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What you'll find inside No.3

In No.3 it's packed full of stories from across the links of Scotland and beyond. From Jim Hartsell's 'The last Caddie' to Murray Bothwell's 'Nostalgia isn't what it used to be'. The 'Single Strap Soldiers' are on the march in Reece Witters witty piece about the modern golfer, and the man who cares for one of the world's most northerly links in the world all by himself in 'One Man and his Mower'. All of this and more in our third edition.

The Last Caddie

Words by Jim Harstell

Photography by Graeme McCubbin

"I can't hit a seven-iron a hundred fifty. I can't hit it even one forty, against this wind." Yet the caddie's fist, in a fingerless wool glove, did not withdraw the offered club. "Siven's what ye need."

One Man And His Mower

Words by Kenny Pallas

Photography by Ross Cooper

Since 2015, Ali has kept the greens at Durness. He is the first person with formal training to look after the links. This is a story of personal triumph. Many questioned if Ali had a lack of ambition when he took this role. He had a vision for the course though and he knew where he wanted to take the course he grew up on.

Single Strap Soldiers

Words by Reece Witters

Photography by Stuart Kerr

The single Strap Soldiers are on the march. You've spotted one across the links and haven't been able to work out if he's a fence member or a rogue, unidentified out-of-towner who requires closer inspection, at the very least for appearing to enjoy himself.

"A seriously good publication."

Gary Wright - TLD reader
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Goilf Air En Eilean Skye

Words by Dave Kerr

Photography by Stuart Currie

30 years later very little of the language has stuck with me but that phrase will never leave and ever since Gaelic has held a special place in my heart. This is perhaps one reason Isle of Skye golf club holds such affection for me as each of the holes is named in Gaelic.

Nostalgia Isn't What It Used To Be

Words by Murray Bothwell

Photography by Stuart Currie

Warm summer evenings. Children's laughter. Long shadows over dappled lawns. As a child growing up, memories of my seaside town's putting green are always fun-filled, warm, homework-free evenings spent with my friends chasing golfballs around its seemingly unconquerable 18 holes.

Anster As The Locals Say

Words by Gary Henderson

Photography by Graeme McCubbin

I stood on what felt like the edge of a planet, but in actuality was the edge of a caravan site fifteen minutes outside of St Andrews. You don't fall in love straight away. True love never happens like that. Lust maybe, but those proper deep connections creep up on you. Anstruther opening hole isn't a handshake opener, but a warm hug.

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