Pitchmarks #72 - 10th November 2024 - "the irregularities of the terrain"
Vallière Course, Golf de Morfontaine
“One must imagine Sisyphus happy”
Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus
In what now seems like another life, I wrote daily missives about golf to a congregation starved of this madness under the first prohibition in about four hundred years. “The Lockdown Letters”, I called them, and though we were all glad to escape the shackles of our societal quarantine, I at least think fondly of those exchanges, for they reminded me what this game means to me, I think.
One of the threads that weaved through them was of holes-in-one. I admitted the continued lack of one, and included a photo of the ball my great golfing friend achieved his with…on what might otherwise be my favourite short hole, using without any doubt my favourite ever type of ball. I used to mention that I had holed a tee shot on my childhood playground, Heath Park’s pitch and putt, but no-one seemed to care then, and when returning there in the spring for a nostalgic walk around, I discovered the course had shrunk, and that little nudge onto a plateau at the tenth was now a field of trees. So I remain as I have always been, stuck on zero. Cursed, perhaps.
Offering this gift to a captive audience was a grave mistake, of course. Replies came bouncing in of the various ways others had broken their hole-in-one duck, many then compounding my misery when explaining that a week later, they doubled their tally. Multiplication had no purpose for me; three times zero is still zero. Some had mantlepieces that could barely contain all these plinths and certificates; one took great pride in telling me that he can’t remember how many he had made at the point where he lost count, but that he was “well over a dozen” by then. And when I saw him again earlier this year, he came over simply to inform me that he still can’t remember the tally. The whole thing was sickening, and I couldn’t even go out and try to put things right, for golf was illegal.
I’d sort of stopped caring that the damn ball won’t go in, but a recent trip to Paris poured kerosene on that particular ember, and I am having trouble thinking of much else. Le Grand Parcours, the main eighteen hole course at Golf de Morfontaine, is one of the great wonders of the golfing world, a course so effortlessly stylish as to obliterate all comparison for me. Sandy Tatum once described Cypress Point as “the Sistine Chapel of golf”, in which case Morfontaine is the Pauline Chapel, quietly resting in the shadows.
But beyond that, out the back of the wonderfully elegant clubhouse, lies another little marvel, which might just be golf’s greatest secret. The Vallière Course was the first golf here, opening in 1913, and it was also among Tom Simpson’s first design projects. He wrote at various times of what he called “the mad masterpieces”, and gave examples of specific holes from St Andrews, and Prestwick, and Addington, along with the fourth at Woking, which had set him on this path to golf design in the first place. But after a couple of loops of the Vallière, I assume it was simply through good manners that he failed to mention some of these holes of his in such a list, for as debuts go, Simpson’s was nothing short of outrageous.
The first fairway swings away, drifting gently past some pines on the right, but it is only when you reach the fairway that the extent of the challenge becomes clear. Perched up on the hill above is a green of violent contour, protected by a steep bank on the left and by clumps of heather out right. The shot is not long, but it is exacting, and to find the wrong section of the putting green or worse is to suffer greatly. And we do.
From there, the second is a mere flick down the hill, with a dramatic ridge seperating this green into two halves. With the pin on the right, all one needs to do is pitch it the right side of the line and the green will do the rest, as the contours will help anything long to gently roll back. You really ought to make two, and first time round Adam and I do, though his is via a gimme - within a foot or so of an ace - and mine via a comical, cross-country putt.
The third drops down and across a valley, with another devilish green perched above. And from there, the fourth is the most exquisite drop shot over an ocean of heather to a green flanked by sand. The front section of the green has what is almost a wall of pristine turf on the left, and Dai’s ball pitches hard into the top of this bank, not even bothering to bounce before tracking directly at the hole, which it skirts. Dai had very nearly added to his haul of aces earlier, on the main course, but this one was visible and within millimetres. I stand over mine, thinking “is this the one?”, but deep down I know the answer, and make three from a little bunker out right.
The fifth has some wild mounding in the approach to the green, and we take a moment to try a few of the shots in alternate directions, for the banks and hollows and ridges provide endless options. It seems that our only limitations are those of skill and imagination, and that Simpson had an unfathomable supply of each.
The sixth and seventh are good holes, but after the roller-coaster ride of the first five, they seem strangely subdued. But each serves a purpose, which is to bring us to the thrilling eighth, chopped in half by a band of thick heather, with another fabulous green ahead, and a magnificent ninth, its flag gently rippling alongside the patio, surrounded by heather clad traps that dare you to take them on.
The founder of the club, Armand de Gramont, said of Simpson that he was “as much a landscape artist as a sportsman and had very original ideas for golf course design. He used the irregularities of the terrain to make the game fun and varied”, and it is hard to conceive of more irregular terrain on which to attempt to play golf, or how it could be any more fun.
We’ve still an hour or so of light, and Dai retreats to the bar, but my legs simply won’t walk that way yet, so Adam and I carry on, this time playing from the reds to add a further twist to this adventure. If the course was staggering first time round, it is mesmerising this time. A hundred more crafty swales and heavenly views emerge, and as the dusk starts to slowly drop across this landscape, it becomes an ethereal experience, the silence only punctured by our regular, understandable laughter. Golf is a sport, Simpson reminds us, and sport is meant to be fun.
At the fourth, I get as close to déjà vu as I have been in years, and as close to a hole-in-one as I may ever get. My ball traces an identical path to Dai’s a while earlier, pitching within a foot of his repaired ball mark, and takes the same urgent track at the cup. Only mine touches the lip, and even at a hundred yards or metres, or whatever the number on the card says, we can see that it thought about dropping, about letting gravity win for a change. The rim of the hole changes the ball’s path as my legs buckle on the tee but it stays above ground, and the forest echoes with laughter.
We skip the sixth and seventh, and realise that the loop we’ve played this second time is the best seven hole golf course in this or any other galaxy, and shake hands as this most irregular of terrain dissolves into the night, and when I reach the pillow I will dream only of the Vallière, for it is there that I have rediscovered the great simplicity at the heart of the game. We should play for fun, and have fun. The rest of it can fall quietly away.
As a parting shot for today I look up the meaning of Vallière, and am advised it is “the name for someone who lived in a small valley”. So when the great reckoning comes, if you could kindly arrange for me to inhabit that small valley into which the fourth drops, with a wedge and a couple of balls, I’ll spend the rest of eternity as a Vallière, locked in immortal combat with the ghost of Tom Simpson.
In writing this, I realise I may be repeating an earlier mistake, which is to invite others to compound my misery with tales of their own roaring success. But if it makes you feel better, or reminds you of a precious memory, go ahead and fill your boots. I am all ears…
With grateful thanks to Dai & Adam, both for your company and for not holing-on-one with me in attendance. Very thoughtful!
I played the Vallière in June for the first time and hope I get a chance to play it again. It was simply sublime and like you say it is great fun and really provides what most of us want out of a game of golf, fun, variety and challenge. It is incredible to think that none of these holes became part of Les Grand Parcours 10-15 Years later as they are just so good. Tom Simpson was an absolute genius.
I feel your pain of having played so long yet remaining „hole in oneless,“ Richard. I won’t turn the knife in the wound by regaling you with tales of many such successes. I‘m responding to inform you, in case you were unaware, that Seve apparently never had a hole in one. This astounding fact, should it be true, certainly puts you in distinguished company.