Tag Archives: golf

Living beside the flowing stream

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THE RIVER BRENT is a major tributary of London’s River Thames. It has two main sources: one, which feeds into Dollis Brook, is west of Barnet; the other, which feeds into Mutton Brook, is near East Finchley. As a child, Mutton Brook figured amongst the places where I used to play with my friends. It flows through Hampstead Garden Suburb (‘HGS’) where I lived during the first three decades of my life. In those far-off days, I had no idea that the then rather malodorous, winding Mutton Brook flowed into the Thames. Mutton and Dollis Brooks merge to become the Brent near Golders Green. The Brent flows through northwest and then west London to reach its junction with the Thames at Brenford, an interesting place, rich in history, described in my book “Beyond Marylebone and Mayfair: Exploring West London”.

The cafe in Pitshanger Park

On its way to the Thames, the Brent skirts another garden suburb, Brentham Garden Suburb (‘BGS’), which, like HGS, was an attempt to create a leafy residential Utopia. They were built at roughly the same time. The northern edge of BGS borders Pitshanger Park, through which the Brent winds its way towards the Thames. The name of the park derives from the Putelshanger or Pitshanger family, who occupied the area in the 13th century. The manor occupied the area between Hanger Hill and the Brent. Until 1908, when it was demolished, the manor house (and its antecedents), known as ‘Pitshanger farmhouse’, occupied a plot on the present Meadvale Road, which runs along the northern edge of BGS. This building was completely different to Pizhanger Manor near Ealing Broadway, which was built by John Soane (and is described in my book).

Pitshanger Park is laid out on what used to be part of the grounds of Pitshanger farmhouse. BGS was built on another part of that same estate. The park is adjacent to Ealing Golf Course. Both were already in existence by 1912. The Brent also runs through the golf course. While we were visiting the park, we watched two men leaning over the bank of the river, rather ineffectually attempting to recover a ball from the weeds growing beside the water.

The park consists mainly of spacious grassy meadows that are bordered to the north by dense bushes and trees lining the bank of the Brent. Amenities offered in the park include, tennis courts, outdoor exercising equipment, and an attractive children’s play area. Housed in a small building with fake half-timbering, there is a small café with a terrace on which there are tables and chairs. The ‘caf’ offers hot and cold drinks and a few snacks. Its staff are pleasant, and the washrooms were clean.

While Pitshanger Park cannot be classed as one of London’s more exceptional open spaces, it is a wonderful amenity for residents in the area, just as was (and still is), the public gardens in HGS through which Mutton Brook flows.

A poet in Highgate and Cornwall

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IN 1916, A FAMOUS poet, TS Eliot (1888-1965) taught at Highgate School in north London. I was a pupil at this establishment much later, between the year when Eliot died and 1970. One of Eliot’s pupils during his short spell at Highgate was to become one of Britain’s Poet Laureates: John Betjeman (1906-1984). Betjeman wrote (quoted in https://bradbirzer.com/2015/07/06/john-betjeman-remembers-t-s-eliot-as-teacher/):

“In 1914-15 I spent two unsuccessful terms at Highgate Junior School. Mr Eliot was a tall, quiet usher there whom we called ‘The American Master.’ Some of the cleverer boys from Muswell Hill (I was from Highgate) knew he was a poet. How? I have often wondered, for I cannot imagine him telling them or anyone that he was a poet, and I did not know that he had published any poems in England as early as that.”

Betjeman’s association with Highgate where he lived as a child briefly and was educated for less than one year was much shorter than his association with the county of Cornwall.

Betjeman’s family had a house in Trebetherick, near Polzeath in Cornwall, where many holidays were spent. In later life, the poet resided there. The small church of St Enodoc is about 930 yards south of Trebetherick. In the middle of a golf course overlooking the sea, the church dates from the 13th century. Much of it was built by the 16th century. Over the centuries, St Enodoc has often been submerged by drifting sands from the nearby beaches. Between the 16th century and the mid-19th century, the church was completely submerged. In 1863-64, the church was freed from the sand and restored under the supervision of James Piers St Aubyn (1815-1895).

When staying or living at Trebetherick, Betjeman visited St Enodoc regularly. In 1945, he published a poem “Sunday Afternoon Service in St Enodoc Court, Cornwall”, in which he describes his impressions of the church affectionately. Author of much poetry and several books about Cornwall, Betjeman died in his home at Trebetherick. He was buried in the small graveyard that surrounds St Enodoc, a building that still appears to be partially buried in the hillside. His grave is marked by simple stone with a beautifully carved inscription. Born in Lissenden Gardens, now in the Borough of Camden, Betjeman lived briefly in Highgate’s North Road in a house opposite Highgate School. However, it is with Cornwall rather than Highgate that most people connect with the former Poet Laureate. As a former pupil at Highgate School, I was pleased to pay my respects at Betjeman’s grave in Cornwall.

A track in Ireland

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ONE OF THE JOYS OF driving a car is that you can go wherever you wish. To get from A to B, you can either take the most direct route or find a more interesting one. We often opted for the latter.

We used to do driving holidays long before ‘satnavs’ and Google mapping were available to ordinary motorists. We relied on maps and atlases, always trying to find the most detailed available.

In Easter 1993, we sailed from Swansea in Wales to Cork in Eire. After a superb breakfast in Cork, which included some of the best black pudding I have ever eaten, we began driving towards Kilshannig near Castlegregory on County Kerry’s Dingle Peninsula.

Armed with a detailed Michelin road map and with a whole day ahead of us, we opted for a picturesque, but less direct, route.

Two interesting features of Irish roads soon became evident. First, there were bifurcations or t junctions where the same destination was on signs pointing in opposite directions. This was not a joke to confuse but simply an indication that both roads eventually met in the same place, maybe, for example, having skirted around different sides of a hill. The other thing is that we would be driving along a road and spotted a sign saying it was ‘5’ to the next village. Soon after that, another sign would inform us that it was ‘7’ to the same place, even though we knew for sure that we were going in the right direction. Ireland was busy converting its road signs from miles to kilometres, but many of the signs failed to include to which unit of measurement they referred.

We turned on our radio and listened to a programme in which someone was describing how to improve one’s skills when playing the game of curling. Every now and then, the presenter would say something like:
“Now, you hold it like this, see?”
The only problem was that there is nothing to be seen during a radio broadcast.

It was a lovely day and we were driving with the roof open. We drove past a golf course when suddenly there was a sharp clunk on the strip of roof between the car’s front windscreen and the open roof window. A poorly skilled golfer had made a poorly aimed shot. His ball had struck the car. Had it struck any where else, there was a good chance that it neither hit one of us nor shattered the windscreen.

Eventually, we reached Kenmare, having passed through Bantry Bay. Our most direct route would have been to go from Kenmare to Killarney via Muckross. However, my wife had discovered an alternative route on the map. It was marked on the map using the thinnest white line, which on Michelin msps denotes the most basic rustic thoroughfare. It was the road across a mountain pass called the Gap of Dunloe.

At first, the picturesque narrow road, not much wider than our Volvo saloon car, was easy to negotiate. We notice no other cars on it, but plenty of walkers and cyclists.

Soon, the track began to ascend, but not in a straight line. It wound up in a series of tight hairpin bends with very few passing places. After a while, we met a car coming down in the opposite direction. It was clear to me that my driving skills were better than the other. So, I had to reverse around several hairpin bends to reach a passing place.

We made it over the summit of the pass, and reached our hosts, Rober and Margaret at their cottage at Kilshannig, on a spit of land almost surrounded by sea and distant mountains: some of the beautiful scenery I have seen in Europe.

After welcome cups of tea, we told our hosts about our journey from Cork to Kilshannig. When we told them that we had driven across the Gap of Dunloe, Margaret exclaimed:
“But, that’s a footpath. We have often thought of visiting it, but we were worried that neither our Land Rover or our car would be able to cope with crossing the Gap.”