“THE CARTHUMPIANS”

Te Awamutu Courier, Volume 53, Issue 3783, 17 July 1936, Page 10

“THE CARTHUMPIANS”

A GOLFING STORY. (Contributed) A golfjng enthusiast who resides not more than 100 miles from the Hamilton links deliberately sought out the writer to tell of the Carthumpian Club—an institution that flourished in Scotland for many years and which became locally famous. This is the story as handed in for publication:— The Carthumpians—the emphasis is laid on the “thump”—were no monks of a certain order as one might imagine. They w’ere golfers. More, they were members of the strangest golf club perhaps in all the world. They included many good golfers, men who could be trusted to return their cards in their monthly tournament without any shadow of suspicion being attached to the honesty of the figures. Yet when these same men played once or twice a year in the Carthumpian Club every single figure on the card was suspect. For this society owed no allegience to the Royal and Ancient. It had one rule and one rule only—anything legal -on the course so long as your partner. or opponent did not find it out.

Farmers, in the main, made up this old club, which existed merely for social pleasure. The golf outings were held on various courses in Scotland, but usually round about Angus and Kincardine. In the morning the members would arrive from the remote parts by train while those from nearby centres converged on the meeting place in their dogcarts and gigs. Each carried a handful of clubs, for they did not have kitbags in those days. The draw for partnerships was made usually in the local inn over a “drappie,” and in due course the play began. Any evasion of the laws of golf was recognised so long as it was not found out. As a result the members were adept at all sorts of tricks. One man made a habit of sending his caddie on ahead from every tee. The caddie carried a spare ball in his pocket, and if his employer’s drive had found the rough he would drop the spare ball through a hole in his pocket and wait an opportunity to pick up tiie other. Kicking the ball on to the fairway was too elementary and usually discovered.

One story runs that at a certain hole a player was about to play his second shot from a perfect lie. “That’s not your ball,” declared his partner. “Of course it is,” was the indignant retort. “Naw it’s not,” persisted the other. “I’ve got my foot on your ball.”

The chief ritual of the day consisted of “a refreshment” round about the turn. The beer and whisky was carried out to the chosen hole by a caddie, and as each couple came round the glasses were filled. This hole was always known as the grog hole, a fact which perhaps explains why this name is so common on certain courses. After the grog hole the competitions sometimes became more spirited. It is alleged that one player had lingered so long at the grog hole that his vision had become slightly impaired. His partner, substituted for his ball a gutta with a pin hammered into it, the head left projecting just a trifle. As a result, when the player putted the ball jumped, and would not run in the desired direction. Needless to say that player did not win the medal. There were many fine golfers in the Carthumpians, it is true, but there were so many others who were not so good. Indeed one might justly say they were not golfers at all. Still, they enjoyed the fun and would persist in playing their round. As to have allowed them to hole out at every hole would have occupied the major portion of a day a new rule was eventually introduced. No player was allowed to score more than ten at any one hole. If he reached the double figure without putting his ball in the hole he merely put a 10 on his card and went on to the next tee. One regular competitor was never known to go round any course in less than 180!

The Carthumpians Club has gone. In recent years, I am told, an effort was made to revive it, but the times were out of joint. It was essentially of the old days when men were more leisurely, when manners were broader, when golf was a game and not an obsession. It could not function to-day. Serious-minded golfers would protect against such visitors monopolising their course. The privacy of the grog hole would be invaded by press photographers. Those who imbibed a droppie too much of Auld Kirk and let their “shaltie” take them home would to-day imperil life and limb on the road in motor cars. The Carthumpians Club was a colourful old body with quaint customs, but the right spirit of friendship and camaraderie. Perhaps some day my old-timer friend or-some other member of the distinguished order will write more fully of its customs and its pranks. It is well that these old stories should be preserved. The complete story of the rise and fall of the Carthumpian Club would, I am sure, make both interesting and amusing reading.

MATRIMONY. |ln a WJest of England church the banns between two parishioners had been read for the first time. After the service the vicar was accosted by the prospective bridegroom. “Mr Goodbody, I want to speak to ’ee about those banns. Can I ’ave ’em changed?” “Certainly, if you wish,” Was the surprised i-eply. “You are not marriled 1 Jyiet. or legally bound in any Way.” “Ah!” with a sigh of relief. “That’s whalt I wanted to know. You see, I’ve been thinking, and, seems to me, I’d rather have her sister.” “You can please yourself,” replied

the vicar. “But, of course, fresh banns must be published.” “Ah!” A pause. “Mr Goodbody, I paid ’ee half-a-crown for putting up those banns. Shall I have to pay another half-crown?” “Of course you will.” “Oh!” A long pause. Then, with sudden rresolutaon, “Aw, well, leave ’em be as ’tis.”

THE ETERNAL QUESTION. “Some advocate moderation,” said the temperance orator, “and some counsel total abstinence. Now what is the great drink question?” “ What’ll you have ? ” said a voice.