Pitchmarks #43 - 28th April 2024 - Reincarnation
It is not yet eight when I stroll into the hallway at Prince’s, and yet already the space feels welcoming. A kind soul directs me to fresh coffee, but on the way there I glance at some information boards that celebrate the heritage of this old place, and am reminded of the rich stream of story-telling that has emerged from these links.
The migration from Mitcham, the 1932 Open, and Gene Sarazen’s ingenious deployment of his revolutionary “sand iron”. The ravages of the second world war, and the various iterations of golf across this stretch of Sandwich Bay. It is fully twenty years since I was last here, and I am about to find out that Prince’s continues to evolve, just like the windswept coast in which it sits.
The warm welcome extends to the first green on the Himalayas nine, where a lengthy putt drops for an opening three. It will be my only birdie of the day, so I stop counting immediately, but still spend the next seventeen holes basking quietly in the glorious sight of a ball disappearing from view. The course is running firm, with the greens a perfect pace - around nine feet on the Stimpmeter, I am told. Despite the rain we’ve had, the ball is hopping and bouncing, and Prince’s famous run-offs are the source of much joy and amusement, teasing and delighting us in equal measure.
The attention to detail I noticed in the delivery of that oat latte extends into the fresh air, too. The presentation is crisp, and the minimal furniture pleasing to my palate. Through the carries and between holes run sleepered paths in which lie recycled tee markers, and I am delighted by the current version at the eighth, whose split down the middle speaks to the volatile nature of the weather down here. As it happens, my camera is safely in the locker room, but in time I am glad of this oversight, for the heavens open and it would have been full of rain (or was it hail?) rather than imagery.
Near the third is a mounted propeller, in tribute to the Walker Cup player Laddie Lucas. His father Percy Montagu Lucas had co-founded the Club, along with Sir Harry Mallaby-Deeley of Mitcham Court, and Laddie was born in the clubhouse. Twenty-five years later, he was hit by the enemy fire of a Messerschmitt over Northern France, and would spot his beloved Sandwich Bay through the window of his damaged aircraft as it lost height. Somehow, Laddie would manage to land safely, though the upturned Spitfire would eventually stop moving just beyond the boundary fence. Henry Longhurst’s subsequent telegram to Lucas simply read “Out of bounds again, Laddie”.
We pause for more caffeine at our turn towards the Shore course, but not before sneaking to the old Open tee for our ninth drive. From here, we blast over the Himalayas bunkers, then turn hard left for a green that rolls seamlessly into the practice area. Once again, I am charmed by this nod to history - the tee is only used for the annual member/guest, but still it has been first located then reinstated - and I claim a further tribute to that great Open Champion by pulling my approach into “Sarazen’s Bunker”, though even all these years after he smuggled that bouncing weapon in and out of his bag, all the technology in the world can’t get me up and down, or even out of the sand. I’d light a Hamlet, but I don’t smoke, and they’d have been soaked by now anyway as, along with the camera, my waterproofs are safely indoors.
The Shore takes us along towards The Lodge, and I peer over the fence at the infamous “Suez Canal” of Royal St George’s, and marvel at the rich stream of golf that lines the Channel’s English bank. On each tee, I am encouraged by the open feel of the holes, and clatter drives with a freedom that is rare for me. The rough is gentle and the playing lines generous, and between us we only lose a few shots, never balls. By the time we putt out on the gorgeous Shore ninth, our final hole today, I’m enchanted by Prince’s, and by the subtle blend of ancient and modern that it represents.
This last green was the sole contribution of a founding father - Herbert Fowler - to this vast golfing playground, but as we tackle the nineteenth with the same cheery smiles that have gone before, we swap stories of the good and the great of this fine old game, and as the van rumbles home after a quick stroll across “The Dunes”, I reflect on how Prince’s marries its heritage with a progressive vibe. Something in its DNA points to change, and ingenuity, as if the problem-solving mentality that Sarazen used while tampering with niblicks in his garage rubbed off in the wind here, and persists to this day.
I sleep on this vague idea, and then in the quiet darkness of the early morning, twenty-four hours after starting out on this latest foray, it hits me. Somehow Prince’s is for me about reincarnation. Eugenio Saraceni became Gene Sarazen; the course he knew and loved was all but lost - its use as a military training ground in the forties likened to “throwing darts at a Rembrandt” - until Sir Guy Campbell and John Morrison arrived in 1950, carving twenty-seven holes from the ashes of the original routing.
In recent years, Mackenzie & Ebert have sprinkled magic dust upon Prince’s already fine canvas, solving several issues in the process. The Himalayas loop (always known as the “The Red”) used to be regarded as the weakest nine, yet in combining the old second and third holes, they have created space for one of the links’ finest challenges - “Bloody Point”, a short hole that changes direction and will test every calibre of golfer as they gaze out to sea.
Prince’s par threes used to all be within a tight yardage band, but another new hole - “Smuggler’s Landing” in the middle of the Shore course - has helped alter that dynamic for the better, and despite playing at well under a hundred yards for Open Qualifying three years back, the score average on this downwind flick was around π, rather than the birdie two most had in mind with a lofted wedge in hand.
Combine these additions with some careful re-positioning of tees and bunkers, and the wetland and waste areas that already seem integral parts of this ancient landscape, and Prince’s emerges from its latest makeover with a rare thing - three sets of nine holes that not only stand alone as tests of golf, but feel coherent as a whole.
Prince’s has retained many of the charms of a century ago, including most of the original green sites, but the theme that really ties all this together is the inclusive nature of the modern edition. The vision of the founding fathers was of a club that welcomes all, and today’s regulars range from baronets to bin-operatives, in a club that positively embraces diversity. The connective tissue is golf, and the game will impose its own hierarchy, along with the coastal weather. It is playable for the moderate golfer yet challenging for the Open qualifiers; golf as a space for equality, and healing. And most of all, fun.
If the ghost of Laddie Lucas were to take his Spitfire for one last spin across Sandwich Bay, I think he’d be thrilled to see what has become of this dream of his father and Mallaby-Deeley a dozen decades on. It’s utterly magnificent.
What wonderful invitation to explore next door the next time I’m in Deal. Cheers, Richard.
Lovely⛳️