Pitchmarks Archive ADVENTure #11 - "Wonderful Worplesdon"

A quietly rich experience

We live in a world of soundbites and snippets, our attention span shrinking as the latest volley of information arrives. On the wireless are only the hit songs; on the bookshelf volumes of the best holes, the highlights. But there are spaces where it is still possible - preferable, even - to take the time to play the complete album, and sometimes we find a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts.

In the crafting of a great record or golf course, the artist can explore their finest gift in locating a coherent theme, and it is worth seeking out such examples of creative journeys for they take us deeper into the music, deeper into the rhythms of the game. And so it is with all of J. F. Abercromby’s work, but perhaps particularly at Worplesdon. Building on Willie Park Jnr’s routing, the bunkering and stunning set of green complexes are largely what Aber left behind, and it was Worplesdon that helped build his reputation in the early twentieth century.

First impressions count for a lot, of course, and the sense of arrival is strong here. You swing off a quiet, country road and through the silent gate, and the crunching gravel of the car park is the soundtrack as you approach the clubhouse, all white paint and ancient timber beams. So you make yourself comfortable, and gaze through the vast windows to a sea of pine and heather, savouring your coffee in the same leather chairs that have welcomed thousands before you.

The first is inviting - a wide open fairway - and so your adventure through the landscape of Aber’s imagination begins. A blend of subtle features and challenges awaits you, but while every photographer seeks a signature hole, here the glorious views are everywhere, and it is hard to isolate specifics. After the gentle loop of the first three, the fourth is steep and demanding, and you breathe a sigh of relief to make three, though you’ll more often take four here. And then the fifth, swinging right past the trees, and the exciting sixth, down over the brow of the hill.

At the eighth, the sort of short par four that no longer gets built is defended by a wicked green, the back pin protected by a steep slope in front and behind, and at the tenth, you pause before your tee shot to adore the reflection of this golfing haven in the still waters of Bridley Pond. If Worplesdon has a signature hole, it is perhaps this one - at least when the Rhododendrons are in bloom - but the course’s glory only builds from hereon.

Across the road we dash, and the four holes on this other parcel of land are bold, and beautiful. Back to back par fives, a treacherous short hole, and then stroke one, a long four that points you back towards those leather armchairs at last. And like many of the courses of that golden age of architecture, Worplesdon’s symphony gradually builds towards the end; a course made for match-play, the predominant form of the game in those days, and still played a lot through these corridors of fine heath.

Few finishes can match that found here, the sixteenth perhaps the hardest of a great bunch of par threes. Seventeen is a lesson in simplicity; the positioning of the tee shot critical for the hopes of the approach, running in through the sort of contours that make golf at Worplesdon so endlessly varied and enjoyable. Another of the great architects of the era - Herbert Fowler - hailed Abercromby’s eye for detail on this land, noting that the greens and surrounds were “full of slopes and waves”. Such aesthetically delightful shapes also make for perpetually interesting golf; a course that tests every shot in any player’s imagination, requires every club in the bag.

And, if your match gets this far, the eighteenth feels like the challenge towards which all this fine golf has been building, the coda to complete the experience. A tighter tee shot than some, and then you must guide your shot in from the left, or carry the right hand bunkers, and hope that the ball will hold on, lest you hear that familiar crunching gravel sound a little too soon. In a while, you will shake hands and walk away, but before you leave, you want to go and dwell a little longer in the nineteenth, and lick your wounds with a refreshment or two, as is the form here. And those chairs suck you in, and for once you are not in a hurry.

I once heard someone, when asked to describe the Worplesdon membership, use the term “quietly rich”, but it seems to me that this might just as accurately be used to describe the facility itself. Rich in history - the Wethereds, David Frame, Prime Minister A.J. Balfour. Rich in architectural pedigree - Aber & Park, a unique composition. Rich in the simple beauty of a vibrant, heathland environment. A club with a rich past but with one eye on an equally prosperous future.

There are bounces good and bad to be found at Worplesdon, and the only way to know which you will find is to go out looking for them. But while your ball might, once in a while, spin away off some gentle swale that the ghost of Abercromby left waiting for you, one never ought to feel unlucky out here. For when golf is this good, we are all lucky to be here, regardless of the score, and the only thing we ought to be counting is our blessings. This is golf at its very best, day after day, year after year.

Since late 2021, I have sent out well over 200 of these blog posts, and a few magazine articles and online submissions, too. And some of the posts are better than others; that’s inevitable. As Seth Godin observed of his 20-year plus streak of daily blogs, half of them are below the average “by whatever metric you wish to use”. And some I know well, and others surprise me a little, for I had forgotten them.

Re-reading this one was enjoyable, for though I’ve not played Worplesdon for a while, I know it very well, and find it endlessly charming as a course and a club. And somehow, though some of the blog posts drag on a little, this one seemed sweet to re-discover. It reminded me of Worplesdon…a nice style about it, a good rhythm. It made me want to go and stand on the 1st tee once again, and re-live that familiar journey. And that’s how I have felt more often than not when walking off the last there. It’s so very lovely; you just want to carry on going.

J.F. Abercromby didn’t leave all that much behind, and that which Darwin and others thought his finest - Addington’s New - got swallowed by housing, but what does remain is outstanding, and we should have known it would be, for this - his first attempt - is magnificent. Once again, thank you Aber…