The Lowell Courtney Travel Blog

Real Golf in Ireland - Ardglass GC

My US golfing friends and opponents know well that I take a very dim view of those brochures whose "Gahlf in Ahreland" offerings are limited to about eight "big name" courses. This is mainly because the directors of aforesaid companies are taken on freebies (aka "fam trips") round the usual suspects by various tourist boards and frankly, can't be bothered to do their homework.

Nowhere near good enough; which is why - in the purest interests of research on your behalf, you understand - I found myself standing on the tee of Ardglass G C last Saturday morning with Clem Milligan, captain Charlie Bell and pro Philip Farrell. Having received a glacial welcome at one of Ardglass' more illustrious neighbours on the previous afternoon, it was good to be amongst the company of men who understand that a pound a corner in a Saturday fourball has infinitely greater value than Ryder Cup points.

Now you will also know that I would not have you suffer the foolish belief that Ireland is a dry country. Oh no, neither in the bar nor on the course, which is a nice way of saying that we played in what is known in Ulster-Scots as a "dreich" of a day. Irish rain is as insidious as the carpet dealer's pitch in a Moroccan bazaar: just when you think you'll turn away, it eases off just enough to draw you on. But I'm not making excuses for our defeat.  The howling gale up the first four and the trench foot and the pro's miraculous putting had nothing to with it. Honest.

But this I can tell you: Ardglass is a gas. Never mind real golf; this place is surreal.  Imagine a clubhouse in an ancient castle with the oldest trading street in Ireland running behind it to the quay where fish and immigrant Scots were landed in equal measure for centuries.  Imagine a seaside course which is pure clay but which has superb greens; a course where a low-struck drive is likely to strike masonry and whistle back past your ear; a course where the sea lurks half the way round in wait for any slightly off-centre shot - and a club where the welcome is top drawer.

The first hole has a 50' climb up to the fairway from the tee and the green slopes at about 20 degrees towards the sea.  The second is a full driver into the wind -and it's a par three. The first nine finishes with two par fives, the ninth (St John's) being the most magnificent signature hole. The golfer is between the devil of a vertical gorse bank on the left and the deep blue sea on the right. And that's just the first nine. Pebble Beach ($500 per round) - eat your heart out.

To the unitiated -and those who foolishly traverse Ireland by helicopter - Ardglass might appear an unremarkable collection of fields. Just as the Old Course might appear to be, in Dave Hill's memorable phrase "a cow pasture."  You would be very foolish to share this view.  Any course whose summit offers you views of the Mountains of Mourne, the Isle of Man, the south western tip of Scotland and a comfortable bar overlooking the fishing harbour is worth investigating, especially, in these straitened times, at a weekday green fee of GBP40.

And the real draw is the banter and the welcome. From secretary Debbie Turley to the bar staff to the gents above who very kindly accommodated my deviations from the straight and narrow, Ardglass folk know how to look after their guests.  No over the top empty gestures but sound, genuine hospitality. But don't take my word for it - you really have to experience it for yourself.  This is the real deal in Ireland - no pretensions, just 100% delivery.

www.ardglassgolfclub.com

Ulster says: No Way.

It is a bright spring morning here on the north coast of Ireland.  The wind has died; the rain has dried up and the sun is shining with a little warmth.  Midway between the saints' days of David and Patrick - and hard times notwithstanding - it should be a good day to be alive.

Except that two young British soldiers and one Ulster policeman are no longer alive -and two other soldiers and two pizza delivery lads - one Polish - are seriously ill. Various splinter groups - the "Real" and the "Continuity" and for all I know, the "Heroic" IRA - have, as they think, "succeeded" in reigniting "the armed struggle".

They are wrong. They are utterly, futilely, cynically and perpetually wrong. After the seismic upheavals of the past 40 years, when "Ulster says NO" meant first a refusal to grant civil rights, then a refusal to allow our neighbours any say in our affairs and finally a refusal to share power until all aspirant parties renounced violence, today Ulster says "NO" to a return to violence and division.

People: I write this blog to amuse, to inform and, admittedly, to promote.  But I also write as one who refused to leave his native province and who stayed to try and rebuild civilised life here. And in contrast to the many who flounce and denounce from the outside, I and my motley crew do our damndest to bring some small measure of prosperity and pleasure to the entire island of Ireland and its many good-hearted friends in North America.

I tell you straight this morning: the twisted and evil few apart, no-one - but no-one - in this transformed corner of ours wants to return to The Bad Old Days. Now that both communities have learned so much about sharing - 'cos everyone loses in a domestic brawl while the bailiffs are knocking down the door - no-one wants to go back.

If you want a much more eloquent and no less impassioned analysis of recent events, I recommend a piece in today's Times: http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/columnists/david_aaronovitch/article5877219.ece

For myself and the rest of my generation who have come through so much, we say to the retards: "Your time is past. If you do not accept the rule of law, there will be no hiding place. Nor will there ever be an amnesty for you, for you want to destroy the good."

It is the height of irony that a policeman was killed on the night when BBC Northern Ireland aired a programme inspired by my good friend John McCann.  "Over Here" tells the story of the US troops stationed in Northern Ireland in World War II with great humour and pathos. These boys become men fought and died to preserve the government of the people, by the people, for the people.

And that, my friends, is all we want.