A Golfing Library

The first time I came across golf on the page was in Ian Fleming’s (1959) infamous Goldfinger.

In the book, James Bond’s golfing prowess is put to the test in a head-to-head match against the villainous Auric Goldfinger - an international gold smuggler and surreptitious cheat on the fairways.

Set on the fictional Royal St Mark’s, which has a strong resemblance to Fleming’s own club Royal St George’s, the high-stakes contest ends with 007 victorious; a notable instance where golf is instrumental to the story’s plot and character development.

Years later, when my interest in golf literature was beginning to take root, I sought out Agatha Christie’s (1923) The Murder on the Links  - another striking example of golf playing a prominent and important role in a fictional classic.

Indeed, Hercule Poirot, the iconic Belgian detective, is alarmed to discover the lifeless body of his client face down in a quasi-bunker.   

Like Fleming, Christie is believed to have played regularly herself and it is therefore perhaps unsurprising that the ancient game should feature in their masterful storytelling.

Both instalments set me off in search of unequivocal ‘golf books’ of the non-fiction, as well fictional, variety, and little did I know that I was on the cusp of a major discovery - a Pandora’s box that would not only define my reading material for the coming years but also pervade my everyday life and imagination.

The timing was instrumental.

The early days of the Covid-19 pandemic saw the nation ‘locked down’ to prevent disease transmission. Golf courses, along with every other venue and activity, were closed and so a quick 9 holes at the local muni was rendered a past and taken-for-granted luxury.

With the clubs hung up, apart from a few swings in the garden net, I searched for alternative ways to scratch my golfing itch, and I found it between the pages of a book.

Unable to tee off myself, I sought out ‘real life’ accounts of golf in its many forms.

I devoured Andrew Greig’s (2006) moving Preferred Lies, travelling vicariously through his journey around scenic Scottish golf courses and longing to be walking the same fairways and breathing in the fresh coastal air.

Never again, I thought, would I take being out on a golf course  - and seeing a horizon - for granted.

From there I read Lawrence Donegan’s (1997) witty Four-iron in the Soul - part travelogue, part sports book which recalls his summer of 1996 spent caddying for journeyman Scottish pro Ross Drummond on the European Tour; Tom Coyne’s (2009) epic A Course Called Ireland in which he treks round the entirety of the Emerald Isle, golf bag on shoulder, and plays every links course that crosses his path; and John Feinstein’s (2007) Tales from Q School which he takes a forensic look at the brutal, nerve-jangling, and life-changing experience of professionals trying to break through to the PGA Tour.

And on…and on…and on. The more I read, the more I discovered.

In Mark Frost’s (2002) epic The Greatest Game Ever Played, I learnt about the remarkable historical triumph of 20-year-old American amateur Francis Ouimet in the 1913 US Open - a cinematic page turner that I couldn’t put down.

In Don Van Natta’s (2011) brilliant Wonder Girl, I was educated about the extraordinary life and times of Babe Didrickson Zaharias, a superstar athlete, Olympic champion, and co-founder of the LPGA Tour - a fascinating profile of a Hall-of-Fame golfer who was instrumental in the development of the women’s professional game.

And in Rick Reilly’s (2019) Commander In Cheat, I gained an intimate portrait of President Donald Trump’s relationship with golf (and the truth), with the game positioned as a metaphor for his politics, morals, and ethics - leaving you wondering whether you should laugh or despair.

I read autobiographies, from Laura Davies’ (1996) Naturally to Ian Poulter’s (2014) No Limits; biographies, such as Armen Keteyian’s (2018) compelling Tiger Woods; and collections of essays, articles, and musings, including John Updike’s (1996) Golf Dreams.

Due to the global health situation, I bought all of them online - most second-hand from eBay but some brand new from Amazon (I know, I apologise...). But since the world has opened up, I have found equal pleasure in the hunt for additions to my growing collection.

There is great enjoyment in the search for pre-loved golf books kindly donated to charity shops. The vast majority of times I enter a branch of the British Heart Foundation, Cancer Research, or Mind I depart empty-handed, but occasionally I come across a single or batch of new installments that leaves me feeling elated.

Most recently, I made the discovery of a lifetime.

I was enjoying a leisurely stroll around the shops with my mum in the town closest to my childhood home when we entered the local Oxfam store. As usual, I gravitated towards the book section first and quickly scanned the shelves, flicking past ‘Travel, ‘Cookery’, and ‘Gardening’ until I landed on ‘Sport’.

And I couldn’t believe my eyes.

There on the top shelf was golf book after golf book, all different shapes, covers, and sizes lined up neatly in a long and expansive row. Not just the regular crowd of dog-eared instructional volumes and photographic golf course guides, but intriguing and literary editions from Lorne Rubenstein’s (1990) Links and Billy Mott’s (2007) The Back Nine to Dan Washburn’s (2014) The Forbidden Game.

Some were on my ‘look out’ list, others were complete unknowns and surprises.

In amongst them were lovely ‘pick up, put down’ coffee table books like Robert Sidorsky’s (2008) weighty history of golf in 356 days and pictures, Jeff Silverman’s (2000) jam-packed chapbook for golfers, and a wordsmith’s dream in Hubert Pedroli & Mary Tiegreen’s (2000) A Dictionary of the Secret Language of Golf.

I piled up the majority into a towering stack, teetering gingerly towards the till.

A friendly woman behind the desk said someone had donated their entire golf library and she was kind enough  - sensing my enthusiasm (or madness)  - to bring out a few more that were waiting to be priced up in the storeroom.

I loaded them into our bag-for-life and left smiling from ear to ear. It’s a rare occasion to walk away with one golfing tome, let alone a whopping collection, and felt lucky to stumble across such a chance find.

My mum and I were so memorable in our purchasing choices that we are now affectionately known as the “golf ladies” every time we pop in.

I’ll probably never experience such a haul again and I acquired enough reading material to last me a year, but that doesn’t mean the hunt ends here. I am incredibly grateful to the generous individual who parted with their golfing library and, in doing so, boosted my own, and I hope they know how much immediate joy and following hours of enthrallment they gifted me too.

But the fun quest for golf literature goes on and the lifecycle of books continues, with many magical stories, voices, characters, and landscapes to be discovered along the way.

Photo: Author's Own.

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