English wit and humor; English wit and humor, Pictorial; Golf -- Humor
Is it good form to golf? That is a question I have been so repeatedly
asked of late by correspondents that I can no longer postpone my answer.
Now to begin with, I fear there is no doubt that golf is a little on the
down grade--socially. Golf is no longer the monopoly of the best set,
and I am told that artisans' clubs have actually been started in certain
districts. The other day, as I was travelling in Lancashire, a man in
the same compartment--with the most shockingly ill-cut trousers I ever
saw--said to a friend, "I like 'Oylake, it's 'ealthy, and it's 'andy and
within 'ail of 'ome." And it turned out that the chief attraction to him
at Hoylake was the golf. Such an incident as this speaks volumes. But I
always try to see both sides of every question, and there is
unquestionably a great deal to be said in favour of golf. It was
undoubtedly played by kings in the past, and at the present moment is
patronised by grand dukes, dukes, peers and premiers.
* * * * *
[Illustration:
BETWEEN FRIENDS.--_Mr. Spooner, Q.C._ (_a Neophyte_). "This is my ball,
I think?" _Colonel Bunting_ (_an adept_). "By Jove, that's a jolly good
'lie'!" _Mr. Spooner._ "Really, Bunting, we're very old friends, of
course. But I do think you might find a pleasanter way of pointing out
a perfectly unintentional mistake!"]
* * * * *
GOLF AND DRESS.
But the real and abiding attraction of golf is that it mercifully gives
more opportunities to the dressy man than any other pastime. Football
and cricket reduce everyone to a dead level in dress, but in golf there
is any amount of scope for individuality in costume. Take the case of
colour alone. The other day at Finsbury Park station I met a friend on
his way home from a day's golfing, and I noticed that he was sporting
the colours of no fewer than five different clubs. On his cap was the
badge of the Camberwell Crusaders; his tie proved his membership of the
Bickley Authentics; his blazer was that of the Tulse Hill Nondescripts;
his brass waistcoat buttons bore the monogram of the Gipsy Hill Zingari;
the roll of his knickerbocker stockings was embroidered with the crest
of the Kilburn Incogs. The effect of the whole was, if I may be allowed
the word, spicy in the extreme. Of course it is not everyone who can
carry off such a combination, or who can afford to belong to so many
first-class clubs. But my friend is a very handsome man, and has a
handicap of _plus_ two at Tooting Bec.
KNICKERBOCKERS OR TROUSERS.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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