Question:

There is a stone lying part way up the 12th hole of the Royal Jersey Golf Club commemorating Harry’s birthplace only a few yards away…so yes the little island of Jersey spawned arguably one of the most influential golfers ever known… Harry came from a family of six – his father was a farm labourer all the children helped with chores including the gathering of seaweed that lay adjacent to the golf course for use as fertiliser on the potato fields Should more information on Harry Vardon be of interest – please reply direct Other golfing greats that herald from Jersey include Ted Ray, Tommy Horton Tony Jacklin and Ian Woosnam  In article In article

Dear friends, Now that our calendars have rolled over and

we’ve entered the New Year of 1900, I thought I’d spend a moment reflecting

on the past, and ponder the future. I’ve been smitten by a new game that has

recently been introduced in our country.  In case this wonderful game has not

yet come to your area (I’m sure it will eventually), let me tell you a little about it. They call it golf, and it was introduced in

America by the Scots.  As of now, it seems to be enjoyed mostly by the

wealthy, but I hope one day we common people might be able to play with more

regularity.  I have been fortunate to have been invited to play a time

or two.  As yet, the nearest field that has been appropriately prepared for

this outdoor pasttime is some distance from the village in which I live.

Though I now have to travel very long distances to find an organized game

(often overnight by horse and buggy), I find the journey well worth the

effort.  Unfortunately, I usually have to tell the Mrs. that I’m traveling to a

special hunting ground to hunt for food.  Though when I return from my

journey, I must inform her that I was unable to capture any prey, she is none

the wiser.  However, I suspect she thinks I’m a lousy hunter. Golf is a game in which men gather to attempt

to advance a small ball across a field until they are able to roll the ball

into a small hole that has been dug in the ground.  They endeavor to do this

by standing alongside the ball and striking it with an implement swung by the

arms and shoulders.  Until recently, these balls were made of goose

feathers covered in a pouch of leather sewn tightly together (very

expensive).  Once the ball is in the hole, the process begins again, as the men

prop the ball up on a small mound of dirt or sand and strike it again with these

implements designed to propel it through the air.  Once the ball is thrust

forward for the first time on each hole, the men must figure out a way to

strike it again without propping it up again, which can prove to be a daunting

task.  The man who uses fewer swings to propel the ball into a series of

holes is declared the winner (and, I might add, is considerably less spent

at the end of this ordeal than the gents who expended more energy on many

more swings).  It is a vigorous activity, and yet, at times it can be quite

relaxing and theraputic.  I heartily recommend this pasttime to those of

you who have not yet experienced its perplexing mixture of joy and torment. These golfing implements are made of iron-like

material (imagine a large spoon-like shape) attached to the end of a

hickory stick.  Very unweildy things, these.  It requires much skill to

control the flight of the ball, and I find only the most thoughtful players

are able to control it with any predictability.  It seems an insurmountable

challenge at times, and tempers are often inflamed when one’s abilities fall

short of producing the desired results.  The control over one’s self is often

an even greater challenge that the control of the ball.  This, they tell

me, is part of the charm.  I wonder sometimes.  Yet it seems that only the most genteel of men participate in this game, as they tend to

maintain a polite decorum for the most part.  How they do this remains something

of a mystery, though they are unquestionably gentlemen, all. So enjoyable have I found the challenge of

this game that I have recently commissioned my local blacksmith to make for

me a set of implements with which to play (they call them "clubs").  I’m

not sure how I’ll explain to the Mrs. the presence of these implements in

our home.  But since I’ll take them with me on my "hunting" trips    ,

I’ll probably just tell her that they’re a weapon used for the purpose.

Fortunately, women are not allowed to participate in this activity called golf,

so she’ll never see these implements used in the manner for which

they’re designed.  She’ll just assume they’re used for hunting.  I must

request that you refrain from revealing their real purpose to her, as she

may become disheartened by my repeated journeys to "hunt" if she surmises

that I’m giving greater importance to playing this game than to

acquiring food for the family.  It’s best that she not know. Last year during a trip into the nearby town,

I acquired one of the town’s newspapers and read in it an account of many

people gathering in Baltimore, for what has recently become an annual affair

in which players travel from afar to compete in the game.  This event is

open to all men who play golf. The winner is declared the champion golfer of

this country.  It is my understanding that a Scot named Vardon (known

for his distinctive manner of placing his hands on the golfing implements)

is planning to travel by boat from Scotland to compete this year when this

"U.S. Open" championship is held in Chicago.  I’m hopeful of traveling

north to witness this event, and perhaps learn his secret.  He is quite

proficient at the game, and has thrice been declared as the champion golfer of

his native land, including last year.  I expect it will be a pleasure,

indeed, to see him play. I hope one day to acquire the skills necessary

to compete with players better than myself at this peculiar game.  On

a recent trip, I was invited by friends to join in a game at their town’s

golf course (the name given to the field prepared for this activity).  There,

they employed young negro boys to carry their implements, thereby

allowing the game’s participants to save their effort for the actual playing of

the game.  One young boy was so fatigued at the end of the day that he nearly

collapsed under the weight of some 25 or 30 implements, all used by one

player.  Still, this seems to be the best way to enjoy the game — all the

enjoyment, without all the work of carrying around these heavy implements. In the meantime, I will be looking forward to

the town’s blacksmith completing his work on my new clubs.  Though

the purchase of these implements will fairly empty my family’s bank

account, I hope one day to reveal to my wife the real purpose for their

existence.  I hope to find the necessary means to continue providing food for

my family while I continue to engage in playing this game whenever the

opportunity is presented to do so. I suppose as long as she has the necessary

food to cook for our family, she won’t much care where it came from, or that

these implements were not used to kill it. My wish for the New Year is that one day you

can join me in my travels, and that we might enjoy playing this wonderful

game together.  I must recommend, however, before you endeavor to join me, that

you find more than one ball with which to play.  They seem to have a mind

of their own, and at times are prone to fly or roll into locations that make

their retrieval and continued use impossible.  And though these balls made

of feathers are coveted as gold, I hear reports of ingenius men who have

discovered a method of producing balls for the game made of a packing

material known as gutta percha.  These balls are produced from an

evaporated milky juice or rubbery substance that comes from a tree.  Though I

have not yet seen any of these balls in my travels, I’m told they’re more

durable than my featheries, and considerably less costly. For now, I’ll just share with you a few things

I’m resolved to do in this new Year of our Lord, 1900, and hope that you

can join me some day soon in the enjoyment of this enchanting game: * Locate a field in which the game might be

played in closer proximity to my home, and endeavor to become acquainted with

the men who frequently play there. * Find some of these new gutta percha balls.

The reports I’m hearing of them are encouraging, particularly with regard

to their characteristics that allow them to sustain flight for a longer period of time. * Endeavor to swing these implements with

greater proficiency, and in so doing, propel the ball greater distances than

I’ve done in the past.  This would seem to make the game much easier,

though I suspect I will find this to be an ongoing struggle. * Figure out why this glowing box, connected

to a device with buttons marked by letters and numbers, is in my home. Randy "Vote McKinley for President" Reading your interesting little article there

is a small error that I hope you will not mind me correcting. Harry Vardon was not a Scot. He was born in a

stone cottage just off the fairway of one of holes at Royal Jersey Golf Course which is in Grouville on the largest of the Channel

Islands, Jersey. He spent a good deal of his childhood there eventually

migrating to the British Mainland – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – and playing his golf out of Ganton, on the east coast of England at Scarborough. However I do not

… read more »

Response:

"Pat Williams" wrote Reading your interesting little article there is a small error that I hope you will not mind me correcting. Harry Vardon was not a Scot.

[snip] Obviously, I took some liberties with history to author this article, though I will admit I had forgotten Vardon wasn’t a Scot.  There are other revisions to history in it as well, mostly having to do with timelines. Musings of someone bored to tears with all the talk about a Y2K bug, I suppose. Referring specifically to your article I hope that you manage to get to Wheaton in Chicago, Ill. in the year of your Lord 1900 for I have a feeling that Vardon may do well there!!

Indeed.  ;-) Randy

Response:

– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -Dear friends, Now that our calendars have rolled over and we’ve entered the New Year of 1900, I thought I’d spend a moment reflecting on the past, and ponder the future. I’ve been smitten by a new game that has recently been introduced in our country.  In case this wonderful game has not yet come to your area (I’m sure it will eventually), let me tell you a little about it. They call it golf, and it was introduced in America by the Scots.  As of now, it seems to be enjoyed mostly by the wealthy, but I hope one day we common people might be able to play with more regularity.  I have been fortunate to have been invited to play a time or two.  As yet, the nearest field that has been appropriately prepared for this outdoor pasttime is some distance from the village in which I live.  Though I now have to travel very long distances to find an organized game (often overnight by horse and buggy), I find the journey well worth the effort.  Unfortunately, I usually have to tell the Mrs. that I’m traveling to a special hunting ground to hunt for food.  Though when I return from my journey, I must inform her that I was unable to capture any prey, she is none the wiser.  However, I suspect she thinks I’m a lousy hunter. Golf is a game in which men gather to attempt to advance a small ball across a field until they are able to roll the ball into a small hole that has been dug in the ground.  They endeavor to do this by standing alongside the ball and striking it with an implement swung by the arms and shoulders.  Until recently, these balls were made of goose feathers covered in a pouch of leather sewn tightly together (very expensive).  Once the ball is in the hole, the process begins again, as the men prop the ball up on a small mound of dirt or sand and strike it again with these implements designed to propel it through the air.  Once the ball is thrust forward for the first time on each hole, the men must figure out a way to strike it again without propping it up again, which can prove to be a daunting task.  The man who uses fewer swings to propel the ball into a series of holes is declared the winner (and, I might add, is considerably less spent at the end of this ordeal than the gents who expended more energy on many more swings).  It is a vigorous activity, and yet, at times it can be quite relaxing and theraputic.  I heartily recommend this pasttime to those of you who have not yet experienced its perplexing mixture of joy and torment. These golfing implements are made of iron-like material (imagine a large spoon-like shape) attached to the end of a hickory stick.  Very unweildy things, these.  It requires much skill to control the flight of the ball, and I find only the most thoughtful players are able to control it with any predictability.  It seems an insurmountable challenge at times, and tempers are often inflamed when one’s abilities fall short of producing the desired results.  The control over one’s self is often an even greater challenge that the control of the ball.  This, they tell me, is part of the charm.  I wonder sometimes.  Yet it seems that only the most genteel of men participate in this game, as they tend to maintain a polite decorum for the most part.  How they do this remains something of a mystery, though they are unquestionably gentlemen, all. So enjoyable have I found the challenge of this game that I have recently commissioned my local blacksmith to make for me a set of implements with which to play (they call them "clubs").  I’m not sure how I’ll explain to the Mrs. the presence of these implements in our home.  But since I’ll take them with me on my "hunting" trips    , I’ll probably just tell her that they’re a weapon used for the purpose.  Fortunately, women are not allowed to participate in this activity called golf, so she’ll never see these implements used in the manner for which they’re designed.  She’ll just assume they’re used for hunting.  I must request that you refrain from revealing their real purpose to her, as she may become disheartened by my repeated journeys to "hunt" if she surmises that I’m giving greater importance to playing this game than to acquiring food for the family.  It’s best that she not know. Last year during a trip into the nearby town, I acquired one of the town’s newspapers and read in it an account of many people gathering in Baltimore, for what has recently become an annual affair in which players travel from afar to compete in the game.  This event is open to all men who play golf. The winner is declared the champion golfer of this country.  It is my understanding that a Scot named Vardon (known for his distinctive manner of placing his hands on the golfing implements) is planning to travel by boat from Scotland to compete this year when this "U.S. Open" championship is held in Chicago.  I’m hopeful of traveling north to witness this event, and perhaps learn his secret.  He is quite proficient at the game, and has thrice been declared as the champion golfer of his native land, including last year.  I expect it will be a pleasure, indeed, to see him play. I hope one day to acquire the skills necessary to compete with players better than myself at this peculiar game.  On a recent trip, I was invited by friends to join in a game at their town’s golf course (the name given to the field prepared for this activity).  There, they employed young negro boys to carry their implements, thereby allowing the game’s participants to save their effort for the actual playing of the game.  One young boy was so fatigued at the end of the day that he nearly collapsed under the weight of some 25 or 30 implements, all used by one player.  Still, this seems to be the best way to enjoy the game — all the enjoyment, without all the work of carrying around these heavy implements. In the meantime, I will be looking forward to the town’s blacksmith completing his work on my new clubs.  Though the purchase of these implements will fairly empty my family’s bank account, I hope one day to reveal to my wife the real purpose for their existence.  I hope to find the necessary means to continue providing food for my family while I continue to engage in playing this game whenever the opportunity is presented to do so. I suppose as long as she has the necessary food to cook for our family, she won’t much care where it came from, or that these implements were not used to kill it. My wish for the New Year is that one day you can join me in my travels, and that we might enjoy playing this wonderful game together.  I must recommend, however, before you endeavor to join me, that you find more than one ball with which to play.  They seem to have a mind of their own, and at times are prone to fly or roll into locations that make their retrieval and continued use impossible.  And though these balls made of feathers are coveted as gold, I hear reports of ingenius men who have discovered a method of producing balls for the game made of a packing material known as gutta percha.  These balls are produced from an evaporated milky juice or rubbery substance that comes from a tree.  Though I have not yet seen any of these balls in my travels, I’m told they’re more durable than my featheries, and considerably less costly. For now, I’ll just share with you a few things I’m resolved to do in this new Year of our Lord, 1900, and hope that you can join me some day soon in the enjoyment of this enchanting game: * Locate a field in which the game might be played in closer proximity to my home, and endeavor to become acquainted with the men who frequently play there. * Find some of these new gutta percha balls.  The reports I’m hearing of them are encouraging, particularly with regard to their characteristics that allow them to sustain flight for a longer period of time. * Endeavor to swing these implements with greater proficiency, and in so doing, propel the ball greater distances than I’ve done in the past.  This would seem to make the game much easier, though I suspect I will find this to be an ongoing struggle. * Figure out why this glowing box, connected to a device with buttons marked by letters and numbers, is in my home. Randy "Vote McKinley for President"

Reading your interesting little article there is a small error that I hope you will not mind me correcting. Harry Vardon was not a Scot. He was born in a stone cottage just off the fairway of one of holes at Royal Jersey Golf Course which is in Grouville on the largest of the Channel Islands, Jersey. He spent a good deal of his childhood there eventually migrating to the British Mainland and playing his golf out of Ganton, on the east coast of England at Scarborough. However I do not know of his parentage which I have been unable to discover. He obviously visited Scotland enough for of the three championships to which you refer two of them were won in Scotland.   Referring specifically to your article I hope that you manage to get to Wheaton in Chicago, Ill. in the year of your Lord 1900 for I have a feeling that Vardon may do well there!! Being a renowned clairvoyant I confidently predict that he will win this relatively new US Open championship (only the second playing over 72 holes) and in a record score. If you ever get that box working in your front room we can communicate to see if my prediction was correct. Happy New Year. — Pat Williams Work is a pastime for those who have not discovered the game of golf.

Response:

Dear friends, Now that our calendars have rolled over and we’ve entered the New Year of 1900, I thought I’d spend a moment reflecting on the past, and ponder the future. I’ve been smitten by a new game that has recently been introduced in our country.  In case this wonderful game has not yet come to your area (I’m sure it will eventually), let me tell you a little about it. They call it golf, and it was introduced in America by the Scots.  As of now, it seems to be enjoyed mostly by the wealthy, but I hope one day we common people might be able to play with more regularity.  I have been fortunate to have been invited to play a time or two.  As yet, the nearest field that has been appropriately prepared for this outdoor pasttime is some distance from the village in which I live.  Though I now have to travel very long distances to find an organized game (often overnight by horse and buggy), I find the journey well worth the effort.  Unfortunately, I usually have to tell the Mrs. that I’m traveling to a special hunting ground to hunt for food.  Though when I return from my journey, I must inform her that I was unable to capture any prey, she is none the wiser.  However, I suspect she thinks I’m a lousy hunter. Golf is a game in which men gather to attempt to advance a small ball across a field until they are able to roll the ball into a small hole that has been dug in the ground.  They endeavor to do this by standing alongside the ball and striking it with an implement swung by the arms and shoulders.  Until recently, these balls were made of goose feathers covered in a pouch of leather sewn tightly together (very expensive).  Once the ball is in the hole, the process begins again, as the men prop the ball up on a small mound of dirt or sand and strike it again with these implements designed to propel it through the air.  Once the ball is thrust forward for the first time on each hole, the men must figure out a way to strike it again without propping it up again, which can prove to be a daunting task.  The man who uses fewer swings to propel the ball into a series of holes is declared the winner (and, I might add, is considerably less spent at the end of this ordeal than the gents who expended more energy on many more swings).  It is a vigorous activity, and yet, at times it can be quite relaxing and theraputic.  I heartily recommend this pasttime to those of you who have not yet experienced its perplexing mixture of joy and torment. These golfing implements are made of iron-like material (imagine a large spoon-like shape) attached to the end of a hickory stick.  Very unweildy things, these.  It requires much skill to control the flight of the ball, and I find only the most thoughtful players are able to control it with any predictability.  It seems an insurmountable challenge at times, and tempers are often inflamed when one’s abilities fall short of producing the desired results.  The control over one’s self is often an even greater challenge that the control of the ball.  This, they tell me, is part of the charm.  I wonder sometimes.  Yet it seems that only the most genteel of men participate in this game, as they tend to maintain a polite decorum for the most part.  How they do this remains something of a mystery, though they are unquestionably gentlemen, all. So enjoyable have I found the challenge of this game that I have recently commissioned my local blacksmith to make for me a set of implements with which to play (they call them "clubs").  I’m not sure how I’ll explain to the Mrs. the presence of these implements in our home.  But since I’ll take them with me on my "hunting" trips    , I’ll probably just tell her that they’re a weapon used for the purpose.  Fortunately, women are not allowed to participate in this activity called golf, so she’ll never see these implements used in the manner for which they’re designed.  She’ll just assume they’re used for hunting.  I must request that you refrain from revealing their real purpose to her, as she may become disheartened by my repeated journeys to "hunt" if she surmises that I’m giving greater importance to playing this game than to acquiring food for the family.  It’s best that she not know. Last year during a trip into the nearby town, I acquired one of the town’s newspapers and read in it an account of many people gathering in Baltimore, for what has recently become an annual affair in which players travel from afar to compete in the game.  This event is open to all men who play golf. The winner is declared the champion golfer of this country.  It is my understanding that a Scot named Vardon (known for his distinctive manner of placing his hands on the golfing implements) is planning to travel by boat from Scotland to compete this year when this "U.S. Open" championship is held in Chicago.  I’m hopeful of traveling north to witness this event, and perhaps learn his secret.  He is quite proficient at the game, and has thrice been declared as the champion golfer of his native land, including last year.  I expect it will be a pleasure, indeed, to see him play. I hope one day to acquire the skills necessary to compete with players better than myself at this peculiar game.  On a recent trip, I was invited by friends to join in a game at their town’s golf course (the name given to the field prepared for this activity).  There, they employed young negro boys to carry their implements, thereby allowing the game’s participants to save their effort for the actual playing of the game.  One young boy was so fatigued at the end of the day that he nearly collapsed under the weight of some 25 or 30 implements, all used by one player.  Still, this seems to be the best way to enjoy the game — all the enjoyment, without all the work of carrying around these heavy implements. In the meantime, I will be looking forward to the town’s blacksmith completing his work on my new clubs.  Though the purchase of these implements will fairly empty my family’s bank account, I hope one day to reveal to my wife the real purpose for their existence.  I hope to find the necessary means to continue providing food for my family while I continue to engage in playing this game whenever the opportunity is presented to do so. I suppose as long as she has the necessary food to cook for our family, she won’t much care where it came from, or that these implements were not used to kill it. My wish for the New Year is that one day you can join me in my travels, and that we might enjoy playing this wonderful game together.  I must recommend, however, before you endeavor to join me, that you find more than one ball with which to play.  They seem to have a mind of their own, and at times are prone to fly or roll into locations that make their retrieval and continued use impossible.  And though these balls made of feathers are coveted as gold, I hear reports of ingenius men who have discovered a method of producing balls for the game made of a packing material known as gutta percha.  These balls are produced from an evaporated milky juice or rubbery substance that comes from a tree.  Though I have not yet seen any of these balls in my travels, I’m told they’re more durable than my featheries, and considerably less costly. For now, I’ll just share with you a few things I’m resolved to do in this new Year of our Lord, 1900, and hope that you can join me some day soon in the enjoyment of this enchanting game: * Locate a field in which the game might be played in closer proximity to my home, and endeavor to become acquainted with the men who frequently play there. * Find some of these new gutta percha balls.  The reports I’m hearing of them are encouraging, particularly with regard to their characteristics that allow them to sustain flight for a longer period of time. * Endeavor to swing these implements with greater proficiency, and in so doing, propel the ball greater distances than I’ve done in the past.  This would seem to make the game much easier, though I suspect I will find this to be an ongoing struggle. * Figure out why this glowing box, connected to a device with buttons marked by letters and numbers, is in my home. Randy "Vote McKinley for President" website:  http://wwwgolfer.home.mindspring.com RSG Roll Call profile:  http://u1.netgate.net/~kirby34/rsg/brownr.htm                   "I’m as Y3K-compliant as I’m ever going to get."

Response: