Foglottyn

The cloud was tucked around Pontlottyn like a duck-down pillow. The two valleys were filled to the brim with fog and we arrived for the 8 a.m. tee time having had to walk from Tigers Chippy, as the rock strewn cart track to the clubhouse couldn’t be seen from the car.Yellow lights glimmered inside the Dickensian pro-shop and Ruth Lescow, the pro, was stamping and swearing in the doorway, her fingerless mittens rubbed together in glee upon seeing us.

“S’it OK to play Ruth” Al asked“Only if you pays yer ten quid green fee.” She replied“What about the fog?” I asked“We give you a whistle” she said “I got a couple of dozen from the Pontlottyn Ladies Rugby Club referees locker” She then explained how one blast on the whistle meant – I’m going to play a shot, two blasts meant – OK all clear and three short, three long, followed by three short meant - get an ambulance, man down.

So Al and I walked to the first tee, running our hands along the OOB fence until we found the tee markers. Luckily the tee markers are garden gnomes at Pontlottyn, so fairly easy to establish which direction the first fairway was, by looking to see which way they are facing.I placed the ball on a tee and stood up to line up my driver“Al?” I asked“What?” he replied.“Do me a favour and bend down to see if my driver head is behind my ball please – I’ll do the same for you”“Ok, then shall I blow the whistle?” he asked

The whistle was blown and as I got to the top of my backswing, all of a sudden there was a long piercing single blast returning from no more than about 100 yards away.The whistle shriek stopped abruptly, about a second or so after I had completed my follow through. There was silence for a while – and then – very hauntingly from the thick white soup ahead came –

… three short - - - three long … three short.

Eventually, through the gloom, who should we see returning to the tee but the slowest three ball on the planet. Renowned for their ability to go three holes down after two, all had been given nicknames by the rest of the club. John “Rigormortis” Jeffries, so named because he takes an eternity of stillness between addressing the ball and taking his shot, Dai “Tick Tock” Davies, who has to count down from three to hit the ball, making little forward presses on each - three, two, one - hit.

Last but not least was Dr Evan “Archimedes” Lewis who plots his way round, using every point of reference and a little notebook before selecting a club, utilises a three point plumb bobbing technique on the green but still plays off 28. He was draped over a Powercaddy, unconscious but still breathing. Apparently, the fog had confused him so much, that he had played three shots in a complete circle, coming back almost to the first tee.

So, we accepted their apologies for slow play and played through.