Teeing up in Wellington food for the soul
Dear golfers
Wherever you are, you have to make a plan to visit Wellington Golf Club. Not in the Wellington that is the capital of New Zealand – why would you want to go to any place full of Kiwis? – but the Wellington in the Western Cape, in the valley below the Limietberg mountain range.
Having been a sports journalist for more than half my life, I have been privileged enough to play some of the finest golf courses in the country and, indeed, the world. In terms of the experience, Wellington ranks right up there with the best of them. It is not the best manicured course in the country (in fact, it is pretty ropey at times) and it only has nine holes (with two greens on one of the par threes and two on the last – a ninth and an 18th).
But the people, from caddie-master Tony to the motley crew of caddies, are simply wonderful. It is a Western Cape thing, but they are so laid back they are nearly horizontal and this makes for a thoroughly stress-free experience, even if you’re playing the worst golf of your life.
There is a specific reason why Wellington will always be close to my heart, and again it has to do with the people.
Many years ago, between wives and jobs and a bit unsure of what I wanted to do in life, I resided in Wellington as a boarder in my sister and brother-in-law’s house. As part of my “therapy”, said brother-in-law and I used to play golf fairly regularly.
After another thoroughly enjoyable day out and a couple of cold ones at the 19th, we mean- dered off home to rustle up something to eat. While preparing for supper, the phone rang and my sister answered.
“It’s for you,” she said, which immediately sent chills down my spine. Apart from my parents, my siblings and my kids, I didn’t know of anyone who was aware of where I was living. And I wanted to keep it that way.
It turned out it was Tony the caddie-master, who told me a couple of the members had picked up my wallet in the car park of the club. I nipped back down the hill and a smiling Tony handed me back my wallet. Not a thing was missing and it had a substantial amount of cash in it. The money was there, as were my driver’s licence, bank cards, etc, etc.
The members who found it happened to be in the pub at the time and although they refused to entertain the suggestion of a cash reward, they were only too happy to let me buy them a few rounds of drinks. It turned into a long, lovely evening and my faith in humanity had been restored.
Someone once said to me that golf was “chicken soup for the soul”. I beg to differ as there have been times I’ve wanted to throw my clubs into the nearest water hazard. But golf people, and particularly those in this little piece of paradise in the Western Cape, certainly fit that description.