The End of Golf Season


Yesterday morning (10/15), here in Eastern Massachusetts, a thin white covering could be seen from the kitchen window for a brief time. An early warning of things to come. In fact, it has been very cold all week. Even colder than the Red Sox were in LA!

C.P. McDonald saw this kind of weather in the Fall of 1913 and lamented the end of golf season in the following poem.


When Autumn’s chill is o’er the land,
And maple leaves are turning gold;
When coal trucks are on every hand,
And Summer’s radiant tale is told;
When steam first crackles through the pipe,
And geese fly southward day by day;
When hunters trek the fen for snipe,
Then, golfers, stow your sticks away.

When days are short and nights are long,
And sweethearts hover ’round the grate;
When winds no long croon a song,
But shriek in tones that irritate;
When Summer drinks have disappeared,
And rye and bourbon hold full sway;
When stalwart trees stand gaunt and seared,
Then, golfers, stow your sticks away.

Just bid the caddie sad farewell,
And in your lockers put away
The pristine balls, that eke would tell
The splendid scores you did not play;
Go, golfers, get an ample stock
Of rock-and-rye without delay;
Then get your blanket out of hock,
And stow your golfing sticks away.

The poem first appeared in The American Golfer in December 1913 and was later reprinted in Lyrics of the Links compiled by Henry Litchfield West and published in 1921. Though the coal trucks have bit the dust, “rock-and-rye” still makes headlines.

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