the most stimulating of cities, yet the small historical centre containing the chateau, church and funiculaire provide stunning views of the mountain range.

Golf course wise, the city has an auspicious claim to fame, it contains the first golf course to be built in mainland Europe. Pau 1856 has a fantastic and detailed history. To precis. The publication in 1842 of a medical treatise led many British people to head to Pau for its curative waters and healthy environment. Little by little, a whole English community came to settle in Pau, importing its customs, and its traditional sports, including horse riding and of course golf. Lord Hamilton (Duke of Hamilton and Brandon), Colonels Hutchinson and Anstruther, Major Pontifex and Archdeacon Sapte created the golf course in 1856. They chose to rent land from the commune of Billère and a few farmers, along the River Gave, a short distance from the centre of the Pau urban area.

PGC 1856 was the very first course designed on the European continent and the fourth club in the world, outside Great Britain, after those of Charleston (United States, 1786), Calcutta (India, 1829), and Bombay (India, 1842). It is considered one of the most beautiful golf courses in France

A course with such a reputation must be played.

On the outskirts of the city there abides another course Bluegreen Artiguelove. Bluegreen are a golf company with 42 courses/resorts throughout Europe.

Guess which one I played?

With time pressing and only 3 minutes from our camp site, Bluegreen it was. Oh how I missed an opportunity to play an iconic course and yet the members I played with at Bluegreen certainly made up for my lack of opportunity.

15.30 tee off time, 18 holes, 65 euros, not cheap in anybody’s eyes. Walking up to the first, two members, an elderly gent and lady awaited me. A menage a trois so to speak.

As always, a little bit of broken English and monosyllabic French from yours truly, went hand in hand with the well spoken English of my French compatriots. We Brit’s are just downright lazy when it comes to learning foreign languages. Introductions made and I pick up the male is named Jean-Georges, the mademoiselle’s name eluded me.  “We only allow French speakers to play here”, says JG. Looks like he’s going to be a blast.

The first a par 5 at 419m is a gentle SI 16 introduction to the course. I happily bogeyed, sadly my partners on the day struggled. JG hit one into the pond on the left handside and the good lady hit one straight but not very far. It transpired JG had only been playing two years and the mademoiselle, although having played for 20 admitted she wasn’t very good. Now as we all know I am no big game player myself but at least I got off to a decent enough start.

The second, the first of five par 3’s, 146 metres SI 12, another bogey for me, not so my colleagues.

The 3^rd sees me come unstuck, par 5 SI 14, 433m, as they say pride always comes before a fall and a snowman is the order of the day. My contemporaries fair so much better, the pace of the game however is slow. The pace may have been leisurely but the conversation certainly made up for it.

It appeared JG was very much at one with the UK. Having worked on the rigs most of his life, he had
lived in Aberdeen, Ireland and Great Yarmouth. His second son was born in Wembley and his father in law was a Geordie. What was there not to like. The fact that he had also worked on the Piper Alpha Rig shortly before it went up in flames also made me aware how lucky  we are to live the lives we do.  For those who don’t know, the Piper Alpha disaster occurred in1988 when an oil platform in the north sea, north-east of Aberdeen exploded and collapsed, killing 165 of the 210 men on board. The worst oil rig catastrophe in history.

While recounting the episode JG showed not too little emotion and appeared pleased to move on to talk about his leisure time activities of golf in the summer and with the peaks of the Pyrenees only one hour away, skiing in winter.

The 4^th par 4, 308m SI 6, requires the tee shot to clear the edge of a lake and it was here I discovered JG was very much a Kryton/Handy in the making. Having failed to drive the lake he disappeared over the water’s edge and foraged deep within the prickly greenery for his ball. He like Handy, regardless of how long it took was determined to retrieve the sphere. No way was he going to give up that ball. Eventually conceding the hole, bloodied and bruised he happily reappeared, explaining he had lost 3 but found 6. Kryton would have been wetting his pants at the thought of such a bumper crop. Similar to Kryton, regardless of how straight his shot was  he would still wander off to the fringes for a forage.

On reaching the par 4 5^th the mademoiselle enquired as to my next stop on our September gap. Informing her it would be Santander, she waxed lyrical about how much she loved the city. Not because of its architecture, its museums or its churches but because in 1938 her mother was on the last boat out of the port before it was taken over by the nationalists in the Spanish Civil war. Of those republicans who remained under Franco’s regime, many were sent to concentration camps, tortured and killed, in the name of equality! No wonder she loved Santander.

As all golfers know ladies tee boxes tend to be in front of mens and as mademoiselle took up a safe position beside a large deciduous, we two, produced abysmal tee shots at the 6^th. JG pulled left and the ladies’ trolley took the full onslaught of my drive. Thankfully she was safe and like a French resistance fighter emerged, as if from nowhere. One would think she had played with us before. As we moved off to find our balls we left the lady to prepare for tee off.  The further we travelled the less inactive she became on the tee box, her bag and trolley seemed to be occupying her every move.

The dog leg left hole, SI 2 at 305m took us out of sight of the good lady and that was the last we saw of her. JG being the least concerned, at this point informed me she was not his partner and he had never met her before today and off he trotted in search of balls.

It wasn’t until I started to write this blog that I realised, perhaps I had been the perpetrator of a mechanical failure and I’d left her high and dry. So much for being a gentleman.

As we walked the course the English speakers had enquired about my own history and heritage. Not much to talk about there really, although I did mention how my father, a teenage merchant navy seaman, transported Canadian troops to Sword Beach on D Day. A beach that I had visited some 3 weeks earlier and had been moved by the experience. Normandy beaches appear to be revered and even though the weather was good, very few sit and sunbathe. Instead a respectful silence is maintained as one considers the losses incurred during 1944, ensuring our freedoms from fascism today. Although, as I reflect on the past, with the increased popularism of right wing political parties, the future in the UK doesn’t appear too bright.

I am no politician but Nationalism appears to be how many people view the world today. I just hope generations younger than mine, learn from history, sooner rather than later.

As we approached the 8^th JG asked what I thought of the course so far. If nothing I am an honest individual and attempted to couch my disappointment with such phrases as, the fairways need a little work, the rough tends to grip your balls and the bunkers (similar to Skidby Lakes) have too much grit in the sand. At which point JG informed me last year’s green keeper had been sacked and the course had seen significant improvement. In his own decorative Anglo-French speaking accent he muttered the immortal words. “It was sheet last year!”.

At the 9^th JG had yet to hit a true shot and by now I wasn’t faring much better. I had made the decision to stop after this hole and as  Mssr JG continued his adventure down the fairway I heard a true French word you never get taught in secondary school MFL class. “Merde”,  I knew how he felt.

Having caught up a four ball that would have made the Metronome spit feathers, my decision to end the game was further bolstered. The group in front were playing in trainers, T’s, shorts and jeans! Jeans for godsake. As my father would have said ”The world has gone to hell in a hand cart!” Never a truer word spoken in jest.

Now JG, who is probably one of the few who appears to enjoy my company suggested, we carry on till the 12th. Considering he had been so kind to take me round and to maintain the entente cordiale I acquiesced. Immediately bringing to mind, the phrase, ‘What have the French ever done for us?’

Now, as I sit in a chic café pondering this whimsy, I have a sudden feeling of déjà vu! No matter, later in the day I would rendezvous with the good lady in a gourmet restaurant and partake of  some excellent cuisine, perhaps a steak tartare or moule and frites, finishing with my favourite sweet, a crème brulee. All washed down with a fine merlot, thus giving me the opportunity to reflect as to whether I had made any faux pas’ during the day and hopefully prevent any feeling of ennui. So what have the French given us? Well, nothing came readily to mind!

Having extended  my torture to a further three holes I was actually pleased that I had. The 11^th is a startling hole. 290 metres across an expansive lake with bunkers protecting the green front and side. There is no way, me or he, would ever be able to clear this almighty expanse and rightly so, JG sent his ball left ensuring a safe shot into the green. Me, probably suffering from sun stroke, fancied driving at least part of the lake and gave it all my worth. We looked on expectantly as the ball flew, arriving at the far bank without a splash. Had I cleared at least 160 yards, of course I hadn’t, it had disappeared without trace. I reload and splash but at least it I was now having fun. What’s that saying again: ‘ You can educate a fool but you can’t make them think’.

The 10th and 12^th are both par 3’s and bogeys were the order of the day.

As we trudged off JG asked for my views on Brexit. As a staunch European I assumed JG would consider Brexit folly but was surprised when he laid into the European president Ursula von der Leyen and how many people in his country want a Frexit (my word by the way). It appears 500 000 immigrants have settled in France this year and they are still counting. So it’s not just our borders they are stepping over. As to what we do about, that is another question completely. Vilifying multiple individuals as murderers, thieves, rapists and paedophiles though is not the answer. Think on people, you’re all probably descended from the French anyway, anybody remember 1066?

As for the golf, this course can be summed up as a recreational municipal which isn’t overly bothered about its standards as long as it takes your money! What was lost in standards though, was made up for massively by the characters I had the honour of playing with. Would I ever play here or any other Bluegreen course again? Absolutely not. Will I come back to Pau and play 1856? Absolutely but only if my holiday itinerary allows it.

Au revoir!