Golfing Round the World
Chapter X A BIT FISHY
On the way to Singapore, which, I fancy must be the 'Somewhere East of Suez' not because of its moral sense which has always been of good reputation but because of its proximity to China 'crost the bay' and only a matter of a thousand miles away, we ran into a Sargosso Sea. The distinguishing feature of this oceanic rarity is the dense coppery colour of the water, due to floating seaweed and myriads of infinitesimally minute organisms. Whatever the true explanation of its origin may be, this rusty sea has a strange beauty and sometimes gleams like burnished copper in the sun.
Flying fish are plentiful in these halcyon waters. They are very like swallows in colour and size, thus differing somewhat from the brightly coloured 'finned aviators' of the Caribbean Sea which are larger and most beautifully marked, being of an almost iridescent blue. They differ also in their flying powers. In Eastern seas they take short leaps from wave to wave and finish off with a neat and splashless dive, while in West Indian waters, as your ship is forging along, these wonderful fish will fly out in dozens from the cutwater in a perfectly straight line for several hundred yards at an even height of a foot and more from the water and generally at right angles to your course.
Though the author of the 'Cruise of the Cachalot' saw a thrilling fight between a giant octopus and a perfectly enormous whale, not far from our track, veracity compels me to admit that I must have been below decks, when similar contests took place, for I saw none. Indeed I have seen more imposing monsters in greater numbers, one calm evening off the Old Head of Kinsale than in all the thousands of miles of ocean travel it has been my privilege to enjoy. British waters must be exceptionally favoured in this respect. In the Hebrides whales and seals are common sights. Purpoises and the larger grampuses abound in the Irish Sea and the only shark I have ever seen was a small seven footer dead on a beach in the Isle of Arran.
It is all too short a sail from Batavia to Singapore especially when our "Imperatrice" steamed a steady four hundred miles a day. We were now to call at one of the largest and most beautiful harbours in the world. There are at least twenty or thirty of them perhaps more. Singapore is said to be the most cosmopolitan of all the world's seaports. It may be so, but I consider Jerusalem has the Charing Cross of the East beaten to a frazzle in this respect, though admittedly not being a seaport it is hardly in the same category. A friend lent me his syce (anglice servant or chauffeur) and his car to see the town, and most conscientiously I was shown each point of interest. What is known as the native quarter is laid out in square blocks and covers the level ground to the eastward of the river. The syce had evidently been told to show me this part of Singapore with especial care, for we drove most religiously along each longitudinal street and latitudinal lane till each square had been, as it were, circled. I was so into intently interested in the colour, the variety of types and costumes, the shops with their strange assortments, the canaries, the brilliant coloured signs and paper flags and the quaintness of the Chinese names, that I did not notice what we were doing. I know that I repeat myself when I describe Singapore as cheerful and prosperous, but it is a fact so emphatically obvious, just as it was in Ceylon and in Java. I begin to realise in the contemplation of those cheery laughter giving lands, what is meant by 'a place in the sun'.
Singapore possesses several fine golf courses. I cannot remember which of the five or six it was that I played on, but I do not wish to find a more enjoyable links anywhere. They were planned on the figure eight principle, over twin ridges with a deepish valley between them. On the western side the whole course sloped gently down to a beautiful lake surrounded by dense jungle, and jungle bordered the extreme limits of the course. The holes were admirably balanced and an extra good second would just reach the green at about eight of them. Personally I prefer playing over downs to any other formation, and here one had the satisfaction of long raking down hill shots, flattering carries across the valleys and well steered drives which would just attain the summits. For the second time on my pilgrimage I played a round without any regrets. Whatever had to be done I did and so had leisure and the appropriate disposition to enjoy the scenery, the superb fairway and the excellently well kept greens. The fairway especially, from which I never strayed, was of the type which makes the ball sit up and positively ask to be hit. I had met an old friend, and while we played in the relative cool of the evening, it thundered and there were sharp showers which wet us through: but mainly the sun shone till it finally set in a blaze of colour amid the transcendental majesty of towering clouds. For the reason already given I have no recollection of bunkers or rough country. Doubtless they existed: but not for me. Was it surprising then that everything was couleur de rose, nay more, the colours of the turf were opalescent. If, as has been reported, the Elysian Fields are the ultimate guerdon of the good and deserving golfer, they must assuredly be laid with the jewel tinted turf of Singapore.
The Clubhouse, a new and greatly enlarged one, just awaiting its reopening ceremony was an alluring place with its vast portico too stately to be called a verandah, commanding a view of three parts of the course and the forest girdled lake at the foot of the opalescent slope forming the fairway to the first green.
After cooling drinks and pleasant chatter in the short soft aired twilight, we went out to look for our car. Other home going parties were also out and hailing their syces and searching along the serried line of cars in the motor park. But we and they called in vain. It was now pitch velvet dark and not a syce or chauffeur could be found. Extended search at length revealed an excited crowd round the caddies' shed, where, we presently learnt, a thief who had been caught redhanded was incontinently impounded, while a yelling and gesticulating horde of caddies, chauffeurs, syces and club servants indulged in a paean of triumph outside. It is little touches like these that remind you of the charming volatility of the oriental races.
A friend, who was gracious enough to listen to a few pages of this little record, candidly observed "Yes it is all very well in its way, but why on earth call it Golfing round the world. I admit the criticism has considerable force in it, but mark you, I took every opportunity that I reasonably could of playing golf at our various ports of call. Moreover it required a certain amount of determination to cut myself adrift from the superorganisation of professional sightseers and cruise directors who were my daily companions, and very pleasant ones, aboard the "Imperatrice". I purposely chose my solitary quest and I am glad that I did so, for I carried away with me very definite memories of incidents and clear cut cameos of landscapes which in the course of a round or two of eighteen holes, had time to fix themselves firmly in my mind. These were my own sights, in the seeing of which I had been prime organiser, whereas in the case of a set and carefully provided for communal excursion, I was apt to receive but a vague and general rather than a clear and particular impression.
Landscapes are perhaps more memorable than buildings. You will know every bunker, every fold in the ground, every cop and hillock as well as the general aspect on your favourite golf course but I doubt whether you can remember the number of chimneys on the rooftops of your own house. You would remember the Langdale Pikes or Runnymede long after some noble cathedral has faded out of vision. In golf as in no other game or occupation pursued on land, the eye is trained to memorise landscape and unconsciously the mind receives an almost permanent impression.
To spend the night ashore, was for a change very pleasant and especially so in the utter novelty of my host's bungalow. For one thing I had never before slept in a house, raised on piles, and possessing neither windows nor walls, and yet furnished in supreme comfort, so equably warm in temperature and refreshing in its atmosphere. Again it was mildly disturbing to see a small lizard about two inches long drop on the table beside me, while taking a cup of after dinner coffee, and be invited to look at the ceiling, on which to my surprise there were dozens of these small creatures. As they live on flies, they are welcome and apparently quite unobtrusive when one is accustomed to them.
And then finally to fall asleep under the protection of a light quarter blanket - something on is invariably cooler than nothing - with the sounds of the jungle in your ears and the infinitely soft night airs wafting you gently into the vast Nirvana of slumber.