As neckties go it is hardly at the cutting edge of fashion. A dark, navy blue background liberally scattered with tiny impressions of St. Andrew, the patron saint of Scotland, depicted bearing the diagonal cross upon which he was crucified by the Romans while spreading the tenets of the Christian religion through Asia Minor and Greece. For those less well versed in religious history it is more often confused with a penguin.
But, if we leave aside its sartorial qualities, I have little trouble in conceding that ever since I took delivery of my Royal & Ancient Golf Club tie more than a quarter of a century ago, it has always been the favorite — and most important item — of clothing in my closet. Decorum, and the inevitable accumulation of food that can so easily find its way onto and thereby distort such an intricate pattern, has required that the original be replaced at fairly regular intervals. And replaced it has been, for it is not just a necktie: it is the manifestation of the great privilege bestowed upon its wearer.
Deep into the back nine of my sojourn through this sporting life there are few things outside of my family that mean more to me, or give me more of a thrill, than fashioning the knot in that tie, which secures entry through the heavy wooden double doors of the most famous golf clubhouse in the world. It is an honor to be able to do so, and the fact that we do not have a golf course to call our own is but a minor irritant (contrary to popular belief, the Old Course at St Andrews is not owned by the R&A but by the St Andrews Links Trust, an organization commanded under Act of Parliament to preserve the links for the benefit of all who live in or visit the spiritual home of the game.)
Save for but a few occasions in the year, I enter my name in the daily lottery for a tee time on the Old Course just like everyone else. Twice a year, as they have done since the club was formed in 1754, the members gather from every corner of the world to play in the R&A's Spring and Autumn Meetings. The fierce competition and renewal of old friendships are the highlights of my golfing year. It is whispered that glasses of wine and port and a remarkable Dutch liqueur called Kummel are consumed in some quantity at such important occasions.
At other times, when the Big Room in the clubhouse is quiet, those of us fortunate to live close enough to visit it regularly have the satisfaction of being able to drowse in the deep leather chairs — sipping a modest sarsaparilla, perhaps — while checking that our obituaries have not yet appeared in The Times of London, or simply casting an eye through the tall windows onto the most famous stretch of golfing turf in the world. It is a blissful and a priceless privilege to be found nowhere else on this planet. We are fortunate beings indeed.
Malcolm Campbell is a former editor of Golf Monthly magazine, and author of the Encyclopaedia of Golf, Ultimate Golf Techniques and The Scottish Golf Book.
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