Golfing Round the World
Chapter IV Lost Ball
In Bombay I thought I would like to play golf, and made some enquiry as to where it was possible to enjoy this now universal sport, but I was misinformed. There are very few places in the East or in the West either for that matter, where the casual visitor may play without proper credentials and introduction.
In England and Scotland there are few courses which are closed to the touring golfer. The club secretary, the steward, the professional, or the caddie master will almost invariably make the stranger welcome if the green fee is forthcoming. But in the East it is far otherwise, and no doubt for good reasons. However, I was fortunate enough to find friends.
One hot, sunny, intensely tropical morning I left the "Imperatrice" which lay at anchor some two miles out in the ever active harbour, and enjoyed a delightful sail, landing opposite to the ornate Taj Mahal Hotel and close to the imposing "Gate of India", a sort of Eastern Marble Arch set down by the water's edge. It is reported that at the inaugural ceremony some few years ago the Personages who opened it did so by going out from the shore to the sea instead of vice versa.
I had heard that golf was played on the Maidan - the village green of Bombay - so accordingly I made my way there and from a stately native steward I elicited the fact that golf was only played in the very early mornings. This was my first introduction to what is the universal custom of the East, to wit the indulgence of all forms of strenuous sports before breakfast. The Orient, especially the furthest Orient is very attractive, but I confess that this inhuman practice of early rising would spoil, for me, a great deal of its charm.
Like many of the native citizens of Bombay my informant was exceedingly voluble and incoherent, but my golf clubs were sufficiently explicit as to my intentions, and ultimately, thanks to his advice, I found my way in a taxi, over the Malabar Hill to the Willingdon club.
As soon as I arrived I knew that I should not have ventured without introduction, but what was I to do? At least a dozen native servants in spotless white turbans surrounded my taxi, relieved me of my golf clubs, handed me out on to the club porch, and stood respectfully at attention. I could not explain, I had already tried explaining to the Bombayard, and knew the hopelessness of such futility. I therefore put on my most brazen attitude and produced a card with the request that it be given to the secretary. A few minutes later that gentleman appeared, appreciate my predicament, and thereafter my visit to Bombay was a joy and delight.
I had my game of golf, several in fact, and received the kindest hospitality. Somehow or other I played amazingly well on that twelve hole Willingdon course. The only drawback is that one must wear a solar topee; but I daresay the necessity of balancing this unwieldy headgear results in one's keeping one's head still and so contributes to steady play.
The course is flat with excellent greens and a fair fairway, by no means uninteresting, penetrating as it does right into the club gardens, with their riot of vividly hued flowers. Nor is it devoid of thrills, for at one hole you are morally certain to have your ball stolen by crows, and at another the odds are not against you having to chip up to the hole from the centre of the coils of a cobra lovingly surrounding your ball. In fact this course is more replete with live hazards than any other that I know.
I can corroborate, for later I met a friend in Ceylon. After the usual greetings and exchanges he said
"Did you play at Willingdon?"
"Yes I did."
"Did a crow carry your ball off at the fourth hole?"
"It did"
"Same thing happened to me."
It was intriguing to watch a party from Government House a few holes away. To all appearances they were playing a normal game, and I should have been ignorant of the fact that they pertained in any way to the Governor's Staff but for their caddies, two dark visaged urchins, dressed in what a fair American might call the 'cutest costumes' - white sarongs, green coatees, and for headgear white turbans with scarlet peaks surmounting the crown.
Nowhere else so much as in India does one appreciate the might and majesty of the British Empire. In Bombay the Raj is visible at every turn. During one of my rounds I was the interested witness of a stately comedy. We were playing to the third hole, when there appeared at a respectful distance a native policeman accompanied by one of the innumerable club servants. The latter handed a 'chit' to my opponent who read it and scribbled something on the back, and handed it back to the servant, who in turn passed it on to the policeman. The latter saluted and retired and we went on with our game.
A moment later my friend satisfied my unspoken curiosity by telling me that the 'chit' contained a cheque sent by a high police official in payment of a bridge debt.
All perfectly proper and normal no doubt, but somehow or other I could not visualise a similar scene at say Hoylake or Brooklawn, Connecticut.