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Clockwise
It's time to forget what I know
Words by Jamie Darling
Photography by Stuart Currie
“A mind that is stretched by a new experience can never go back to its old dimensions”.
- Oliver Wendell Holmes
The very first time I laid eyes on the Old Course was through our television screen in the summer of 1990. I still remember it vividly. It was a Sunday afternoon and it was the final round of The Open, golf’s original championship. Up until then my knowledge and experience of the game was in its infancy. Some friends and I had started to venture down to the local park with an 8-iron we had picked up at a charity shop and a handful of balls. We’d play between the goal posts of the football pitches, trying to out-hit one another in the hope we’d be the one walking home with the bragging rights that evening.
I hadn’t set foot on a golf course prior to watching Nick Faldo stroll to victory on that bright and breezy summer’s day in St Andrews. But I was mesmerised. It wasn’t long after this my Dad would buy me my first set of clubs. I remember the only thing that was important to me then was that I had to have a big red and white bag, just like Faldo. My Dad wasn’t a golfer. Sure, he’d played the odd round here and there but it’s a game that passed him by. However, he was my greatest champion. Always ever present.
You could say my love affair with the game began that Sunday afternoon. Golf has been in my life for thirty-five years now. It has defined me as a person. I’ve learned gratitude, commitment, loyalty, integrity and humility. It’s shaped every aspect of my life. My clubs have travelled to the corners of the earth with me. They’ve been my answer to sad times. They’ve been witness to landscapes I’ve walked on that have been forged by nature. They’ve been part of my story, a story I hope to share with my grandchildren one day so they might have the opportunity to experience the joy of a lifelong friendship with the game too.
Perhaps this path was chosen for me. Perhaps trying to out-hit my friends with a charity shop 8-iron was the ‘foreword' in my life script. Or, getting up from the couch that Sunday afternoon and walking over to the television set to change the channel to BBC Two was the opening chapter of my story in golf.
It had been thirty years since I last walked ‘The Old Lady’, and my memories had faded like a ball flying in the prevailing wind. Her intricacies are now made up of fleeting recollections. I am no stranger to St Andrews though: my daughter is in her second year studying Geography and Administration at the University. Although not a golfer, she has graciously listened to my stories on our walks around the town. I’ve shared tales of Old Tom with her, we’ve walked across Grannie Clark’s Wynd together and spent time at the Himalayas in the hope that she will remember St Andrews in many years to come just like I do - a wonderful, magical place.
It was Thursday morning and I’d just arrived back home after my morning walk with the Dog. My youngest daughter was leaving to catch the school bus and my wife was packing her bag for work when the phone rang. ‘David Connor calling’ my phone read. “I must get this”, I said as I ushered the pair of them out the door. David is a friend who I’ve known for close to ten years now. We had worked on some projects together previously in golf prior to him taking up the role of Communications and Marketing Manager at St Andrews Links Trust. “David, great to hear from you, how’s things?” I said, wondering with intrigue what his phone call might be about. “All good Jamie, hope all is well with you?” he responded. “Reason for the call is that I might have a slot I can offer you next week for our Old Course Reversed event if it’s of interest? I’d have two spaces for you to play the Old (normal routing) on Thursday and then in reverse on the Friday. I know it’s short notice but wanted to give you first refusal.” I had to sit down. Wait, what…?
With our pleasantries exchanged we ended our call. For the next ten minutes I didn’t know what to do with myself. “I’m playing the Old Course in reverse,” I said to myself over and over again. It was a childlike joyful moment. I was giddy. It was still a week away, but I was already making a mental list in preparation. Should I go practice? Do I need a new pair of Footjoys? Have I enough golf balls? Before I could answer any of my own questions, I had to let my good friend Stuart know he’d be joining me.
“Morning Stuart, are you sitting down?” I asked. “Yes, why? Is everything ok?” he replied. “Would you like to play The Old Course next Thursday and then the Old Course Reversed on the Friday?” There was a reasonably long pause. “You’re joking?” as the tone of his voice became more upbeat and excited. “Yes, yes. What an opportunity. I’m nervous already,” he joked. And that was that.
The week passed by quickly. I had played my opening tee shot over in my head a thousand times. Shanks, topped shots and even a fresh air entered my thoughts fleetingly. It’s all I could think about for seven days.
I made my way to St Andrews that Thursday morning, setting off in good time. There are many different ways to get to St Andrews from the Glasgow area, most involving long, winding country roads. I’ve done them all, but lately I’ve settled on a route via the Clackmannanshire Bridge that takes you up through the hills laced with small villages en route to Kinross. It’s a lovely, quiet drive. Even more so in the basking sunlight.
I arrived in St Andrews at 10am, in good time for our 10:50am tee time. I’m not one for hitting balls at the driving range prior to a round. Coffee, quick stretch and a few putts is usually my mantra. The sun was splitting the sky, and a cold wind blew across the links from the North Sea with golfers already making their way up 18. The game before us had just tee’d off. We picked up our bags and made our way over to the first tee. It’s a walk you will never forget. Turning left, up the small slope with the R&A Clubhouse directly in front of you. The tee itself is massive. It’s easily the size of a bowling green. Remarkably I was fairly calm at this point, taking everything in. The starter greeted us with pleasantries and informed us we’d tee off in four minutes time. Stuart and I were joined by David (of St Andrews Links Trust) and his colleague Scott for the round. Our conversations were minimal at this point, each of us in our own headspace. Most likely nerves and anxiety.
“Gentleman, if you are ready. Enjoy your game,” the starter said with a smile. I opted to go first. I thought this was the smart play. A 4-iron was the club of choice. I’d settled on this a few days previously as I feared the worst with anything longer. Carving it OB right, or snapping it straight left. Surely if I did either with a 4-iron I’d still be in play. I set up over the ball. Everything fell silent. I could feel eyeballs on me from 360 degrees. “Take a deep breath,” I said to myself, “aim a little left and commit.” That I did as the ball made sweet contact with the club face and flew off on its intended line. “Right,” I thought to myself, “just another 17 tee shots like that please.”
The first few holes were just wonderful. Mike was our forecaddie for the round. A jovial, talkative chap. “Did you see my statue behind the R&A clubhouse when you arrived?” he joked. Old Mike Morris, as we’d go on to call him, was Old Tom’s spitting image. His lengthy grey beard hung beneath his chin, swept to one side by the prevailing wind. He wore a tweed cap that sat just above his thick, bushy eyebrows. He’s as Scottish a person that I’ve ever met. Mike was wonderful company as he steered us around the Old Lady’s front nine. His instructions were crisp and clear. “That’s the line you want. Two balls left, that’s all it needs,” he commanded. Who was I to argue?
All four of us were playing some good golf, especially David who I think may have been under par at that point. We absolutely had Mike to thank for our good play. For those that have played The Old, you will know that the loop around the turn is nothing short of spectacular. Drivable par-4s, testing par-3s and a place to acknowledge other golfers out there having the time of their lives.
As we headed into the back nine the wind was now strong off the left. “Keep it left coming home,” Mike advised. Mike knew we were playing the next day in reverse and pointed out several bunkers on the inward stretch that would then become very familiar. ‘Hill’, the greenside bunker left of the 11th.‘ Admiral’s’, a fairway bunker only a matter of 50 yards off the 12th tee. It had always puzzled me why it was there. ‘The Beardies’, a collection of bunkers on the 14th that aren’t in play. And, of course, ‘Cheapes’, a small pot bunker devilishly positioned between the 2nd and 17th.
We arrived at the 17th tee, mostly unscathed due to the marvel of Mike. I pulled my drive slightly left off Mike’s line but it was safe none the less. The others in our group all hit fantastic drives splitting the ‘O’ in Hotel over the Old Course Hotel. I had 160yards left and I decided to chase a low 6-iron up. It was so nearly perfect as it tried to hold on to the upper level before scampering down the steep slope that frames the front of the green. A two-putt par was made. I walked to the 18th rather proud of myself.
The walk over the Swilcan Bridge is hard to put into words. You have to take your time walking across it. It’s very emotional. It’s also very calming. What I would have given to have had metal spikes on that day, listening to their sound as I stepped across the cobbles.
Walking up over the Valley of Sin and onto the 18th green, with the town folk and visitors surrounding it, is something that will be forever deeply engraved in my mind. I finished with a three-putt bogey. The crowd did not go wild. I removed my bonnet, shook hands with my friends and thanked them for their company and a brilliant day. I looked back down the fairway trying not lose my composure. I thought of my Dad that moment: he passed in 2019, and he would have loved to have been standing there behind 18 watching as I finished. Maybe in some way he was.
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I was up early the next day. The weather had changed. The temperature had dropped a good few degrees from the day before. Dark clouds loomed above, evoking a feeling of uncertainty. The white crests of breaking waves crashed against the West Sands beach. Our tee time was again 10:50am. Not one to break a habit of a lifetime, I made my way to the pavilion for a coffee before rolling in a few putts and stretching out the aches and pains from the day before.
Much has been documented about the Old Course but there remains a great deal of mystery about its past. Records show the reversed layout was used as early as 1870 with the routes being flipped on a weekly basis up until 1904. It was then that Old Tom had the 1st and 17th green separated. The Reverse would only then be used for maintenance purposes, or the occasional event.
Stories of the Reverse routing have captivated golfers for decades, yet few have had the privilege to play it. I thought about this as I watched the group in front as they tee’d off aiming left, as far left as they dared. I was again joined by Stuart for the day along with our playing partners Pete and Connor. Our fore caddie was a lad named Jordan who hailed from Carnoustie. “I’ll keep you right today,” he said as he shook my hand firmly on the first tee. I smiled to myself as I knew keeping it right was the plan, although I knew that’s not what he meant.
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The 1st is played towards the 17th green in the Reverse routing. Your line is left, as far left as you are comfortable with. I took the initiative to tee-off first, opting for the 4-iron again. I had good thoughts from yesterday’s tee shot going through my mind as I drove down through the back of the ball. Off it soared on a line just right of the Swilcan Bridge. “Shot,” Jordan murmured in my direction as I walked, relieved, over to my bag.
Standing over my second shot, Jordan informed me I had 137 yards left. There wasn’t much to aim at. The back portion of 17 is a thin, narrow strip. Anything long and left and you are on the road, and anything long and right you flirt with the Road Hole bunker. My second was a tentative one. I wanted to have a good start so opted to take one less club and hit it a little harder. Now was not the time to over-club and go long. I came up a few yards shot but within putting distance on the fringe of the green. An uneventful two-putt par was made and I could now breath again, for at least a moment.
The next few holes were relentless. Jordan demanded we take his lines, far more right than expected. The 2nd plays its way up the 17th and across to the 2nd fairway before turning left to the 16th green. ‘Cheapes’ bunker is now in play. I now understand why. I also now understood Jordan’s line. Aiming well right of this hideous little monster was the play. Par, or perhaps bogey, would not be made from its depths.
The intricacy and strategy of the Reverse were played out in front of you as you carefully plot your way around the front nine. Take, for instance, the 5th which plays towards the 13th green. You’ve two options: play up the 14th fairway and risk ‘The Beardies’ bunkers that you walk past playing 14 on the normal route, questioning why an earth they are there. I now know. Jordan, however had other ideas. “Aim 40 yards right of those,” he said as he pointed over to the 5th (normal routing) fairway. “Your second shot will be blind, but you won’t be hitting it from a bunker,” he said with an air of authority. Of course, Jordan was right, as he always was on this wondrous round of golf. Another par was made, and I was off to a good start.
My favourite hole of the Reverse was the 7th. The hole plays up the 12th towards the 11th green. It measures only 330 yards but was playing back into the wind today. ‘Admirals’ bunker lay in wait. At 225 yards off the tee, it split the centre of the fairway. I wasn’t long enough to carry the corner but Jordan was adamant I had to avoid the bunker. “Just hit it right again on this line,” he advised as he pointed to a spot on the dune. “It will be in the rough and you will be blind with your approach, but you won’t be hitting it sideways out of the sand.” As ever, he was right. I’d left myself 160 yards to the green. The only thing I could see was the long fescue on the dune above me blowing in the wind. With 5-iron in hand, I hit the best shot of the day. A towering iron shot that flew over the top of ‘Hill’ bunker, pitching ten yards past the pin as it rolled out to 50 feet. Another par was made. I had Jordan to thank for that.
The loop on the Old is my favourite part of the course. Drivable par-4s, difficult par-3s. Playing it in reverse is no different apart from the chaos. Like playing Prestwick’s original 12, you enter a kill zone. There are golfers everywhere. Most groups have caddies adding to those numbers. It’s disorientating at times. Knowing when to go, stop or where the shouts of ‘Fore’ are coming from as everyone can be seen covering their heads in unison.
The par-3s around the loop are equally as good as the ones we play today. The 8th is played towards the 10th green, straight over the top of the 11th. I found a bunker I didn’t know existed. The 11th plays to the 7th green. At 172 yards it’s all carry with a false front requiring a well-struck shot hitting the correct yardage.
As we started to turn left and make our way back to town, and away from the loop, I must pay a complement to our playing partner Connor. He was playing some wonderful golf. Holing ten-footers like they didn’t matter. Playing his baby fade from the tee like he had it on a piece of string. It was wonderful to watch.
The back nine of the Old is a masterpiece in my opinion. Aiming left on every tee shot isn’t a bad thing. It’s the opposite in reverse. Jordan told us we have acres of room on the right coming home. Go left and you were on the New(course).
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We arrived at the 14th. A 519-yard par 5. The ‘Seven Sisters’ loomed in the distance hugging the left side of the fairway. “Avoid those at all costs,” Jordan demanded. Successfully navigating your drive, you turn left again heading towards the 4th green. The 4th is shared with the 14th. It’s a monster of a green. Anything right here and you could be faced with a putt of 100 yards. The key to your second, or third, is to avoid ‘Ginger Beer’, two pot bunkers guarding the front centre of the green.
Connor was on a score now. You could sense his anxiety. Up until now he had been playing with freedom and not a care in the world. He had clocked on. He was under par. We all felt it. We were all routing for him. The only putt he missed all day from under ten foot came on the back nine. We couldn’t believe he missed it. Jordan could. “Well, he should have hit it on the line I told him to,” he said, shaking his head like a school master whilst replacing the flag.
I still struggle, a couple of weeks on, to remember holes on that back 9. If I’m completely honest the stretch from the 13th to the 17th was weaker than the other holes on the Reverse routing. Perhaps this was because the fairways were not laid out in front of you, or the angles to the greens seemed like they didn’t make as much sense as the holes they preceded. Or perhaps it was tired legs and stiff swings that had clouded my sense of purpose.
We arrived at the 18th. Playing from the 2nd tee the R&A Clubhouse and the Hamilton Grand sat proudly in the background as they always do, all be it at a different angle to what you are used to. With acres of room out to the right, the tee shot is not as thought-provoking as the one you’re faced with normally. That being said, those terrible thoughts enter your mind. You still crave that one last good shot so you can enjoy that famous walk, although this time not over the Swilcan Bridge.
I’d just come off a run of bogeys, so I needed par to break 80. Not that it mattered, or maybe this one time it did. I’ll never know though as I safely two-putted for a par. Sometimes in golf though, you have to root for the other guy. Connor sat nervously behind his three-footer. He was paying a little more attention to his putt than he had on every other hole this round. We all knew what was on the line. He makes this and he breaks par. Everyone on the green, and around it, fell silent. It’s as if they knew what was at stake here too. He stood up, took a deep breath and walked into his putt. I closed my eyes, I couldn’t watch. I knew this was a moment in this young man’s life that he would cherish forever. It’s a story that he will share one day with his own children and their children. This mattered.
“Yes”. Jordan shouted. The putt had rolled in firm and fast. What a round, what a feeling. We removed our hats and bonnets, smiling from ear to ear and thanked one another for our day together. In the distance I could see the bronze statue of Old Tom peering down onto his masterpiece. I often wonder if his spirit was closer than that. Was he standing there amongst the town folk behind the 18th green smiling? I’d like to think he was.