Short Story Preview: Last Post – Malcolm Allen
Some years back the committee of my Golfing Society met at the very pleasant Bognor Regis club for a round of golf, a very good lunch and, if we had time afterwards, a short meeting to discuss the business of the Society. As we gathered in the bar before lunch we were joined by a sprightly, silver haired gentleman who introduced himself as a previous member of our Society. We, of course, invited him to lunch and great company he was too. We were astounded when he mentioned that he was one hundred years old and played 18 holes twice a week. I am pretty sure that by now he has climbed the long fairway to paradise but then he was living proof that alcoholic lunches and golf are good for longevity.
Perhaps the former should be tempered with caution but the health giving qualities of the great game are undeniable.
I now only play in the rarefied atmosphere of the Seniors’ Section of my club. You qualify for that at the age of sixty and the production of a £5 note for your annual subscription. This assures you of a genial twice a week gathering, a monthly medal, weekly opportunities to play in matches against other clubs at a very low fee, and some excellent dinners and other convivial gatherings with like-minded souls. Having enthused thus, I put off joining for about ten years believing that I could still compete with the younger members at the weekend roll-ups (wrong) and that joining the Seniors would hasten my deterioration into senility (wrong, but …) and that I would begin secreting that slightly musty odour that surrounds many old folk (you don’t know that unless others tell you).