Opening the door is like stepping back in time, and I am immediately surrounded by a forest of colourful hickory clubs, stretching from floor to ceiling with the memorabilia of yesteryear lovingly displayed on any spare piece of wall. Becoming more aware of the space, I catch the sweet smell of spirit varnish and the mustiness of the leather. Pieces of suede lie across a desk, ready to be used on a grip. The smell of freshly-shaved wood pulls me further inside. There’s a hint of gas, used to melt the lead in a small bubbling cauldron, and there’s the beeswax, used to finish the whipping on the base of the hickory shafts.