by Russell Cameron
I was steeped in Bathgate Golf Club all my early life; both my parents were golfers and my dad had been a prominent member for most of the 20th century so it was natural for me to be directed to Edinburgh Road and under the railway bridge. The club I remember as a youngster reflected the values of British society of the late fifties at a time when the wider world was changing rapidly into the “swinging sixties”. In the backwater that was Bathgate, “swinging” was no more sexy than the sort done with your clubs on the local course.
The club membership was mixed and professional men like Dr. Sandy Lang and dentist Bill Arbuckle stalked the fairways happily with stalwarts of the mining industry, John Timlin, Bobby Muir and Sanny Miller. Big local employers like the steel foundries, Menzies’s, and Renton and Fisher’s, were the workplaces of such strong golfers as Jock Duff and Willie Cunningham – more of whom later. The town merchants, in the days before supermarkets stole all their business, were well represented, too. Butcher Willie Hamilton, jeweller and optician Frank Cunningham, and fruiterer and florist Wattie Bryce would be out on Wednesday afternoons to take advantage of their “ half-shut days”. I have a memory of Wattie giving the one armed bandit a “ proper seein’ tae” before he set out on the course and some smart Alec enquiring of him what his morning activity had been, “did ye get a’ the aipples an’ oaranges coontit, then, Walter?”
It WAS a place of humour and people in the mid 20th century said largely what they thought and did not have to hide behind a keyboard to make inappropriate observations. Bobby Muir was out on the course one day with a pal from his work who was a new recruit to the sport. The beginner was hitting it everywhere and on occasion missing it completely. He appealed to the more experienced Bobby, “ What am a daein?” Bobby looked at him and opined, “Yer feet are in the wrong place!” “Where should they be?” To be told “Up at the Steelyaird!!”
Not everybody “hacked it round” by any means. The aforementioned Jock Duff was a marvellous player, a great striker of a golf ball and a multiple winner of the Club Championship. He was a throwback to even earlier times, often playing in a formal buttoned-up jacket, though rarely with his teeth in. Gummy smiles came your way as he gleefully pocketed your half crown at the end of the game. His foursomes partner was Willie Cunningham, white bunnet a la Ben Hogan, florid of complexion, stockily built and determination on legs, another great performer. Willie was a wonderful chipper and putter, a much more accomplished player the nearer he got to the hole. He was able to do miracles using an old wooden-shafted pitching club with a blackened face to it. This has been preserved into our century by the club and a competition is still played annually for the magical weapon as a prize.
The two main cafes in Bathgate in the late fifties were Serafini’s and Boni’s and the former was well represented at the club in the shape of proprietors, Eddie and Tony. Their nephews, brothers Joe and Julian, still youngsters, were coming through to make waves in the following decade. Joe was only a teenager when he got to three consecutive Club Championship finals but lost them all. Off he went to university in Glasgow but, sadly, no sooner had he graduated than he would lose his life in a dreadful car crash. So it was left to Julian to carry the Serafini name forward at the club and he, fittingly, would win twice, in the years that followed, the Championship that had eluded his brother.
Both Joe and Julian came through the boys’ section at the club and, like many, learned the values and etiquette of the game from the stewardship of Jimmy Cameron who nowadays would be called the Boys’ Convenor. There was no nonsense in Jimmy’s “ship”. Handicaps were ruthlessly cut unlike modern days when we have so many complaints about people holding on to their mark to make a killing in the more lucrative events. Gerry Clarke was a strapping fifteen year old with no little ability when he presented himself for his first competition. Asked if he had “ played before” he took Jimmy’s enquiry literally, thinking it was a question about his competitive experience so, naturally, answered in the negative. Then like all “new starts” he was granted the handicap, the highest anybody could get at that time, thirty-six. The following week he was off ten having come in with a silly score, leaving all other competitors in his wake, winning his very first outing hands down!! There were whispers, overheard by Jimmy, that he was “an old hook” (cheat). Maybe nearer our own day this description might have been a tad nearer the knuckle!
The clubhouse was much like those at other local golf clubs, Shotts and Harburn for example, not much to look at but functional; there was a small lounge/bar and men’s and ladies’ locker rooms. The men’s had a distinct aroma of sweat, mouldy old socks and dead or dying, rubbery, old waterproofs.
Tending the clubhouse were couple Hannah and Johnny Carruthers with Johnny taking on the role of
greenkeeper as well. Hannah didn’t crack many smiles but was a gem of a person and I well remember the rolls on sausage she provided at the Boys’ Annual Prizegiving. Yummy!! That was a great night with usually a golf luminary there to hand out the wee trophies and the “winnings”, more often than not, golf balls. Even these would be a source of amusement for an audience of today, wrapped as they were, individually, in glossy paper. The great Scottish golfer John Panton graced the club with his presence one year and another year George Yuille, pro then at Turnhouse but later at Royal Burgess, looked at some of the laddies’ swings and made helpful suggestions ( or in my case had one glance at my grip and recoiled in horror!!)
The Annual Prizegiving for the adults was a mixed affair and there was usually a dance after the winnings had been handed over to the proud recipients. The men’s prizes went around; it could be a lifetime ambition to win a Monthly Medal and if you were good enough to be one of the eight qualifiers during the season for the Club Championship you were thought of as “ no mean performer”. BUT there were very few lady members, relatively speaking, so my memory is of Nancy Arbuckle, Polly Connor and Nessie Mackay wearing a track in the carpet as they traipsed into the spotlight around a dozen times each to collect their gains. Tiring, I’m sure!!
Qualifying for the Club Championship was thirty six holes with only eight players going forward to the knockout stages . To say it was keenly anticipated is to well understate the excitement. Competitors’ eyes were out on stalks before the Wednesday afternoon ( to suit the shops’ half-shut day) for the first qualifying round. And it could all be over for you before the second one played at the weekend if you messed up
mid-week. The names of the qualifiers would then go into an unseeded draw and there would be matches on Tuesday and Thursday before the big final at the weekend.
There could be several hundred out to watch these last two rounds. Apart from fellow members, drinking pals would be winkled out of the Legion or “Stein’s” (Railway Tavern) to support the likes of Jock Duff or Jimmy Tierney on their big day. If it had not quite a gala-day feel, the interest was high. I suppose a time in our history when there were many fewer endeavours to occupy such leisure hours as were available
Looking after the course must have been a big job for greenkeeper Johnny Carruthers. There was nothing in the way of fancy equipment to make his job easier. And, in truth, the eighteen holes were still a bit on the wild side. A wet spring would leave the fairways a real chore to tend, the rough would grow profusely, and balls were easily lost. As a lad, I remember a tramp around in the long grass would provide you with balls aplenty – ammunition to be treasured in times when a shiny new pill to play with was a thing of wonder. Later on in the decade John Adamson took over as greenkeeper and under his stewardship the greens became fantastic and the envy of many, more prestigious courses in central Scotland.
Johnny Carruthers was a wee foxy man, five and a half feet tall who could hear a divot being cut hundreds of yards away and who was adept at doling out tickings-off for not replacing same. I had many in my time as a junior. We, the youngsters, probably deserved everything we got.
Times changed! On 1st January, 1964 a new clubhouse was opened and it is largely the building that stands today. There was a big “ function” held to open it but I was not there. I stayed home to watch the very first edition of Top of the Pops. Even mentioning this T.V. programme makes me feel like a dinosaur in these days when technology rules our lives and we can watch whatever we want whenever we want and wherever we happen to be.
And times changed in the playing sense as well with John McLean becoming a member having already shown promise at the Uphall club. Jock’s story is largely the story of the playing side of Bathgate Golf Club in the last forty years of the 20th century. He was a good player who turned himself into a legend with umpteen club championships and county championships to his name. What a competitor!! If it had not been for the name Gallacher he would have stood alone as THE name of golf in Bathgate.
Then, of course, there IS Bernard Gallacher to talk about, only a boy in the sixties, who was to follow in the Ryder Cup steps of that other Bathgate golfing legend, Eric Brown, a world golfing figure already in the years before this little roundup. But THAT is another story!
* * *
Bathgate Old Times 