A Father’s Personal Impressions

Of “A Little Slice of Fife”

By Brooks Carder

My son Marshall has told the story of our golfing trip to Scotland so well that it doesn’t need a different perspective to be told from. But perhaps I can add to the story by citing some of my personal impressions and experiences.

First the people. I have traveled to Ireland frequently, as my wife’s mother was born there and my wife has some wonderful relatives there. Until I visited Scotland, I thought the Irish were the world’s nicest people. The Scottish may be even nicer.

A word about buggies. One of the reasons I was able to take the trip to Scotland was my discovery that, due to handicap laws in the UK, each golf course is required to have two golf carts, which they call “buggies,” for golfers who cannot walk the course. Mind you, Scottish players carry their own bags. Buggies are only for the disabled. My reading indicated that I would need a letter from my physician, which I duly obtained.
    When we arrived at the Old Course for our initial round, I marched up to the starter and presented my letter. (Unlike American courses there is no golf shop at the Old Course. The starter works from a kiosk.) Unfortunately, the starter had bad news for me: two buggies were out. But he had an idea; he told me to go down to the Caddy shack and speak with the Caddy master.
    The Caddy shack was a humble structure and somewhat of a mess inside. But the Caddy master was very accommodating. There are four courses in the complex, and he was able to secure a buggy from another of them.
    The Old Course requires that a Caddy drive your buggy, and my buggy arrived in the company of Paddy the Caddy. (Marshall mentions him several times; he helped all of us.) He was a wonderful fellow and made our rounds much more enjoyable. He admitted to being at one time the heavyweight kick boxing champion of Scotland, although he said that “it didn’t amount to much.” Paddy was with me for both of my rounds on the Old Course.
    We had a funny experience with buggies in my round that included only my “adult” group that Marshall mentions, so he could not be a witness to the incident. We were playing at Lundin Links, the fine track that hosted British Open qualifying rounds and the Women’s British Open. Buggies there were very different from those at the other courses we played, which were conventional golf carts. The carts at Lundin were a bit like a motorcycle. You sat astride with your clubs in front of you, which I can tell you do nothing to improve your steering. The machine had an internal combustion engine that started whenever you twisted the throttle. I have much experience with motorcycles, having ridden them from the age of 12 to the age of 55, at which point I shrunk back in terror, rode my BMW to the dealer, told him to sell it, and have not ridden since.
    In spite of my previous experience, the Lundin machine was a bit of a handful. But all was well…until we came to the 14th, a downhill par 3. After our tee shots I started down the hill on my buggy. But the hill was steep, and the brakes of the buggy seemed inadequate, and I began to pick up speed. The rest of the foursome began to freak out. I surveyed the bottom of the hill and saw that there was ample room to run out and dissipate my speed, so, rather than wind up falling by trying to hold back, I just let it go. Of course, my friends did not know what was on my mind, so they were all screaming for me to jump. I came to rest safely, and my friends eventually got over their apoplexy.

The Old Course. The most profound experience for me was seeing the Old Course. In America, courses are literally sculpted out of the land with heavy equipment. I suspect that no heavy equipment has ever been on the Old Course. I’m sure it requires a small bit of maintenance, but the course is laid out according to nature. Even the bunkers are natural, having originated as holes dug by the sheep in order to escape the cold wind. I had a strong feeling that this was the true essence of golf. You haven’t really played golf until you have played a course like this, and there may be no other course like it. I have played a few fine courses in my day, including Marion East and Torrey Pines South, which is about two miles from my home. For me, they do not hold a candle to the Old Course. Maybe I have read Golf in the Kingdom too many times (the 1971 novel by Michael Murphy), but I don’t think so. It would have been nice to play the Old Course when I was still fit, but I might not have been ready to appreciate it.

My boys. I am well-traveled and have had many great trips. But this was the trip of my life. And it was a gift from my sons. Not the money, but the doing. Bert and Marshall knew how much this would mean to me. I think they knew it better than I did. The expression of love from my sons is so profound that I am nearly brought to tears whenever I read this. I am reminded of a dear friend who lost a son of about Marshall’s age, and with whom he was very close. I know his pain must have been so great that it was difficult for him to carry on. The gratitude I feel is overwhelming. Right now I feel like Lou Gehrig (played by Gary Cooper) in the 1942 film, The Pride of the Yankees, when Gehrig said on Lou Gehrig Appreciation Day at Yankee Stadium, within months of his expected death, “I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the Earth.” I do not believe that my sons’ gift was compensation for my contribution as a father. It was good luck.

Golf. And as I reflect on Marshall’s story, and on these reflections, and on my tearful reaction, I wonder what it is that enables golf to wield such emotional power over some of us.

Copyright © 2020 by Brooks Carder Brooks Carder, PhD, is Adjunct Professor at Point Loma Nazarene University and Principal at Carder and Associates LLC.