Both courses also had extra bits of history: Woodhall Spa is the home of the English Golf Union, which owns the course: in effect we as golf club members own it; Moortown was where the first Ryder Cup match was played in the UK, in 1929.
Woodhall is a lovely heathland course which had a couple of advantages compared to Bamburgh: it's flat and 
it wasn’t windy. But it has exceedingly large bunkers. I’m pleased to say I had a birdie on the first hole, which set the scene for 18 points on the front nine and 15 on the back. Mike Robinson and I (southerners) played John Southern and Keith Whitfield (northerners). After a close start, we were three down with four to play but managed to halve on the 18th. I won’t go through each shot, but they were mostly very satisfying, as was the Chateau Musar in the evening. Continuing to focus on important issues, Woodhall also had a half-way house, something I think we should think about one day.Moortown was tough; I only had a par on the first (Keith had a birdie) and then didn’t score for ages.. Mike and I were four down after seven holes. But then things turned as we won eight holes in a row. I had an inspirational – some might say outrageous – birdie to put us level; after mis-hitting my second onto the next fairway 150 yards from the green, I hit a lofted wood low (very low) over the rough, between the bunkers and into the pin so hard that it was loud to me 150 yards away. It dropped.
Golf is a psychological game. Having got 11 points on the front nine, and two down, I thought the course was disappointing. After getting 11 points on the back nine, but with that birdie and a par, and finishing four and three, I thought it was great. And the Ryder Cup memorabilia was fascinating.
I’d recommend a stay at Woodhall Spa for the village, the course and the hotel. The title “Old classics”, by the way, refers to the courses not the players.
I was impressed that they have made their treasurer Vice Captain. This prompted me to tell in my thank you speech the only accounting joke I know:
We had a good team of people, with unusually two or three on the reserve list who could have played. The running order was basically semi-officials first and then the likely winners last, and that is how it proved to be. After a tight game (tight only in the sense that after Chris Forster’s par golf we were 5 down after 9; although we did manage to get back to 2 under, we lost on the 16th) we sat in the warm afternoon sun (what DID happen to the weather last Sunday?) and watched the teams come in. The first three matches lost, then we won a couple, then one each, so it all depended on the last match - which Chris Hall and Sean McFaul duly won. 
As with every day since last Sunday, the weather was fine; the course was in great condition and even better the competition was off the yellow tees; there was also no pressure because as a guest I couldn't win. But I did come a notional second (equal) to Bill Robinson's 40 points.
There were 21 for dinner; I was at the end of the table next to the most recent (John Taylor) and most long serving (Lord Walton) past captains, with the others in chronological order. Hopefully the table will get bigger over time as I slowly migrate round. The lights went out at our end (an indication of the decaying electrics in the clubhouse and the need to renovate it) so we had candles. Very festive.
Like on Wednesday which saw my first duty as Captain, to present the prizes at the annual Pro-Am tournament.
First however I had to play. Despite a very professional professional our team just didn't click; if one played one hole badly then we all did (although Jim Findlay in particular had some inspired pars which kept us in sight of a level score) with the team even running out of balls (in more ways than one) on the 11th tee. We managed to come a creditable last - someone has to, after all, and in a way it was my duty to do so.
I woke to the sound of heavy rain and wind; at 8.oo I looked at the webcam and saw two figures trudging along to the 1st green and put aside thoughts of staying in bed. But when I got to the club to get coffee the sun had come out; the wind was still too strong to make normal play possible, but at least it was dry and people were playing, and we set out the trailer at the 12th tee and waited to entertain the windswept players as they came by. Then the rains came, and fewer came by and those that did started to give up. 
At the back of my mind - for the last twelve months or so - had been the drive-in. The first is never easy; John Taylor had described the awful silence as you walked down to the tee to drive; 85 people had tried to guess where my drive would go. The first thing was to agree with Keith Whitfield (by the way, I'm very glad and grateful he's vice captain) that the competition would be postponed and to give prizes to the three people (Lance Cope, Ron Bewley and Phil Taylor) who'd actually finished. Then it was time.
The picture of the audience huddled in warm clothing tell the story: although temporarily dry it was very windy. I have no memory of what happened next, except that the drive worked: it w.jpg)
The usual afternoon crowd didn't play. Except for John Southern, Phil McDonnell and Phil Holmes. Crazy? Phil M said later that they had tremendous fun and they formed a nucleus of drinkers at the 12th tee in the afternoon. And John Southern managed 26 points, a clear winner of the six people who finished, and deserved his bottle of champagne (opened later in the evening).
The evening party went well thanks to Paul and Karen who put on the buffet, Ken Howe on the keyboard, Neil Forsyth on vocals accompanied for Baker Street by a one off performance by Hazel. And of course the Coxon's ice cream van.
So ended a pretty messy day, but I guess the drive and the party worked.
It was a tough but enjoyable parkland course with great views of the Borders, and a good change from the windy coast. The closest I got to a prize was partnering Bill Mordue and watching him win one of the nearest the pin prizes - a good effort as we were in the first group out. Based on my drives, I'm predicting a 70% chance of not clearing the dinkie on Sunday.
To be fair, the level of support is one thing that distinguishes Bamburgh from the other league clubs, and most only drifted towards the club as the various games finished. But Alex Mackay, fresh from being second in the Junior Championship the day before, was taken to a nearly dark 18th green before he could win: a nasty patch of gorse stopped an earlier win, but a great birdie on the 17th put him one up on the 18th tee. (The near dark finish was another factor in common with many earlier matches).
This win completed a clean sweep so although the overall result for the year (3rd or 4th, depending on the Dunstanburgh/Rothbury result) was not as good as some earlier years it was a very encouraging finish. There have been a number of new team members this year, especially from the juniors, and this bodes well for the future.
Our determination to win was typified by John Southern’s gazelle-like stance for his second on the 8th, and our inability to win by my drive on the 8th failing even to reach the downslope. The results were quite close in the end, however, except that they were four wins to them, two to us and a couple of draws.
After fortification on the 12th tee, we had as always an excellent lunch, followed by the wit of Derek Haggerstone, Ken Howe, David McAdam and Dick Little. The jokes – on the subjects of tractors, vanilla ice-cream and pig hunting amongst others - are probably best left to the dining room’s memory, although the Burgess Captain tried to add a touch of class with a joke about social interaction in Edinburgh high rise flats.
Over eighty people came along, the race organisation was seamless and expertly introduced by Neil Forsyth, seeking an alternative career from being a torch singer.
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