Golf Yourself Nostalgic
“Nostalgia is the hearts way of reminding you of something you once loved. It travels in many forms; on a song, in a scent or in photographs…but no matter how it comes to you it will always have the same bitter-sweet taste” - Ranata Suzuki
For a great many people, looking back on the (un)affectionately termed “COVID years” will invariably stir up bittersweet memories.
On the verge of Armageddon
I’ll never forget those doomsday-esque moments in the lead up to the first, full-scale national lockdown in the UK in March 2020.
I recall being in attendance at an International Women’s Day event in my company’s offices in London, on or around Thursday 6 March 2020. There were murmurings swirling around about a reported spread of the virus within our office block. I sensed an air of preoccupation within the audience that day which distracted from an otherwise excellent and inspiring IWD event. There was a foreboding sense that the world was on the precipice of something huge, a moment in time that would change our lives forever (at least temporarily anyway…)
Amongst the speakers on the panel that day was our company CEO. As ever, he presented affably, candidly and sincerely. Of particular note was his assured and calm manner, which belied the stark reality he and the rest of us were facing up to. The very next day he sent an all-employee communication which not only acknowledged the gravity of the situation but also gave blanket permission for staff to work from home for the foreseeable future to protect themselves from the virus. Such an unprecedented directive was yet another sign of things to come.
With Armageddon seemingly looming and sensing that opportunities to get my golfing fix would likely start to diminish over the coming weeks and months, on Saturday 7 March 2020, I headed out for a round of golf at Bletchingley Golf Club. I was excited to play on a new course but moreover to spend the day in the company of good friends and kindred spirits who, like me, enjoy a more casual form of Golf.
When time stands still
As I brazenly headed to the first tee and prayed to the Golfing Gods for a divine intervention (i.e. please don’t shank / top / pull / blow it Out of Bounds in front of the assembled crowd), I remember receiving a WhatsApp message from my mother, Alison.
Compared with her usual upbeat tone and chatty demeanour, there was an uncharacteristic somberness and brevity to this particular message thread with Mum. Something was amiss. Soon after finishing my round of golf (which in terms of golfing performance I distinctly remember falling into that all too familiar category of a “mixed bag”) I called Mum. I could tell instantly that she was not herself.
Less than a year prior to this, in July 2019, Mum had been there for me during one of the darkest times in my life. She dropped everything to be at my side when I felt like my world was crumbling down around me and with my mental health in tatters. I felt indebted to her and knew that if the moment ever arose when she was in similar need of help I’d be there for her in a flash.
That moment had arrived.
An apocalyptic journey
Thus, on Sunday 8 March 2020, it felt right that I needed to travel North to Aberdeen to support one of the most influential, loving and supportive women in my life.
I hastily packed my bags and filled my car with the necessary items to carry me through what was destined to be a journey like no other.
To those as yet uninitiated Golfers reading this journal, you’re forgiven for not considering Golf clubs to be on the checklist of “necessary items” to go with you on a trip such as this one.
Naturally, the Golf clubs made the cut and in they went, into the boot of my car alongside other bare essentials like toiletries and underpants (though if you’ve listened to GYH Episode 2, “Golf in Solitary Confinement” you’ll know that even underpants might not make the cut from time to time).
The road North from London to Aberdeen is a long one. Door-to-door (and without any stops for a wee-wee and some overpriced food and drink from a service station enroute) it’s approximately a ten-hour drive.
Driving was realistically my only option given that rail and air services were not only being disrupted by the spread of the virus but the threat of contracting it seemed all the more probable by choosing those methods of travel.
To say that this particular journey was unique would be a gross understatement. The motorway was apocalyptically empty for almost the entire journey, save for a few lorries going about their business to keep the country’s supply chains alive. I had free rein of the roadside service stations and, with it, much more time and headspace than usual to contemplate whether spending £3 on a a bag of fizzy Haribos was a wise investment.
A bittersweet homecoming
Having split the journey over two days, I arrived in Aberdeen on Monday 9 March 2020 and was greeted by my dear mother.
Those first few days together with Mum were mainly spent trying to help her stand back up on her own two feet again, figuratively and literally.
Around a week or so later Mum was starting to feel brighter and more like herself. I felt reassured and more comfortable at the thought of the inevitable moment when I’d need to go home to London and leave her on her own again.
However, the last few weeks had taken their toll. Though my own mental health was in a solid place at the time, I was naturally concerned about what the future would look like for Mum on her road to recovery.
COVID’s rampant advance the world over was also beginning to occupy mental headspace. Meanwhile, I felt guilty for leaving my wife behind in London, who was facing up to the prospect of spending lockdown on her own in our one-bedroom shoebox apartment.
Finding solace in Golf, amidst a sea of chaos
Amidst all the chaos, the links were calling my name. The place I go to feel free from the bondage and travails of day-to-day life. The place where my lungs are filled with the purest coastal air and coupled with the sights, smells and sounds of both the North Sea and the Aberdeenshire countryside.
Within the week spanning 15th to 22nd March 2020, I not only managed to add four new Golf courses to my collection, I also restored my mental and spiritual reserves.
The courses I played were of varying shapes and sizes, with each of them having their own story to tell.
First there was a trip to Kemnay Golf Club, a Parkland course situated in the heart of rural Aberdeenshire.
Then there was Aboyne Golf Club, set in beautiful Highland surroundings (and with views so good that one of them became my Zoom virtual background at work during one stage of the pandemic!)
For a more traditional links experience there was Newburgh on Ythan, with its sun-kissed fairways.
Free off the Tee
Most memorably of all, though, was my day out at Banchory Golf Club, a Parkland golf course which sits on the banks of the River Dee and in the heart of Royal Deeside.
What made that day at Banchory so memorable was not the Golf itself nor the course but the company I spent it in. For it was on that day, 22 March 2020, when Mum set foot outside the four walls of her house for one of the first times since I’d arrived to care for her.
As I look back at the photographs from that day I see happiness, hope, recovery, redemption.
Most of all I see love. I see and feel the love between Mother and Son. A story of similar paths tread, of forlorn periods spent gouging our way through the rough patches of life. However, rather than trying to hack ourselves out of the rough in isolation, we found the fairway again… together.
That day, Mum not only enjoyed the opportunity to take in some fresh air and physical exercise but she also seemed to cherish acting as my Caddie for the day! As we shared the responsibility of pushing the golf trolley along the fairways, I was quietly assembling one of my best ever scorecards.
Concluding our round after nine holes, I had shot seven over par (five shots under my twenty-four handicap). I was thrilled.
However, rather than the score itself, what I was most elated about was how I’d felt during that round. I can rarely recall ever feeling as relaxed and free on a golf course as I did that day.
Golfing Myself Nostalgic
I spent two more weeks in Mum’s company before, in early April, I headed back South to London to reunite with my wife and hunker down for lockdown.
On the one hand, I felt excited and hopeful for the future. On the other, I felt sad to be leaving Mum behind as she continued her recovery, as well as feeling preoccupied about what lay ahead for humankind, with the pandemic causing all manner of daily twists and turns.
As I hit the road and traversed the empty highways, I had time to reflect on many beautiful memories that I’d made during the prior month.
I’d showed up for Mum in her hour of need, much like she’d done for me on countless occasions over the years. I felt proud of my actions and could hold my head high.
Above all else, though, I truly cherished the priceless Mother-and-Son moments we’d created together. For Golf to have played its part in the creation of those memories… well, that was just the icing on the bittersweet cake.
Kris Lynch, 31 March 2024