Tom Morris of St Andrews, page 29
Caddying had become the work of fishermen disinclined or unable to go to sea, as well as every other man who found strenuous effort unappealing, or was attracted to the lottery of a caddy’s income so that he himself could play his golf. Instead of waiting at the 1st tee, the caddies took to waiting outside hotels, and it became difficult to hire a caddy on the tee. The national press reported on the squabble at St Andrews station and outside the hotels in the summer months and caddy jokes that became and, indeed, remain part of magazine fare, were born out of the melee on the Links at this time.
Tom Morris was formally appointed as Superintendent of the caddies in 1869. Any complaints had to be addressed, through him, to the Green Committee, who had the power to suspend or otherwise discipline any offenders. Lt. General George Moncrieff, while Provost of the Town, established evening classes for them in the Fishers School with prizes awarded for reading, writing and arithmetic, as well as for attendance and deportment. The Royal and Ancient also did its part to improve the lot of the caddy by setting up a welfare fund for clothing and other support through times of illness or hardship.
By 1890, the contracting of caddies that had hitherto taken place outside Tom Morris’s shop under his supervision and adjudication, was out of control. It was clear that a more formal system would have to be established. In August 1890, The Royal and Ancient formed a caddies sub-committee to address the problem and the report it produced began the erosion of Tom’s absolute power on the Links.
This report recommended the appointment of an officer through whom members were requested to engage their caddies and it also set recommended rates of pay. This proposal was generally adopted and the first Caddy Master appointed was Nicholas Robb, who had served twenty-three years in the Royal Navy before taking charge of the coastguard at Crail. He firstly established a register of recognised caddies and enforced the fixed rates of pay which varied between winter and summer and the Spring and Autumn Meetings. Rates were also designated for a professional playing with a gentleman, who, in addition, was obliged to pay the same amount for the professional’s caddy.
Mr Robb’s tenure of Caddy Master lasted a few years; conflict and elevation to Club Officer of The Royal and Ancient eventually took him indoors and in 1898, John Macgregor, a Black Watch soldier on the Reserve List, replaced him. Macgregor’s term was brief, however, for after only a year, he was called to duty in the Boer War, where he was killed in action in the same campaign that took the life of Freddie Tait, the Amateur Champion of 1896 and 1898. Alexander Taylor took over from John Macgregor and he became a fixture on the 1st tee of the Old Course for many years.
Although the caddies were henceforth formally regulated, golf on the Course was not. Play from the 1st tee remained on a first-come, first-served basis, with caddies queuing on behalf of their men and Club members demanding priority. Needless to say, some ugly scenes ensued and Tom was summoned with increasing frequency. With the establishment of the Links Act in 1894, the Joint Committee’s first decision was to appoint Andrew Greig as Starter on the Old Course.
This was a judicious appointment. He was a well-known and able man and a popular figure in the Town; his brother, Willie, was one of the best amateur players in Scotland. Tom attended the committee meeting when Andrew was appointed, most probably on his recommendation.
Tom Morris’s word may have remained law on the Links, even though the new Green Committee had shown its teeth restructuring the labour force, but with the appointment of a Caddy Master and a Starter, his power base was significantly eroded. His hand was nevertheless still firmly at the helm. He was at Baillie John Milne’s side when, representing the Town magistrates, the Baillie told the caddies that he insisted upon every caddy washing his hands and face and brushing his boots and clothes before going to the Links each morning. Whether Tom managed to keep a straight face or not is unrecorded.
With the implementation of the Links Act, the Town Council assumed responsibility for the caddies. This meant that the caddies came under the jurisdiction of the Burgh Court and Town’s special by-laws. The Council produced its first set of rules for caddies in 1896, which was an almost exact copy of those in force at Musselburgh. Licensed caddies had come into being. They were required to wear a brass plate number badge at all times and they were not allowed to refuse an engagement, canvas for employment or argue about their rotation. They had to be decently clothed, strictly sober and prepared to conduct themselves in a ‘civil, respectful and proper manner’. A caddy’s license would be suspended or revoked if convicted of a crime and, contravention of the rules meant conviction before the magistrates with a penalty of £1, with 14 days imprisonment for non-payment.
Inevitably, in an occupation that attracted the free-and-easy maverick, there were many transgressions, and in a township where pride and prejudice were not unknown, the caddy’s cumbersome brass plate was a stigma. But there were other unforeseen problems.
A professional golfer teaching a client would carry his man’s clubs during a lesson and at least one conviction ensued from this practice. Andrew Kirkaldy was taken to court for carrying the Earl of Dudley’s clubs. Andra’ (as he was known) had told the Caddy Master that he would be carrying the clubs and had been warned against doing so. When Andra’ returned to the 18th green carrying His Lordship’s clubs he was charged and ordered to appear before the magistrates court. Tom was called as a witness to help determine the definition of a professional and contributed the unhelpful response to the magistrate, ‘Ye ken as weel as me what the difference is between a professional golfer and a caddy.’ Andra’, however, needed no help from anybody. He conducted his own defence and, cross-examining Alexander Taylor, the Caddy Master, the following exchange ended the matter:
‘Did you see Lord Dudley pay me?’ Andra’ asked the Caddy Master.
‘I did not,’ Mr Taylor replied.
‘Tut, tut,’ the Baillie Magistrate interjected. ‘This is no case at all. Go away, Andrew.’
Andra’ related that on his way home he met an old friend who said, ‘Man, Andra’, you missed your callin’. You ocht to have been a lawyer. But, Andra’, just between you an’ me, did you caddy for a fee or no?’
‘Did you never try caddying for the good of your health?’ Andra’ replied.
He recounted the story in his autobiography My Fifty Years at St Andrews and tells how ‘Tom Morris liked to get me on telling the story of my Police Court adventure.’
History tells us that Tom was more bemused than despairing about the changes taking place on the Links. The ‘Venerable Grand Old Man of Golf’, as he was referred to in the press, was party to the general optimism abroad in the Town in his eternally youthful and enthusiastic way about every aspect of golf’s progress. His grandchildren growing up about him kept him young in outlook and spirit, his shop door kept him abreast of gossip and the succession of golfing pilgrims kept his finger on the pulse of the game, wherever it was played.
Every notable figure in golf, and in much of society as well, was introduced to Tom and, even if they did not enjoy a round on the Course with him, would certainly be exposed to the full beam of his charm. H.H. Asquith, the then Liberal MP for East Fife and destined to be Prime Minister in 1908, had an annual summer holiday in St Andrews when he ‘placed himself in Tom Morris’s hands’. Asquith was Home Secretary in 1895 when he appeared in St Andrews for his annual holiday. Only weeks before, Tom had played a round with Arthur Balfour, the then First Lord of the Treasury, who would also come to be Prime Minister in 1902. The newspapers made much of both men’s visits to the Town, as did Punch. In St Andrews there was much humour at the time about the ‘Grand Company’ that Tom was keeping and the popularity he was enjoying nationwide. He was said to have described Asquith, one of the great orators of the House of Commons, as ‘a very well spoken man’. Balfour, an outstanding golfer who had published Defence of Philosophic Doubt some years earlier, Tom described as ‘a thoughtful player, very sparing with his shots’. Whether or not these remarks are true we will never know, but they were frequently repeated at the time, as was the Pelican account of Asquith’s appallingly bad golf that came from Everard’s pen.
Tom may have had his problems with recalcitrant caddies and small boys on the Links. He may also have suffered the rants of George Bruce and those like him who resented the apparent hegemony of The Royal and Ancient, but there is no doubt that he was respected, no matter how grudgingly, at every level of society in St Andrews. Few local events were held without his presence. He opened flower shows and fêtes, presented prizes and proposed votes of thanks.
It is clear that Tom still enjoyed widespread respect within the Club. Mr MacFie may have taken exception to his high-handedness on the Links, but the general membership, and certainly the Green Committee, seem to have been prepared to endorse his decisions even in the face of complaints from the general public. After the Open Championship in 1895, Tom felt that it was time that the Course had a rest and, without referring to the Committee, promptly removed the flags from the greens and filled up the holes. In response to a barrage of complaints, the Committee was forced to publish a public apology that was posted in the local press, as well as in the Post Office and the Town Hall. It read:
This Committee, learning that the golf holes on the Old Course have been filled up by the Custodian of the Links without authority, regret if any inconvenience should have been caused to the public and that such action should have been taken without notice and general agreement among golfers, but recognising that the Old Course is much in need of a rest, resolve to allow the holes to remain closed until 30th June.
What the caddies felt about the loss of their livelihood for a summer month was not recorded, but they doubtless made their feelings known to Tom at the shop door.
38 The High Priest of Golf
Golf burgeoned in the last decade of the nineteenth century. In retrospect, the Open Championship at Prestwick in 1890 was a groundbreaking event in the development of the game. Not only did an amateur golfer win the event for the first time, but he was an Englishman to boot! The Glasgow Herald considered John Ball from Hoylake to be the ‘surprise winner’ when he was declared the ‘Champion Golfer of the Year’ and, although it remained unsaid, the pride of the Scottish professionals must have been badly hurt. While Ball may not have been a household name in Scottish golf, he was already well known to Tom Morris and certainly familiar to the members at Prestwick and St Andrews, for he had already won the Amateur Championship.
The Amateur was the brainchild in 1885 of the Hoylake club, when Allan Macfie, a leading Scottish golfer, triumphed in the inaugural event. Entry was restricted to members of ‘recognised’ golf clubs in a move designed to keep out ‘undesirables’, so Macfie’s claim to fame is questionable. For the 1886 event at St Andrews, which was open to all amateur golfers, 24 clubs subscribed to a magnificent silver vase. It speaks volumes about the reverence and respect with which Tom Morris was generally held that it is his unmistakable effigy that stands atop the Amateur Championship Trophy.
John Ball was not only the first amateur to win the Open Championship but he was also the first to hold both Open and Amateur titles in the same year. His achievement drew huge press coverage in England, and much of it was focused on the relative importance of the two titles. Some 44 players had contested the Amateur Championship at Hoylake in 1890 and Ball had to battle through four rounds of matchplay golf in two days to take the honours; by contrast, he was required only to play two rounds against a field of 30 to win the Open Championship. This commentary must have stung the Scots professionals and Tom in particular, because the event was very much identified with him and it was still through him that players intimated their intention to compete in it.
The format for the Open Championship had not changed since its inception in 1860. It was still contested over one day of play and for a prize fund that had altered little in 30 years. It was not generally perceived as the greatest test in the game and it certainly did not acknowledge the ‘Champion Golfer of the Year’ with a reward commensurate with the title. Change was long overdue and reorganisation was needed to invest the Open Championship with an added importance and raise its profile within the rapidly expanding game.
With the growth of the game in England and increasing press coverage of events, The Royal and Ancient was coming under some scrutiny as the perceived leading authority in golf, particularly from Golf magazine. Although invariably laudatory of ‘Old Tom’ and his efforts, the editor severely criticised The Royal and Ancient’s arrangements for the Open Championship at St Andrews in 1891. Notice of less than a month had been given of the date and the English clubs appeared to have learned of it only through the usual notice posted in The Field. This date clashed with the Autumn Meeting of the Hoylake Club where John Ball, the previous year’s winner, together with Horace Hutchinson and their younger compatriot, Harold Hilton, were members.
The short notice of the date was as it had always been. Golf was quick to point out that it was no longer adequate in the changing face of the game and used it as a wider criticism of the event and its organisation. Referring to the members of The Royal and Ancient, the editor bemoaned ‘The administration of these (golfing interests) is frequently entrusted to gentlemen ludicrously out of touch with the wider golfing world, who . . . are not practical golfers, or acquainted in the slightest degree with the larger golfing community’. Even if, as Golf commented, ‘The Royal and Ancient was out of touch with the wider world of golf beyond the limits of Fife’, others in the game were not.
Tom Morris himself did not escape censure. It was through him that all professionals entered for the Championship and Golf commented, ‘The memory of Tom Morris appears to have been relied upon as all-sufficient for the occasion; but, in at least one case, that veteran admittedly forgot all about a would-be competitor, while in others there was much conflict of testimony as to whether he had received names or not.’
Immediately after the conclusion of the Championship at St Andrews in 1891 the professionals held a meeting: Tom Morris was in the chair. It was unanimously agreed that ‘an agitation should be commenced to bring about change in the organisation of the Open, to make it a more decisive test of golf and to invest it with an added importance more in accordance with the vast expansion of the game within the last few years.’ The proposals which were put forward at this meeting were radical and far reaching: that play should be over 72 holes and two days, that the prize money should be substantially increased, particularly for the winner, and that an entrance fee of 5 shillings for competitors should be charged. Significantly, the inclusion of Open Championship venues south of the Border was also discussed.
This meeting was momentous in several respects, not least because it was the first time that the professional players had been bold enough to take the initiative in having a say in the game, but also in the far-reaching scope of the proposals. It was without doubt the progenitor of all the Professional Golfer Associations in the world today and Tom Morris was the driving force behind it. It is not surprising that Horace Hutchinson, in 1890, described Tom as ‘The High Priest of this hierarchy of professional golf’.
Tom, of course, knew all of the professionals who attended the meeting, as well as Mr James McBain of Ayr, who acted as secretary. McBain was a member of the Prestwick St Nicholas and had enjoyed many matches with Tom, James Hunter and Jof at St Andrews and Prestwick. He was a journalist contributing to the Ayrshire press as well as the Glasgow Herald and, of course, Golf magazine.
The document drafted from this meeting was printed and widely circulated to all the leading clubs and players. The Committee of The Royal and Ancient merely minuted receipt of it, but the Honourable Company of Edinburgh Golfers, who were to host the next Championship in 1892, paid immediate heed. They not only announced the date of play in the Scottish and English press, including Golf, but also that the event was to be played over two days and 72 holes. Three days practice were to be made available and a 10 shillings entry fee for competitors charged, ‘all of which, with £20 added by the Honourable Company, will be divided in money prizes among the Professional Golfers competing’.
The Honourable Company had done the honourable thing and implemented the professionals’ proposals virtually in full. It also took one further revolutionary step in announcing that the event would be held at their new home, Muirfield, over the course that Tom Morris had laid out only a year earlier.
These arrangements went a long way to appeasing the critics of the Open Championship’s organisation, but the shift of venue came as a body-blow to the Burgh of Musselburgh. It was a change that was also not welcomed by some of the traditionalists in the game. Although only a nine-hole course and, by the standards of the day, short and poorly maintained, Musselburgh had staged six Open Championships, produced some great Champions and attracted a large viewing public. The town was never likely to take this slight lying down and a consortium promptly announced a tournament with a £100 prize fund, more than that of the Open, with the date deliberately set to clash with the Championship at Muirfield.
