Evening was settling in nicely on the skyline as a mixed foursome wended its happy way from the 18th green. The old lime tree cast a shadow the length of a church spire across the flower-beds, where bees were beginning to pack their bags and return home for the night. The Oldest Member was sipping a small gin and ginger as he placidly viewed the advance of twilight and the end of another splendid's day's golfing.
"Ireland," he observed to the only other person seated on the veranda, a pale young man attired with one of those violent essays in tastelessness which the golfing world terms "sweaters", "was not always so favoured with golf courses, my boy. I remember a time - and a dark and terrible time it was too - when it was possible to go several miles without seeing a single course."
Spluttered
The young man blinked and started, realising to his dismay that it was he who was being addressed. His jaw fell several notches. He began to rise. "I, er," he spluttered as he did so. "I've just remembered that I've a fearfully pressing engage. . ."
The Oldest Member waved him down with an implacable hand. "Not a single golf course for mile after mile," he continued. "Not one. They were dark, deadly days."
"I had no idea that it was so late," continued the pale young man, plucking distractedly at the thinning locks above his furrowed brow. "I really must be goi. . ."
"You would like me to describe that era which preceded the happy epoch upon which we are now embarked? Very well. But only if you are sure that you have the time. I would hate to impose. You young people today. . ." he chuckled gamely. "No time for an old codger like me."
"It appears, after all, that I have," replied the youngster with a certain philosophic weariness as his buttocks descended to the seat of the armchair. "Might I buy you a drink?"
"Woof", replied the oldest member. "A gin and ginger would be most agreeable, thank you. Now," he said, as the pale young man gestured to a waiter, "what does the term Mellifont mean to you?"
"Mellifont? Par 75. A stinker of a dog's leg on the eighth. Bunkers and sandtraps which would settle Rommel's hash on the 11th. An absolute brute of a lake beside the 13th green. The 18th's not too bad, so long as you allow for the deceptive slope into the dog-pond beside the spinney waiting to catch your tee-shot. Once went round it in 95."
The Oldest Member slurped gently at his gin and ginger. "You are a fortunate young man to have such enchanting associations with the name Mellifont. You cannot know, you cannot possibly know, what the name means for those of us of an older generation. Tell me: have you ever heard the expression, `abbey'?"
Putting practice
"Why yes I have, as a matter of fact," said the young man with more than a hint of exasperation. "We of the younger generation are not completely stupid, you know. It's the name of a rather nice little inside-putting practice arena in the centre of Dublin. And wasn't it the name of a Swedish pop group?"
The Oldest Member drew thoughtfully on his gin and ginger. "Abba," he said. "The Swedes were called Abba. But you have no other associations with the name abbey?"
The young man thought for a while before shaking his head. "No, I don't think so. Why? Should I?"
The Oldest Member shook his head delightedly. "Absolutely not, my boy. I am proud of you. Now. Another question. What does the term Clonmacnoise mean to you?"
The young man shuddered. "It means that I'll be lucky to hole in under 100. Once I was back in the clubhouse on 180 after I sliced into the Shannon and had to use a number five iron all the way back from Banagher."
"My dear fellow, you are going up and up in my estimation. And such dreadful things they say about young people today. Tell me, has the name `Glendalough' any association for you?"
"Only bad ones. The 17th hole. A par four, so they say.
Ha! It once took me 25."
"Gougane Barra?"
"A doddle. Even with my handicap."
"St Canice's?"
"Once got a birdie on the 11th."
"Do you why this course is named New Grange?"
"Not a clue."
Archaeology
The Oldest Member sighed a contented sigh. "It wasn't always a golf course, you know. Nor were the others, not until the 1990s, when all over Ireland, local councillors decide to convert this country into Europe's golfing capital. Tell me. Have you ever heard of archaeology?"
"Does it mean coping with the long grass beside the fairway, as in, rough-knowledge, hence, RK-ology?"
The Oldest Member sighed an even deeper sigh of contentment. "My. The Celtic Tiger did a good job," he murmured approvingly.