ONLY ONE BALL

Not only Hitler but Huttonian who very foolishly set out golf wards having just changed his golf bag and without checking the ball pocket.

Empty. Fortunately one pristine Donnay 5 in my pocket. One Ball! And the Royal County Down (PBUI) to face. Worse the number two course only was available for play as the Championship track is closed on Monday to allow the green keeping staff unimpeded access without being bothered by boring old golfers-this is all part of the run up to the Walker Cup. And this course demands pinpoint accuracy, a steady nerve oodles of luck, and usually a strategic reserve of at least 6 balls.

A singularity of orbs certainly concentrates the mind. As does Stalker and his ball finding Alsatian never far away, hull down on the horizon, fangs bared, tongue lolling and the dog is a bit like that too.

It was a good round and I reached the 18th tee with the Donnay alive and well and two 2s-at the 16th and 17th to savour. Only the last to survive. Great drive. Another birdie coming up? 7 iron wandered a bit and disappeared into the cavernous bunker (sand trap to the Yanks) to the left and slightly short of the green; only about 7 yards from the hole. No worries mate, my very special Wedge would have it out in a trice. A trice later it did. Out of the Bunker and on to the roof of the Ladies Club House which adjoins the last hole. Plonk, plonk and plonk again, rolled off the roof and on to the grass at the back-I could see it through the hedge. Easy to retrieve.

Suddenly a female member appeared and picked up the ball-before I could stake my claim she called out to a companion: ‘Dorothy (or names to that effect, she looked like a Dorothy) Guess what? It’s my Donnay 5. The one I lost last week on the third-that Alsatian must have found it and dropped it off here!’ ‘Giggling gasps of female amazement and congratulations all round and they disappeared into Umm Ghuraib-the Lady’s Club House, scene of strange happenings, obscure rituals and impenetrable mystery. Impenetrable being the point for a mere male.

‘Her Donnay 5 indeed! How many Donnay 5s in the known world? Probably 50 in play in Newcastle on any one day. What a chancer. And then I remembered. I had found that ball on the third, in thickish rough, last week-just beating the Alsatian by a short dripping nose. Yes it was Thursday. Ah well, you can’t win them all.

On my way, ball less, to the car I passed the woman in question strolling to the first tee-the Donnay 5 in her hand.

I needed to clear one thing up: ‘Was it Thursday?’ I asked.

She stopped. Her short blonde hair glistened in the ha’ar. Her lovely blue eyes sparkled momentarily. Her shapely legs enhanced rather ugly Bermuda shorts. Her bosom may, or may not, have heaved. She had a lovely smile.

‘Yes’ she said

(The image is of the third green. Note Donnay 5 in foreground)  ¶ 11:56 AM